Chapter 15

She continued to stare down at her, this stranger with piercing blue eyes emphasised by a heavy coating of black eyeliner.

Not a stranger. Molly.

Or so she claimed.

Alex struggled to make any sort of comprehension, but it seemed to be important that the agonising pain that had resided in her head for so long was not apparent.

It wasn't the most comfortable position to be in, flat on her back.

"Can I..." she reached an arm upward, signalling her desire to sit up. The young doctor seemed to have advised against it, but she felt perfectly fine aside from a faint stiffness in her neck.

The young woman was quick to react, placing one arm around Alex's waist and the other supporting her shoulders.

She felt the rush again, more potent than moments before. Her eyes and mind may have been deceiving her but her heart did not.

Tentatively she held a hand out, fingers making contact with a warm, soft cheek. The action of plumping and propping up pillows was interrupted, the young woman stilling as she was held in place.

"Molls," Alex uttered, tracing her thumb at the curve of her daughter's jaw. Her heart contracted within her chest and she found it difficult to breathe for a few seconds, studying the face in front of her own with great intent, paying as much attention as she was able to each little distinguishing and perfectly plain detail.

She did have an exceptionally beautiful smile, which was radiating again, making her almost shimmer with light. Not for the first time did Alex contemplate that perhaps she was in some kind of afterlife, her mind having conjured up the surroundings of the hospital as a transition, a coping mechanism.

Molly felt too warm to be any kind of apparition, not that she would know what one would feel like. She felt real.

Alex moved to tuck a section of Molly's hair to one side and noticed the mole on her cheek, ghosting her fingertips over it which made Molly flinch and then huff out a little laugh. She couldn't process it. The woman in front of her was precisely that, not a little girl anymore. Well, she wasn't a little girl when you left her. She would always be her baby, but this person was so...grown-up.

Her mind began to race with possibilities and explanations. She had assumed that time moved much quicker in that world of make-believe than in reality. Everything that had happened to Sam Tyler; he had lived a life in the '1970's' when in actuality he had been seconds from death. Perhaps it worked differently for different people, the reverse being true for her. She was filled up with guilt, spending so much time away from Molly, missing the most important part of her life. She could not fathom how they would keep her in a state of limbo for quite so long; surely it would have been better to switch whatever support was keeping her alive off.

I promised I would get back to you. So much has changed, Molls, but I'm here, at long last.

"How...how long was I gone for?" Part of her was too frightened to know the truth, but at the same time she knew she had to determine it, for her own peace of mind.

"It felt like forever," Molly replied, her wide smile breaking momentarily. Her hand had linked with Alex's free one, their fingers intertwined. "But it was only three days."

Three days? No...this makes no sense whatsoever.

The blue eyes looking at her deepened in shade as she remained silent, brain frantically trying to make connections but short-circuiting at every turn.

"You don't remember?"

Alex shook her head at her daughter's question, feeling the furrow of her brow and the frown of confusion imprinted upon her face.

"There was an accident," Molly explained, resting against the edge of the bed.

Yes. I was shot in the head, and I woke up in 1981. I lived there for a while but then I was shot again in 1982.

And now, God knows where I am.

"It was the car...there was a bomb inside. The police are investigating but they don't know who put it there yet."

A bomb, in a car? Like her parents? She took her hand away from Molly's face, moved it to her forehead. There was no bandage, no wound or scar that she could feel with her fingertips.

Her mind was going into overdrive.

"And you're...you're alright?"

"I'm fine. A few scratches and smoke inhalation, but I've been checked out and the doctors say there's nothing wrong."

Alex smiled in relief, despite her growing confusion.

Molly's face shadowed and she inhaled a breath, shoulders shuddering. "Dad came off the worst. He wanted to make sure that we were out of danger. Typical, I guess."

Pete was there? And looking out for us instead of being concerned about himself...this has to be some kind of parallel universe.

"They had to put him in intensive care. He's alive but in a bad way..." Molly's breath caught sharp in her throat, the sound of strangled tears temporarily choking her. "The doctors won't tell me anything. I'm scared, Mum."

"He'll be alright," Alex said dismissively, still trying to figure out why the hell she would voluntarily get into a car with Pete. It had to be for the sake of Molly, but they hadn't done anything as a family since Molly was a tiny baby. "Where's Evan?"

Molly frowned. "Evan died, Mum."

"What?"

The bottom was falling out of her world and she had nothing to grip onto.

"Nearly five years ago. Cancer." Her daughter's eyes softened towards her. "Sometimes I forget too. He was still only young."

A wave of grief washed over her. She had been so angry at him, the feeling lessening when she had spoken to him and realised the torment he was in after the death of her mother. He had been all she had for so long, and now he was gone too.

"Dad read at the funeral. You were going to but you were too upset, you couldn't get through the first two lines without crying, so Dad did it for you."

She couldn't stop the laugh that burst from her lips, horrible in the circumstances. "Pete hated Evan. He was always so jealous of him, God knows why."

Molly's expression was crumpled when Alex looked back at her. She wanted to take the haunted look out of her brilliant blue eyes.

"Pete?" There was a long pause, as if Molly was trying to unravel something she didn't understand, the sorrow painted more liberally upon her features. "Dad's name is Gene."

A pang stabbed at the left side of her chest, hurtling her back through time. She hadn't thought of him since she'd woken. Since she'd been shot again and ripped from the Eighties.

Now his face was vivid in her mind.

"No," her voice was a whisper as she wrestled her hand away from Molly's hold, pushing her daughter away as the pain encroached upon her, unable to properly recognise the anguished look upon Molly's face. "It can't be...no, no!"

She could feel herself spiralling, the room spinning as the small remaining fragments of control slipped from her grasp.

Where was she? Who was she?

What the hell is going on?

"Mum," Molly's voice was small, approaching Alex tentatively again, her shoulders hunched and one arm held out in front of her. "Mum, are you alright?"

She couldn't recognise her. Whoever she is, she's lying.

"Go away!" Alex shouted, the sound of her voice echoing in the room as she scrabbled on the bed, sought to press herself against the wall, needing to find something that was real.

"Mum..."

"Leave me alone!" Alex pleaded, her eyes narrowing at the young woman who had started to cry silently. "Please."

I just want everything to stop.

I just want to get back to where I was, before.

The young woman left the room but Alex could hear her voice low outside, crying. A few moments later the young doctor returned, walking over towards the bed. Instinctively Alex pulled the bedsheets tighter around her.

"Alex," he said her name calmly, "it's okay. You're okay." His smile was faintly reassuring. "This is probably a reaction to the medication, but it will wear off. You need to get some rest."

How I'm supposed to do that, I don't know.

She allowed him to rearrange the pillows that had propped her up, settled herself back down.

"What year is it?" she asked, her voice still trembling, afraid of the answer she would receive.

He took a few seconds to reply, eyeing her with a look of concern.

"2008," he answered, the sinking feeling she'd started to feel in her gut confirmed.

But she still couldn't begin to comprehend how.

"I don't..." she said, the words thick upon her tongue.

"I think Mr Gerrard needs to check you over, but that can wait. The important thing now is that you get some sleep."

I'm not sleepy. Haven't I just been in a coma, anyway?

She didn't argue against the instructions – mainly because she didn't want to be carted off to a psychiatric ward. She stared up at the ceiling, closing her eyes for seconds at a time before opening them again, the same questions revolving in her head – not that she had any feasible answers to them.

She raised her hand in front of her eyeline, noticing first the wrinkles upon the skin and then the two rings on her third finger. The tears began to prick at her eyes as her gaze was held there. Whatever this world is, I'm married to Gene in it. And Molly is ours.

It seemed cruel somehow; all that she would have dreamed, but which was completely impossible.

Her eyes moved lower and her hand raised higher, taking in the identity band that was attached to her wrist. What was written upon it was too small to read from a distance, so she brought it closer, narrowing her eyes.

She could have looked it for the rest of time and she still wouldn't have believed what was there to be true.

It can't possibly be.

Mrs Alexandra Hunt.

D.O.B: 14/04/46

Sleep soon claimed her, the dream world more real to her than whatever dimension she belonged to now.

"Ahh, Guv," Chris whined as the rest of CID looked on, half in admiration and half in disbelief, "but it's Christmas!"

"So?" Gene replied. To say that he was not in the mood for this was the understatement of the century. "You're not bloody Father Christmas, are yer?"

"No," Chris answered.

"Good job an' all," Ray chipped in, "otherwise there'd be lots of very disappointed kiddies with nothin' to open on Christmas morning because soft lad forgot to feed the reindeer."

"And I'm givin' you two and a half days off. That's more than enough for everythin' you've got planned, which as far as I know is eatin' and drinkin' as much as your body weight can 'andle and then sleepin' it off."

"Well we're going to my mum and dad's, so I hope you're not going to just do that," Shaz passed by with the latest tea round, dropping the warning into Chris's ear.

"But Fenchurch West are gettin' between Christmas and New Year off. Or so I 'eard anyway."

"That may be so, Christopher, but they're also lucky they're not all signin' on given the amount of corrupt bullshit that's been goin' on in there. So I say you'd better count your bloody chickens and be thankful that your arse was saved!"

"Er, yeah Guv...course I am." Chris went quiet quickly, shrinking back in his chair and finding the pile of paperwork that was in front of him suddenly very fascinating.

"Anyone else got any complaints or want to compare me to Ebenezer soddin' Scrooge?"

The room chorused as one, "No, Guv."

"Thank Christ for that. Now if that's all, I am goin' to feed my 'eadache some scotch and attempt to have some peace and quiet for five precious minutes. And if the phone rings, then bloody ignore it."

The slam of the door reverberated around his office even after he had sunk down into his chair, feet elevated onto the desk. Closing his eyes he leaned his head back, all too briefly luxuriating in the blank blackness before him. His head was pounding, but he knew full well that alcohol wasn't going to cut it as a cure, not unless there had been some miraculous change in the past few hours.

He sighed heavily as he pulled himself up – only marginally literally, and not that much further figuratively. He had to try harder than this. You're the Sheriff. The Manc Lion. Nothin' and no one gets you down, and when they do you just 'ave to kick and punch yer way back up again.

You've done it before, more than once.

He argued back at himself, saying rightfully that it was different this time. And given that he was the Manc Lion that meant that he could take his bastard time. He could spend the time until next Christmas moping in here if he wanted to. And God, do I want to.

He heard the chattering beyond the door – like a bunch of bleedin' gossipin' old women – and found his tolerance waning fast. His patience had the ability to be worn quickly thin at the best of times; right now it was hanging by the barest of threads. It was best for all concerned if he kept himself away when it wasn't necessary for him to lead them. Jesus, what sins did I commit to end up with this lot? Takes them all their time to tell their arses from their elbows. Carling as his DI? He still couldn't get his head around that little, quite bloody significant matter. Raymondo must have got him steadily bladdered until he gave in and agreed to it, not that his word would have been good for much at that point.

"You're their Guv," a voice from the ether reminded him. A soft and lilting, posh and ridiculously plummy voice, one which he wished to every non-existent power there was that he had never had the unfortunate pleasure to hear.

Except that's a lie.

He convinced himself again that he had gone insane, around the bend so bloody far that nobody would be able to find him. People don't just vanish into thin air. But she's not 'people'. Nowhere to be seen – and he had looked high, low and everywhere in between – but everywhere in the corners of his mind. Her smile appearing from the depths of darkness, the touch of her hand in the dead of night. Did I dream 'er? He didn't have the power to conjure up someone as...as...bloody well indescribable as Bolly. Alex.

His fingers toyed with the handle on the top drawer of the desk until he got thoroughly pissed off with himself and just yanked the thing open. Without any further hesitation he lifted out the black velvet box, stubbing out the cigarette that wasn't yet half-smoked to hold the item in both hands. The feelings he had experienced at the time seized him again; the apprehension, the fear, the very real notion that the spirit of a limp-wristed pansy was inhabiting his body as he made his way across the road and into the jewellers, hoping fervently that nobody who knew him would spot him trundling his way awkwardly. That was going to be impossible given that he was DCI Gene Hunt; every bastard that walked the streets knew him.

He loitered for a while, fooling himself into believing that he wasn't really looking. The first shiny thing that he laid his eyes upon for longer than five seconds would do just fine. In actuality it took far too long, ensuring that he missed the match completely and a good chunk of drinking time as well. But when he finally found it, he knew.

He pulled the silver chain from its casing, the fingers of one hand edging the curves of the heart-shaped pendant. Soppy, nancy, big girl's bloody blouse. He tried to picture the look on her face when he gave it to her on Christmas morning, limbs still tangled together in the red sheets of her bed. Tortured himself. The light from the desk lamp hit the diamond in its centre, collecting a thousand different colours within.

He might as well bury himself now, somewhere the world would not bear witness to the wreck he'd become.

The noise that he had tried and failed to block out became progressively louder, sounding like one of the inhabitants of the cells had broken out and was causing all hell to break loose. He muttered under his breath as he got to his feet, Bolly's calming presence absent from his mind as she was in body.

Five soddin' minutes was all I'd asked for.

He was confronted with the sounds before the sight, a tight circle fracturing to reveal the intruder who had interrupted his bout of sorrowful solitude. Whoever the bastard was, he had a gob on him.

"Well, who the hell do you think you are?" he bawled. "This is my office. Right here. Where's my office?"

"Make your mind up, mate. You just said it was 'ere." Ray sniggered, nudging his arm against Chris who stood at his side, in front of the red-cheeked stranger. "Think you might want to report it. Lost property's that way."

"Get off me, moron!"

The rest of CID screeched in mocking, effeminate tones as the bloke shoved Ray's arm away. Gene found the ire that had been flattened by his morose mood charging back to life.

"WHERE'S MY OFFICE?"

Well, this will not bloody do at all.

He stepped out a fraction from the doorway of his office, commanding the attention of the room with a single hard-edged stare.

"A word in your shell-like, pal."

He didn't bother to cast his eyes upwards for a while, let the bloke rant and rave in the confines of the room, the sound of the intruder's voice nothing but an irritated buzzing in his ear. I'm gettin' bleedin' sick of all this. When the same few phrases and questions came on repeat like a broken record something told him that he should probably intervene, if only for the sake of his half-shredded sanity.

"Where's my iPhone? One of those idiots out there has taken it."

"You've said that a dozen times now, and it still doesn't make the least bit of sense to me."

Give him some credit, he wasn't put off. Put him in mind of one of those wind-up toys that kept bashing a pair of cymbals together, to no bloody point.

"And where's my office?"

"That too," Gene uttered nonchalantly, leaning against the door with his arms folded. The situation was becoming clearer through the scotch-filled fog; he'd been here before.

He supposed he should be acting differently, taking charge, showing himself as King of the Jungle. The memory of slamming Tyler against the cabinet went through his mind, like a different lifetime.

Years rolling by in his mind, ending up on the embankment next to the Thames. The beautiful sight of Bolly in that tight red dress and ludicrous fur coat, a lifetimes of his fantasies combined into one.

My reputation precedes me.

He didn't have the ability to see into the future and so he couldn't see how this exchange was going to play out.

The bloke wore himself out, panting and hanging his pointing arms down at his sides.

"I suppose you're the one in charge in this joke-shop?" he said, narrowing his eyes towards Gene. "If you could stop staring and let me know what the hell is going on, any second now would be great!"

Gene huffed in a breath, going over to where the other man stood with unhurried steps, hands planted firmly in pockets. Shouldn't jump to conclusions, but I dunno if I like the look of this one.

"You can find out yerself. Put your 'and in your pocket."

He was met with a frown, the stranger moving his hand from the trouser pocket that proved empty slowly upwards to creep inside his jacket. The warrant card was revealed and before he could gawp at it for too long, Gene snatched the item from his grasp.

"Hey!"

"Well, you know who you bloody are, don't you? I, on the other 'and, require enlightenin'."

He looked down at the card and the mugshot which was of undoubted resemblance. Beneath it, the stranger was given a title.

DI Nathaniel Parker.

"Christ on a bike, what kind of a name is that?"

"Everyone calls me Nate."

"Nah," Gene shook his head, "not 'ere, they don't. We'll come up with somethin'. Dozy Parker'll do for starters."

Wasn't his best work but it seemed to be rather apt in the impression he'd got in the last five minutes. Dozy thought otherwise.

"You still haven't told me who the hell you think you are," he exclaimed, squaring up to Gene with a stance that he must have considered to be menacing.

It would have been too easy to pull him from his feet by the scruff of his neck and show him exactly who he was, and that he shouldn't have so much lip.

He just didn't have the energy nor inclination.

"Gene Hunt. Your DCI. It's 1982, and I'm well overdue a bloody break."

Dozy was blank-faced for all of five seconds, living up to his name before reality kicked in.

"You are kidding me...1982? No, you're actually having a laugh."

"Does it look like you're amusin' me, sunshine? There's a calendar on the wall outside if you want to 'ave a look for yourself."

Dozy took it upon himself to take a seat, sinking his head into his hands, mumbling to himself. Another escapee from the loony bin. Fan-bloody-tastic. Gene tuned himself out of the low and persistent noise, downed another glass, willed himself to disappear.

After a few moments he heard something that flipped a switch in his brain.

"Right, just calm down. It's 2008, you know it is..."

"What did you just say?"

He raised his head slowly, expression clouded for a few seconds until the beginnings of a smirk stretched across his lips.

"Losing your hearing, are you? You must be coming up on retirement."

Gene wasted few moments in going over, grabbing him by the shoulders and yanking him onto his feet.

"I want to know what the bloody 'ell you just said, and I don't usually need to ask twice."

He might have wore a cocky smile but the look in his eyes spoke louder volumes. He's crappin' himself.

"I said it's 2008," Dozy answered, looking Gene straight in the eyes, "you must be losing your marbles as well if you think it's 1982."

2008. It had been buried at the back of his mind for weeks, intensifying in the last couple.

He wasn't sure what rationale he had but the connection was there and it made sense to him. This stupid sod has stolen Bolly's place and has got the nerve to think 'e can get away with it.

"Alex Drake," Gene said, her name leaving a hole in his chest.

Dozy shrugged as much as he could with Gene's hands upon him. "Never heard of him."

With those four seemingly simple words Gene saw red, tightening his grip upon Dozy Parker's lapels, wanting to squeeze every drop of life out of the bastard.

"What 'ave you done with her? Tell me now and I'll make life a whole lot easier for you. It'll still be a livin' hell, mind."

He knew she hadn't disappeared completely. Knew that he hadn't been making it all up, the life they had started to build together.

I want it back more than anythin'.

"I...I don't know what you're talking about," he stuttered out, cheeks turning redder by the second. One of Gene's hands had gone up to his throat, subconsciously Gene could only assume. "I don't know an Alex Drake. I swear to God."

He didn't believe it for a sodding second. He wasn't thinking straight right now but at least this arsewipe had given him a lead; something he'd been searching for without success for weeks.

"Please..."

His voice was a whisper, and coming to a realisation Gene relinquished his grip, giving Dozy chance to catch his breath. S'pose he's going to come in useful after all, if he's the only link I've got back to Bolly.

"There's an empty desk out there. Go and bloody use it, but don't be skivin' too long. We've got work to do."

He stumbled to his feet again after slouching on the chair, the fear in his irises burning through fiercely.

Gene smacked a hand to Dozy's shoulder, feeling him flinch. "Welcome to the team, Inspector."

He took the seat behind his desk again, watching the new recruit sit uncertainly down and flashing his warrant card to whoever approached, Raymondo looking less than impressed at being usurped. Every now and then he'd catch the pair of wary eyes glancing toward him through the half-open blinds, aimed elsewhere less than a second later.

Well, at least he knows where his place is.

He might need to bide his time for a bit, let Dozy find his feet. The whole softly, softly approach, which he was getting marginally better at with practice.

Her face flashed in his mind again and he closed his eyes so he could savour it, see every detail of her features as she smiled towards him; a smile that did little to hide the pain in her eyes.

Don't you worry, Bols. I'll make things right for you, if it's the last thing I do.

Alex sat in the bed, her eyes paying little attention to the television screen that was switched on in front of her. Lamps set an amber glow in the room, telling her that it must be the evening. On the cabinet at her side a bunch of yellow tulips had been arranged in a vase. A smile started to spread upon her face as she looked at them.

Her head was decidedly less foggy since she had woke from sleep; she still had not the slightest idea of what had happened to her – more accurately, who she was – but the couple of hours spent slumbering had refreshed her and made her more open to the possibility of accepting her surroundings.

She saw a face somewhat nervously peeking through the small 'window' that looked out onto the corridor and her smile grew deeper, gesturing with her hand for the figure to come through.

Molly stepped into the room cautiously, closing the door gently behind her. Alex's heart ached to see her daughter behaving so skittish, knowing it was her reaction that had caused it. She still wore a smile though, intensifying the longer she looked upon her now sedate mother.

Alex patted her hand on the bed, encouraging Molly to pull the chair that was by her bedside closer.

"I'm so sorry, Molls," she said, the hurt and regret evident in her tone, "I shouldn't have taken it out on you, it's not your fault."

Molly's cheeks filled with colour again, her shoulders relaxing where she sat. "It's not your fault, either."

"But I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I scared you."

"It's not you..." her blue eyes looked down and away from Alex for a moment, "Mr Gerrard did say that you might have trouble remembering some things, but I wasn't expecting it to be so much."

Alex felt her expression mirroring that of her daughter's as she looked back up at her.

"Maybe it'll come back soon. Give me half a chance, hey? I've only been back on Earth for a few hours."

She reached her hand out towards Molly, a warmth spreading out from the centre of her chest as her daughter laced her fingers in the spaces between her own. The metal of the rings she wore gave a pleasantly cool shock against Alex's clammy skin.

"So, there was a bomb."

Molly's smile faltered. "You don't need to know about it. It might be too traumatic, cause more damage to the limbic system."

Ah, so she knows how the brain works. She must have developed her interest in psychology when she got a bit older.

"It's fine, Molls. I think it's better if I can start to piece things together, going from the most recent memory."

Molly looked somewhat reluctant to recount. "I think I'm a bit fuzzy on it as well. At least after..."

"I don't want to make you feel bad," Alex uttered soothingly, stroking the pad of her thumb against her daughter's hand. "Where we were going?"

"We'd been for a picnic in Regent's Park. The same as we do every year for my birthday, at least when it's not raining." Her smile began to grow wide again, her happiness in the memories so strong that Alex could almost inhabit them too. "I had to get the train and Dad took his shortcut to get there quicker. But the road was closed and there was a diversion, we ended up on this dead-end street with a hill overlooking it...there was a billboard, I think."

Sounds exactly like where Mum and Dad were...

"We'd come to a stop and Dad was complaining about the roadworks, saying that someone should have said something sooner. Then you told him to shush because you heard something. Dad looked under the dashboard and told us both to get out."

A snippet of something flashed into her brain, being in the car with Gene. But it was the Quattro and it was the Eighties, not the modern day.

"I got out of the car because Dad was screaming at me to do so, but I didn't want to go without either of you, and you were trying to get him to leave the bomb alone, he was trying to diffuse it. All I could hear was him shouting your name, begging you to get out. You were still half in when it went off, I was on the grass and I screamed so loud...and that's all I can remember until the ambulance came."

"Molls," Alex uttered her daughter's name soft and quiet, "I'm so sorry you had to see that, darling."

"It's okay, Mum," she replied. It was still so surreal to see her so much older, changed in so many ways but just the same in all the ways that mattered. "I just don't know who would want to do something like that. I mean, I know that you and Dad probably made a few enemies, doing what you did. But since you both retired I never thought it would be an issue."

Gene, retired. She could only imagine how long it must have taken to persuade him to stand down, and it had probably fallen to her to do most of the hard work.

She looked again at the identity band on her wrist, tracing it with her fingertips. The date written there meant that she was sixty two now. She hadn't yet had the chance to glimpse herself in a mirror and couldn't begin to imagine what she would look like. Will I recognise myself? I can't have changed that much.

Then again, I'm not the same person I was. I can't be.

"This is going to sound just awful, so forgive me," she said with a gentle smile, "but what age did you turn on your birthday?"

Molly returned the grin her mother gave her, squeezing her hand. "Twenty four. July 20th 1984. The day your lives were turned upside down forever."

"The day they were made so much better," Alex returned with a smile, even though she was finding it increasingly hard not to cry.

If this was her life – and there seemed to be no reason to doubt that it wasn't – why did she have no recollection of it? All that she was able to remember was those eighteen months that she had spent with Gene and the team, when she was convinced that she had to get back to her real life, a life that now appeared to be the true illusion.

"Mum?" Molly had noted the quiver in her voice, recognised that it was something other than just love for herself.

Alex shook her head so as to hold back the tears, unable to take her eyes away from her precious daughter.

"I can't remember, Molls. Any of it. I just...can't remember." The tears she had been fighting to stop finally broke free. "And I should. The most important moments...I should know what they were like."

Marrying Gene. Their life together. Giving birth to their daughter, raising her. Everything had been wiped from her memory. Somehow it seemed unfeasible, even if she had wanted to stitch both sides together so desperately, always believing that it was impossible.

She was from another world. Or had been.

She couldn't even begin to think about what it meant for her parentage; obviously she wasn't the daughter of Tim and Caroline Price. Did either of them even exist? They were questions for another time, a day when things weren't so overwhelming, when it didn't feel as if the world was simultaneously caving in and opening up in front of her.

Molly was the one to offer comforting touches, rubbing her fingertips in small circles. A little murmur came from her throat as she leaned forward.

"Molls?" Alex responded to the sound.

"When Dad wakes up, he'll be able to remind you. Say you're a dozy mare for forgetting." She laughed, but the laugh no sooner left her lips than it broke into something more painful. "If he wakes up, that is...he'll be okay, won't he?"

The tears had started to fill Molly's eyes and Alex could not bear to see them.

"Oh, Molls, of course he will." She pulled her daughter to her without hesitation, her heart aching for her. For Gene, too.

The guilt had remained with her at first, believing that she couldn't love him any more for fear of being untrue to Molly. But then she said what she had said, and slowly the sorrow had dissolved. Only to be replaced by the sorrow that he had been seriously injured trying to save them both.

"If anyone's going to pull through it's going to be your Dad. He's made of tough stuff. The toughest."

Alex felt a smile against her neck, interrupting Molly's sobs. It lifted her heart as she stroked her daughter's hair.

Eventually she comforted her to the point of belief and a nurse came to inform them that visiting time was over.

"I'll be back first thing tomorrow, okay?"

Alex nodded, smiling through her tears. "Have you got a place to stay?"

"Yeah, I'm crashing at Hannah's. My roommate from uni." Molly shook her head fondly. "You'll remember her when you see her."

"I'm sure I will." She turned her head to the television screen briefly, catching the sight of a news report playing out. "Oh, Molls? Thanks for the tulips. They're my..."

"Favourites?" Molly finished off her thought. "That's why I bought them. And look, you're remembering things already."

Alex smiled, leaning her head back upon the fluffed-up pillows.

And I'll get there with the rest.

With more than a little help from her daughter, she imagined.

Three weeks into 1983 and it was turning out to be a steaming pile of shit. Not completely unlike the years that had preceded.

At least 1982 had Bolly in it, for the most part.

Dozy was integrating into the team, making himself comfortable. Even Ray had become pally with him, which was a bloody miracle given the time it had taken him to accept both Tyler and Bolly and that Dozy had essentially stolen his position. Ray remained a DI – he'd done nothing to merit a demotion – but Parker superceded him as he'd had the rank for longer.

That was technically wrong, given that the bloke is from the soddin' future.

(Not that that mattered when it had come to Bollykecks)

But he just couldn't see what they all did; it was as if whatever it was was being kept a secret from him, shrouding and shutting him out. He'd never felt more like an outsider in his whole life. Laughter would stop when he walked into a room; nobody seemed to be able to look him in the eye. Most of the time he didn't want to bother with talking, not unless it was necessary to the case. He supposed that he only had himself to blame, but he was starting to feel like a spare part now. Useless, fit for the scrap heap.

None of them would be bothered if I disappeared. They probably wouldn't even notice until a few days when there was no-one to keep them from arsin' about.

More frequently the thought came to the forefront of his mind.

I should follow where she led.

The only thing stopping him from seeing out that plan was that he had absolutely no trail.

He was so preoccupied that it was too late to stop from walking into the bloke that was coming from the opposite direction.

"Watch where yer goin'," he muttered, knowing full well that the collision was his fault.

"Sorry, in a world of my own...DCI Hunt?"

He'd heard the voice somewhere before, but it took him a moment or two to drag his gaze up and register the face.

"White," he said, rearing back on his heels.

She ran forward again, holding her hands up, knocking against his head. As if she was controlling him like a bleeding puppet on a string.

Say hello from me, Gene.

" 'aven't seen you round 'ere in a while. Thought you'd come to yer senses and gone for a change in career."

The barrister laughed. "No, I'm afraid not. I took some time out but I'm back at it now. Just for a couple of weeks though so I'm feeling rather like a graduate again. You'll find me a little rusty."

"Rule one of goin' toe to toe with a copper: never admit to your weaknesses."

"My mistake."

The other man stared at him for so long that it made Gene feel more than a touch uncomfortable, hoping that one of his admittedly absent team would appear magically and tell him that he was urgently needed. There was a certain look lingering in his eyes as he wet his lips with his tongue. Bloody hellfire, I hope he's not a shirtlifter because he is definitely barkin' up the wrong tree. He doubted it soon after the thought occurred. He had been sniffing around Bolly a while back, before he took himself off the scene. Gene recalled only too vividly the burning jealousy and the crushing rejection he had felt when she had left in pursuit of Evan White, leaving him standing in the corridor like a prize wally. She may as well have yanked down his kecks and laughed at his lunchbox for the embarrassment he had experienced.

Now he considered the situation to be even weirder than if he was a poofter. Still, I s'pose the bloke wasn't to know.

"I always wanted to...that is, I never got the chance," he cleared his throat, not that it did much to dispel the awkwardness, "to say thank you. For Alex...for what you did."

The images played like a film in his mind, the memory of the little girl cradled in his arms a physical weight. The smell of smoke and the heat that was at his back, all made physical once more.

He remembered the silence that filled his ears as he kept walking, carrying the orphaned girl to safety, she being the entire focus of his world for those eternal minutes.

Strangely enough he hadn't thought about Bolly then, her presence a fog in his mind when he thought about the immediate aftermath of the blast.

"I was just doin' me job," he replied, not being so ungracious as to shrug off the gratitude or to question why White hadn't rushed to the girl's aid instead. "As long as the little lady's alright."

White smiled. "Yes, she's great." The smile turned quickly wisful. "I don't know if she fully understands, sometimes. That her mum and dad are...gone."

Bloody hell, Bols. You didn't deserve that, not so young.

"She's a bright spark," he pulled himself up quickly, hoping that White hadn't noticed, "she seems to be, anyway."

"You've hit the nail on the head. Won't stop reading, and I'm not talking about Bunty." He shook his head in what Gene imagined to be disbelief. "I'm not sure if it's normal for a nine year old. Or should I say nearly ten, as she's so fond of reminding me."

So, she was born in 1973. Which, if I'm workin' this out correctly, means that she was thirty five when she came here.

Not that he made a habit of asking a lady her age, but he remembered that she had mentioned it during one of their earlier cases together.

"When's 'er birthday?" He'd blurted the question out before he'd had chance to really think about it, noticing how White looked at him, wondering. "Just thought it'd be nice to send a card, from the team. So she doesn't forget us."

The words left a dagger-like pain searing in his chest.

Evan smiled again. "I'm sure she'd love that. 14th April."

He remembered vividly. Bolly lying in his arms, wearing one of his shirts – not that it stayed on for very long. His hands were running tantalisingly up and down her sides and he threatened to tickle her until she begged for mercy.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh yes I would. Can't keep my 'ands off you as it is..."

He ran his fingertips carefully, teasingly at first before going in for the kill, digging his hands under her arms.

"No, Gene! Please, no," she pleaded, wriggling on the bed and helpless with laughter.

"Now now, Bols. I only want to give you yer birthday present early. I don't think it'll keep..."

She put up a valiant fight but it wasn't too long before she submitted. "Okay, it's the 14th. Now get off me."

"You sure about that, Bolly?" He rolled her onto her front, watching intently as her molten gaze went to him, her hands threading into his hair.

"Well, you did promise to give me my present."

Bugger me. They're one and the same, after all.

It was an effort for him not to stutter. "I'll make a note of it."

The guilt swirled in his head. This was his punishment for not completely believing her, for thinking she was on the very edge of insanity.

The only way he could redeem himself was by fighting to get her back.

"I'd better..." White pointed down the corridor, in the direction of the cells he had just personally thrown a maggot of a suspect in, "duty calls."

Gene shoved his hands in his pockets, straightening his stance. Emotion well and truly concealed.

"You should take my advice after all," he uttered, "make the little lady proud of you and stop stickin' up for scumbags for a livin'."

He offered a shrug of defiance, a knowing smirk making its way onto his face. "Someone has to," he replied, leaving a lengthy pause before he finished the statement, "and I hope that she will be, one day. It's the best I can ever hope to be."

Gene watched him walk away to whence he had came, letting the dust settle.

Not that he expected he'd ever have anything in common with White, but stranger things had happened.

He was sure that even stranger things were lying in wait.

A/N: What exactly has happened to Alex? Can the newbie be trusted? (Hopefully) these questions and more will be answered in the forthcoming chapters.