Chapter 18

Gene was absolutely fuming as he made his way from Luigi's back to the station, the rage that had been building within him throughout the impromptu meeting seconds away from spilling out. He'd been made to feel stupid and small as this rubber-heeler sat in front of him, spouting a load of 'official' language that made next to no sense. The gist of it was enough to have him on the ropes and then the blows came fast and hard. To look at the bloke, all pursed lips and buttoned-up sneer, he never would have suspected he'd have it in him.

Then again it was always the ones who looked least likely that you had to watch out for.

The idea of steak and chips pizza became even less appealing than normal as the exchange went on, Cannon and bloody Ball flanking either side of the trenchcoated wonder. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he looked down it at Gene. All the while Gene could only think about how bloody ridiculous it was. This bloke who was more at home with filing cabinets and pencil sharpeners than truncheons or handcuffs, who he'd place a good wedge on never having spent five minutes out on the streets walking the beat, having the nerve to look him in the eye and tell him that what he was doing was wrong. He was careful to throw in the odd phrase and sympathetic glance.

"If it were up to me, there'd still be room for the mavericks."

Gene knew a liar when he saw one and if it wasn't for the fact that the fate of the entire division was at risk he would have had no qualms about wringing the worm's neck until he turned bright white.

"I'm not going to make you turn your badge in," he'd uttered with an air of self-satisfaction. There was not a cat in hell's chance that he would have surrendered it even if DCI Pompous Twit would have commanded. He felt it in his inside pocket, pressing against his chest. The world will 'ave to end before they can ever prise this from me.

He was aware that all eyes were on him as he entered CID but he stared straight ahead, the blood so tight in his veins that it was a surprise to him that he didn't seize up and drop down where he stood.

"Parker," he muttered, not looking at the DI or any of the others. Fixing his gaze at the door with his name upon it and the scribbled drawing of a lion's mane. "My office."

The room remained quiet, the silence roaring against his ears. He was forced to turn around before walking through the door he had thrown open, expecting stupidly that Parker would have obeyed the order.

He'd say that he was losing his touch, but that seemed to have happened long ago.

"NOW," he raised his voice to an uncompromising bellow, noticing how several other members of the team had fear in their eyes and their buttocks tightly clenched, "not bloody next week!"

He waited the unbearable seconds as Parker came from behind his desk, walked towards him with all the motivation of a decrepit tortoise. Gave him a side-eyed glance that he had been confronted with only five minutes or so ago. The suspicions he'd had for a while rose up again, though he'd never properly considered them until now, assuming that Parker didn't have either the intelligence or the balls to be an inside man.

Once they were both inside he flicked the blinds closed with a twist of his wrist and then moved with a speed that he wasn't aware he was capable of at his age. The whole office rattled, the ground beneath his feet shaking as he pinned Parker up against the wall, hand grasped at the DI's throat.

"Don't even think about denyin' it," Gene spat, eyes blazing and his hands killing him, "nobody else in 'ere would ever dare to pull that move. Didn't yer mam and dad ever teach yer about where snitches end up?"

"I didn't..."

He squeezed his fingers slightly, cutting off Parker's attempts to explain himself.

"I don't care what you've got to say 'cause I know it's gunna be a pile of steaming horseshit."

In all the years that he'd been DCI he'd had his fair share of officers acting up and thinking they knew better, but he'd never had the shame of one of them going behind his back. Not only that but to throw him knee deep in it, grassing on him. The ultimate betrayal. From the first moment he hadn't trusted Parker but he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, even if it was going to take him longer to settle than Tyler or Bolly.

There was no going back from this.

Parker's eyes were bulging, the colour draining from his cheeks at a rapid rate. The devil on his shoulder shouted at him to finish the job, choke the life out of the weasel. Cop turned cop killer. Quite bloody different from putting a stop to scum, but he had his reasons. They'd stand up in court, he was half sure.

He thought all the angels had deserted him ever since she'd gone but apparently one had stuck around, convinced him to release his grip and think about what he was doing. There would be no excuses, no way out. They'd lock him up for life and throw away the key. Didn't really sound like a bad life, all things considered. He listened all the same, lost in thought for a moment or two while Parker coughed and spluttered, catching his breath again.

He had a vision of her in white, with those ridiculous shoulder pads and a shock of deep red lipstick. Her hair was shorter, cropped to her neck, and she was smiling at him, extending her hand towards where he stood.

Gene, she called to him, I'll always be here. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health.

He shook his head, squared his shoulders. Now was not the time to be distracted by things he could never have; he had to keep a grip on the reality that was threatening to fall to pieces around his feet.

"I dunno..." he began, feeling lost at sea, wondering how he'd managed to let it slip so far. Well, he knew why, and that was worse. "I mean, I know we're not exactly the best of mates."

That's puttin' it lightly.

Parker glanced up at him, having the decency to look shame-faced.

Gene rushed forth again, the sheer anger he felt dictating that he keep the DI fenced in.

"Need I remind you that I'm your DCI," he said, unable to stop the note of menace from creeping into his voice, "you 'ave a problem, you come to me. Not a bloody pencil-necked bastard who 'asn't got the faintest soddin' clue about how we go about things. That understood?"

After a few seconds Parker nodded his head, his hand still rubbing beneath the collar of his shirt.

"You don't exactly make it easy, Guv," he replied once a moment or two had passed.

Gene bowed his head. Not all of them could come around, despite all of his attention and hard work. Maybe he just needed to accept that Parker would never be one of his, but they still had to show a united front, especially now that the cards had been dealt and he hadn't an ace amongst his hand.

"They're shuttin' us down," he informed his DI of the plans of the mighty Keats and his department, each word a sharp stab in his chest. "At least, temporarily. Nothin' bigger than kids stealin' from sweet shops and old dears misplacin' their pensions until that smug knob has done 'is rounds amongst us."

He was smarting from the decision he had no power to overturn. They'd be on the verge of something huge with this jewellery shop bombing, he'd felt it in his water. Now it was getting turned over to Fenchurch West, who were still cobbling together a force from a bunch of no-marks.

"Guv, I'm sorry. Really, I am. I had no idea they'd do something like this."

He sounded sincere enough and as Gene looked at him he could see similar emotions to his own in Parker's eyes. Disbelief, exasperation. Blind rage, even if it was concealed better than his own was.

Something else too, which he couldn't quite put his finger on. Fear? A chance slipping away from his grasp. Helplessness.

He hadn't forgotten about Bolly's name being etched upon that piece of paper in Parker's writing. He had to make the choice between finding out exactly where it played into everything and ensuring that his team could fight on to do their jobs and make their livings.

Sorry, Bols. I won't forget, I promise.

Parker's eyes were upon him, waiting for him to make the next move. The trails they had were long cold so he didn't have a lot of choice.

"Guv," the DI uttered again, "what are we going to do?"

"Only one thing we can do," Gene returned, pulling the driving gloves from his trouser pocket and watching Parker's gaze widen as he put them into place. "Time to fire up the Quattro. If nothin's goin' to come to us then we'd bloody well get there first."

Flurries of confetti were thrown at them from both sides, their closest colleagues cheering as they emerged onto the steps of the registry office. Even while Gene told them to pack it in there was more than a hint of a smile on his face, turning to look at her again. His eyes hadn't been off her for longer than a couple of seconds since she'd walked in the room with Viv at her side, acting as her guardian for the day. Ray was Gene's best man and he'd made some smutty remark that she couldn't hear and which Gene ignored, fixated on her. Chris and Shaz were sitting in the rows that were otherwise empty, both with knowing smiles on their faces, having been in the same position only a few months previous. Alex waved at them and then turned to face Gene fully, her heart fluttering wildly and hardly believing that they had ended up here. A pair of lost souls brought together by chance, or perhaps it was down to something that she'd never believed in before, at least not until now.

She wore the same wide smile now, laughing as she picked bits of heart-shaped paper from her hair and from the front of her dress, trying to be subtle. Her new husband was anything but as he followed the path of her fingers, his grin reflected in the glinting of his eyes.

The sun was blinding as it shone down upon them, having emerged from the clouds. Alex admired the way it made the gold band on her hand shimmer and shine, sitting beneath the engagement ring which clashed with it in the most wonderful way.

If she thought about it for too long she found it surreal. Happiness always appeared to be so fleeting. She couldn't see the darker side though, confident that all that she felt now would last a very long time.

Shaz rushed up to the steps towards her, holding the fur coat she had arrived in. She shook her head, wondering what she had been thinking in the first place in wearing it, given that it was the start of summer. She'd been wearing it while she was undercover at that boat party, the first time she had met Gene. Sentimental, she supposed. Thinking of how they were always meant to be.

Instead Shaz fixed her hair for her, plucking out the remaining stray confetti before the photographs began. Gene muttered through gritted teeth as the procession of pictures were taken, each one barely any different from the last, at one point asking the photographer if there was going to be any chance of making it to the pub before it closed for the night. Alex rolled her eyes lovingly and smiled, pressing her hand firmer to Gene's chest and angling her head towards his shoulder. She called to Shaz, draping the coat over her shoulders for the last few shots, unable to hold back her giddy laughter as the others applauded them.

She felt his warm breath upon her neck, shivers dancing up her spine even with the heat of the sun.

"I know about the fur coat," he spoke into her ear, arm winding tighter around her waist, "when am I gunna get to your lack of knickers?"

She couldn't stop her burst of laughter. If there was one thing that she could bank on it was that life would never be dull with Gene Hunt.

"Calm yourself down," she chastised him, somewhat half-heartedly, "we have the little matter of a reception to attend to first."

"Oh, sod that," he grumbled.

"Don't you think our wedding day is something to celebrate, Mr Hunt?"

"Yeah," he answered her earnest question, "I'd just rather it was a private party, if you get me drift."

"I always do," she replied, smirking when he gave her bum a sly squeeze, clearly keen to start the investigation into whether she really did have anything on underneath her cream dress. "We don't have to stay until the evening. I think making an appearance for a couple of hours at least is only fair."

His mouth contorted into that mock-grumpy pout that she found so irresistible. Not to mention how delectable he looked in the black tie suit. Despite her pleas to the contrary she was going to have a hard job in keeping her hands off him in front of their friends.

"They should be 'appy that I'm not sendin' them back to work on a Thursday afternoon. And Ray better not bugger things up while we're gone."

"He'll be fine," Alex shrugged, "what's the worst that could happen?"

"We could get back from Blackpool to find the place burned to the ground?"

"No," she said airily, somewhat regretting that she had persuaded him to leave the newly-promoted DI in charge. "It'll all be alright. Shaz is on hand to babysit, and she's the most reliable member of the team."

"It'll be good practise for the lass."

Her smile broke temporarily, cursing herself for allowing her mind to drift when she had promised that she wouldn't think about it today. Shaz would surely be thinking about trying soon, if she and Chris weren't already doing so. She would just need to get past her own feelings of inadequacy, which were hers and hers alone to grapple with.

Gene had caught her thinking, squeezing her hip by way of apology for mentioning it in the first place. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that there was no need to tiptoe around her. Instead she beamed another grin towards him, telling him that she was happier than she had ever been.

"Any regrets?" she asked him quietly, not entirely sure of why the question occurred to her.

His eyes and his whole expression were clear. "I don't do regrets, Bollykecks."

She giggled again. "You're still going to call me that?"

"Don't see any reason not to," he replied, lifting her hand and raising it to his mouth. "Though I must admit, 'Mrs Alex Hunt' sounds pretty bloody fantastic to me, Bols."

The warmth collected in her chest radiated through her whole body.

"It does to me, too," she smiled, pretty sure that her face was going to be aching for days to come. "As does DI Hunt."

"Bloody hell, that takes me back."

She thought for a moment about how strange it probably would be to have a married couple heading up a division, like something out of a television show. But she was too wrapped up in joy to consider it for very long, letting out a delighted gasp as Gene held her yet tighter to him.

"Best get a move on, then," he rasped into her ear, "the sooner we get there, the sooner we can bugger off."

She smiled as they walked down the rest of the steps, elated at the simple fact of Gene holding her hand in public. He'd hired a beautiful vintage car from the '50s to escort them back, allowing her to climb in first and bundling in close beside her.

The driver tipped his cap to them, glancing into the rear view mirror.

"Congratulations to you both," he said, causing Alex to reply with a sincere 'thank you'. "Mind if I put the radio on?"

"Do whatever you like, pal," Gene answered, "I'll be too busy admirin' the missus."

Alex shook her head, a blush filling her cheeks as the strains of a song already mid-way through filled the car from the portable radio.

I never done good things
I never done bad things
I never did anything out of the blue, woah oh
Want an axe to break the ice
Wanna come down right now...

She heard the words of the song straining above the voices of her parents, arguing back and forth. The car rolled along and she watched a man walking by the side of the road. He smiled towards her and she smiled back, before remembering what her mother said about strangers. She thought she had seen the man before, though, or at least someone who looked very much like him.

They came to the side of a lorry and the car stopped. Outside she didn't see the man anymore, but saw the balloon that she had been forced to let go of floating close by. Her hand went to the handle and she pushed the door open easily.

Her mother was calling to her, shouting her name, telling her to get back in the car. She thought she heard Evan shouting something too, which was strange. The balloon was far enough in reach for her to catch it so she ignored the cries of her mother, skipping and then running until she was close enough to get to it.

She was halfway up the hill when the whole world exploded. Her mother and her father disappeared in a big blast of fire and a thick black cloud of smoke. Her balloon had gone high, high up into the air, and she started to cough, the smoke making its way into her lungs as another big blast happened.

A hand made its way into hers, pulling her back, shielding her from the sight before her. She looked up amidst the smoke and the mist, her face remaining straight.

Her mother told her never to smile at strangers.

Alex woke with a start, letting out a loud scream before she quieted, realising where she was. The room was dark, the now familiar-surroundings making themselves known in shadows. Her heart was hammering against her chest uncomfortably and there were tears in her eyes as she recalled both dreams, or rather memories.

Both were places that she knew, days that she had lived, even though they were only a couple of years apart at most.

She cried as silently as she was able, wiping the tears upon the sheets that covered her.

How could it be possible that she had lived two lives at almost the same time?

His kingdom invaded. His team reduced to working on cases that were frankly an insult to their abilities. It made him feel like shit, and he had already sunk to an all-time low.

He could easily choose to stay where he was, beneath the rock-bottom, and wallow, continuing to torment himself in wondering how it had come to this. The once-proud lion slain, waiting for the vultures to descend.

From somewhere, some unknown depth within himself, he sheltered a flicker of a flame, emerging from the refuge of his office to be amongst them. He was their leader, still, and he had to show himself as such, making a display with head and shoulders back, standing firm. Armour in place, even if the steel felt less than impenetrable, as though it could crumble to ashes at any given second.

His Royal bloody Highness deigned only to visit for as long as was necessary, no more than a minute at most as he waited to escort his next subject of interrogation. Gene tried to avoid looking directly at him, like that myth about the sun, but there was the occasion where he would catch the other DCI's gaze through those specs of his, and he'd feel his blood run cold in that split second, his heart seizing up in a way that made him panic. And nothin' makes the Gene-Genie panic.

"It's alright, Guv," Skelton's voice shook him from his stupor; he cast his eyes to where the DC sat in front of him. "Shaz won't say anythin' to land you in it. She's good at keepin' 'er cool. I've been learning' stuff from 'er."

Gene nodded solemnly, still finding it bizarre that they were in this position. The police under investigation. Where was Sonny Jim when all hell was breaking loose at Fenchurch West?

"That sly bastard," Carling chimed in, referring without name to DI Parker, "and to think I bloody liked 'im."

"We all make mistakes," Gene uttered, uncertain whether he was talking about Ray or himself, " 'e'll be cleanin' my boots as well as the bogs for the next year, so don't think 'e's got away scot-free."

Ray scoffed loudly before he sparked up. "That's gettin' off lightly in my book. If it were up to me, 'e'd be strung up faster than you can say 'misconduct'."

Several others looked over as his voice got louder and he mimed with his free hand. Gene swiftly fixed him with a warning look.

"Raymondo," he said, low and only slightly menacing, "we'll 'ave a united front in 'ere. The last thing Keats needs is to see us after each other. It'll only add fuel to his bloody bonfire."

Ray nodded ruefully, relaxing back into his chair and taking a long drag on his cigarette, the ashtray at his elbow overflowing.

"It'll be alright, Guv," Chris echoed himself, looking earnest and truly believing. "Nothin' can touch us. Try as 'e might, 'e won't break us. Not with the Manc Lion in charge."

The others added a quiet chorus of 'hear, hear' to DC Skelton's valiant cry, and he was temporarily buoyed. He patted a hand against Chris's shoulder before he moved back to the centre of the room, at a loss to do anything except stand and wait.

Fuck knows where Parker had got to.

"Guv," Viv poked his head around the door of CID, "phone for you."

He made his way to the front desk, nodding his thanks to the skipper as he took the receiver from his hand. "Hunt."

The caller spoke so fast and frenzied that he could barely make out what they were saying, but he recognised the voice instantly. 'Turbo' Tommy Fletcher, one of his most reliable snouts that had been on side ever since they nabbed him for petty theft the first week of arriving in this godforsaken place.

"Alright, keep yer 'air on," Gene muttered into the receiver, "and lower your bloody voice. Almost everyone can 'ear you through the phone. Now, go through that again because I didn't catch more than two words."

Turbo did as instructed, repeating himself slower though Gene could detect the energy that ticked in his tone.

"I knew it was 'is face. Hung about for an afternoon, followed 'im to this big warehouse. Kipped outside so I could see the comin' and goin'. Got a kick in the mornin' and I'd know that boot in me jacksy anywhere."

"You got any solid evidence?" he questioned.

"No," Turbo replied, and Gene's heart sank, "but I can 'ang around. I've got nothin' better to do. It's 'im, though. I'd bet me life on it. And bombs? It all adds up."

Gene pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, I'm not a bloody mind-reader. I need the bloke's name if I'm gunna do anythin' about it."

Turbo's deep breath echoed down the line into his ear. "Layton. Arthur Layton."

Silence reigned as Gene processed the information, lights starting to glow in his mind. Parker and that scrap of paper. Speeding on a boat up the Thames with a machine gun in his hand. Standing in a prison interview room.

He'd been let out since then, he remembered.

"Alright, Boss?" Turbo's voice cut through the cavalcade. "Can I get the two hundred now? I'm desperate."

Gene nodded to himself. "Good job. Meet me at the Crown and Anchor, seven. And Turbo? There'll be more than two hundred in it for yer if you can keep an eye on 'im."

The room was fairly standard, blank walls in muted tones but at least twice the size of hers. Having been escorted especially, Alex sat now in the chair that faced the therapist, pulling the sleeves of her robe past her hands in a nervous gesture.

She started to doubt herself now that she was here. If the roles were reversed and she was treating a patient she would vocally encourage the use of talking therapy, especially for someone suffering amnesia. The woman, roughly in her early forties, smiled gently at her, let the silence around them soften. It was meant to be comforting, Alex was sure, but instead the non-verbal communication – the stares and smiles – unnerved her.

Perhaps she already knows. The fact that I'm going mad, or at least I must be, to be even thinking like this.

She wanted nothing more to dart from the room in that moment, run all the way back to safety if her legs could carry her that far. But when she got back, what would she do? Sit in a different chair or lie in her bed, attempting to analyse herself in what was an impossible task, down to the fact that nothing made logical sense?

"Alex," the therapist finally spoke, her name sounding strange as she heard it aimed at her. "I believe that you're familiar with this."

She smiled weakly, nodding her head.

If only she could figure things out on her own. She'd clearly forgotten most of her life's learning, along with her whole sense of self.

"I want you to know that you are taking a very significant step forward by asking to see me. And also that there are absolutely no obligations. There is no rush for you to think or feel anything."

That's easy for you to say.

"Thank you," Alex responded.

The therapist had her hands in her lap, another easy smile on her face. "Where would you like to start?"

"May I...?" Alex gestured to the glass of the water on the table that lay between them.

"Please."

She limited herself to taking small sips rather than gulping down. It didn't really make sense but she did always feel better for drinking water, it was almost like breathing. Or at least remembering to.

"I understand that emerging from a coma...I understand that one might have difficulty adjusting to the real world."

She could hear herself talking as if she were the therapist, divorcing herself from what she was feeling. Referring to herself as an outsider. This was defeating the whole point.

"A sense of dislocation is natural," the therapist replied, "in your situation, even more so. Do you feel like the world around you is not real?"

"I...I don't know," she answered honestly.

She didn't have much to back up her theory, yet at the same time there was nothing to dismiss it. All she had seen since waking were the same four walls. It was something of a miracle that Mr Gerrard had even allowed her out of her room to come here, somewhere in the same building.

"I've been dreaming," she continued, getting closer to the crux of the matter, "vividly so. When I wake it feels like I've been...ripped away. Taken somewhere else."

"Here?"

She nodded.

"Do these dreams feel more like the real world?"

"I think so," Alex said, a little hesitantly. "I feel...more real in them. More like myself."

"Can you tell me more about one of these dreams?"

She frowned, looking down at her hands which were now uncovered, resting in her lap. Mirroring that of the woman that sat opposite. "There are so many, I don't know if I can single one out. They mix together."

The jumble of images crowded her mind, each with separate and distinct details that called out to her.

"Just tell me anything you can."

"I'm with Gene...my husband." Her attention was caught by the ring on her left hand, the faint age spots that blemished her skin. It still felt so strange to see the marks of time and comprehend them as real. "And we're working together...I dreamt of our wedding day, how hot it was. The ridiculous fact that I wore a fur coat for part of the day. I'm sorry..."

She broke off as the tears surged to her throat, bringing her sleeve to her eye.

"Take your time," the therapist said soothingly, offering out the box of tissues. "There's no need to rush at all."

Alex dabbed at her face with the tissue she had taken, gathering herself.

"But I also dream about a girl, about eight or nine, in the very early '80s."

She could see the girl in her mind's eye now, wearing a school uniform and holding onto a red balloon.

"And do you know this girl?"

Alex nodded once more, her eyes glazing. "I don't just know her...I am her. I've lived her life."

I am her. She thought that more and more, even with the dreams of herself with Gene. As yet she had not dreamt of Molly once.

"Can you tell me more about her?" the therapist pressed a little more, somewhat contrary to her previous assertions.

"She's an only child, she doesn't have a sister. Or didn't...her mother and father died, at the same time. There was a bomb in their car and it killed them both." This was the detail that felt real to her, the things that she could identify with. "Her godfather became her parent. And her name is Alex. Alex Price."

The woman wore a tight-lipped smile. "You are Alex. You have a daughter who is an only child. Her mother and father had their car blown up by a bomb."

Her mind had been cleaved in two. One half of it agreeing with all that was being said, the facts as they were stated. The other half dismissing them completely as untrue, a mere fabrication. Designed to...do what? Mess with her already fragile state of being? Try to convince her that her life had been different all along?

"You are Alex Hunt," the therapist said, staring straight towards her. "You were Alex Drake."

She could feel herself hesitating, wanting to argue otherwise. But Drake was Pete's name. I was Alex Price.

I still am.

"Your brain is working overtime, piecing fragments together. It's normal to get some of the details confused. Really, I would be surprised if you didn't." She smiled more naturally again. "You have been through a tremendous, life-altering event. You are doing incredibly well to be where you are now."

Alex remained silent, mulling the words over. Doubting herself again, whoever she happened to be.

"The mind's an amazing organ. It's capable of far more than you'd imagine."

A memory charged towards her.

"I've got an amazin' organ."

The therapist tipped her head as Alex stuttered out a laugh.

"Sorry," she explained, "I was just remembering something Gene said once."

"There's the proof that yours is working very well," the therapist replied, smiling reassuringly. "Time is the key, Alex. You want to rush ahead, remember everything at once. But things will come back to you gradually. My door is open if you want to talk again, but I think that you're more than capable of solving this by yourself."

She felt disconsolation on leaving the room, being taken out in the wheelchair. On one level she was able to understand what she had been told. She could recognise the advice as something she would dispose to others. Yet she didn't just want the answers. She needed them to know who she was, and how she could resolve the hopeless situation she was currently in.

The corridor seemed unending, various signs pointing to different wards and departments. She was wheeled along, partly against her own free will. The sign denoting the Intensive Care Unit was in the opposite direction to where she was being taken, and she wanted to shout out, turn the damn chair around herself and follow the path along there.

"It's alright, Ma'am," the familiar voice came from behind her, came from the person who was pushing her along, "you don't 'ave to worry, the Guv's fine. We're lookin' after 'im. You can trust us."

Her heart felt as though it had frozen in her chest.

Chris?

She swivelled her head as they stopped to wait for the lift to arrive at their floor, her face in just as much confusion as that of the young porter who confronted her.

"You okay, Mrs?"

His voice had a similar Mancunian twang but otherwise he was nothing like Chris. Of course he wasn't.

"Yes," she said with a shake in her voice, bringing one hand to her temple, "just tired, that's all."

The lift dinged, the red down arrow flashing on and off.

"Best get you back, then. It'll be two ticks."

Back. The word reverberated in her mind.

To where, exactly?

He was up with the lark again, having barely slept, the cogs of his brain working overtime. Turbo hadn't really given much but he'd promised to keep a look-out, and it was worth giving over the money to have the name. That name in particular.

Layton's face was in the back of his mind, wide eyes and sneering mouth. Daylight by the dockside replaced by the dankness of a prison cell but the same wild look remained. He'd dismissed him at first, thinking him nothing more than another druggie with ideas above his station.

Thoughts occupied, he went into the station like second nature, not particularly looking where he was going; he didn't need to. It was only when a figure moved out of the shadows that he took notice.

"Christ!" he exclaimed, registering Keats' face, the glow from the single desk-lamp that was switched on glinting on the glass of his spectacles.

"Sorry, DCI Hunt. Didn't mean to startle you. Though I didn't have you down as an early bird." He moved his mouth into one of those weird not-quite-smiles of his. "Or maybe you're just as eager for our appointment as I am."

"Oh yeah," Gene retorted, "like bloody Christmas Eve. Couldn't sleep for the excitement."

Keats nodded, his expression giving nothing away. "No time like the present, I'd say. Unless you've got business to attend to?"

Gene shrugged. Better to get it over and done with. "Nothin' that can't wait."

"Splendid. I've left my notes in my office, so if you wouldn't mind?"

Gene grunted his agreement, following Keats' precise footsteps as he led the way down a series of steps to a little room in the basement. He hadn't even been aware that anything existed down here, aside from maybe a few rats scurrying around.

"Hellfire, it's like the bleedin' Sahara in 'ere," Gene muttered, overwhelmed with the heat in the small office. " 'ow d'you cope?"

"I've always felt the cold terribly. I think I might have a condition, what is it...Raynaud's disease."

Gene shuffled on his feet, loosening his tie and not really paying attention to whatever it was he was going on about.

"I can turn it down if you'd rather?"

"Nah, I'll get used to it." He didn't plan on sticking around for too long anyway.

He took the seat at the other side of Keats' desk, watching as the other man flicked through the notepad in front of him, studying certain pages for a while before leaning back in his chair, apparently deep in thought.

He could 'ave at least done all this pissin' about before draggin' me in 'ere.

"Well, it's certainly been an interesting few days," Keats piped up eventually, looking up from his notes. "I feel like I know Fenchurch East and its officers inside out. Lots and lots of important information."

Which he was going to tell Gene precisely zilch about.

"I will say one thing that has been a common thread."

Gene's ears pricked up, not expecting the other DCI to reveal anything.

"Your officers are a loyal bunch. Unfailingly so." The pages of the pad made a riffling sound as Keats skimmed his thumb over them. "I pressed and pressed but they didn't crack. You've trained them well, shepherd."

"Not all of them," Gene pointed out, "one went to you in the first place."

"Ah, Detective Inspector Parker. The new boy in town. I think you've underestimated him somewhat."

He frowned as Keats' lips quirked upwards.

"I admit, I did think he was going to be the key. But as it turns out, he didn't have a bad word to say about you. Said that it was his fault and he had jumped to the wrong conclusion."

"What?" Gene was taken aback at what he was hearing. If this is some kind of game...

He leaned over the desk to sneak a look at the open pad, but Keats swiftly closed it, covering it with his hand.

"He seems to want to do good by you, make himself worthy enough for a gold star. You seem to have an effect on them all, Gene."

He bristled at that, not liking how this virtual stranger saw fit to call him by anything other than his full title.

"I was a little bit lost in seeing it but having you here, up close," his spectacled face came nearer over the desk, leaning further even as Gene pushed back into his own seat, "well, I think I'm starting to fall under the spell as well."

"Whatever's goin' through your 'ead, not that I particularly want to know, I'm not that way inclined," he made it crystal clear, arms folding defensively against his chest, "I don't care about it 'ere that much."

If it was Manchester, then maybe. It'd have to be a hand-job though. Nothing more involved.

A strange sound filled the room. Keats was laughing, though Gene had never heard laughter like it.

"Don't worry. You're not my type, either."

He stopped his hysterics, shifting in his seat and returning to his infuriating pondering.

"You see, this puts me in a difficult position," he said, standing up. "I have a job to do, just like you. The claims have been stacking up for years. Intimidation, brutality. There are big hulking blokes in prison who are reduced to gibbering wrecks at the mere mention of your name. Accomplices who've been left permanently injured thanks to what you've done to them in custody, not because of any retribution that has come from the lynchpins they work for."

"Their word against mine," Gene replied, keeping his poker face in place, "not much you can do without evidence."

"Very true," Keats agreed, pacing the floor behind where Gene sat. "But it's funny, isn't it? People have a tendency to dig their own graves."

Breath lingered next to his ear, the sensation uncomfortable enough to make him squirm in his seat.

"Wherever there's one snout of yours, another one isn't far behind. I know you've been looking into the Brokeborough's case."

Gene put a hand to his face, sighing. Stupid bastard. Though he should have been better at covering his tracks, he didn't feel any regret.

"I just expected more of a challenge from you," Keats mused, leaving words hanging suspended in the air. "You're quick enough to teach your flock, but you don't learn anything from them in comparison. And they've got so much to offer. DI Parker. DI Tyler."

Gene closed his eyes, his face still shielded from Keats' scrutiny. Hearing the two names in such close proximity felt unnatural. As if Dozy could ever hold a candle to Sam. The relationship would never compare. Anyway he had learned from Tyler. Too bloody much, and stuff that doesn't do me any good.

"And of course, I'm missing out the most obvious," Keats went on, his voice shifting lower, "even though it all got a bit unprofessional in the end. Perils of having a female DI, eh? Or perhaps I should term them benefits, instead. Oh, it might have been so different if DI Alex Drake was a bloke. Unless you would have turned. We can never know what would have happened."

He'd stopped listening after her name had been mentioned, a sickening shiver running through him to hear it come from that tosser's lips.

"What do you know?" Gene said, almost under his breath.

Keats went on, spouting some nonsense he couldn't make head nor tail of. Quick as a flash Gene jumped up, swivelled round and slammed the other DCI against the wall.

"Tell me what you know!" he demanded, heart hammering in his chest at the mention of Bolly.

"Temper, temper," Keats managed to say, half-laughing as he wrested free from Gene's grasp, adjusting his collar. "This is precisely what lands you in trouble."

Gene stepped back, the palms of his hands surging with heat where they'd been upon Keats. The world was out of focus, tipped upside down, as was always the case whenever someone other than himself acknowledged Bolly's existence.

"You should see the look on your face," Keats taunted, "if I'd have known this was what it was going to take I should have let you in on it all along."

He felt defenceless, powerless to fight back as the other man turned round him in circles.

"I'm not even sure how it's supposed to work. That whole 'being from the future' business. But then I've never been all that scientific. I get the feeling you're not into it either."

"Yeah, well I'm not after a lesson," Gene recovered the power of speech, getting mightily pissed off with Keats' tendency to string things out. "I just want to know why the bloody hell she vanished into thin air. If you know somethin' and you don't spit it out, I swear that I won't be responsible for my actions."

He clenched his fists in preparation.

"Alright, alright," Keats held his hands up, "but I don't know if you're going to want to hear it. Maybe it's better if you sit down."

"I'm fine and dandy where I am, thanks."

"Fair enough. I assume she told you that she was shot? Awful business. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Never really had luck on her side," he paused to smile, "until she met you, that is. And that could never work, could it? Seeing as you're from here and she's from there...this is making my head start to hurt, I don't know how you made sense of it...and of course, there's the fact that she's got a daughter as well. That just makes it completely impossible."

The ache in his heart would never go away. The love of his life, and it was never meant to work out. It didn't mean that the feelings he had for her were any less, though he'd spend the rest of his existence trying to explain it to himself.

"Anyway, she was shot and went into a coma. The doctors worked tirelessly, thinking of little Molly missing her mum, and Alex herself fought and fought. You know better than most that she's a tough cookie. Never taking no for an answer. She wasn't going to give up, always determined to get back to Molly. And then, what do you know? She only went and did it. She woke up."

Relief flooded through his veins. Even if he'd spend his life being miserable it was a consolation for Bolly to be able to live hers.

"All those smiling faces. Such a happy ending. Like a fairytale, really."

The pregnant pause gave him cause for concern. He could never really tell with Keats, whether there was something more or whether it was all for dramatic effect.

"But then, fairytales aren't real," Keats exhaled with a sigh. Gene felt his heart plummet. "Are you sure you don't want to sit down? Some scotch?"

He shook his head, knowing what was coming before the other man had to say it.

"Things can happen without anyone being aware. Consequences; there are no reasons. There was a clot in her brain from the shot. Nobody had discovered it because they were so focused on curing the infection she'd got. Two days after she came round it bled out, and she died."

"No," the word left him instantaneously as he sank to his knees.

It can't be true. Bolly. No...

"Awful, just awful. Thirty five, no age at all. At least she got to see Molly again before she went, the one saving grace."

Silence roared against his ears, everything turning to ashes. He couldn't come to terms with it; it would take him years to even begin. How was it fair that could happen, giving someone who deserved it – who deserved the whole world – a second chance and then snatching it away, calling it a mistake? It just confirmed what he had thought all along; that life was a pile of shit, at least for those who fought the hardest battles.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, dragged his head from where it lolled. Keats was crouching on the floor in front of him, eyes smiling at him as he was there, defeated.

"I know you're grieving. I didn't want for you to find out like this." His sudden caring nature was completely at odds with minutes before, when he'd been goading him to rage. "And of course it makes me feel worse, because I don't want to be the one to take the last thing you've got away from you. My job is to discipline, not break people completely."

All Gene could do was stare at the other man, feeling drained of any energy he had left.

"I shouldn't even be thinking about doing this," Keats chewed at his lip, "my boss is going to have my balls on a silver platter if he finds out. But I can keep things quiet if you can. Think of it as a first warning."

His smile grew wider as he took his hand from Gene's shoulder and instead extended it towards him. The shock held him frozen as well as the natural suspicion he still felt towards Keats. Before he'd been an annoying jobsworth; now he'd always think of him as the one who told him that Bolly was dead.

"One condition, though," he continued, keeping his hand in the space between them. "I've always been a proponent of the grass being greener on the other side. Of course, the team is great as it is, but it never hurts to have a bit of extra help, does it? One case. Give me a chance to see how the Gene-Genie operates where he's best. I'm sure I can learn a thing or two."

He didn't see a way out, even if he really wanted to tell him in no unclear terms to piss off.

"And if anyone has a chance at changing things, well...I don't see any other man for the job."

It seemed to happen in slow-motion, at least for Gene. No sooner had he reached his hand tentatively, still on the edge of making a decision, than Keats grasped it tightly. Smiling, or not quite.

"We have a deal, then."

A/N: The things the broken heart will do...