Chapter 19

Alex groaned with each step she took, manoeuvring her way back from the bathroom. One hand swiped at her forehead, momentarily wiping away the beads of sweat that had gathered there, while the other rested upon her preposterously distended stomach.

It took her a ridiculous amount of time to clamber back into the bed and she swore, not especially to herself, as she grappled with the almost impossible mechanics of what her body had become. Lying down rather than getting comfortable was the goal; there was little point in striving for that when she'd only have to shift again in the space of thirty seconds or less.

The sheets that covered her were an added inconvenience, a significant one at that. If it wasn't for the man who was stretched out to the left of her, insistent on tugging the blasted things over the both of them, she would have no hesitation in bundling them up and throwing them to the corner of the room.

The sound of his snoring put the top hat on the whole scenario.

"This is all your bloody fault, Hunt," she muttered, the frustration that clawed at her more with each passing second causing hot tears to gather in her eyes. The baby insisted that she move, so she splayed her hand against her stomach, steadying herself as she went from her back onto her hip. Her fist digging against his forearm wasn't entirely accidental. "I've a mind to take out a restraining order so you can never get close enough to let this happen again."

He grunted against the pillow some moments later, Alex musing silently on how unfair it was that he could sleep through the end of the bloody world. She watched his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek and a pout forming on his lips, and hated the wave of intense desire that washed over her. If only someone had informed her in specific detail how moody and simultaneously horny being seven months pregnant would cause her to be she'd have made plans to hibernate.

"Alex...what's up, love?" he groaned in a gravelly voice as he came to, moving against the mattress.

"I'll tell you what's up. I'm sweating so bloody much that it'd make zero difference if I was lying in a furnace right now. And...ow, Jesus Christ!"

To his credit he bolted upright as she exclaimed, his hand shooting out to take hold of her arm.

"Alex," he repeated, concern evident in his tone and his eyes fixed upon her.

She shook her head as a reply to the question before he could pose it, her lips pursing before they curved into a small and fairly delighted smile, masking her previous discontent.

"Your child thinks that my internal organs are kick toys."

In the dim light of the room she could see that his eyes were twinkling.

"Just mine, then?"

"They are when they're keeping me awake at all hours of the day and night."

He grinned, his fingers stroking against the inside of her elbow. "Like father..."

"Stop right there," she murmured, her gaze held by the curve of his mouth, "I'm not in the mood."

That was true at least for the present minute, her emotions flipping back and forth and back again at a rate of knots.

He bent his head to plant a kiss in the crook of her neck, and she couldn't stop her breath from catching in her throat. She was still pleasantly surprised at how tender he could be with her, the softer side that she always suspected was hiding beneath his armour confident enough to emerge when it was just the two of them, in their own home. He shifted back down and she watched him intently as he settled beside her once more, pushing the sheets down past their waists.

"Still can't believe this is happenin'," he said, moving one of his hands to her sizeable bump, "feels like I'm in the middle of some mad dream and I dunno if I'm ever gunna wake up."

"Give it a couple more months, when there's a wailing baby in your arms." The image was one that made her smile, for the right reasons. "I'm willing to bet that it'll feel very real then."

His eyes smiled at her, his hand rubbing soothingly over her swollen stomach. She could feel the fluttering movements within her, their child reacting eagerly to Gene's touch. She would have been thoroughly pissed off at what he was causing if her heart wasn't bouncing with joy. If he thought that this would never happen in a thousand years for him, then she had been even more doubtful.

It just went to show that you couldn't predict the future, no matter how convinced you thought you were.

"Are you scared?" she asked him quietly, hopeful that he would share the fears that she still held, even though she was far along enough now for everything to be fine – at least she hoped.

"Scared?" he echoed her, his gaze dropping to just above her chest, heaving steadily with her breathing. "Try bleedin' petrified. But I can't wait, either. It'll be the start of somethin' good, Bols."

"Mmm," she replied, absent-mindedly bringing her hand to the nape of his neck, feeling the need to be touching him too.

She wasn't sure what was going to happen once July had come and gone. There was a lot they hadn't discussed yet, including the matter of her returning to work. She didn't see herself staying at home for longer than a year at most, but then working around Gene might prove to be problematic; since they had discovered that she was pregnant he hadn't let her go more than a metre out of his sight. She almost didn't want to think about how overprotective he was going to become. Yet at the same time it would be strange to consider working in another department or a new force entirely. They were Bolly and the Guv; there couldn't be one without the other.

So much to think about, but now wasn't the time to dwell upon it.

"Oh, for God's sake," she huffed, turning onto her opposite side. If she got much bigger in the next two months then he'd have no choice but to move downstairs onto the sofa.

"Is there anythin' I can do, love?"

She shook her head upon the pillow, craning her neck to at least catch a glimpse of him. "Not unless you can make time go faster."

"Not quite in me power, I'm afraid," he murmured against her neck, moulding his body to her back and draping a leg across hers. "Try and get some shut-eye. I'll be right 'ere if you or Junior need anythin'."

"I know," she smiled, letting her eyes drift closed in an optimistic gesture. "Thank you."

She wasn't sure whether it was Gene's presence being so close – literally pressed against her – but it seemed to have a calming effect on the baby, which allowed her to feel similarly at ease. The feeling was one that she was not going to take for granted.

"Love yer, Alex," he said into her ear as she was on the edge of sleep, his hand landing back upon her stomach, "the both of yer."

The team was back in business and that was all he cared about. Granted, it took them a bit of time to come round to having Keats on board. He wasn't exactly a natural fit, not with his nit-picking and steadfast adherence to every rule in the book to its last letter. They had to watch their backs around him, never quite sure if he was going to grass them up for the slightest digression. He was quiet as a mouse, though; hanging to the back and letting them get on with things. Suspiciously uninvolved, or maybe it was that he wanted to keep his hands clean. A watcher rather than a doer.

Gene felt Keats watching him, those beady eyes burning holes in his back, never letting him off the hook even when they were off-duty. He frequently wondered whether there was more on Jimbo's mind than just being involved in a case and being one of the gang. The last few months had taught him a painful lesson, badges and warrant cards far from guaranteeing solidarity. And Keats was from the other side of it all, not one of his kind. He didn't know how far he could trust him, if he really could at all. At least he had made it clear that he was going to be the only DCI in the division and to his surprise the other man hadn't argued, content to take a temporary demotion in the time he would be spending amongst CID.

But the fact of it all was that he didn't give a rat's todger about Keats and his motives. He was back doing what he was meant to, making tracks on the nutter who had a fixation with blowing things to smithereens.

He was going to make a difference and nothing – from the inside or out – was going to get in his way.

"The boys at Fenchurch West 'ave done a decent enough job of keepin' the seat warm on this case, but it's time for the men to take over again," he stood tall, filled with a renewed sense of drive and purpose as he addressed the room. "Well, Shaz an' all."

"Thanks, Guv," Shaz chirruped from her spot to the side of Chris's desk.

"DCI Norris will be bringin' over the suspect they've already nabbed any time now, and myself, DI Parker and DI Keats will be havin' a few words with the scumbag. Doesn't mean we can rest on our laurels, though. Ray, Chris, Poirot and Terry, I want you out scoping the streets. There's a number of sites that have been identified as other potential targets for bombings and I'm countin' on you to see what's what."

"Will do, Guv," Ray uttered, tipping his head in acknowledgement.

"The rest of you, there's a stack of files to get yer heads into. Intelligence, prospective leads if this one falls flat on its arse. I want no stone to be left unturned on nailing this. We've wasted enough time as it is."

He stopped himself from looking pointedly at Keats, who had taken up residence at the back of the room.

"We can get this bastard, and wrap everythin' up so that there's still time for a three-course slap-up meal at Luigi's. Do you copy?"

"Yes, Guv!" the majority of CID chorused as one, with a notable exception.

He nodded at the reply he had hoped for. "Let's get on with it then."

The various members of the team dispersed to what they had been assigned to, leaving him temporarily at a loss. As she often did when he felt this way, Bolly came charging from the back of his mind. He hadn't decided whether her presence at these times was a comfort or hindrance.

You're doing brilliantly, Gene.

Before he could answer her voice in his head and make himself seem like a prize wally Chris bounded up to him, a smile that was too wide upon his face.

"Don't worry, Guv. Between us we'll get the job done."

"Do I look worried to you, Christopher?"

"Er, no," the DS stumbled over his words, "just a figure of speech, innit?"

Gene nodded in response, pulling a hand out of his pocket to tap Skelton briefly on the shoulder. "You come across anythin' of significance then call me. Doesn't matter what else I'm doin'. Even if I've been in the bog for 'alf an 'our."

This case was more important than anything.

Almost more important.

"Gotcha, Guv."

He had just enough time to down a couple of measures of scotch in the privacy of his office before Parker knocked on the door. He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, letting out a huff of discontent. It wasn't Parker's fault he felt like shit. It wasn't anyone's fault except his own. He took another glug, pinching the bridge of his nose before he bid the DI to enter.

"Norris is at front desk, Guv. He's deposited the suspect in Room 1."

"Good. You get Keats's head out of 'is notebook and I'll go for a slash. I'll meet you both in there."

He kept his cool until he got to the gents, barricading his way into a cubicle and sitting down on the closed seat, rubbing his hands over his face. Bolly had deserted him and instead he had to listen to his own voice telling him that he was being a right pansy, alongside the voice of Keats mocking him, telling him that he was less the shepherd than a sheep.

Well, I'll show you, matey.

Building himself back up he exited, meeting Parker and the cause of some of his mental torment outside the interview room.

"Ready, then?"

"As we'll ever be, Guv," Parker responded, while Keats gave a simple nod of the head.

They stepped to their respective sides to allow Gene to enter first.

"Right, what kind of scum do we 'ave 'ere..."

He was pulled up short when his eyes met those of a familiar face. Evan White.

"DCI Hunt," White stood up, "I thought we might meet again under better circumstances."

"I'll say." He took his gaze away from the lawyer, shaking off the paralysis that had temporarily affected him. The second face just as familiar, once he got past the shorn hair. "'ello again, Arthur."

It was so good to feel the natural warmth of the sun on her face, beyond that to breathe in air that was fresh. She found herself luxuriating in the simple pleasures, not thinking about how absurd it might be to get such inordinate joy from them. There had been an unbroken spell of actual summer weather, Molly had informed her, and her ever-determined daughter had made it her mission to take them on an expedition; at least as far as the garden just outside the hospital doors that had been set up for patients and cultivated by those who were further along in their recovery.

It was another fine day, identical to those that had preceded it, and so Molly had wheeled her from the ward and many various corridors outside, being conscious not to waste too much of visiting time on the journey. Alex focused hard on the pleasant breeze in her hair and the scents of the flowers that surrounded them, instead of her embarrassment at being not much better than an invalid.

She felt that it was wrong of her to complain, albeit it silently; this was a vast improvement on all of the previous days she had spent, being confined and closely monitored, without actually being told anything about how her condition was progressing. Yet she couldn't keep her heart quiet. She wanted to be home, wherever that was nowadays. Sitting in her own garden – she was quite sure that she had one, even if it wasn't as big as she would desire – feeling at peace. Just feeling...right.

At home.

Whenever she pictured it in her mind it looked terribly outdated, all of the decor putting her vividly in the '80s and early '90s. Surely they would have redecorated since then; she would have insisted upon it. Then again, her husband was a creature of habit and incredibly stubborn to boot.

"Have I been a good mother?"

Her question broke the serene silence that was otherwise only punctuated by birdsong. It was a dark shadow cast upon her thoughts, a wound growing wider within her chest. It caused her incredible grief that there was so much about Molly's existence that had been wiped clean from her mind and memory, her role as a mother being played by someone else that she could barely remember, an impostor.

The dreams that she had been having in the past week had all centred around motherhood, and briefly it had been a great relief to know that she hadn't blocked out that part of herself completely. The feeling hadn't lasted long, more often than not causing her to wake in turmoil and racked with guilt. Every circumstance that her subconscious presented her with cast her in an unforgiving light. She was either heavily pregnant and in a foul mood about it, complaining about discomfort and not being able to do anything, or otherwise she was angry at Molly – who never seemed to be more than eight or nine years old – shouting at the top of her voice and telling her how naughty she was, not stopping even while Molly was crying.

In every dream she was utterly horrible, and after each one she hated herself. She couldn't have possibly been so cruel, could she? The trouble was that she could not trust her own mind to tell her the truth. The logical part of her brain told her that she was amplifying her deepest fears, the kind that were for the most part irrational. Without Gene to tell her otherwise, she had no proof.

Molly took hold of her hand, aside from the thumb, and squeezed it with her own fingers. "Mum," she said in a voice that was only very slightly shaking, and Alex fervently hoped that she was right in predicting that it was down to a rush of emotion and nothing more sinister, "you're the best. You always have been."

She felt somewhat placated, and intensely foolish at the same time, even if the doubts and taunting voices were still niggling at the back of her head.

What else is she going to say? She doesn't know any different.

She smiled at her daughter through her persisting fear. "I'm sorry, Molls. I don't...that is, I can't..."

Her words faltered and fizzled out upon her tongue, frustration welling up anew. She wouldn't put Molly through any further pain by detailing her dreams, and in the absence of knowing quite what to say she clasped her fingers tight around those of her daughter's.

"I can't really remember my parents. Even before this. I mean, I know I loved them, but if someone asked me about the things that they did, for me, I wouldn't be able to pick out anything in particular."

The agony of loss, a pain that never leaves you, only ever becomes dull with the passing of time to bloom up again in moments of correlation, becoming all the harder to bear.

"So I didn't have a lot to go on. I was always making it up as I went along."

You deserved more.

Molly's smile was tempered, but Alex could tell that it was on her behalf.

"Well, you did an amazing job. In all my life, I've never wanted for anything. That doesn't sound the way I want it to..."

She lowered her head for a moment or two, dropping her gaze into her lap. From this angle her resemblance to Gene was striking. Alex had never noticed the likeness so intensely, and she felt a pang in the centre of her chest.

"I'm not talking about material things," she clarified the meaning of her previous statement, looking Alex in the eyes once more, "I've always felt so much love, and felt so lucky. So many of my friends and people I know have had their parents split up, and obviously that doesn't mean that their love is any the less, but I could never imagine being in their position, not for one second."

She took a deep breath before she continued, Alex observing her daughter closely. "I suppose it sounds a bit silly, given that I'm nearly in my mid-twenties and all. But I'd never be ashamed to say it, because it's the truth. You and Dad are my entire world, and I don't think I could be luckier than to have the both of you as my Mum and Dad."

"Oh, Molls. You don't know what that means to me."

The events of two days ago were still fresh in her mind, Molly practically barrelling through the door of her room and rushing over to her bed to engulf her in a hug as soon as the early visiting hour began. Her heart had dared to hope, a little prematurely, but her hopes were confirmed when their daughter whispered into her ear. He's awake. Dad's awake.

Mr Gerrard and the other specialists remained silent throughout the day. If it had not been for Molly she would have been none the wiser about Gene's condition. It was only when one nurse let word slip did she know anything officially. The anger she felt at being denied knowledge of her own husband did not overthrow her joy that he was conscious and fighting.

She was being classified as still too fragile to see him, which made very little sense to her. It almost seemed like they were hell-bent on delaying the recovery of them both. Molly had a plan, just as she had to get her mother out from the confines of the four walls. Alex was already sick with nerves at the thought of seeing him again, not at the thought of being caught and sanctioned.

She was also counting down the minutes, never mind the hours.

Holding onto Molly's hand, she closed her eyes and stretched her face skyward, immeasurably thankful for the smallest as well as the most significant of blessings.

It was going on for an hour now; the five of them stuck in that room that felt ten times too small, and with each minute that passed Gene could have sworn that the walls were closing further in. Parker was putting his questions forth with a level of calm and composure that he had long since surrendered; it was entirely fair to say that he was a hair's breadth away from losing his rag completely, watching as that slimy, smug little bastard sat there and gave them sod all.

"This is the abandoned warehouse just off Berry Street. Frequented by a number of criminals that come and go as they please, and believe that they're undercover. We've heard that you paid a visit there just recently." Parker paused as he allowed Layton to take the photograph he held. "Does it look familiar?"

Gene watched as Layton's mouth twitched slightly, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye. The scumbag looked at the photograph from every possible angle, gave it a good deal of consideration. The eventual answer he gave hardly came as any great surprise; Gene could have said the same two words himself and saved them all a couple of minutes wasted time.

"No comment."

That was the straw that broke the lion's patience.

He left no time for the DI to grab him by the tail of his jacket, hauling him back over the other side of the table.

"If you say that one more time I'm gunna stick one of my size nines squarely up your arse, then I'll bet you'll 'ave some comment to make!"

Layton made no response except to smirk slyly, which only sought to further rile Gene.

"My client is perfectly within his rights to make no comment upon these claims, which I have to say are flimsy at best."

Now Parker was pulling him back with a tentative hand, and he was too concerned with looking at Evan White to do anything to resist. He had some nerve, trying to make excuses for that pathetic piece of crap. Wasn't he supposed to be on the side of the good guys, especially with everything that had happened?

The lawyer remained unflappable, oblivious to Gene's ire. "As far as I can tell all of the 'evidence' that is meant to condemn my client is based upon conjecture and allegation, from less than reliable sources." He seemed to make a point of looking at Gene in particular on mentioning said sources. "Until you can present something of more substance then I would suggest that my client is granted the freedom which he is well-entitled to. We all have places we'd rather be right now dealing with matters of much more importance, I'm sure."

Christ, I'd like nothin' more to smack the look straight off his self-assured face.

"We take your point," Parker answered before Gene could interject with a more choice remark, nodding sagely at White before turning attention back to Layton. "There is nothing to imply that you planted the bomb at Brokeborough's. Nothing even to say that you built it. But the system is so complex that there must have been some intervention from you, even if it was in the very initial stages. Someone in your position has access to a lot of specialist knowledge. Valuable information."

"God give me strength," Gene muttered, "don't try and bloody butter 'im up."

"If you co-operate with us now, tell us who was responsible, then things will be much better for you further down the line."

Parker's words were achingly familiar; if he closed his eyes and listened to the voice that so often resounded in his head, then Bolly herself could have been in the room instead.

Layton shrugged his shoulders, leant back in his seat.

"This isn't getting anywhere fast," White piped up, "I need to be at the train station by six o'clock. May I suggest we return to this tomorrow, if there is anything else to go over?"

Gene felt Parker's eyes upon him, drained of their hope for the day. As much as he loathed being dictated to – and especially by someone who wasn't even in the force – he reluctantly agreed. Perhaps Ray, Chris or one of the team would unearth something by the time tomorrow came.

He couldn't leave Layton without a parting shot, however.

"You might think you're bein' smart, playin' these little games. But I know you had somethin' to do with this." And if they let him go then he'd bet good money that there would be more to follow. He could see the explosions and flames in his mind's eye, smoke everywhere. Screaming. "So you can sleep on it tonight, if your grubby little conscience doesn't keep you up. But then you'd better start talkin', else you'll be in for some extra-special treatment, courtesy of yours truly."

Layton remained sitting and smirking, at least until Evan got to his feet.

"DI Parker, if you could escort Mr Layton back to his cell." He was able to look the slug straight in the eyes for a few seconds longer before Parker took his orders, blood bubbling in his veins.

He waited until he was alone, needing the isolation to regain his composure in the absence of having any booze on him. His instincts had very rarely been wrong and he was convinced that he was right. Layton had told him as much with the way he had reacted. He knew they needed more on him to seal the deal and while he wasn't one for praying at this point in time he was that desperate that he wasn't past sending a few words skywards, if it would help them in nailing the cock-sure bastard.

Five minutes did the trick in bringing his blood pressure to a more acceptable level, exiting the claustrophobic interview room. At the end of the corridor he noticed that White was still hanging about, pouring vending machine coffee into a plastic cup. It was all the restraint he could show not to charge up and throw the stuff all over his posh suit.

"Thought you were in a rush. Wouldn't want you to slum it with us coppers much longer."

White shook his head, not quite meeting Gene's gaze. "It was getting rather uncomfortable in there. I needed to say something. Not to mention that we were somewhat outnumbered."

"I've 'eard it all now. Didn't know you had to become best mates with the no-marks as well." He stepped in closer, boxing the laywer in. If he didn't at least have the decency to look him in the eye like a man then he didn't deserve the basics in return. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Associatin' with Layton and his kind, makin' them feel like they 'ave the bloody right to do whatever the hell they like. You know, that makes you just as guilty as them in my book."

He'd given him warning, told him that he should be doing better. This bloke was Bolly's guardian, the biggest role model she had in her life at a tender age. He supposed that she hadn't turned out bad, so it could have been worse, but it didn't mean that he had to like what White was doing or think that it wasn't plain stupidity. The types he was knocking about with, even if it was on a professional basis – he was just surprised that Bolly hadn't been put in danger sooner.

Now he was looking, even staring back at him, and Gene could see defiance there which he would have had respect for if it had been in any other circumstance.

"I'm not sure that you, of all people, should be lecturing me on how to behave. It's not easy, you know. Do you have any idea what a year's worth of private school fees cost?"

"Funnily enough, no."

A small smile crept onto the lawyer's face. "I'm afraid that ethics have moved down on my list of priorities somewhat, compared to keeping a roof over Alex's head, food on the table and clothes on her back. As long as I'm getting paid well then I don't care if I'm representing Hitler. Of course I don't expect you to understand."

He didn't catch the dig until later on, lying in the dark, alone. You'll never be a father. "At least we're even there."

"I'm not your enemy, Hunt," he went on to say, "I'm fighting for the same things as you are. The trouble is that you see everything in black and white and you won't budge. There's so much space between, so many nuances. Once you realise that then things will start to make more sense."

He was left with little choice but to step away and let White scurry off. Making his way back to CID, and his office in particular, all he could think was that he was nothing like that jumped-up, brown-nosing yuppie.

The much needed peace and quiet he was yearning for was out of his reach for a little while longer, as who else but Jim bloody Keats was waiting for him outside his door.

"DCI Hunt," he said in that simpering voice of his, "may I have a word?"

"If you must," he answered, opening the door to let them both in, "though I'd 'ave preferred it if you would 'ave had a few in the interview room instead."

Thankfully Keats didn't prevent him from getting to the scotch. He poured a measure into another glass but when the other man shook his head to refuse then he knocked it back for himself instead.

"Far be it from me, a humble observer, to tell you how to go about your investigations..."

"Then why do I get the feelin' you're goin' to do precisely that?"

Keats smiled, holding both hands in the air. "You see right through me."

"Well, spit it out, then." He leant back against the end of his desk, unconvinced that Keats had any pearls of wisdom to offer, not after his performance in the interrogation. Gene didn't know why he had bothered getting out of bed and turning up at all.

"I've noticed that you have the tendency to play the bad cop. And if Arthur Layton is anything to go by, I'm not entirely sure that it's the way to go. Not everyone has the instinct to fight back when they're challenged. Specifically not those who know that they're in the wrong."

Gene mulled this bit of information over. "So you're saying I should be a soft touch, and then he'll confess everythin'."

"Not necessarily," Keats replied. "Layton's a tricky one, though not past being broken. Nobody is."

Oh, I've got a few ways to break 'im, alright.

"A new piece of evidence won't hurt, of course, but I think that perhaps a more...considered approach might be worth it, in the long run."

"I think I'm bein' very bloody considerate. Should have thrown 'im out on his arse instead of puttin' 'im back in a nice warm cell." He noticed Keats raising his eyebrows. "Alright, I see what you're sayin'. I 'ave to warn you though, Jimbo, my patience is not famed for being the strongest."

"Oh, I think you do yourself an injustice. You've lasted, what?" He pushed back the sleeve of his suit jacket to take a look at his watch. "Ten days with having me on the team. I'd say you have the makings of a saint."

Despite himself, Gene chuckled. "I'm watchin' you, though. Same as everyone else."

"And I wouldn't expect anything less. I'll leave you to it." He smiled, backing away on his heels. "Unless...you wouldn't mind if I have something, after all? Just to calm my nerves."

Gene relinquished the bottle of scotch from his iron grasp, offering it out.

"Be my guest."

She walked down the corridor with steps that were surprisingly steady, even relatively swift. Such a transformation in no time at all. It was the prospect of seeing Gene again; she could think of no other reason to explain her near-miraculous progress.

She didn't know what she would say first; so many words and phrases were crowding her head, jostling for prime position.

What on earth were you playing at?

I could have lost you, all over again.

I've missed you.

Those three words beat against her ribcage, amplified louder with each step that brought her closer.

She wasn't sure where Molly had got to. She should really wait for her; it would only be right for it to be the three of them, reunited.

To think, I always thought it had to be one or the other.

But then she thought about what Molls would say, what she would want. She could hear her laughter somewhere, could feel her hands pushing her forward.

"You and Dad should be together again."

Just like the old days.

She hesitated when she finally reached the door, feelings overwhelming her. No time to be scared.

There's nothing to be scared of.

Her hand splayed; she pushed it open, meeting no resistance.

Inside it was white, bright. So blindingly bright that her eyes weren't able to focus for longer than a minute. The air felt thin, too.

She could hear the bleeping of a machine, fainter sounds in the distance. Music of some sort, a tune that was familiar but which she couldn't quite make out.

The light in the room dimmed and her sight adjusted, her heart contracting and her pulse rising to her throat when she saw that the bed was empty.

Gene...

He was nowhere.

If he's not here...where is he?

There was a door in the corner of the room and in her frantic need she hurried towards it, opening it to another room with another door, and another, and another. All of them the same, all of them lacking. Lacking the one person that she needed the most.

Finally she came to one that looked more familiar but which she didn't recognise as being her own room. There was a nurse with short dark hair standing in the middle of the floor, clutching a clipboard to her slight frame.

She could have fallen to the floor when the nurse in question turned to face her.

"Shaz?"

"Oh Ma'am, thank god. I thought we'd never see you again."

She rushed forward, and Alex couldn't stop herself from shaking, even as the nurse grabbed her arm.

"It's the Guv. He needs your help. It's really important."

Her eyes were blown wide, her face ashen.

"I don't know what I can do," Alex began to say, baffled and defenceless.

"He doesn't know what he's doing. He's made a deal with the devil himself." She was frenetic, chattering quickly. "You have to come back. Please, Ma'am, everything depends on you."

Fingers digging into her arm, hurting her with the intensity of their grasp.

"I can't...I don't..."

Where are you, Gene?

I can't leave here now...

Her eyes adjusted to darkness, shadows thrown large upon the ceiling.

Shit, I was dreaming.

After the reality sunk back in her breath settled in her chest, the rate of her heart slowing down. It made much more sense; of course it wasn't real. It was nice to see Shaz's face again but otherwise everything was wrong, confused. It was to be expected, she supposed. Her mind was still mixed up, hopping back and forth between times and worlds. She breathed slowly, in and out.

Molly would come back tomorrow – later today, really - at twelve o'clock. That was when she would get to see Gene again. She needed to get back to sleep but thinking of what would soon come to be she wasn't sure whether that would be achievable.

Her stomach hurt faintly and the impulse came quickly. She definitely wasn't going to get back to sleep until she went to the toilet.

In her mind she moved easily, but her body did not comply. Her legs were frozen tight, her arms just the same, as heavy as steel.

It was hard simply to breathe, though somehow she was managing it.

Her head shouted at her.

Get up. Come on, get up!

Her body refused, wasn't able.

I can't.

In her panic her heart began to thud faster, her mind racing, bringing her back to her fevered dream, the blinding light conflicting with the consuming darkness.

Somebody help me. I don't know what's happening.

A/N: I didn't intend to go so long without an update, so apologies. This fic has taken a back-seat for me in the last few months - I think maybe my muse is getting a bit tangled with all of these timelines - but I'm hoping to get back to it sooner rather than later. Immersing myself in '80s music should do the trick...