Chapter 23

Things were going from worse to bloody diabolical. Nicholls had picked a fine time to put in a transfer, and he had considered telling the DI precisely where he could shove it, given that the division was down to its barest bones. Christ, he'd be asking the cleaner whether she had any interest in joining up if the outlook didn't improve soon enough.

He couldn't refuse though, and Nicholls went on his merry way. That was going on four months ago and there hadn't been so much as a whisper from the powers that be about a replacement. Fenchurch East was the black sheep of the Met, at the bottom of the rankings in status if not for incompetence. He didn't know all of the ins and outs, but Gene was certain that they'd been cracking more cases despite their dwindling amount of officers than at least ten other divisions put together.

Something very fishy was going on and he'd make it his business to get to the bottom of it. If the top brass weren't going to grace him with their presence then he'd have to go to them. No bashing doors down the first time around – he'd learnt to get his temper under control and how to play them at their own game – but if answers weren't forthcoming, well, he didn't see that he had a lot of choice.

Right now, he'd be lucky to make it past the door of his office with all of the paperwork that had piled up. The downside of success and not having enough amid the numbers to palm it off onto. It was a royal pain in the arse, but he had a reputation to uphold. He'd give his officers the chances to be out on the streets, chasing the leads; partly to keep proving the point that Fenchurch East was more than capable, but also because their loyalty deserved rewarding.

Forty odd years. Best part of my life, and this is what it's come to.

The single malt took some of the bitterness from his mouth. What use was there in complaining? If he didn't know what he was signing up for as a nineteen year old with a head full of dreams then he learnt very quickly indeed. Nothing went the way they did in the Westerns, moments of glory lasting for seconds rather than years and being few and far between.

That said, he was feeling like Will Kane. Not quite standing on his own but not that far off, either.

Alex would have fit well in Grace Kelly's clobber. Aside from the colour of their hair there wasn't much to separate them. She sat opposite him; the shadow of her. Some days it felt more real to him than anything else, which he knew was a cause for concern. She never did do enough paperwork, there were always excuses. Too many that he was willing to let slide with a flutter of her eyelashes or a pout of her lips. Who had he been fooling; he had never been in control, not when it came to her.

A foot brushing against his trouser leg, his eyes darting upwards. The look on her face couldn't be called innocent in any sense of the word.

Behave yerself, Bolly.

She leant against her hand, pen tantalisingly close to her mouth. The toe of her high-heeled shoes edging up higher.

I thought you preferred it when I pushed my luck, Guv.

Before he could let his thoughts sink any lower, a knock resounded on his door. Ray opened it from the other side when he was told, making himself at home.

Another time, she smiled, getting up from the chair and throwing a seductive look over her shoulder before fading away. His senses were given over entirely to her, and though he couldn't trace where she disappeared to, he found himself staring at the wall, the poster pinned there yellowing with age and curling at the corners.

He only caught the tail-end of what Ray was saying, his ears pricking up when he heard mention of the name that haunted not only his dreams.

"Layton?"

A faint look of confusion passed over Carling's face, nothing that Gene could concern himself with.

"Jason Lawton. The kid who was taken on 'is way home from school three weeks ago. A call's come through saying there's been a sightin'."

Ray continued to stand at the edge of the other side of the desk, waiting for approval. It took him a few moments to shake himself free of the stupor and pull his raised spirits back down to earth.

"Right, then," he heard himself say, the fog not quite lifted from his head, "time to round up the troops, what's bloody left of them."

They might have been depleted, but Fenchurch East were a long way from being defeated, as long as DCI Gene Hunt was in charge.

She didn't know how long it had been. Hours, plainly, but it could have well been days. Everything was hazy in the most wonderful of ways, the edges blurred like watercolours on a canvas, individual shades indistinguishable.

Everything was vivid. Colours, sounds. She'd never known the world to be quite so much; for the first time it felt like she was truly alive, each nerve and synapse overloaded with sensation.

At the same time the world had narrowed to be entirely about the perfect bundle she held in her arms. From the moment she heard the first cry, the first intake of breath, nothing else mattered. Everything else faded into the background, the months she had spent worrying and waiting, at times completely frustrated, falling away to insignificance.

She couldn't stop staring at her, too scared to look away in case she might disappear, as utterly stupid as that sounded. Her eyes were closed, beautiful little creases; a perfect little nose and lips like tiny rose petals. The bottom one jutted out ever so slightly, making it look as though she were pouting. There was a very fine dusting of hair on her head, only noticeable when a hand brushed against it. One of the unfathomably small hands rested in the palm of her own, and she spent an unknown quantity of time counting the four fingers and thumb that comprised it, stroking the soft skin, mesmerised.

You're mine, she thought, looking down at the face that peeked out of the swaddle of blanket.

You belong to me.

Tears came to her eyes and her heart had never felt so full. She was exhausted, her whole body was aching. It didn't matter in the slightest.

She'd live through it a hundred times over for the love that filled her up, to feel but an ounce of it.

Molly made a grizzling sound as she pressed a kiss against her forehead, her weight wriggling and then settling. Alex could only smile, feeling the wonder surge within her veins at the marvel of her baby girl. She found herself trying to picture her at five, ten, fifteen years old, while also desperate for her to remain just as she was for the longest time possible.

Taking another long look at her, her precious girl, she had to concede that there was more noticeable likeness to her father. Maybe that would change over time. But she couldn't find any way of complaining about what nature had favoured.

Nothing was going to change the fact that she was perfect in every way.

The click of the door echoed in the room; she looked up to see him, cutting an awkward figure in the doorframe.

"Wasn't sure if you were…"

She shook her head, being careful to keep everything else as still as possible so as not to startle Molly. She kept her voice low as she spoke.

"I was wondering whether you were taking 'don't you ever bloody come near me again' as gospel."

He didn't answer, but she wasn't surprised. The awe that filled the room wasn't going to lessen any time soon. She followed the path of his gaze, landed at the back of Molly's head, and she smiled again, cheeks hurting from it.

"Come and say hello to your daughter."

They brought the kid straight to the hospital; on the surface he seemed to be fine, aside from looking a bit grubby and like he hadn't been fed a proper meal in weeks, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Mr and Mrs Lawton had rushed through into the room, her with open arms to embrace, and once they'd gone through the formalities Gene deemed it time to leave the reunited family be. The three kidnappers – who looked as though they shared a single brain cell between them – were already back at the station and could look forward to a night stewing in the cells before questioning, not that he really thought it would take very long to establish that they were guilty as sin.

He leant against a pillar, finishing off the cigarette that he'd sparked up as soon as he'd made it outside. He never liked hospitals anyway but he found that the aversion was getting worse the older he was getting. Not entirely ideal, all things considered, but he wasn't looking that far ahead for the time being.

He'd sent everyone back to the station aside from Ray, who came sauntering along, a plastic cup in each hand.

"Christ on a bike, it's hot. And it's nearly seven."

"Wearin' that thing probably doesn't 'elp matters. Is it surgically attached to you? Because we could easily get that sorted."

Ray stuttered out a laugh, casting a glance at his leather-jacket clad arms. He handed one of the plastic cups to Gene, who looked down at the contents. He didn't need to take a sip to know that the water inside was less than refreshing.

"Thought you'd taken a trip to the bloody Nile," he groused, watching as Ray threw back his own cup.

"Just got talkin' to people in the queue. There was a fella who'd become a dad a couple of hours ago, 'e looked like I felt when United won the league."

"Marvellous."

"Sorry, Guv."

Gene shrugged; City getting relegated was the least of his problems, if not completely predictable given the general trajectory.

"I can't wrap my 'ead round it. The thought of kids. And yet I found meself feeling…I dunno, jealous isn't the right word. But it's like I've missed out on somethin'. Chris's kids call me Uncle Ray, but it's never gunna be the same. And I 'ardly see them anyway."

"Never say never. Who knows what'll 'appen in a year's time, or less."

He couldn't honestly see Ray becoming a dad any time soon, nor did he particularly want to linger on the topic. It was just something he said to fill in the time and with the hope that Ray wasn't going to turn the tables.

To be on the safe side he quickly took the reins. "I've gotta get up to Manchester before the end of the week."

"Yeah? You never mentioned."

"It's Mam's anniversary."

"Shit, I'm sorry."

Gene shook his head, not looking for sympathy but not wanting to dismiss it out of hand, either.

"Will you be alright holdin' the fort? I'm only gunna be gone for the one day."

"Course. You can stay longer if you want."

He knew that Ray wouldn't use his absence to his personal advantage, speaking as a friend rather than a colleague.

"Nah. Don't want to outstay me welcome."

"Eh, if you end up at The Railway Arms then pass on my best. And have a pint for me."

He doubted that he would drop by, considering the last time he was there. Then again, maybe he owed it.

"Goes without sayin'," he answered, allowing a small smile to curve his lips. "It'll be my treat."

He stood for a while at the graveside, the sun beating down, illuminating her name on the headstone and making the yellow petals of the bouquet he'd placed there, unwrapping the sellophane and stuffing it in his trouser pocket, look even brighter. He hadn't said much, aside from "alright, Mam," and relaying the latest of what had been going on. It was all she'd want to know; they never were ones for talking, and certainly not for grand declarations.

Saying that, perhaps if they would have been, a lot could have been avoided.

Five years had gone by in the blink of an eye, as slow as the days and weeks dragged. He couldn't figure out how that worked. It was quiet this afternoon, only the odd other figure a few miles in either direction. He supposed that the cemetery wasn't exactly a hot-spot for the middle of the summer when the kids had just finished school.

It didn't need to be quiet for him to hear her voice in his head. Whenever he wasn't running here, there and everywhere she was a permanent fixture. He realised that he should probably take more notice, especially since she was gone.

Eighty one. I can't complain, it's a good innings. Better than a lot of people round 'ere get.

I'll tell you somethin', son – some days I didn't think I'd make it to half that, not with your father.

He promised himself he wouldn't think about the bastard, but even after all the years – even now that they were both six feet under – the ties refused to be severed. At least he wasn't lying next to her; he didn't know where his old man ended up being buried, and he didn't give a shit.

His mother was the heroine of his life, enduring everything she had – getting knocked about from noon to night, spending the money they didn't have to make sure there were clothes on their backs and food in their bellies. All the while she kept the smile on her face, ignoring the glares at the black eyes and bruises that she couldn't afford to disguise with make-up and opening her arms wider to the pair of them, even when they were too old and embarrassed to be seen getting hugged by their mam in public.

He regretted that now, knowing you never grew too old to be your mother's child.

It was one blessing, that he'd managed to arrange for her to be buried beside Stu. He looked over to the right where one of the flowers rested atop the earth that sheltered his brother. It should never have happened that way; it should never happened at all. He'd gone through it all hundreds of times over the years; if only he'd kept a better eye on him, took a few more steps ahead so that he could have stopped the train before it steamed up the tracks.

He couldn't be everywhere at once, and it had been too dark to see at the time. It still felt like a poor excuse, but it was one he had to live with until the day he ended up here himself.

If anyone remembered. He'd have to mention it to Ray, although he knew it wouldn't be something he'd want to talk about for very long. He'd be buggered if he was going to spend eternity down South.

He took the flask out of his jacket pocket, feeling sweat bead on the back of his neck. One sip for Mam, one for Stu, and then he spilled some on the ground. He had to squint as he looked up at the sky; there wasn't a single cloud covering the sun.

The car lingered at the kerbside longer than planned. His intentions on the way up had been absolutely certain; in fact, it had been as much of a reason for making the trip as paying his respects to his mam. Now he wavered, second-guessing every other minute that went by. The utter shame of it was what made him stop. He hadn't even bothered to check the address, blindly assuming that everything would have stayed unchanged.

Because the world revolves around you, doesn't it?

He could see it now; the door slamming firmly in his face, maybe even catching his foot on the way. That's if he got as far as past the gate, the cowardice that he'd carried as a part of him keeping him frozen. It'd be all that he deserved; he certainly wasn't owed anything, no matter what he might conceive.

This exact line of thought was what had caused the problem to get so out of hand. In the next moment he turned the key in the ignition, knowing if he didn't do it now then he'd make excuses for another sixteen years.

The unbearable coldness snaked its way down his spine – at least it proved that he still had one – as he plodded his way up the path of the terraced house, his hand stopping mid-air before he braced it against the brass knocker. He hoped to God that there wouldn't be an answer, cursing himself at the same time for doing it again.

It took a few moments but the red door opened from the inside, revealing a face that was paler and wearier than he remembered it, eyes darker and lips pinched. It was a pleasant surprise to see that her hair hadn't greyed though; it was still the same chestnut shade as it had always been, pulled back from her face. She wasn't intent on hiding, which made him feel proud – as strange as that was to acknowledge.

He wasn't sure whether it was right to smile but he did so anyway, enough to be respectable. The words were stuck for a while on his tongue, held in suspension because he knew they'd be worthless.

He said them anyway, hearing another voice in his head – one which he'd struggled to keep silent on the way.

"Hiya, love."

"You don't talk about Sam."

She felt him tense beneath the loose grip of her fingertips at the mere mention of the name; it was a risk to take the chance, she knew, but one which she had deemed worth taking.

"Don't think this is the place, Bols."

He shot her a look across the pillow, the flippant tone of his words not translating to his eyes. She didn't get a chance to analyse them for much longer as he quickly threw his gaze to the ceiling, huffing out a long sigh as though he was exhaling a particularly deep drag from a phantom cigarette.

"What is there to say?" His voice echoed in the quiet of the room, the warmth of his frame radiating as he lay next to her. "He was a pain in the arse. That's the long and short of it."

She raised herself on her elbow, feeling caught between two poles. The easy, perhaps some would say more compassionate, option to take would be to go on as they always did – except she'd never openly broached the subject before. Perhaps she was hoping that it would happen naturally one day, that he'd trust her enough to unburden himself completely.

The trouble was that she had no notion of when that day would come. Knowing Gene as much as she did, she was fairly certain that she wouldn't be around to listen by the time he felt ready to say it all.

That was the reason why she had to prod and push. For his own good.

"We all deal with grief in different ways," she began gently, and still he was resolute, staring away from her on purpose, digging his heels in. "It's been two years, that's a long time to sit with the feeling. I'm not saying that you have to say everything right now. But saying something…it can only help."

He turned his head to look at her. A bit of progress.

"Have you considered that you're the one makin' more of this?"

She thought for a horrible moment that he was going to mention 'psychiatry', and then she really would have to scream, getting out of the bed and going she didn't know where once she had put some clothes on.

Tentatively she reached a hand across, placing it upon his shoulder. Stormy blue eyes met hers, a force of power akin to a strike of lightning jolting through her.

"He meant enough to you that when he died you moved two hundred miles away, leaving everything you'd ever known behind in the space of a few weeks."

There was silence as she searched his face, his gaze seeming distant and staring straight through her.

"Sam Tyler was a friend of mine. Bloody irritating friend most of the time, it 'as to be said. But I learnt more from 'im than I've ever learnt from anybody I've ever met. He was strong, decent, a brilliant copper. Always thought 'e knew best. As much as I hate to admit it, nine times out of ten 'e did."

She felt the need to pause, giving the time that he needed. "And the tenth?"

His deep exhale filled the room; he looked to the side of her as the words balanced on his lips.

"The blaggers might 'ave had a bit more nous than the average, but they weren't geniuses. It should 'ave been straightforward. Would 'ave been if he hadn't got ideas into his 'ead. It was past the point of me even tryin' to reason with 'im. I think he thought that 'e was the bloody DCI most of the time."

She didn't intervene, knew that she needed to listen and let him talk now that the door had been opened.

"Things got out of hand quickly, they were runnin' us off our feet. Sam says to me, 'give me the keys and get out of the car.' I told 'im no bloody way. But did he ever take no for an answer? We were gettin' outnumbered, he was wrenchin' me away from the wheel and pushin' me, shoutin' in me ear. I got so pissed off with 'im that I gave in. The last thing I said to 'im was 'if this goes wrong then on your head be it.'" He took a deep breath, gathering himself. "And in the middle of the madness, cool as a cucumber, he says 'trust me, Guv.' They never did find the car, it must have sunk to the depths. Or..."

He broke off, voice catching in his throat.

"It's okay."

"I had to stay anyway, even if there was no sign. it was what I owed 'im."

She tried to imagine what he must have gone through, standing alone at the riverside as a fruitless search for Sam's body ensued. At the same time she pictured Sam in 2007, standing on a rooftop and gazing up to the sky.

"I went straight from there to the house. Maybe I should 'ave waited but I couldn't rest. I remember feelin' sick to my stomach walkin' up the path, knockin' on the door, knowin' what I had to say. Knowin' that I didn't even 'ave to say it and that she'd know as soon as she laid eyes on me. I remember thinkin' about his kids and that they'd be upstairs in bed. The little one was only a year old, she wouldn't remember who he was. As long as I live I'll never forget it, Alex. The way Annie screamed, and not long after the baby cryin', not that she knew what it was for."

"Oh, Gene," she sighed, moving her hand down to his chest, feeling his pain reverberate against her fingertips.

"I should 'ave done more for them. I was only thinkin' of meself, thinkin' that I couldn't stand it, stand bein' around when everywhere I turned I'd be reminded of what 'ad happened. I would 'ave flown to the other bloody side of the world if that was the only option. I had to 'ave my team with me, that was the one condition. But lookin' back…I left her in the lurch, with two little kids. I don't think she ever forgave me and I don't blame 'er."

"It's not too late," she reasoned softly, swiping the backs of her fingers against his chest, "you can make amends. I think that she would welcome it."

"I dunno. I don't think I can do it, not yet anyway. How can I stand there and offer my help when all she wants is something I can't give? Believe me, if I could…if I could go back in time and keep my hands on the wheel…"

A sharp pang struck her; she couldn't bear to think of the agony that he was going through, much less to envision what he was implying.

She shifted so that she could lay her head upon his chest, her heart becoming a little less heavy when he wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Thank you for telling me," she uttered, turning her head so that she could press a kiss against his skin, "It's not your fault, any of it. And it will get better."

She felt his gaze upon her, looking up to meet his eyes as his hand spanned against the small of her back.

"So long as you're here, Bols," he said, and she could feel his grip upon her tighten, "then I might believe it."

The house reminded him of his own childhood home, though it was quite a bit nicer. It felt more than a bit strange to be sitting on the sofa, and he found himself looking at the fireplace, knick-knacks and photographs in frames lined up atop of it.

She came back into the room, her slippers rendering her footsteps silent.

"Wasn't sure that you'd let me in," he said as she sat in the chair opposite, underneath the window.

"Believe me, I was tempted not to," she answered, and it was impossible for him to take offence. "But then I thought 'what's the point?' Anger doesn't solve anything."

She presented him with her profile as she looked at some spot in the distance. He was near to feeling the most awkward he'd ever been, which was pretty bloody ridiculous, all things considered.

"Help yourself," she said as she turned back, pointing to the biscuit tin sitting on the coffee table, a small smile on her face and a genuine glimmer in her eyes. "If you want tea then you'll have to make it yourself. That's where I draw the line."

Casting his mind back, he huffed out a laugh. "Fair dos."

He rifled through the open tin, aware of Annie's gaze upon him. After a few seconds he plucked a plain Hobnob, swerving the packet of pink wafers.

"It's, er…it's been a long time."

She nodded, hands twisting in her lap.

Christ's sake, Gene, can't you come up with anything better than that? It's not like you haven't had enough time to think about it.

"Too long," he added after a minute or so had passed. He felt fenced in by the blue eyes that stared towards him, unable to run away. Not that he deserved the option to. "I don't know what to say, other than I'm sorry. I truly am."

It felt like he had been thrown back down the years, facing her in that first horrible moment.

I'm sorry, Annie, love.

"It's not enough, I know. It never will be. You were one of me own, and I failed you. I failed Sam."

It had been weighing upon him ever since it happened, the day he always dreaded to think about but which was ever-present in the recesses of his mind. He was the superior, he should have insisted. He allowed himself to slip, and why? Because it was easier. Because he'd had enough of him going on, never giving him a moment's peace.

If he had known that it was going to be the last time, that there was no going back…

His head had gone into his hands and he pulled them away at the minute he was aware. This isn't about you and your guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said again, meaning it with every fibre of his being.

"I know you are," she uttered, her voice low but even. "It's okay. I never blamed you. Well, that's not completely true, I did at first."

He bowed his head, glad that she had.

"But that's because I was angry and I was grieving, and I didn't know what to do with that grief for a while. I knew what he was like, better than anyone. I know that if his mind was made up to do something then there wasn't anything or anyone in the world that could change it."

She was smiling, properly smiling so that it reached her eyes. It stayed there for a good minute before it started to fade, no doubt along with the memory of Sam.

"So please don't blame yourself. It doesn't do any good."

He couldn't say anything to that. Always had a wise head on her shoulders, did Cartwright.

Tyler, he corrected himself.

"It's good to see you," she smiled again. "You haven't changed a bit."

"Dunno about that," he replied. "But you're lookin' well. Not that…that sounds wrong, didn't mean anythin' funny by it."

She laughed, making the atmosphere in the room shift. "Thanks, Guv."

"Blimey. Feels strange to 'ear you say that."

"I know. Nearly twenty years. A lot's happened." She took a pause, he imagined to gather her thoughts. "But somehow I can't think of you as anything other than the Guv."

"Well, that's somethin'," he smiled, not thinking about it as he did so. "I should 'ave come up sooner. Or given you a call. We could 'ave done with you in the big smoke."

"What, with two kids in tow?" she scoffed. "What would I have done, used CID as a crèche?"

"They would 'ave amused themselves. Could 'ave got them in trainin' while they were young, best way to learn."

She laughed again, shaking her head. "I'd have been flattered. But we've been alright. I've had the family around me, my mam and dad are still going strong. I do a bit of teaching at the community college part-time, now that I've got more time to myself. Things have turned out as best as they could."

"I'm glad, love." He was glad; for her, and not to make him feel better about himself.

"And it's been for the best," she went on. "I thought about moving away, when they were still both in primary school. Had a dream about a new start making the difference. But when it came down to it I couldn't. It would have felt wrong somehow. They knew so little about their dad as it was, that to take them away from the places he knew and grew up in seemed like it would erase his memory even more."

He could understand that, even with life turning out the way it had.

He thought about Alex and her daughter, a shiver running down his spine and a dagger stabbing at his heart.

"How old are they now?"

"Matthew's 19 and Emily's not long turned 17."

"Bloody hell," he replied, "where does the time go, eh?"

"It feels like only yesterday I was taking them to the park in their buggies," she smiled. "Matt's at uni in Bristol, living down there, though he is due back in a couple of weeks time for a visit. Emily, well she might as well be living away, the amount of time she spends either at college or round at her mates'. I've got a few photo albums, if you don't mind being bored."

"Not at all. You go and get them, and I'll sort the tea."

They poured over photographs for a good hour, it being the second best option to reliving all of the years that he'd missed being in contact. Looking through them and seeing young Matthew was a lot like seeing Sam staring out through a mirror; the son was the absolute double of his father. He imagined that it was both a blessing and the source of almost unbearable pain for Annie. As she smiled and cooed over pictures from the beach or of the both of them in their school uniforms, progressively getting taller, he could see that she was bursting at the seams with pride.

He didn't fail to notice that the frames more often than not contained three figures within them.

"You've never…?" he asked, curtailing the question as it felt disrespectful to even ask it.

She shook her head, eyes still looking down at the album open in her lap.

"I've thought about it once or twice, but I don't know. I had the best in Sam. Nobody else would ever compare, so it'd only be unfair to string anyone along."

He understood, but he couldn't help but feel sorry for her; she had been so young, she still was. She didn't deserve a life alone.

"I was lucky," she said, a smile softening her face, "I knew what true love was. Some people never get to experience that, so I was blessed, even if it didn't last as long as I thought it would."

He stared down at his feet, contemplating. He hadn't known what to expect when he turned up on the doorstep but he should have known that she'd be nothing but philosophical, calm and serene, at least after the initial shock of his turning up. To look at her, to be in her presence, was enough to put anyone at ease.

That was perhaps why he felt comfortable enough to speak.

"I can't pretend to know what it's like for you, love. But there was someone, in London. It was a while ago now, not long after we got there, and it was the last thing I bloody expected."

He could feel her gaze upon him, her lips curved into a slightly surprised smile. Right now he half-wondered whether he had hallucinated the whole thing, remembering how Ray, Chris and the others had been utterly baffled by him insisting there had been a Detective Inspector Alex Drake and that she'd been part of the team.

At the same time it felt good to speak about her in a manner to someone. He'd been silent for so long, kept her shut tight away lest anyone think he'd gone crackers.

"She had a kid, and so she was never gunna stay with me. But I wanted her to. Bloody hell, did I want her to more than anythin'. I had a ring and I was goin' to ask her, if you can believe that. But I was too late and before I knew it, she was gone."

As he held the memory of Alex at the front of his mind he looked up to see Annie, her expression open and empathetic.

"Jesus, I'm sorry, love. Don't know where that came from."

"It's alright," she said, the smile returned to her face, "I'm glad you could say it, and I'm glad you had someone."

"You would 'ave got on like a house on fire. She was into psychology 'an all."

Her eyes widened and then she bobbed her head in approval. "See, it's not a load of bollocks."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far."

The time seemed to go nowhere and before long he was back where he started, ready to head off.

"It's been great to see yer. You know the offer's always open if you fancy coming back to the force."

"I do appreciate that, Guv, but there's more chance of pigs flying." She smiled as she leaned against the doorframe. "Don't be a stranger. It'd be lovely to see you again soon, when both of the kids are home."

Something in him hesitated, not wanting to intrude, but he nodded towards her.

"If I ever get a break," he said, smiling at her.

He felt better as he walked away and down the path, raising his head to the sky. The sun was beginning to set, red with gold at the edges. He didn't really know what he believed but somehow he could feel that Sam was there, pleased that he'd made the effort.

Rest well, Sammy boy, he nodded and raised his hip-flask, taking in the skyline that he knew so well. He hoped that he'd be back to look at it before too long.

Time would have to tell on that count.

When she woke from the nightmare her first instinct was to ground herself; to focus on what was real, in the here and now at least. She shifted in the bed, staring at him in the dim light of the very early morning before he roused. It didn't take long.

A whisper of his name and feather-light touch upon his arm.

It didn't occur to her the power she had.

She was lost and she was safe. The faces and voices that terrorised her slipped away silent as she focused on upon the sensations of what she was feeling, gave herself to them completely.

Gave herself to him, again. Losing count, not counting the cost.

Nothing mattered past the blood turning to fire in her veins, the breathlessness, the euphoria. His head between her legs, his hands grazing and journeying up her body. For now she was nobody else's. She wanted nothing more than his weight on top of her, his voice in her ear repeating her name. She leaned into every thrust, vining her legs around his waist, feeling him getting harder as she gripped onto his shoulders. Stars drained out the dark and she came with a sob of relief, the fear washed clean and replaced with so many other things. He held her when he was no longer inside of her, arm around her waist and breath against the back of her neck. She closed her eyes but didn't go back to sleep straight away. She traced her fingers at his wrist, feeling the difference in his pulse to that of her own.

When the morning came and she felt his hands upon her, more gentle than anyone could ever understand, she heard herself murmur, the same words leaving her lips.

I don't want to go.

He answered with a wry smile, a kind of awe that she couldn't fathom in his tone when he told her "I know, Bolly, but we've got a job to do."

He knew what she meant, but he was doing what he could and she was grateful, even if it was too late by now.

The dreams she had were worse than the nightmares.

Pitch black had followed the brightest of days; it was like a test of all of his faculties, endurance being the least of them. He didn't know what he was trying to prove to himself. Then again, wasn't that what this trip had been about in the first place?

His eyes and his hands were getting heavy, the latter almost barely conscious upon the wheel. He pulled off into a side-road, empty save for the Mercedes, and slapped his hands against his face for as long as it took to wake himself up. He probably should have taken up Annie's offer of staying over for the night. The thought of kipping in her son's room didn't sit well with him; he kept thinking about what Sam would make of it. It seemed disrespectful to all of them.

Anyway, he said he'd be back within the day and he wasn't about to start going against his word now. It was far too late for that. The station had been at the back of his mind all the while, all the things that could have gone wrong while he wasn't there. He trusted Ray enough – there was nobody else he could trust, when it came down to it – but it wouldn't stop havoc from being wreaked if that's what was on the cards. The image of Keats came up from the depths, his figure standing at the doors and refusing to budge, too strong for any attempts at defeat.

That was enough to give an electric shock to his senses.

He still needed all the help he could get, so he turned the radio on, moving through the stations until he found something halfway palatable. It didn't occur to him until he'd been back driving for nearly an hour that what he'd settled on played little other than songs from the Eighties.

Talk to me, don't lie to me
Save your breath
Don't look at me, don't smile at me
Just close your eyes

I was so impressed by you
I was running blind
I would fall for every trick
Every twist of mind

Heaven is cold
Without any soul
It's hard to believe
I was so in love with you

He found himself thinking about life if it would have been different. If Sam had lived, if Alex hadn't disappeared. It did him no good – happy families were never his speciality – and yet he couldn't get the pictures out of his mind, didn't want to get rid of them. He saw them both, talking and laughing – taking the piss out of him, no doubt. Alex turning her head and smiling at him as the sunlight bathed her, the rings upon her finger gleaming. She put her hand against her stomach, just starting to show.

All the things you said to me
I was so obsessed
You were always talking, talking
God I did my best

Heaven is cold
Without any soul
It's hard to believe
I was so in love with you

His eyes had adjusted to the dark at last; at first he thought it was some kind of trick when light flooded the road directly in front of him. It got bigger, brighter. Blinding. He did what he could to fight against it, heard her calling out to him, warning him of the danger, but he didn't have anything at his disposal.

All he could see was white and he could feel the wheels swerving beneath his feet, until they were off the road completely.

A/N: I had to get in a High Noon reference, with it being Gene's favourite film and all. Will Kane is the lead character, played by Gary Cooper, and Grace Kelly plays his wife.

I know it's referenced in A2A that Sam and Annie didn't have any kids but I wanted to change that little detail (it's AU, I can do what I like :P)

The song on the radio is So In Love by OMD (Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark), written by Paul Humphreys and Andy McCluskey. The lyrics so remind me of Gene and Alex and their relationship, but as it wasn't released until 1985 it could never have been featured in A2A.