A/N: Another chapter so soon - I couldn't leave Gene with that cliffhanger for too long! This is a bit of a bumper one...
Chapter 24
It was coming back to her; all of it. Thousands of images flashing up into her brain at ten times the normal speed of a video recording, an invisible presence holding her eyes wide open to watch them as they sped by.
The day that she met Gene. Their first kiss. The moment he proposed to her, adorably awkwardly. Watching as he fastened a sleeping Molly into the baby seat of the 'sensible' car she'd made him exchange the bright-red Quattro for. Their little girl growing up before her eyes.
The last moments of consciousness before everything went dark and hot. So hot.
Gene, please. You have to get out. Grabbing onto his arm. You can't…
Alex. How many times do I 'ave to tell yer?
She looked at him, seeing that he had absolutely no intention of doing what she asked. His hands working beneath the dashboard. He glanced at her once, the vivid blue of his eyes wild with fear. She'd only ever seen that look a handful of times before.
I can do this. Now please, get out. Molls needs yer.
Her throat was closing up, nearly stealing the breath that she required to say the words. To stay alive.
She needs you too.
He wasn't looking at her, his focus held elsewhere. God, she really needed him to look at her. She looked round, seeing their daughter scrabbling on the grass, not far enough away.
You're 'er mother.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks before she was aware she had started to cry. With one hand Gene seized her arm roughly, attempting to shove her out of the open door.
Alex, please. I'm beggin'. Get out. Now!
Not without you, was the only thought on her mind.
She watched him, frantic, the realisation written upon his face too late. She felt herself move, knowing then that he was right. She didn't make it before the bomb detonated, the last thing she saw Gene's body being flung back within a second, before everything blacked out.
The clock was ticking. She could hear it in her head, feel it within the beat of her heart. There wasn't long left. Minutes.
She could see the image in her mind, the last thing that she had been shown. Gene in his hospital bed, tubes attached to his left arm. Those blue eyes hidden, a scratch or two upon his face, which was ashen.
Behind her back she knew there were others standing, looking on. She wrenched her gaze away from Gene, turned around to acknowledge them with tears in her eyes. Ray, Chris and Shaz, the latter two with their arms around each other. All of them looking as terrified as she felt.
It's alright, she wanted to tell them, though she still didn't possess the ability to speak. I won't let it end like this.
He's going to be alright.
Shaz clung tighter to Chris, who was looking at her with wide and desperate eyes. Ray seemed the calmest of them all, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, giving her a nod of his head and a faint smile.
She returned it in the seconds before she turned back, to be confronted with the face that had terrorised her. Dark eyes behind spectacles, a look of blood-thirst within them. He blocked her path to Gene, mirroring her steps on either side as she attempted to get past, to see Gene again.
Keats raised his hand, wielding the full syringe.
Go back, Alex. This isn't where you belong.
It is, she wanted to say. For God's sake, why wouldn't the words come out? I won't let you do this. I won't let you take him away.
He tilted his head to the side, the sinister smile spreading across his face.
I'm afraid it's a little too late for that. Turns out – he took a look at the needle in his hand before lowering it – he didn't need my help after all.
The piercing sound of the monitor as it flatlined filled her ears. At her back Shaz screamed "no!", and she heard Chris utter the word 'Guv'. In front of her eyes Keats pretended to mourn, his expression sombre for seconds before it began to twist.
She felt herself falling, time tearing itself apart.
Gene, she could only say in her head, her body stopping almost completely. I…
Once again, everything went dark.
He had woken up in the ambulance, not for very long. Just long enough to know where he was and that he was still alive. At the time he'd been a bit disappointed at that fact. He remembered saying something as he stared upwards at a bright light, a hand taking his own, soft and small.
For a moment he thought it was her. Alex. He might have even said her name, he wasn't entirely sure. The probability was good, though.
You comin' to save me, Bolly? It wouldn't be a moment too soon.
He could see her, leather jacket in place upon her shoulders. He'd never really considered the symbolism of it before. He wasn't quite sure how it worked, Bollykecks being his guardian angel. It was too much for his head to cope with.
When he came to properly it was in the hospital, legs stretched out in front of him and the mattress, while not strictly comfortable, feeling a damn sight better than the stretcher he'd been carted off in. Rather than being on a packed-out ward he was in a room to himself. Must be a place for posh knobs, God knows what I'm doin' 'ere.
Unless there's somethin' worse than I realise goin' on.
There was a nurse in the room who blushed when he smiled at her – at least, he thought it was a smile. The best attempt he could make for the time being. He felt about a hundred years old when she addressed him as 'Mr Hunt'. DCI Hunt, love, he corrected her, gently, or you can call me Gene. Big exception, mind; don't make it for everyone.
She'd smiled at him with glowing cheeks, fussing at his bedside before leaving the room. His head was pounding something rotten; almost like he'd gone on a full-day bender without bouncing back like he'd been used to, when he did that kind of thing. His bones were aching, too, though that wasn't anything particularly new.
He must have dozed off for a bit, not awake again for much longer than ten minutes when the door opened and a familiar face came shuffling through.
"Raymondo," he said, "can't bloody keep you away from 'ospitals, it seems."
The joke went down like a lead balloon, which was probably his fault. His gaze was drawn to the greenish-yellow bunch of bananas that Ray balanced on his lap when he took the seat next to the bedside.
"They didn't 'ave any grapes," Ray explained, "thought they might do some good, though."
He tried not to look too incredulous as Ray transferred them to the little table that stood near the side of the bed, along with a newspaper and a king-size Mars Bar.
" 'ow are yer doin'?"
"Still alive, which is the main thing."
He noticed a strange expression on Ray's face after he nodded in response. He wouldn't call it gormless, exactly, but it did look like he was having trouble of some form, mentally speaking.
"What year is it?"
Christ, not him as well. Not long after he'd woken up the first time a smug-looking doctor had asked him all manner of questions to determine whether he was still with it. It'd be more trouble than it was worth to take the piss, though he briefly considered it, just for a bit of fun.
"July 1996," he responded within the minute.
"Who's the Prime Minister?"
"John Major. Stupid prick."
A smirk made its way onto Carling's face, a twinkle appearing in his eye as he hid one hand behind his back.
" 'ow many fingers am I holdin' up?"
He answered with a gesture of his own, causing Ray to laugh.
"Close enough. I was gettin' ready to call it a night when the phone went."
He didn't know whether it was pathetic or not that there was nobody else in close enough proximity that could be considered his emergency contact.
"What 'ave they said? 'ow long do you 'ave to stay in 'ere?"
"Er, well they want to keep me in overnight. Doctor said somethin' about doin' a scan tomorrow. Dunno why. Haven't broken anythin'. Barely a scratch, nobody would be any the wiser."
It was his natural state, putting on the bravado when he wasn't entirely certain. He wasn't looking forward to it, being prodded and poked and paraded for the amusement of some young, upstart quacks.
"You don't seem convinced, Raymondo."
"Nah, it's not…" Ray paused, reconsidering. "Do you…do you remember what 'appened?"
"Some nutter drivin' the wrong way tried to run me off the road. Actually, they succeeded. There was a light, brighter than anythin' I've ever seen. Whatever car it was, it 'ad a crackin' pair of headlights."
Carling didn't say anything in response, eyes dropping to the floor.
"Ray," he uttered, in a tone that was meant to remind Carling exactly who was in charge.
"It's just that…" He began before breaking off, shifting in the seat.
"Spit it out!"
"If there was a collision, then the other car wouldn't 'ave escaped unscathed. There wasn't another car there, not one that could 'ave been involved."
No, that couldn't be right.
"Who was on the scene? Some bloody clown force, no doubt. There was another car."
Ray was reluctant to speak for a few seconds, staring at him like a fish instead.
"Guv, I'm just tellin' you what they told me. There wasn't any wreckage, nothin' in sight."
"And I'm just tellin' you, I know what I bloody saw!"
What exactly is he tryin' to imply? He had thought that Ray was joking about at first, but evidently he must have thought that he really was a few slices short of a loaf.
"Look, Guv…if it wasn't an accident, if it 'appened on purpose, then it's alright. Well, not alright, obviously. I'm bloody relieved that you made it out, don't know what we'd do without yer. But, er, I'm not sayin' it's a bad thing, you know? We've all been there. I mean, not exactly like that, but, you know, done things that afterwards you think 'what the bloody hell was I thinkin' of?' And that's alright, you know?"
"No, Ray. I 'ave to say that I don't 'ave the faintest what you're on about."
"Bugger," Ray muttered, fidgeting about in the chair again. "I don't want to spell it out. I mean, it's bloody awkward, given that you're the Guv. Nothin' touches you."
"Well, you've said somethin' now, so I would appreciate understandin' exactly what you're gettin' at."
Out of nowhere he could hear her, stepping out of the shadows.
I think you already know, Gene.
Well, I'd like to 'ear it from the horse's mouth.
Right now, said horse wasn't being very forthcoming.
Don't be too hard on him. He's worried about you. So am I.
"Erm, well, what I'm sayin' is if it was a…cry for 'elp…that's okay, you know."
"Are you sayin' that I was tryin' to top meself?"
Ray nodded solemnly at his words.
"Well, I wasn't." He had seen the light that came out of nowhere, blinding his vision. He hadn't made it up, he knew that for sure. "Why would I want to do that?"
"I dunno. Like I say, we all 'ave our moments."
"I don't. Not when it comes to that."
Was Ray forgetting that he had a brother who did exactly that? Which meant that, even at his lowest, there was no fucking way. Even if there weren't any hearts left to break, his mam being gone, the ex-missus not caring less, and Alex…well, she hadn't been there to begin with, not in the way he remembered her.
He was starting to think that there was something in that 'construct' malarkey she always went on about in the beginning.
"Sorry, Guv. I just thought if it was a possibility, then I'd better say somethin'. Just in case at some point down the line you tried to do it again."
"Not ruddy likely. And leave you in charge? Then things really would go to shit."
As soon as he said it he knew he'd been too harsh. He was still shell-shocked at the idea that Ray could think him capable. And if Ray did, then how many others higher up the food chain were thinking the same?
"As soon as I get out of 'ere I'll be back at the station, even if I 'ave to walk there."
"Er, that's another thing."
He looked up at Carling, who looked as though he didn't know what to do with himself. He thought about ordering him to eat the Mars Bar or one of the bananas, as he was sure that whatever Ray had to say it was the last thing he wanted to hear.
"It's been said that you should take a break, just for a little bit."
He didn't have to ask by who; that much was obvious.
"A break?" he echoed, trying to process what he was hearing. "I s'pose it's been a while since I took any leave." It had been years. There wasn't anything for him to do when he was away from the station, so he didn't see the point. "A week, then."
"Well, I've 'eard talk about three months…"
"Three months? That is takin' the piss. And then some."
He was starting to piece things together now and it was all making sense. They wanted to get him out of the way and knew that he wasn't going to lie down easily, even if things weren't the way they used to be. Keats had to be involved somewhere in the murky picture. Maybe he was the one driving the apparently non-existent car that drove him off the road. He was a slippery git, always turning up unannounced and out of thin air. It fit the profile completely.
"It might not be so bad, you know," Carling crashed into and interrupted his train of thought. "It's…what do they call it…a sabbatical. Gives you the chance to do stuff."
"Oh yeah, exactly what I've always wanted, great."
When he looked at him again there was a genuine remorse in Ray's eyes. "It wasn't up to me, Guv."
He sighed heavily, wanting to be out of this bloody bed, this hospital. On his feet and smashing some bloody doors down, preferably in one place in particular.
"I know it wasn't. An' I didn't mean to imply that you wouldn't be any good in charge. I know I can count on yer."
Not many people I can count on these days.
Ray puffed out his chest like a bloody peacock; he wasn't sure whether Carling had a clue that he knew he was doing so.
"Well, doesn't look like I've got a lot of choice then, does it? Time to take up a 'obby. And not bloody golf."
Ray chuckled. "Think of the damage you could do with the clubs, though."
That was tempting. And he had a few targets in mind.
Before he could think about it any further, Bolly was there again, telling him not to revert to his old, Neanderthal ways. Even if she was a figment, he couldn't think about disappointing her.
"Promise me somethin', Ray."
"Anythin', Guv."
"Whoever comes in to stand in my boots, I want you to follow them like their shadow. Stick to them like shit to a blanket. If they think of gettin' any ideas above their station, you let me know. Doesn't matter what I'm doin', it won't be much at any road. It won't be a permanent change, and whoever it is 'ad better be aware of that."
They didn't take the Manc Lion down that easily.
"You've got it, Guv," Ray replied with a firm nod of his head, sticking out his hand for him to shake.
"Three months," he said. It didn't sound any better saying it again. "And not a second longer."
"I don't want you to think too much for the moment." The therapist's gaze was settled on her as she took another sip of water, trying to slow her heart rate and stop her hands from shaking so much. "Instead, for now, let's concentrate on feelings. Does that sound alright?"
She nodded, lowering the glass back down onto the table. "Yes."
"Good. That's really good, Alex. I want you to picture the day of the accident. Molly's birthday. First thing in the morning. How were you feeling?"
She had to work hard to remember, self-conscious that she was taking too long to say anything.
"Relaxed. At ease. Grateful." She noticed that the therapist looked particularly interested in that last word, her eyebrows quirking up despite her usual well-versed self-control. "It was sunny and warm. I knew it would be a…a nice day."
She had to break off, reach for the glass again.
"Would you say that you were happy?" the therapist asked after a few moments.
"Yes," she replied without hesitation, "of course."
"Let's look a little further. Would you say that you were happy with your life overall? From what you can remember."
She felt herself frowning, knowing what was being got at. That the reason she was having dreams about another existence was because she was dissatisfied with her life on a subconscious level that went far deeper than her conscious mind could currently process.
"Yes," she answered, truthfully. As truthfully as she could understand, anyway. The therapist stared at her unrelenting, wanting more. "I had no reason not to be. I'm sure that it wasn't perfect. Whose life is? But that doesn't equate to being unhappy. I had my daughter, a project to work on."
"A loving husband."
Her breath held for a second or two; she had forgotten temporarily, despite the evidence of the fact on her left hand.
"Yes," she said, thinking of Gene. That coat, those boots. The images muddled in her mind, as they always were. Her right hand covered her left, twisting the rings around her finger.
The therapist wore a gentle, unassuming smile, leaning back against her chair. "Now, I want you to picture another happy day. It can be as far back as you like, or more recent. I want you to hold it with every part of you, place yourself there completely."
The day couldn't have gone much better if she had tried to make it so, but she'd been strict with herself about just letting things happen and not exerting control, or at least too much of it. The sun shone all day long, not a cloud in the sky. Molly had barely stopped laughing. Best of all, they'd spent it as a family. Aside from the day she was born and her first proper birthday, either one or both of them had been absent for the best part of it. Peril of the job, being in demand. They'd agreed that they'd be insistent about this birthday, particularly as it fell at the weekend. She'd wondered whether it was some kind of divine stroke of luck that there had been no interruptions, no urgent calls from CID.
The only small fly in the ointment had been the verging tantrum at dinner time when Molly was denied the glass of Bollinger that she insisted she was entitled to. Never mind that they didn't have any in the house, hadn't had any for exactly seven years. Once she knew the meaning behind her mother's nickname she had been determined.
At first she wasn't placated by the tumbler of 7Up but eventually, largely thanks to her father's methods of persuasion, she came around and peace was restored. A generous slice of birthday cake was devoured, along with a large portion of sweets and some crisps, and then a few more sweets washed down with another helping of fizzy pop. It had been quite the challenge to get her to settle in bed after such a momentous intake of sugar, but after several rescue missions and two rather lengthy bedtime stories she finally went to sleep. Alex hovered on the threshold of the room for a good twenty minutes to be certain, feeling a little guilty at the relief she felt when no sign of stirring came. The sheer excitement had led to utter exhaustion.
Still, she wouldn't have changed a second about the day that had been, not even now when she was completely exhausted.
A wave of irritation rippled through her when she got back downstairs to see Gene sprawled on the sofa, even as she relished the too-rare sight of him in casual gear.
"Remind me again why I always have to be bad cop?" she said, hands on her hips, staring at him. He couldn't have looked less bothered if he tried, a vaguely infuriating smirk curving his lips.
"Because the roles are reversed when we're off duty. It's only fair, Bollykecks."
"Hmph. Doesn't feel like it, not when our daughter looks at me like I'm the Wicked Witch of the West pouring water all over her fun."
"S'pose that makes me the Wizard then? I do do lots of wonderful things…"
"Gene," she sighed at the lascivious note in his voice, "now is really not the time."
She didn't resist as he pulled her down to join him, nearly half in his lap, the soft cushions feeling delightful as they took the weight from her feet.
" 'sides, you make it downright absolutely bloody maddeningly sexy," he slipped an arm around her waist so he could bring her nearer still, "the thought of it gives me the right 'orn. As you might be able to tell."
She found herself tutting on instinct, though she wasn't exactly averse to the lower half of his body grinding against her thigh. Perhaps she wasn't quite as tired as she first thought.
"It's not your birthday for another couple of weeks," she retorted, the smile barely suppressed on her face.
"Lucky for you that I know exactly what I want. And it doesn't cost a thing."
He let out a groan as she brushed a hand purposefully against the front of his tracksuit bottoms, only to swiftly replace it with a cushion. He held the article in place, leaning his right arm against the back of the sofa.
"It's been a good day."
"It's been wonderful," she agreed, happy despite the weight of the day's effort settling through her, "I'm never happier than when she's happy."
"Same 'ere." He rested a hand on her knee, and she enjoyed the sensation of his touch. "We've got the best kid in the world. Stands to reason, really."
She grinned at his sincerity, expressing her thanks when he poured and handed her a glass of wine. He patted the cushion that now lay horizontal in his lap and she couldn't stop herself from humming in satisfaction as he rubbed the soles of her feet with his attentive fingers.
"I know lightnin' doesn't tend to strike twice," he uttered after a few moments of comfortable silence had passed, "but I think we might prove to be the exception."
She turned her head to catch his eyes, seeing a glimmer there. There was no mistaking his meaning and she felt a sharp spark of surprise arrowing her spine.
"Another child, Gene?"
"I've 'ad far worse ideas," he replied, cupping her heel in his palm. "We did good with Molls, didn't we? You don't look that thrilled by the prospect."
"You've caught me off-guard, that's all. I mean, it probably would have been worth mentioning sooner."
"Everythin's still in workin' order, last time I checked."
"For now, but we'd be running against the clock. And there's the added risks, lots of them."
She took a long sip from her glass while she considered, staring off into the distance. She hadn't planned for Molly to be an only child, but she also loved her work , and having another child would make it harder to justify staying on, even if the world was getting slowly more progressive.
"Forget I said anythin'."
"No," she answered his half-dismissive tone quickly, not wanting an argument. "I'm not saying no, just that there are things we need to think about. It's not something to jump into, head first. How would Molly take it, for instance? She's used to being the centre of our world. Not that that's necessarily a good thing." A thought occurred to her while she spoke. "Has she said something to you?"
She was aware that Molly would often go to Gene first with certain things, and tell him 'secrets' that it took a while for her to say out loud. She didn't really think too much about it; if anything she was happy that they had such a solid bond.
"No, this is all from me own head. Scout's honour."
"You were never a Scout."
"Don't reckon she'd be averse to a little brother or sister, though. I know we couldn't manage Christmas but it could be a belated present."
She scoffed, holding her glass aloft. "You think a lot of yourself."
"No time like the present, talkin' of such." His smirk faded quickly to something more thoughtful. "I know you've been scared, because of what 'appened before Molly. And if you don't want to, then it's fine. I never thought I'd be cut out for all of this, even once you told me you were expectin'. Used to wake up in a cold sweat, thinkin' as soon as it 'appened that I'd turn into me old man on the stroke of the clock."
She reached out, placing a hand at the nape of his neck.
"You couldn't be any further from him."
He smiled, his eyes shining bright. "I could never 'ave imagined it beforehand. Every time I look at 'er, I think 'how was I involved in creatin' someone so perfect?' She's the best thing I've ever done. I'm makin' it sound like a selfish thing, and it's not that. If anythin', she's more you than she is me. I s'pose I want more of you in the world."
She couldn't stop herself from breaking into a sentimental smile at that. The domesticated incarnation of Gene Hunt was very much her favourite, even if his version of completing household chores still left a lot to be desired. He more than made up for it as a father.
"She is every bit your daughter," she replied, still smiling, mesmerised by those eyes of his. "You'd like a boy, as well."
"I honestly don't care. I'd be made up with ten girls if they turned out like you and Molls."
"Woah, there. One, I think I can just about manage."
The more she thought about it, the easier she found the idea. She thought of her own childhood and how she'd always longed for a sibling. Of course, at the time she put it down to her parents being so busy and not because their marriage was hanging by the thinnest of threads.
"There are no guarantees, though," she reminded him, hating to be the one to pull out the pin. "If it doesn't happen…"
"Then I've still got the best two girls in the world, and that makes me the luckiest bugger ever more."
God knows she found him incredibly gorgeous at any time, but especially so when he was being so candid at his happiness about their life together.
"You're lucky that I love you as much as I do, Mr Hunt, to consider going through the most agonising pain known to womankind to give you another child."
"I think you're forgettin' about the pleasure that comes before that, Mrs Hunt," he shot back instantaneously, "and as I'm very considerate you know there'll be lots and lots of it."
Damn it, she couldn't even say that he was exaggerating or think of anything to say to go one up against him.
"I love you too, Alex," he said, reaching across to kiss her. Her arms circled themselves around his shoulders, bringing to mind many instances, both professional and personal.
He was smiling at her as he pulled away, eyeing the flushed state of her cheeks.
"I'll do the dishes, love."
"Jesus, you really are full of surprises tonight." Not that she was complaining about this particular one.
She switched on the television as he occupied himself in the kitchen, topping up her glass a touch while she flicked through the channels.
"Is there any cake left?" he asked, poking his head around the door with a tea towel slung over one shoulder.
"I've put it in the fridge," she answered, drinking in the sight of him, "fetch me a plate if you're getting one for yourself, could you?"
"Who said anythin' about plates?" The smirk on his face was positively filthy. "Nothin' decent on, is there?"
"Not particularly." Even if there had been, she could easily record it.
"Get yerself upstairs and undressed, and wait in the bedroom," he commanded, the desire in his voice barely disguised. "I'll bring the whipped cream, an' all."
He didn't have the first clue how he was going to fill the time. The first few days he spent sleeping, or at least trying to. He had to lock the doors and unplug the phone to stop himself making a trip down to the station or ringing Ray for an update on how things were going. He already knew how they were going without having to ask: bloody awful.
He spent a couple of days driving here and there – luckily, they hadn't stopped him from doing that with a new motor. A couple of day trips to Bognor and Bournemouth. He felt worse after both of those days, spending all day on his tod and then coming back to an empty house like the saddest bastard to walk the face of the earth. Whoever thought these sabbaticals were worth taking probably had several mistresses, using them to get their end away every which way.
There was only one place worthwhile that he could think of going to, and one person that might actually put him up - and put up with him - if not for the whole three months then at least for a decent chunk of it. He phoned up beforehand, just to make sure that he wasn't intruding on any plans she might have.
"If I'm gunna be in the way then you can tell me to bugger off…"
"Not at all," she replied, with a bright smile in her voice, "I said you'd be welcome any time. The kids are home, both of them, and they'd love to meet you."
Christ, that prospect didn't fill him with confidence, but it didn't deter him either. The next morning he packed a bag and was back up North. He had enough money for a hotel but Annie wouldn't hear of it; she'd gone through the effort of cleaning the spare room from top to bottom, so the least decency he could show would be to stay. Both of the kids were out when he'd got there and he dreaded them coming home, even though he was the one with the least rights. He'd already decided that if they didn't take to him – and why should they, especially knowing that their dad was my best mate and I didn't do anythin' to save 'im? – then he'd turn back and see himself out, thanking Annie for the hospitality all the same.
If it had been a shock to the system to see photographs, coming face to face with them was on the next level. He had to stop himself from calling Matthew 'Sam', so strong was the resemblance. Meeting the lad was strange, a weight crushing down upon him as much as it was a privilege. Tyler Junior was a little hesitant, though polite to a fault, with Annie having already signalled that was just his nature. Emily was the more extroverted of the two, taking after her mother. To his relief neither had a problem with him, and as the days and weeks went on he built up a good rapport with both of them, feeling glad that he had the chance even if it was too little, too late.
The weeks went by and he knew he should have made the effort to go. He was sure that the curtain-twitchers across the road were taking extra notice, putting two and two together and coming up with a hundred. Annie went into hysterics when he earnestly brought up that people might think there was some funny business going on between them; personally, he didn't think it was that hilarious. She wasn't bothered about the gossips and her nonchalance rubbed off on him. It wasn't his own reputation he cared about; he was hyper-aware of Sam and doing anything that could be construed as disrespectful to his memory. Annie reassured him more than once that Sam would be the first one to laugh and take the piss out of him about it, and he knew that she was right.
It made him feel better to be there, made him feel easier about everything to do with Sam. He'd spent so long doing what he could to forget, pushing it all to the back of his mind. Once he'd got over the worry that he was upsetting her by talking about it, it helped to talk to Annie. They could even laugh about the old days, before everything went wrong.
He felt like he could forgive himself at long last.
Annie said that it might be a good thing for him to talk to someone else, as well. There were people she worked alongside at the college who did out-of-hours appointments, casual kind of affairs. She suspected that he would blanch at the suggestion, which is why she went softly softly. She was half right, and while airing everything that was in the depths of his mind wasn't his idea of a walk in the park, he had thought that perhaps it might be worthwhile, possibly. A bit like taking the horrible medicine his mam always used to insist would make him feel better when he was a nipper. He wouldn't refer to it as 'counselling' though. It was having a chat, getting things off his mind. Afterwards he'd go for a couple of pints or watch the footie, his spoonful of sugar for an hour's worth of swallowing the foul tasting stuff.
As much as he didn't want to admit it, it did him good. Not just to talk about Sam to someone who didn't have to shoulder the emotional burden, but when it came to Stu, his mam and dad as well. Some days he didn't want to bother and it was like getting blood out of a stone. He didn't know how the poor cow – Deborah, her name was – didn't tell him to bugger off and stop wasting her time. Other days it came pouring out of him and he was half-scared that he'd be drained dry before the hour was up.
Bolly would be cock-a-hoop if she knew what was happening.
He didn't talk about Alex, not directly. He'd make the odd reference here and there, because Deborah wasn't daft. He never liked talking about the ex-missus, so it wasn't just about the fact that she'd take him for a grade-A nutjob if he went on and on about the woman from the future that he'd fallen for and never had the chance of getting back with. Yet it was a wound that required some healing. He thought that the elaborate story he constructed was convincing enough. She had listened and smiled, and said something more than once about how he shouldn't cut himself off from the possibilities. He didn't think she was coming onto him, but he didn't really trust his instincts about that anymore. Regardless, his mind was already made up on that matter.
One evening, not long before he made his way back to London, Annie presented him with a notebook and pen as they sat at the kitchen table, the kettle freshly brewed.
"You're not gunna get me to write me memoirs. Doin' that for once a week is enough as it is."
"If you won't talk about her – Alex – then this is another way of deconstructing – "
"English, please."
"Making sense of it, everything you feel about her. Everything you wanted to say but didn't get the chance to."
"I dunno, love. Haven't written anythin' since I was at school, and I was never any good at it then."
"You might not think it works, but it does. I did it meself, after Sam. Sometimes I still do. I've got all the letters I've written to him in the bedside cabinet. I felt so much better after writing them, every one. Almost like he knew what I was saying, as mad as that sounds."
"Sounds very bloody mad indeed. You sure you don't need to book in somethin' to get yer head seen to?"
"Just think about it, at least."
He'd opened the book a few times, even started on something once or twice. He didn't get further than half a sentence before tearing out the page, stopping short at throwing the book at the wall. It took him a while to get the picture of her out of his head, peering over his shoulder and correcting him, trying to second guess what he would say.
If you already know, Madam Fruitcake, then I don't have to bloody write it down, do I?
It was the night after his appointment with Deborah – his last one, instigated by him but calmly agreed to by her, with him awkwardly handing over a box of mint Matchmakers as a token of gratitude – when he pulled the book out again. He opened it with a sigh, pen poised above the untouched page.
Maybe if I do this then I can let her go for good.
And so he began.
Bolly -
He scratched that out.
Alex –
Bet you never thought you'd see the day that I'd write a letter to you. Well, you won't see this anyway, but that's besides the point. Or maybe it is the point. I don't really know, I'm not entirely convinced that it isn't a load of psycho-bollocks. But as that's what you get off on then I think you'll appreciate it anyway. I bloody hope you will, because I feel like a right pillock. (I won't start on everything else I've been doing. It's been good, though. Probably what I've needed for a very long time. I like to think that you'd be proud. Maybe that's why I did it in the first place.)
It's been nearly fourteen years since you went away. I could say that I haven't counted every day, but you always knew when I was lying. It's felt more like fourteen hundred. I still don't know why you left without a word of goodbye, without even giving me the slightest bit of indication. After everything that happened between us, everything that we became to each other, it wouldn't have hurt. Or maybe it would, more than anything else I've ever known. You know that begging isn't my style, but if you'd have come to me and said you were off I couldn't honestly say that I wouldn't have got down on my knees and begged you not to go. I'm a selfish bastard, through and through. I've known it for years. I wanted you to stay, even when you thought otherwise, when I was screaming and shouting at you for getting on my last nerve and consistently going against every word I said.
I know why you went. I know it was because of Molly. I don't hold it against you, love. You belong with her and she belongs with you. I hope everything's alright with the both of you. Someone told me things about you, that you didn't make it. I don't believe them. At least, they always spoke a load of bollocks, so I hope to God that they're wrong. They have to be. I hope you're having the best life that you can because you deserve it, after everything that you had to go through. I hope nothing bad ever happens to you again. If I had my way then I'd make it so that I could be certain of that.
If it would have been possible then I would have asked whoever is in charge to take me with you.
I don't know if you remember the last thing you said to me before you went. I mean, I don't know if you remember anything about me at all, because I'm buggered if I know how it all works. I try and figure it out sometimes but it burns my brain within the space of a minute. Anyway, I'll remind you just in case. You asked me whether I was happy. If I'd have known that was going to be the last time I saw you, I would have given you a better answer. I would have told you honestly that those eighteen months with you were the happiest I'd been in my whole life. Not going to deny that you drove me bloody insane half the time, more than that. You gave me something I never thought I'd have, and if anyone tells me it wasn't real they'd be lying. I know what I felt for you, what I still do, even if I tried to run away from it because it was the scariest thing I'd ever known.
The thing I regret the most is that I never told you. I could have, so many times, but you know me. I don't know why I was so scared. I've tried fooling myself, saying that I was saving it up for when you'd pay the most attention. I think that's what I wanted from you more than anything. Now that you're not here it doesn't make it any easier, and I wish that you could be here to hear me say it. But as you're not, this'll have to do.
I love you, Alex. Love every baffling, crazy thing about you. I always have, ever since I took you into my arms when you were spark out, dressed like a prozzie. And I always will, to the day I die.
I love you, Alex Drake.
There, I've said it. Maybe now we can both get some peace. It'd be the first time for the both of us, eh?
Take care, love, and give your Molly a hug from me.
Yours,
Gene x
Come November he was back where he belonged and, true to his word, he didn't stay away a second longer than he had to. He was glad to see that everything looked as he had left it – perhaps a bit tidier, which wasn't a bad thing – and better still, there was no sign of the stand-in DCI hanging around. Far too much to compete with; no wonder they'd scurried off while there was enough time. There wasn't much fanfare at his return but he didn't need it. Ray filled him on the details he'd asked for over a couple of pints after hours and his mind was put at rest, especially when he knew that bastard Keats hadn't been knocking around.
He always found himself rolling his eyes whenever anyone spoke about having a new lease of life; it was all new-age, hippy claptrap, in his book. It felt like something had shifted, though. The team seemed to have pulled their socks up, looked brighter round the edges, and they were taking care of cases and making arrests at a record rate. Something was going right – about bloody time – and he wasn't going to spend time trying to work out why.
New Year's Eve found him staying at the bar until not long after midnight, seeing it in with Ray and the members of the team who didn't have better places to go to. He took his time walking home afterwards, stopping a couple of times to look at the fireworks that sparked in the pitch-black sky. When he got in he poured himself another, the last drink before New Year's Day started in earnest. As he put back the whisky, he pulled out the letter in its sealed-up envelope, addressed with his own barely-legible scrawl. He turned it over a few times in his hands, finishing off the measure swiftly before he reached inside his jacket pocket for the lighter.
It burned quicker than he expected it to when he touched the flame to one corner, swallowing away the lump in his throat as the ashes fell at his feet.
She knew by now, if she was ever going to.
The sun streamed into the room in ribbons and she closed her eyes, basking in the warmth that pressed against the window for a moment or two before adjusting the blinds, satisfied that it wouldn't go away suddenly. She had been a little obsessive in checking the weather forecast for the best part of the week. She stopped what she had gone back to only seconds previously, laying the knife carefully down against the chopping board and retrieving the bottle of sunblock from beneath the kitchen sink to place it in the woven bag on top of the table. There wouldn't be a repeat of last year.
She managed a few more sandwiches before being interrupted completely, Gene's arms winding around her waist and his broad chest against her back. Instinctively she snugged herself against him, hands dropping to where his clasped to her.
"Enough to feed the five thousand there, Bols."
"She can take some away with her. It'll save paying the extortionate prices on board the train."
She felt his breath against her neck as he chuckled, before he pressed a kiss just below her left ear.
"Yer know, you sound more like me every day."
"It has been a quarter of a century, I think it's to be expected."
Their silver anniversary had been less than a month ago, the kind of milestone that she only ever understood as happening to other people. The bracelet that was a joint present from both Molly and Gene had been on her wrist every day since, glistening even in the lessened light. She couldn't find the necklace, though she had searched high and low, its disappearance putting her on edge slightly.
Now was not the time to start believing in superstition.
"She's twenty four." Saying it out loud made the biological fact that had started being true at the stroke of midnight all the more remarkable, as though she hadn't considered it for weeks. "Twenty four. It feels like only yesterday that she was taking her first steps."
"I know, love."
"I feel old."
It was ridiculous that that was the main thing on her mind at this very second, horribly selfish and needlessly insecure. To grow older was a gift, after all, especially when she considered all of the people in her life who hadn't got the chance to do precisely that.
Gene nuzzled her neck, his hands shamelessly roaming her body. It was a good job that Molly was still in bed so she didn't have to pay witness to the sight of her mother being groped by her father, though she would certainly make her feelings on the matter known.
"Lucky for me that I'm only as old as the woman I feel."
She let out a little laugh at what he'd said, so typical. "I don't want to drag you down with me."
"You can drag me down anytime yer want, love. But you've got nothin' to worry about, you know. You're as gorgeous now as yer were the first time I clapped eyes on yer. More so."
"Even if I can't fit into those jeans anymore?"
"That's a bonus in my book. Makes it easier to get into yer knickers, and I appreciate all the 'elp I can get these days."
She yelped as he clapped her backside, soon giving way to laughter. She turned around to face him, thinking how he'd barely aged at all, the stubble dusting his jaw a silver shade but his hair still gold, having turned lighter with the onset of summer. The lucky bastard. Her stomach fluttered at the sight of him giving her a smile that few people were privy to. A smile that spoke of the love and unwavering desire that he had for her but that acted to reassure too, telling her that life was too short to fixate on the inevitable.
"It's gunna be a great day."
She nodded, smiling against his mouth as he fastened a kiss to her lips.
"Better go and check whether there's enough in the tank. Then I'll go and get the princess out of 'er pit."
His reflexes were too fast for her as he reached to grab a sandwich.
"Hey!"
"One for the road, Bolly. There's that bloody many of them that I might as well make a 'ead start."
Once the picnic was packed and she brought Molly a birthday morning cup of tea – making sure to give her an extra big squeeze of a hug – she finally had the chance to get into the bathroom and get herself ready for the day. Outside, she could hear Gene tinkering with the car, the occasional swear word reverberating in the air. She wished that he wouldn't drive, that they could catch a cab instead, but she wouldn't hear the last of it if she made the suggestion, him being as stubborn as ever.
She switched the shower on before she got in, leaving it to the last moment to hastily undress and look at herself in the mirror, rather than rushing away.
Something held her in place for longer, a shadow in the reflection that made her freeze. A man holding a gun in his hand; a horrible reminder. In her mind's eye she saw herself running, felt the rattle of breath in her chest before she reached a dead end, alone and frightened. She'd been having the same nightmare for the past two weeks now, though she hadn't told Gene about it.
The man was speaking to her, she could see his mouth moving but whatever he said didn't match up with the voice she could hear clearly, as though it was coming from right beside her.
"It's time to wake up, Alex."
They weren't two weeks into January when the picture changed again. The suits sent the word to the Super, who thus informed Gene by way of a letter landed on his desk that there was to be a new arrival. Ray was predictably arsey about it, maintaining that there wasn't any need for another DI. Gene agreed in a way, but he also knew by now that nothing much came from kicking up a fuss to those higher up as they had very selective hearing, as well as decision-making abilities.
"Bleedin' hell," Ray had remarked on seeing it in black and white, "a bird!"
"It is 1997, Raymondo. Can't stay behind the times forever."
What bothered him wasn't the fact that the new Detective Inspector was a bird, but rather her name. DI Laura Lyon.
Only room for one Lion round 'ere.
Still, it could have been worse.
He was sat firmly behind his desk, enjoying a few moments peace and quiet as well as a new bottle of twelve-year single malt, when the cavalry roused. He glanced toward the clock above the door, seeing that it was just gone five minutes past nine. Here we go again.
He was surprised, to put it mildly, to see a young girl standing in the middle of CID while the rest of the team, including Ray, looked on from their desks.
"Sorry, sweetheart, the training academy's about five miles away. You can catch the bus there from over the road, but don't expect anyone to 'elp you with the fare."
"DCI Hunt?" she replied, and he nodded his head in response.
Oh, don't tell me…
"DI Lyon. It's an honour to be here."
Someone must have been taking the piss; she looked no older than seventeen. He had several pairs of undercrackers that were older than her.
Her eyes were wide and she messed about with her hair though it was only short, tucking a stray blonde lock behind her ear in a nervous gesture.
"DI Lyon," he repeated, feeling the disbelief coming from assembled officers that they didn't speak aloud, "we've been expectin' you. Yer'd better come in."
He stepped aside to let her enter his office, exchanging a look and a silent word of warning with Ray before going back to the den.
She stood stiffly on the other side of his desk, putting him in mind of a school prefect waiting outside the headmaster's office. It made a change, to say the least. He picked up his glass but then thought twice, putting it back down before having so much as a sniff, feeling like he was being watched.
There was nothing that accompanied the letter signalling her arrival, which had said that DI Lyon came highly recommended.
"You come far?" he said, breaking the silence that was beginning to get uncomfortable.
"No, sir. Hillingdon."
"It's Guv. Sir makes me feel like I'm a hundred years old, and though I'm gettin' on I'm not quite there yet."
"Guv it is."
"And I didn't mean location. I know what the game's about now, been playin' it long enough."
A barrier seemed to fall away, her stance relaxing. She was certainly different from most of them, wasn't in the least bit fazed at having landed several years back in time.
"2014, Guv."
Christ. It wouldn't be much longer before he was getting aliens or robots coming through the door. He tried his best not to think about it or to decipher why he was the one being sent coppers from the future.
"Right. And you know what year it is 'ere?"
"1997," she said without missing a beat, "January 10th. It's my 10th birthday tomorrow."
"Many 'appy returns."
That'd make her twenty seven, which seemed young for a DI. Of course she could have been a prodigy of some kind, but that also meant that however compliant she was for the time being she was liable to become a right bloody nightmare in no time at all.
"Look, no offence, but I think there's been some kind of mix-up." To take a hard tone with her seemed akin to kicking a puppy, so he stayed as reasonable as possible, feeling that she must have agreed despite her neutral exterior. "I'm not callin' you into question. God knows you're the easiest that I've been sent in a very long time. So, no hard feelings, you know. There's a place for you, there always is. But I don't think it's 'ere."
The phone was in his hand, poised to call the Super and ask, very politely, for a return and refund.
"Wait!" she called out just as he had dialled the number. "You can't do that, Guv."
"Why not, DI Lyon?" He held the receiver in his hand, hearing a tone on the other end.
She looked at him for a few seconds, seeming uncertain.
"DI Alex Drake," she finally said.
There was a voice answering the phone but he didn't respond to it, putting the receiver back down and cutting short the call. He sat back down in his chair, not aware of anything else other than the name that had been said. He really thought that he'd seen the end of it, made his peace. With this new DI, who looked as though butter wouldn't melt blurting that out, the walls were beginning to crumble once more.
He knew now that he'd never be free.
"One question," he turned his gaze towards her, the phone now substituted for his glass of scotch, "did DCI Keats send you?"
"No." There was a haunted look that went across her eyes, a certain kind of fear that told of an aversion to Keats which made him believe that she was telling the truth. Though he didn't really know what the truth was anymore.
"Alright."
He wanted to put his head in his hands, walk out of the door and never look back. This wasn't about him though, it never had been. He had a duty to every member of his team, including all of those who had come across the boundaries of all possibility to serve with him.
He wouldn't lie; this made something of a difference.
"I was startin' to think I'd made DI Drake up in my own 'ead."
"You'll see her again. I can say that much."
His mind started to race with possibilities. If this one is from 2014, that must mean that she's alright. She's alive. Fucking Keats. He knew he'd been wrong; all he wanted to do was to wind him up. Make him lose his mind, destroy him.
Nice try, Jimbo.
The thought of seeing her again, his Bolly, was too much to comprehend for the time being. He didn't want to hound the poor girl, needed to keep the control that he'd pulled back in the last few months and had no intention of relinquishing.
It gave him hope, though. A chink of sunshine coming through on an otherwise bitterly cold day.
He got another glass out of his drawer, poured out a measure.
"I'll drink to that."
She accepted it and took a sip, a hint of a smile breaking upon his face as he saw that it wasn't exactly to her taste.
"Welcome on board, Inspector."
A/N: I envisage around six more chapters until the end. Thanks so much to everyone who has stuck with this fic, I know it hasn't been the easiest ride but we are getting there! And with all the talk of Lazarus (the new series) and A2A tweetalongs, my muse (much like the Quattro) is fired up :D