Chapter 25

And just as my eyes start seeing
After all the pain
The twist in my life starts healing
Just to twist again
In stillness, in sorrow
Returns that softly sighing lament

And just as the smile's returning
After all the pain
The fire inside stops burning
Just to burn again
In moments of madness
Returns that softly sighing lament

It isn't how you imagine it when it happens. Because you can't help but imagine it, when sleep is elusive, when the world piles too much on top of you. When you're standing at the top of it, wondering with a strange fascination what it would take to fall. If there's anything else, anything better.

But it's no use. You can't force imagination into sensation. You absorb what other people imagine, too. The stories you've heard, like folklore passed down through the years. It stops your thoughts on the most mundane of days, the wildest nights. You let it go, otherwise you'd never make it through.

It's not the worst thing to happen. Strange, that. Yet when you look at everything it's a drop in the ocean. There's pain, yes, but it moves quickly. Spreads like a blot of ink on paper but dries up faster. People expect that things narrow but the opposite is true. The world expands around you. Everything sharpens but softens, too. You hear every sound that's made vividly, see colours that you didn't know existed. You feel yourself being held, lifted. All of the agony drifting and dissipating like smoke, or waves winding over a shore.

If people could bottle the feeling they'd make a fortune.

Your life flashing before your eyes; that's a myth. Instead there are certain moments that appear, things that you never would have thought of. They keep you occupied, take your mind elsewhere. That's what resists the most; the body is aware of its impermanence. You see yourself how others have seen you, and that's the biggest revelation.

You realise where you fit, what it's been for. Too late, many would say, but really, it comes at the best time. Because who could carry that around with them? The weight presses down for an almighty second before it's released, and you breathe the easiest you've ever done.

The not knowing is what's scary, what keeps people up at night and in places that take them nowhere.

When you know, you wonder why, but not for very long because there's other things to fill your head.

There's more to be scared about in life than there is in death.

Another evening slipping by like the beer that goes down too fast. They're on the fourth round already and he swears that'll be the last one for tonight. He's not getting any younger, he'll feel it in the morning. Leave it to the whipper-snappers, like Lyon and the lads who make up the majority of CID now. She's a testament to the phrase never judge a book by its cover. Looks like she's jumped right off the pages of Bunty but made of stern stuff. Not squeamish in the slightest, which has come in particularly handy with the string of murders they've been occupied with of late. Can handle her drink, too; he can't say that he's ever seen her even a little bit pissed in the year she's been part of the team.

Even with that in mind he's going to put a stop to her drinking too. He feels a responsibility towards her, though she's got her head screwed on right. A damn sight more sensible than any of the others. He wonders sometimes whether something even weirder than the fact of her coming from the future has gone on because her soul is older than her years, he's convinced of it. He'll freely admit to being a total and utter knobhead at twenty eight, even if he thought otherwise at the time. Lyon could have been doing this for years, longer than he has, and yet he knows that it's not her acting up. He can't ruminate on it for too long. Maybe the training has got very advanced in the twenty-first century.

He pushes back his sleeve, takes a glance at his watch. Surprised it isn't later than just after nine. It might have stopped for all he knew; it wouldn't have been the first time. He doesn't mind them all letting off some steam, not given what they'd been dealing with. For his own part he feels like he's seen it all before. A never-ending cycle of scum wrecking the lives of those who didn't deserve it. It never stopped being painful, though. If anything, the criminals had got worse over the years, more conniving and vindictive, more determined to inflict as much damage as they possibly could.

While they'd give their all to making sure justice was done during the working day, the evening was a time to forget all of the shit that others were capable of, at least for a little while.

Ray arrived back at the table with his hands full and a ridiculous grin on his face.

"You seem happy, Ray," Lyon says, taking the vodka and coke that he passes over the table to her.

"Did you find fifty quid in the gents or somethin'?" he enquired, vaguely intrigued as to why the older DI appeared so elated.

"Better than that. I've only gone and got a third date with Cathy."

Gene glanced over to the bar and the flame-haired barmaid in question, the object of Raymondo's affections for some months. It was a wonder in many ways; that he hadn't got bored and moved onto some poor unsuspecting woman, or, as was more likely, that she hadn't ditched him after half-an-hour. Indeed since Cathy had started working there they'd seen decidedly less of Ray as he spent most of his evenings glued to a stool, making eyes and whispering God only knows what to her. Gene didn't know, and he had absolutely zero intention of finding out, especially not when it caused her to cackle and term Carling a 'cheeky monkey'.

Lyon was a typical girl about the situation, calling it 'sweet'. While he wouldn't go that far, he did have to admit that there was something different about Cathy to Ray's historical conquests, and not just because she was still inexplicably interested in him.

"Oh, that's wonderful," Lyon squealed, sounding like a schoolgirl, while Ray answered with another goofy smile.

"Bloody 'ell, she must be in dire straits."

Nothing was meant by the quip; it was what was expected of him, a gentle ribbing of the longest standing member of his team. He settled down with his fresh pint while his two DIs exchanged ideas about romantic endeavours, and did what he could to tune out of the conversation.

"I was thinkin' of the pictures. Not as much pressure as goin' for a slap-up meal, and a right deal cheaper too."

Well, some things didn't change, at least; Carling was still a tight arse.

"That's always a good idea."

"Can get up to all sorts in the back row an' all." Ray's tone was turning decidedly lewd, which caused Gene to pay more attention, shooting him a look of warning. "Er, I mean kissin', like."

"Of course you do," Lyon responded, looking over at him across the table and smiling.

"Now 'ave just gotta work out what to see. She said that she wants me to surprise 'er."

"There's the showings up to next week in the paper," DC Knight piped up from beside Lyon, handing over the folded-up newspaper.

"Stella Does Tricks. Ey, that sounds like a good one."

"Not to speak for all of my fellow women, but watching a film about teenage prostitution isn't my idea of a romantic night out."

"Er, yeah, probably not. The Devil's Advocate, that sounds alright."

"Let's face it, there's only one correct choice here," Lyon stated confidently, "Titanic. It has it all. Most importantly it's incredibly romantic."

"I dunno. Seems like one for birds and poofs."

While he continued to stay well and truly out of it, Gene couldn't stop himself from shaking his head. Little wonder that Carling didn't have an illustrious record for this type of thing. Though to be fair to Raymondo, he wouldn't have fancied sitting watching a mushy flick for more than three hours just for the not-guaranteed promise of getting a bit of the other. The ensuing arse-ache wouldn't be worth it; in fact, it'd only be a disadvantage when it came to the more important matters of the night.

"Anyway, I know 'ow it ends already. Iceberg ahoy and most of 'em end up brown bread. Really happy ending."

Lyon wouldn't be deterred, to give her credit. "Trust me, Ray. If you want her to be crying into your shoulder, snuggled up to you, then results are absolutely guaranteed. Plus," she paused to take a sip of her drink, "Kate Winslet gets her kit off."

"What? And you see 'er…?" He performed his tried-and-tested mime, which had one unequivocal meaning.

"Mm-hmm."

"Bloody 'ell," Ray exclaimed, "why didn't you say that in the first place? Don't need much more convincin' than that!"

"Like I say, something for everyone."

Gene looked over the table, clocking Lyon looking very pleased with herself. She always did come up with the best solutions, smart as they came – on a par with Tyler and Bolly. He felt stupid for underestimating her in the early days, assuming that because she was young she'd be naïve. She was a Detective Inspector for more than one reason, after all. At the same time she didn't believe that she had all the answers – unlike Tyler and Bolly – and was eager to learn. She was a shot in the arm at exactly the right time for the team, her youth giving them all a much-needed kick up the arse. Perhaps the best out of all of her good points was that she'd built a good relationship with Ray from day one, letting him take the lead when it wasn't to her disadvantage, making him feel appreciated. Ray had made his recommendation clear by saying that Lyon "wasn't bad for a bird", which in Raymondo-speak was amongst the greatest of accolades.

He couldn't deny it; he was lucky to have two of the finest DIs in the whole of the Met. Others might argue that theirs were better, but quite frankly they were wrong.

Ray must have been in a very good mood indeed, as he offered to get another round in. Despite what he'd said to himself the occurrence of Carling getting two rounds in a row was that much of a rare occurrence that he couldn't turn it down.

"You okay, Guv?"

Lyon had remained at the table, missing precisely nothing, as usual.

"Never better."

Give her her due, she didn't badger him or go over the top in attempting to cheer him up. She let him be, which he appreciated and hadn't yet gotten over the novelty of. He wasn't really in that much of a mood, anyway. God knows he'd been in far worse states in the not-too-distant past. He was keeping everything in mind, still feeling the effects of his time out. Breathing a bit easier and not burning his head out, which definitely helped matters.

Lyon had brought the thought of Alex back, just as he had managed to place her in the past. On one hand, it was inevitable. Bolly was the one person he couldn't forget, even when details about Sam and the others that had come and gone became increasingly hazy. To keep his sanity he placed restrictions on himself. He didn't ask Lyon about what she knew, if indeed she knew anything. He didn't tick off the days in his calendar to mark the amount of time that had passed since Lyon's arrival and her assertion that he would see Alex again. Of course, he wondered now and again what she had meant by that. Would it be as she was now, before she ever knew him, or would she be coming from the future again? Selfishly he hoped for the latter, although surely that couldn't have been good for her, which made him reconsider.

It was better that he didn't know, better that he could let himself be taken by surprise. Perhaps he'd walk out of there tonight and find her waiting on the street, eyes shining towards him and her whole being bathed in light.

"I've gotta ask, what are you doin' spendin' your free time with old duffers like us? Knight and Hendry excluded, obviously. You should be with the B and C team after hours, they're closer to your age bracket."

"And they're also obnoxious pricks who can't go five minutes without trying it on with me."

His protective instincts kicked in, making his blood pressure rise. "Well, this is the first I've 'eard! I can give them a talkin' to, or better still, give them a demonstration of how to show respect to a superior officer."

"Guv, it's alright. I can handle myself, you know."

"Course you can. It'd just be good to see you socialisin' with people you've got more in common with. Not me and Ray, either of us could be your bloody granddad."

She chuckled in a good-natured way. "I can't exactly hang out with girls my own age, go to sleepovers after-school and obsess over Leonardo DiCaprio."

"Who?"

"He's in Titanic. So gorgeous. Kate Winslet is one lucky cow. Extremely talented, though."

"Ah. Well, y'see, this is what I mean. I'm not gunna go and see that load of crap just so I can have a conversation with you about some bloke with a funny name."

"Nor would I want you to, Guv. There's a lot to be said for inter-generational friendships, you know."

His eyebrows raised at that. He hadn't really thought of Lyon as a friend until now, but he supposed in any definition of the word that she was. More so than any of the rest of them, aside from Carling. She was the only member of the team – Ray included – that he could have a decent conversation with, and not exclusively about whatever no-marks they were dealing with at the time.

She hadn't said much about her own life, years off in the future. He'd made it clear that she could speak to him about it, whatever had happened, even if he couldn't do anything to help. She hadn't taken him up on the offer yet, and in a way that increased his regard for her.

"I appreciate your company," she said with a smile, "I hope that doesn't make you feel uncomfortable."

He gave a shake of his head before getting to his feet, feeling the need to stretch his legs.

"Feeling's mutual. Though don't go lettin' on. Wouldn't want the rest gettin' any ideas."

Her smile grew wider as she nodded her head in response.

"And no more vodka and cokes after that one. It's a school night after all. I'll see you home afterwards."

"Guv," she started, "that's…"

"I know, I know, you can handle yerself. I'm not goin' senile, despite everything. Clock's tickin' and you don't know who's lurkin' out there."

"Okay," she said, holding her hands up, "are you going to check?"

"Always good to get a 'ead start, DI Lyon."

He waited a couple of minutes until he lit up, letting the night air settle around him and the shadows half fade. No Bolly waiting, after all. He allowed himself a smile at the daydream, shoving his free hand into his trouser pocket while he partook in one of the few vices left to him. It was a bit bloody late to start playing at being an angel.

Past the beacon of the cigarette held between his lips was a greater array of lights; he craned his head, looking at the stars above. Not that he'd paid a great deal of attention too many other nights, but there seemed to be more of them of late, stretching across the sky as far as his eyes could see. They stayed with him before he closed his eyes each night, slipping into his dreams.

He thought about starting on another once that one was finished but refrained, giving himself a few more minutes with the stars before going back inside. It didn't matter that the night was cold enough to freeze the balls off an eskimo; there was a pint waiting for him and it wouldn't do to let it go to waste.

Better parted
I see people crying
Truth gets harder
There's no sense in lying
Help me find a way from this maze
I can't help myself

When I see tenderness before you left (forget)
That even breaking up was never meant (forget)
But only angels look before they tread (forget)
Living in another world to you

They were already out, keeping tabs on a businessman turned drug-dealer when a call came through the radio.

Suspected bomb just off Oxford Street. All teams required.

"Talk about bloody bad timin'," Ray remarked from the back of the car, "we were that close to nabbing the bastard!"

"All in good time, Raymondo. Doubt he'll be goin' very far if the whole city's goin' into shutdown."

Oxford Street. Couldn't get more central if they tried. He would have preferred to stay where they were himself, but these things couldn't be helped. Another call came through, multiple devices suspected. He put his foot down hard, shifted into the next gear along.

"Hold onto yer kecks."

As they got closer to the scene a feeling crept up over him, like he'd been here before. He couldn't remember how or why; maybe it was something he'd dreamt.

He looked to his left for as long as it was safe to divert his eyes from the road. Lyon was clutching on to her fastened seatbelt, lips pursed tight and eyes blankly staring ahead.

"Alright, DI Lyon?"

She'd turned her head the next time he looked, released her hands into her lap.

"Absolutely fine, Guv."

Squad cars lined the street for miles, although there didn't seem to be an accompanying number of officers. He headed his team towards Selfridges where DCI Davenport from Fenchurch West and a couple of faces that he recognised from being of that CID stood just off the pavement.

"What's the score?"

"Reckon we know as much as you do. Word is that there could be anything up to fifteen, dotted all along the row."

"Jesus Christ." Well, that was them buggered for the rest of the day.

"Explosives are sussing it out, but there'll probably be call for back-up. Priority's getting everyone out and keeping crowd control."

"Crowd control? That'll be as much use as herding cats."

"It has to be done, DCI Hunt."

At least it was a Wednesday morning, not that the busiest street in the whole of London was going to be quiet at any time; it still could have been a whole lot worse.

"Right then," he turned to his assembled team, the other divisions somewhere amidst the scene or otherwise on their way, "I 'ope you all 'ad a big breakfast."

"Guv, can I be on stand-by for assistin' explosives?" Ray enquired. "I'd rather be useful. Got pent up energy from thinkin' we were gunna collar that druggie."

He thought twice about it, given Carling's age, but in the end he couldn't deny him.

"Alright. Take Hendry with you. If that's alright with you, Hendry."

"Course, Guv," the young DS replied.

He was still concerned about Lyon but she looked better out in the air. With Ray and Hendry going off to join the explosives officers, they were left to keep an eye on the hoards that came steadily spilling out from the doors of the department store, as well as others alongside it. Thankfully the roads nearby had been shut off, a load of others sent to deal with seeing off the traffic.

Faces and bodies paraded, some more jittery than others, asking what was going on. All they were able to do was reassure, say that the situation was under control. He let them flow by, checking that none went astray by quick head counting.

Then one face stopped him in his tracks, near enough stopping his heart.

There was no questioning, no tricks being played. She was there in the flesh, one amongst the crowd.

Alex.

He felt himself frozen to the spot, others not occurring to him as he focused solely upon her. She looked young, as though she was barely in her twenties. The muted colours she wore designed to make her blend in, the precise opposite of what he was used to from her. The precise opposite of everything about her.

She didn't look particularly perturbed by what she was caught up in. Shaken, frayed around the edges. She seemed tired, like she hadn't slept well for a while. That's what having a kid will do. She was still gorgeous though.

She didn't look at him as she passed by, though he couldn't take his eyes off her. Why would she look at you? She's not goin' to remember. He fought the urge to go amongst the growing crowd, fight his way past the nameless people he was supposed to be protecting just to be by her side, to keep her safe alone.

He heard Lyon say something about some officers further down the street needing help, and he let her go with a word. They were dispersed everywhere, divisions from different stations being of little importance. He stepped back into the road to give the crowds some more space while they remained clustered, it being easier to keep them in check.

One of the DCI's from Central spoke over a megaphone to try and keep everyone calm, a few old dears coming up to him at intervals. He walked towards them, discouraging them from breaking away from the pack. He noticed them eyeing him, probably thinking that he was past it himself. He sounded like a broken record, asking if they could be patient and reassuring them that at least half of the Met was out in force and doing everything they could.

While he was occupied, he lost sight of Alex.

He scoured the sea of faces in front of him to no avail. Seeing that DC Knight was nearby he asked his officer if he could take over his patch while he checked something out. He needed to know how Lyon, Ray and Hendry were doing as well and used that as an immediate cover.

He walked past the department store, standing at the crossroads between the main street and a side street. Relief flooded through his veins when he saw her, mobile phone held to her ear. He kept his steps slow as he approached nearer to her, the buzz of action far enough behind them that he could hear every word that she said. Still he kept his distance, not wanting to cause alarm if she turned around suddenly to see him tailing her.

"It's all a bit mad, and nobody knows what's going on, but I'm fine. I'm just glad that I didn't bring Molly with me. I'll get away as soon as I can, and keep in touch. Okay, see you soon I hope, bye."

He was distracted by his thoughts, wondering whether she was talking to her husband, or maybe Evan White, and she was distracted as she dipped her head to put her phone back into her bag. He heard the shot ring out in the air before he looked up to see a silhouetted figure on the roof of a building, taking aim at Alex as she stood in isolation.

She didn't let out a sound louder than a gasp, nor did she run. He could tell that she had undergone training. She inched slowly, her feet moving the smallest amount within the space of a second. Gene kept one eye on her and another to the sky, hoping he could preempt the gunman's movements.

For a few foolish moments he thought a second shot wouldn't come.

He ran out into the street before it did, preempting Alex breaking into a run back into the main street. His arms went around her as he registered the bullet hitting him in the back. As he fell to his knees she went with him, her hands grasping onto him. He got himself in front of her, shielding her completely. He didn't know how he had predicted it, but another shot, fired at a closer range, struck him slightly lower.

He might have got away with one, but not two.

Collapsing almost completely onto the tarmac of the road, held up by her arms, he looked up into her face. Even struck with horror, eyes wild with shock and fear, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. One of her hands was pressing against the first of his wounds; she couldn't do enough to stem the flow of blood, but it wasn't her fault.

"It's alright," he managed to stutter out, his voice already rasping, "you're alright."

"Don't try to speak," she told him, her voice trembling. "Someone's going to come. One of your team."

She's already here.

Out of all of the ways he could go, he couldn't have chosen better. He didn't regret anything.

People were coming, he could hear them. He wanted it to be just the two of them, the last sights that he saw the sky above, the sun starting to break its way through the clouds, and the amber glow of her eyes.

"Weren't bad…" he said, struggling for breath. He could feel himself going, but he didn't feel afraid.

He looked up at her, saw tears gathering in her eyes. Felt her holding him tighter.

I'm glad it's you.

One of her hands went out from under him to brush against his cheek.

"See you around, Bollykecks."

He got his dying wish, one which he'd held onto ever since Alex Drake disappeared from his life going on sixteen years previous.

She was the last thing he knew before he went.

Come on, Alex. Push back. Show us that you're fighting.

She heard a voice coming out of the distance, saying her name. Encouraging her. Hadn't she been fighting for years?

She'd done nothing but.

"Your mum's resting now, Molly. She's had a very big operation and won't wake up for a long while. We just have to wait now and see how she responds to the surgery."

Molly? Where had she gone? She felt her presence nearer as the voices got louder and clearer.

There wasn't anything else for a little while, no sight or sound, but she felt something. A sensation.

Her heart beating within her chest.

A hand taking her hers.

She thought of that terrible day, the smoke and fire surrounding her.

"That's wonderful, Alex. You're nearly there. Now if you can breathe..."

It felt too much, too painful. Was there anybody waiting?

Arms that could hold her, bring her back.

She felt the surge, didn't think to resist. Her body felt light and then full of substance, as though she were settling back into herself.

The breath came suddenly, the exhalation almost choking her.

Her eyes opened to light, a hospital room. Staring up at the ceiling. A hand letting go of hers.

She saw a face she didn't know before her, the smile that stretched upon it welcoming.

"Hello, Alex. It's good to see you, at last."

She smiled back, as much as she could muster.

"Gene."

The doctor, or perhaps he was a nurse, didn't respond, but instead stroked her hand.

"You take it easy. A lot's happened. We'll let your family know how you are, and you'll see them very soon. I promise that."

She nodded her head, trusting in him instinctively.

"There's no rush, none at all. You're a fighter, Alex. It was never in doubt that you'd make it through."

"Thank you."

"No need to thank us, you did all the work."

She smiled again, reclining against the pillow.

"Now, you rest. And we'll see you later on. Molly will be so excited."

"Molls…"

Her daughter filled her head as she closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep. She was standing in the room, such a big smile on her face.

She expected him to be there too, but he wasn't. It confused her; surely he'd be there, waiting, wanting to see her?

Instead, she heard a distant echo of his voice, barely audible.

See you around, Bollykecks.

The news had been sent ahead of them before their early return to the station, which was the sole thing to be glad of. It didn't break the atmosphere when they walked through CID, disbelieving eyes staring at their quartet.

Staring at the absent space where their leader should have been.

Laura couldn't settle, picking up files on her desk and putting them down again. She didn't feel prepared, had no inkling that it would happen that way. If she had known then perhaps she could have found a diversion, sought to defy the odds.

There was little use in thinking about it, knowing that such decisions were out of her hands.

Her heart went out to Ray, slumped in the chair that occupied his desk. She felt the sting keenly enough, but couldn't begin to imagine the pain he would be feeling.

"Ray." She uttered his name quietly, feeling him flinch as she placed a hand against his shoulder. "I won't even ask…"

He gave a small shake of his head, not looking at her as she withdrew her hand.

"It's hard, I know."

His eyes flashed towards her in that instant, full of hurt, his face pale and drawn.

"You've been 'ere eighteen months. That's as good as five minutes. It's been nearly thirty years for me. Thirty years."

She let the reality sink in while he paused to recover his broken breath, inhaling slowly.

"To think that's it. That 'e's not gunna come through those doors again…it's not right."

"You can go home. Take the rest of the day off, the week or the month, even. Nobody would think bad of you."

He shook his head more vigorously.

"I've got to stay. It's what 'e'd want." He looked up at her, apologetic. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…he was your Guv too."

"I know," she replied, "and it's alright. Just let me know, okay? If it gets tough you don't have to face it alone."

He nodded, managing a small quirk of his mouth, the best that could be expected in the circumstances.

"I'm going to get a cup of tea. Do you want one?"

"No, you're alright. Could do with somethin' stronger."

"Well, I can see what's in the kitchen," she said, smiling softly.

She was met by DC Benson when she got there, swirling a spoon in a mug.

"Ma'am. I hope you don't mind, but I didn't think the vending machine quite cut it in the circumstances."

"Of course not. We could even spare some custard creams, too. How is she?"

"Seems okay. She's a copper, too. On extended maternity leave at the moment. Southwark. Never seen her before, though, which is weird. Small world."

It certainly was that.

"Do you mind if I…?" She gestured towards the mug.

"Course, Ma'am." DC Benson stood back, hands behind his back. "I hope you're alright, as well. I feel like I'm walking around in a daze, it doesn't seem real."

"I know. We'll get there, though."

She walked carefully down the corridor, being mindful not to spill any of the contents of the mug in her hand, gathering herself before she opened the door to find Alex Drake sitting on the bench seat. She didn't seem that unrecognisable, just younger, a fringe sweeping over her forehead. Laura made certain to smile reassuringly as she went forward, offering the drink out.

"Thank you," Alex said, taking a slow sip.

"May I…?"

Alex nodded. "Of course."

She didn't really know what to say, not sure if there was anything that could be said. She always felt that it was better to be there as a supportive presence, letting the witness speak or stay silent as they wished.

"It's my first day back next week. I should have really gone back sooner, and that was the plan, but it felt too soon to leave my daughter. It sounds silly, but after what happened with Princess Diana…it made me rather self-conscious."

"That's understandable. How are you feeling about it?"

"As well as I can be. It was always going to be hard to leave her, though she'll be in good hands, I know."

Laura watched as she paused for a moment, looking down into her lap.

"Of course, that was before today. I suppose they couldn't…"

Laura shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"I'm sorry." Her tone was genuinely empathetic, her eyes reflecting the crushing sorrow that was felt by the whole of CID. "Your colleague told me that he was your DCI. I feel that our paths should have crossed."

"London is a big city."

Alex smiled, and then looked around the room. "Now I know…that is, they did. Not professionally. But I've been here before, when I was a little girl. My parents died in an explosion, there was a bomb in their car."

"I'm so sorry."

Her eyes were soft, gracious. "For a long time I thought it was Evan. My godfather. But my memories changed at some point, I don't know when. Coming here, it's barely changed. And being here, I know. It was him."

Laura found herself smiling as Alex turned her head to look at her.

"And something else, another time. It was in our house. I remember a neon-pink stereo type thing, no idea where it came from. Evan never explained what happened to it, but I know now that it was dangerous. And he was there again." She stopped, catching her breath. "Today…I, um, I don't think it could have been a coincidence. Even though it's..."

Her words trailed off, her gaze pinned to the floor.

"We will do everything we can," Laura gave her word, "not just us, but the whole of the Met. You will be protected. It shouldn't stop you coming back, living your life."

Though nothing could get rid of the weight upon her shoulders, Alex gave a small smile.

"Thank you. That means a lot. I'm just sorry…it shouldn't have happened."

"It wasn't your fault. It was one of those things. DCI Hunt knew what he was doing. He was always there when he was needed. Alex?"

After a moment, Alex returned her gaze, the frown fading from her face.

"Yes. I'm fine. I just…feel like I've heard that before, somehow. Never mind," she brought the mug to her lips again, drinking steadily until she finished off what was inside. "If there's anything that I can do…"

"Aside from hand me that," Laura tipped her head, smiling and standing once Alex passed her the empty mug. "DC Benson has your statement, so you're free to go. Is there anyone I can call to collect you?"

"It's alright, I'll call Evan. He's probably wondering where I am." She picked up the bag that lay at her feet, rummaging in it for her phone, and then stopped. "Can someone let me know when the funeral is, when the arrangements are made? I'd like to pay my respects."

"Of course."

"He saved my life, and I'll be forever grateful."

Laura bowed her head, finding it hard to look at Alex for the moment.

"Take care. And I hope it doesn't take too long to get home. Molly will be waiting for you."

She closed the door behind her before Alex could think to respond, cursing herself internally for her slip up.

She was glad to have seen her and for the chance to speak to her. It felt like a resolution, somehow. She knew what was to come, even though it terrified her ever so slightly. At least Ray would be there in the beginning, and she was immensely glad of that, for them both.

The voices she could hear, which she had hardly stopped hearing since she had got there, were receding further into the distance. She knew it wouldn't be long until they stopped completely. She smiled before she went back through the double doors, glad that peace would come soon enough.

The atmosphere was as sombre as it had been before she had left, which was only to be expected. Taking a breath in, she felt horribly out of her depth. If I can't even begin a conversation with a witness, what hope do I have to take charge here?

"Sod this, someone 'as to say somethin'."

"Ray."

She could only say his name in a whisper before he got up to address the room, coming to a standstill in front of the closed door of the Guv's office.

"None of us could 'ave known when we got up this mornin' that today would be the day. The day that the Guv," his voice was on the verge of breaking, "would take his last stand."

He caught her eyes at that moment, and she nodded her head, smiling.

"He went out the way 'e wanted to. Doin' the right thing, layin' down his life for others. It's shit for the rest of us, and believe me, if I could do anythin', turn back the clock, I'd do it, no question. But somehow, I don't think he'd want that. 'Way of the world, Raymondo,' he'd say, 'when you're time's up, that's it. No point in arguin'.' DCI Gene Hunt wasn't just the best Guv that I've ever known, he was the best man I've ever known, and it was a bloody honour to serve with him. He might not be 'ere any longer in person, but his legend will live forever. I know I'll do everythin' I can to live up to his example, and make him proud, and I hope – no, I know that the rest of you will do the same."

"Hear, hear!"

The echoes of agreement went around the room, and Laura joined in heartily.

"Now, you might not 'ave single-malt in yer mugs, which is what he'd prefer, but all the same I'd like to make a toast. To the Guv."

"To the Guv!"

Their voices were loud enough that Fenchurch East could be heard for miles.

With tears in her eyes she looked over at Ray, raising her own mug in the air with a watery smile, more pleased than anything when he returned it not seconds later.

Between them, they'd make it work, and hopefully make him proud.

She was sore and more than a little woozy when she woke up, the clock on the opposite wall telling her that she had slept for about four hours. Her neck ached due to the half-upright position she was in but there wasn't a lot she could do about it.

She was glad to be conscious, quite frankly.

The time passed quicker than she thought it would, a soft knock on the door quickly followed by the same doctor, or nurse, who had been there when she had first woken up. Her mouth was incredibly dry.

"You're already looking much brighter," he said, trying to be helpful. "Feeling up to some visitors?"

She nodded her head as eagerly as she was able.

He smiled at her. "Usually we would wait for a day or two, but this is an exceptional circumstance. And I don't think Molly can wait any longer."

Alex smiled, tears coming to her eyes. Her daughter, her baby. All she'd been fighting and surviving for.

"I'm afraid it's just half an hour for now, but we can work up to longer. You'll be there in no time, I'm certain. Anyway, I'll leave you to it. If there's anything you need, you can just push the button at your bedside."

"Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse, "for everything."

He left with a smile, and she watched the open door full of hope, hearing voices talking in the corridor outside. In the space of a few seconds, she was there.

"Mum!"

"Molls!"

Alex reached her arms out for her daughter, who bounded over to her, slightly tentative. She hugged her as close and tight as she could, relishing the feel of her – really here – beneath her fingertips.

She could have stayed like that, her little girl locked in her embrace, forever.

"I knew that you'd make it."

"Of course. I'd never leave you. Never, ever."

She looked into Molly's face, held between her hands. Her smile the most wonderful thing Alex would ever see. It took a few moments for it to sink in, but it did, slowly, leaving a small sting stabbing at her heart.

As well as her daughter's appearance, there was also the notable lack of rings on the third finger of her left hand.

It was a dream.

To stop the pain from surging through her at the absence of a man who had likely never existed, she hugged Molly close again, hanging onto her muffled, happy cries of "Mum!"

She heard a knock upon the door, accompanied by Evan's voice.

"Is it alright if I join you both?"

Alex turned her head, smiling and nodding.

He moved into the room, placing one hand on Molly's shoulder and the other on top of Alex's hand, his thumb rubbing over the curve of hers.

"Alex," he said, sounding rather stunned, "this is…this is just wonderful. You look…"

"Terrible?"

"No. Not in the slightest. It's so good to see you again." He paused, swallowing hard. "It's so good to have you back."

She smiled, flexing her fingers against his. Molly was leaning against the side of her bed, holding her other hand.

"How long…" she began, feeling somewhat exhausted – wrung out by all of the emotion, no doubt.

Evan was silent for a long moment, as though she was eight years old again and wasn't able to handle the truth.

"You were in a coma for two weeks, and then there was the operation."

Two weeks? She'd been in the Eighties for nearly eighteen months.

"Thank god it wasn't any worse." He looked over at Molly, his expression changing swiftly. "But that doesn't matter. All that matters is that you've made it, and you're here, with us."

She looked at Evan, and then her daughter. She was very aware of her heart beating fast within her chest, echoing in her ears.

"Mum? You're crying."

Molly reached over to wipe the tears that had begun to stream down her face, which she had hardly registered.

"It's okay, Molls. I'm just so happy to see you again. Both of you," she said, turning her head again towards Evan, who looked at her with a close-lipped smile. "Come here, I need another hug."

With her daughter held tight in her arms, she knew this was where she needed to be.

Yet, in the back of her mind, and somewhere in her heart, she held onto the memory of Gene Hunt.

The love of a life she lived for a little while.

Did I see tenderness where you saw Hell? (forget)
Did I see angels in the hand I held? (forget)
God only knows what kind of tale you'd tell (forget)
Living in another world to you
Living in another world to you

Living in another world to you

Things started to settle down after the funeral, though it still felt weird. Every day he expected to come into work to find the Guv there, asking what the bloody hell he was gawping at and telling them to get their arses in gear as they had work to do. Life would carry on as normal, once they'd got over the shock that it'd all been a cruel trick.

Reality was the cruellest trick of all.

The Super agreed to promote both him and Lyon rather than bring anyone else in, and they worked as a double act. It felt better that way, less like they were taking over. As far as they were concerned they weren't DCIs; just DIs with a bit more responsibility. The Guv would have approved, he was fairly sure.

As such, neither one of them moved into the Guv's office. It was left untouched for a few weeks, his name still on the door. It was Lyon's idea to 'give it a tidy' – not to clear it out. He knew eventually there would have to be changes, it wasn't right to keep it as some kind of shrine. Not to mention, that was more than a bit creepy and also quite poofy. One Friday evening, when six o'clock came around, they didn't immediately follow the others but stayed behind instead, venturing in to the hallowed space for the first time since he'd gone. Lyon put her hand on his shoulder, smiling at him. It made him think twice about bolting out of the door.

"I'd never noticed that before." She stopped once they'd been working for a while, Ray following her gaze to the poster stuck near the joining of the wall. A smile curved the corners of his mouth as he looked at it properly, recalling how it adorned the walls in Manchester too.

"Yeah, it was one of his favourites. He used to say that 'e were all three."

Lyon broke into a smile. "Sounds about right, though I'd beg to differ."

"You can 'ave it if you'd like." She looked at him rather surprised, and he shrugged, smiling back. "Reckon he'd want it to go to a good 'ome."

He took it down from the wall, being careful as he peeled it from the blobs of tack that held it up.

"Thanks, Ray," she said, taking it from him. "Fancy a brew? I should let you know, it's not going to become a habit."

"Aye, go on, then. Seein' as it's a special occasion."

He went back to where he'd been waylaid in going through the desk. He worked his way from the bottom up, smirking when he pulled out a half-full bottle of single-malt. Fetching a glass, he poured a measure out, leaving it on top of the desk; he thought that the Guv wouldn't mind if he took the rest of the bottle for himself.

It didn't take that long to work through the rest of the drawers; the Guv wasn't one for holding onto stuff. There were a couple of notepads which he put to one side, in case they contained anything that would come in useful. Otherwise there were just bits and bobs, pens and paperclips, a watch that had stopped on 9.06. He recognised it as something that was all the rage during the '80s, one of those Casio ones.

He went back to close the drawers when he spotted something that had fallen down the back, lying on the floor. It must have been there for a while, he hadn't come across it inside. He got down on his knees, which was a bit of an effort, fetching it out. A cassette tape in a plastic case, the Guv's name written on a scrap of paper that had been slid into the front of the case. He turned it over in his hand, seeing that it was an album by Roxy Music. Didn't think that was his cup of tea.

Speaking of tea, Lyon came back with the brews, so he slipped it into his inside pocket.

He didn't think about it again until he'd got back home after the bar. He'd said that it wasn't going to be a late one but it was after midnight once he'd got in. Despite everything he wasn't that tired. Instead of turning the telly on he remembered the tape and took it out of his jacket, going over to the stereo. He couldn't remember any songs that Roxy Music had done, never recalled liking them that much, but he thought for some reason that he'd give it a go.

Pressing play, there was longer silence than was normal. Maybe they were more avant-garde than he remembered. He got the shock of his life when, instead of music, there came the voice of a bird. A posh, plummy-sounding bird, at that.

I…well, I don't know why I'm doing this. Okay, that's not true. The letter didn't seem to say enough on its own. If I know you as well as I think I do then you probably won't bother to read it anyway. Too much like bloody paperwork, and why do I always have to ramble on when I could just say what's on my mind. 'Not that I need to hear it, Bollykecks.'

Anyway, I digress. In the last few months, I've come to know you in ways I never would have imagined when I first came here, so perhaps I'm wrong. I'll admit that I was wrong about you then, Gene. And I certainly never thought we'd be…where we are now. Though there was always something. A fascination, a curiosity. A spark. I never would have heard the end of it if I'd said anything at the start, but I'm regretting that I didn't, now. I can't help but having thought about it lately. If we'd done this sooner. What things would have been like if we'd had more time.

It went silent for a while, aside from the sound of breathing.

But time…well, it's something that isn't on my side. I suspect it's the same for you, Gene, though I don't know why. You know, if I could, if I had no obligations, then I'd stay here. I'd do it in a heartbeat. I'd stay with you. In the middle of everything, when I've doubted myself and felt like I've lost myself, you've been there. My constant. I'm sure I'm going to make you uncomfortable by saying it, but tough. You're just going to have to knock back some scotch and squirm.

If you weren't here, then I don't know what I'd do. Disappear, probably. I've come to realise something over the last few months, although really, I think I've known it all along.

I love you, Gene Hunt.

He hit the stop button after that; he should have done it earlier, really, but now he knew for certain that he was intruding. Whoever she was, the Guv had kept her top secret. He didn't blame him, he supposed, especially when it sounded as serious as it did. He found himself thinking of Cathy; he'd gone quiet on her since everything had happened and he didn't want her to think that he'd gone off her. She was special, and he needed to show her that.

He took the tape out of the player, put it back in its case, smiling to himself as he did so. He was glad that he'd had something else, that his life hadn't revolved around the force, although they all believed it had.

Good on you, Guv.

He unscrewed the top on the bottle of single-malt, taking a swig straight from it and feeling, just for a moment, that he was there again.

Beds in the high-dependency unit were never left empty for long. The two that had been vacated, for vastly different reasons, had already been occupied; one by a patient in their early forties, the other was in their mid-twenties. Every case was different and every one had their sorrows. For whatever reason it was, being there was not a good thing.

It was good news about Alex Drake. More than good – terrific. When Mr Gerrard had confirmed that she was stable enough to be operated upon, Cherry had kept her in her prayers. Not that she was a particularly religious person; she'd just said her prayers every night because her nan had done so, and it had never done her any harm. Just that morning she'd heard that the operation had been a success and she was apparently awake now. Cherry knew that she had a daughter. She hoped that they got to be reunited as soon as possible.

She swiped her ID card, cleaning her hands before she entered room five. It was her job to check on all of the patients, but she spent a little extra time with the occupant of this room, mainly because the rest of the staff seemed to have written him off completely. She hated what they said, had heard them talking about 'pulling the plug', as if he wasn't a person but an object. Something broken beyond repair. She didn't believe that. When she dared to speak up and say as such, she was met with scoffing. 'How often have you heard of a case of progressed coma improving, especially after several years?'

It's true that she wasn't as senior as some of them but it didn't make her stupid. There were examples of patients who had been in longer comas who had gone on to recover. It seemed like they wanted to shrug and forget, move onto the next 'case', as they callously put it. For a caring profession, she found herself being consistently surprised about how little of it was displayed amongst her colleagues.

Besides, he was in a better physical condition than most of the other patients on the unit. He was probably around a similar age to Martin Summers but the difference couldn't have been more marked, in her opinion. It had been a blessing that Summers had passed, and that wasn't something she said lightly. If he was on any other ward, it would have appeared that he was sleeping, and it wouldn't have come as a shock to anyone if he had woken up five minutes later, fully alert.

She peered down at him, standing at the bedside. He even seemed to look better from her last visit the previous night, at least to her eyes.

"How are we today?" she said, her voice bright and cheery. Not only did she speak to him but she took his hand too. Others would no doubt say that she was wasting her time, but she didn't care. "There's been a bit of a celebration around here. We've had a recovery. It's Alex Drake."

She was just about to remove her hand when she felt resistance. At first she thought that it must have been something else, a breeze in the room. She turned her head to be certain and saw that he was gripping onto her hand.

Not only that, his eyes had blinked open too. She didn't know why, but she hadn't expected them to be blue. He stared up at her, and through her abject shock, she managed a smile.

She'd let a few more minutes pass, and then she would let Mr Gerrard know as a matter of urgency.

A/N: Lament perfomed by Ultravox and written by Warren Cann, Chris Cross, Billy Currie and Midge Ure.

Living in Another World performed by Talk Talk and written by Mark Hollis and Tim Friese-Greene.

I'm sorry, I really am. But, it's not the end - in many senses, it's only the beginning...(she says after 25 chapters)