Chapter 28

The sound of his voice echoed in her head, that one incredible moment replaying on repeat through day and night.

"Alex."

It felt like a lifetime that she'd been waiting to hear it again, hear him speak her name. That alone would have been enough, but it hadn't ended there.

Things would need to go slow and steady, she had to remind herself of that. Everything suited to his pace, fighting the urge she had to rush ahead. The last thing she wanted to do was to overwhelm him. There would likely be setbacks, and that was okay. Completely expected. They were nothing to be discouraged about. His progress thus far was nothing short of miraculous.

Didn't 'ave any doubts about the Gene Genie, did yer, Bols?

She had to remind herself too, that he wasn't the Gene that she knew from her coma dream world. Or perhaps it was their shared dream world, she wasn't really sure. Either way, they would have different perceptions of the other, and on top of that, they were different people in the here and now, or they would be for the most part. That world was a fantasy, exaggerated in its colours, sights and sounds. In its behaviours, most certainly.

Although, the voice at the back of her head whispered, fantasies do have their basis in reality.

She visited as often as she was allowed. Even with the progress that was being made, Mr Gerrard advocated caution, taking the line that daily visits would be too much to process. Alex didn't argue, wanting the best for Gene and agreeing that keeping a level of distance was healthy. All the same, she found herself getting restless on the days she didn't see him. If she wasn't working she would spend her time researching, trying to build a map of the most realistic next steps.

After the initial recognition she did wonder about his perception of time, whether he was aware of being in the twenty-first century. He did have a history of amnesia, after all, so it wouldn't have been unthinkable for his memory to have been severely affected. Not to mention that he'd been through so much, enough that should have made any impact of trauma theoretically irreparable.

As the weeks went on she was relieved that he knew that it was the 2000s, although it took some time to digest that four years had passed since the shooting. It could have been a lot worse, and for that she was thankful.

Her visits began to increase, owing to the largely linear state of Gene's recovery. His eyes went to her within the second of her entering the room, and he seemed pleased to see her, his mouth quirking upwards. On certain occasions he would produce what could certainly be termed as a broad smile, which while being absolutely lovely was also a little unnerving to Alex, given that the Gene she knew couldn't have been said to smile that often, other than when they had been alone together.

I can think of a few things you can do to cheer me up, Bolly Knickers.

She'd smile back with brightness in her eyes, even though it wasn't the same.

It wasn't to say that they couldn't build a relationship that was better for them both. She wouldn't let herself get carried away, not when everything was so new and fragile. In many respects it seemed to be the case that she was the only person that Gene had.

She wasn't going to do anything to jeopardise his recovery, staying by his side to be the friend he needed. She just needed to work harder to get the remnants of that existence out of her mind. No doubt some people would say that in order to do that she should have let things alone, let the professionals take over.

Her heart would never have forgiven her if she walked away, and neither would Molly. She had stayed true to her word and brought her daughter along for a few visits, despite being apprehensive about doing so at first. As it turned out she'd had no reason to be, on either side. Molly wasn't a stranger to hospitals, after all, and handled everything impeccably. Really, Alex couldn't have been prouder.

Gene seemed to like Molly as much as she liked him, even if he couldn't keep up with the pace at which she talked at him. He was too tired to say much at first, but Molly didn't mind or get impatient, happy just to be there, sitting at his bedside while Alex looked on from not too far away, her heart fit to burst. As time went on the conversations became more of a two-way affair, and Alex would joke that she didn't need to be there.

"I dunno," Gene said, in the hoarse tone that she had become accustomed to, his Mancunian accent still distinctive, "for someone with a head full of brains, your Mam's not very bright is she, little lady?"

Alex smiled to hear him call her daughter that, though something in her heart wavered too. The first few times she had to blink the tears away quickly, and she didn't think she did so quickly enough for him not to notice.

He told her that he wanted to know more about her – how she was, what had happened – and she was happy to oblige. He could return the favour in time, but there was no rush; she assured him of that. She'd told him that she had been in touch with Maggie, and that she had done her own research, which he took well.

"You're a copper. I'd 'ave been disappointed if you 'adn't been diggin'." He paused to smirk, light filling his eyes. "I hope that I come up to standard, Bolly."

She smiled, a little reluctant to show the full extent of her amusement, and trying not to notice the hint of flirtation in his remark. "You're going to stick to that nickname, then."

"If you don't mind."

She shook her head, despite her mind telling her that she should put up at least something of an argument. "I don't. I've gotten so used to it that it would be strange not to be called Bolly or Bols, or the other variants."

"You know what they say," he said, smiling towards her, "if the cap fits."

Alex felt her cheeks flush, taking a good guess at what was going through his mind.

"I'm glad you're alright," he continued after a few moments, head stretching on the pillow, "especially given your Molly. Not that she's the only reason, but you know…no kid should be without their mother, not at her age."

"No," she agreed, her voice catching slightly.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Alex."

His use of her name served to heighten her already elevated emotion.

"This bloody 'ead of mine. I need to be put back together piece by piece."

"It's not your fault," she assured him, pulling herself together, "it's fine. In an ideal world…but that's not how things go. Not for everyone."

His eyes were full of concern as he looked at her, and she was reminded once more of the Gene she knew. Always so keen to protect her, if he had a funny way of showing it from time to time.

"At least the bastard got what he deserved in the end."

She lowered her head, the wounds of Layton still fresh, even though it had been coming up to twenty eight years.

"Movin' on," Gene said, and she smiled at him, grateful.

"It hardly seems anything, not compared to what you've been through."

He let out a huff of a sigh. "Didn't think we were 'ere to play Top Trumps, Bols."

"Well, no. All things considered, though."

"I'm the champion of hopeless cases."

He still had the ability to be infuriating, so that was something that hadn't changed.

"If you're going to insist on feeling sorry for yourself, then I have plenty of better things to be getting on with."

She made to stand, until he relented with some muttering which she thought even included an apology.

"You're far from hopeless, anyway. You know that as well as I do."

"I would like to have the use of me legs. Don't particularly relish the thought of being stuck 'ere for the rest of my days. They might as well take me out back and finish the job."

"You don't mean that." The anger rose in her voice. When he got like this she more than half wondered why she hadn't cut her ties.

Silence sat between them for a while, and Alex contemplated leaving him alone to sulk.

The miniature model of the Quattro at his bedside caught her eye, and she stifled a grin. They'd spoken about their shared experience before now, when he was able to follow threads of conversation and keep focus for longer amounts of time. They couldn't have exactly avoided it, given that it was what had bound them together. He had remembered her not only being there, but disappearing too. She'd wanted to cry when he told her about how long he remained there, feeling lost and confused, but she knew it had been what had kept him alive and fighting, and the same had been true for her.

Of course, it flew in the face of everything she had ever believed in, but logic hardly mattered now.

When he was stronger, and once he had asked, she told him what she had discovered about the others. She was upbeat when she spoke of some who she knew to have recovered – Chris, Shaz, Viv. Other fates made her more reluctant to say anything. He'd guessed when it came to Ray, though it didn't make the truth any easier to bear. Then there was Sam, which was a bigger blow still.

There was some consolation in the thought that other worlds persisted, in whatever parallel time or space allowed. Where Ray rose up the ranks to wear the sheriff's badge, and Sam and Annie were happily married with kids, no cruel twists of fate to come between them.

For if she was to believe in one inexplicable existence – still dreamed about it as vividly as if it were a place she could reach by simply opening her front door – then who was she to say that countless others did not exist?

"I dunno," he said, his voice echoing against the silence which had gone on so long that she'd grown accustomed to it, "it's just…"

"A shock to the system?" she supplied, without even really thinking. "Sorry, I shouldn't presume."

He grunted, moving his head in a half-yes, half-no gesture against the pillow.

"When I shut me eyes, I'm back there. I'm him, and he could do anythin'. Not like me, no better than a bloody invalid."

"Gene," she began softly, hating the defeat that she could hear in his tone. "You've come so far. There's nothing to say that you won't go even further. In fact, the odds are very much in your favour. It's just going to take some time, that's all."

She tipped her head to the side a little and smiled, as if to reassure that she would be there for every second. If not always in person, most certainly in mind.

He answered with a quirk of his lips, more of a flicker than a spark. It wasn't the darkest mood she had seen him in, but there was something in the fact that he never refused her company, even on the days they didn't exchange more than a few short sentences.

"I'm not gunna complain."

Despite herself, Alex elevated her brow.

"Alright, Little Miss Smart Knickers, I am. And often."

"That sounds more like it," she retorted.

Another brief flicker in his eyes, before the clouds gathered again. He evaded her gaze as he spoke, which she didn't particularly like but at the same time she could empathise with.

For all their confidences, they weren't at the same level as they were in that other place. Sometimes thinking of their intimacy made her deeply embarrassed, and yet he'd lived it all with her. Arguably they were closer than many couples who had been married for years.

"I can't shake the feelin' that I was better there, Alex," he said.

She knew what he meant, and sometimes she felt the same. She'd had the thought many a time; if she was able to transport Molly there, there would be no competition between this world and that one.

Yet she didn't want him to think, and wouldn't stand for him thinking, that he was somehow inferior here, as his 'real' self. In many ways – not least the fact that he was a living, breathing person – he had so many advantages in the here and now.

"Oh, I don't know," she began, "having had the pleasure of meeting both of you, I would say that you definitely have the edge. Though you do share many traits. Namely that patience is neither of your strongest suits."

Even with the humour in her voice, she imagined that he knew she was being sincere.

"You're here," she continued, taking on more of a serious tone, "and so am I. And that's all that matters." She smiled as she paused, looking at him now that he had turned to face her again. "At the very least, it's a good start."

"You might be onto somethin' there, Bols. I mean, it's not a bad life if I get the pleasure of you comin' in 'ere, feeding me grapes every other day."

She let out a sharp burst of a laugh. "When have I ever done that?"

"First time for everythin'. And I reckon I've got a good few months to go, at least, so you'd better get your bony arse in gear."

She pretended to look unimpressed. "Not your junior any more, DCI Hunt."

"Not directly, but I still outrank you, which I'd say counts."

"Oh, look at that," she said, picking up her bag from the floor and rising from her seat, "visiting time is over. I suppose it'll have to wait until next time."

"Red over green, ta muchly. Seein' as a bottle will 'ave to wait. Even your powers of persuasion aren't that good."

"Think of it as a well-earned reward."

"You mean, a light at the end of a long bloody tunnel."

She smiled, shaking her head.

"See you soon. I've got a daughter who will claim she's starving to death waiting at home, and I don't think grapes will cut it."

She was gifted with a smile before she turned from the room.

"So long, Bollykecks."

No sooner had she passed through the doors of Fenchurch East CID did she find herself back in her flat. The sight of the black and white sofa brought a smile to her face. She was just about able to make it out; the light was dim, and even when she reached to the wall she couldn't locate a switch anywhere.

Walking through she did notice a bottle of wine sitting on the table, as well as two empty glasses. She picked one up, then the other, and smiled to herself, instinctively knowing what to do.

When she got to the bedroom, her heart thumped faster still in her chest to find Gene sitting on the bed. He got to his feet quickly when he saw her entering the room, smoothing the rumples from where he'd been sitting from the bedspread.

"You got here fast."

"Time goes a bit differently 'ere, Bolly. Thought that brainbox of yours would 'ave worked that out by now."

She leant against the doorframe, holding herself back purposely. "I've been distracted by other matters, evidently."

A smirk curved his mouth as he planted his hands in his pockets. "Wine's still good, though. Better than house rubbish as well."

Unable to resist any longer, she walked forward, her hand around the neck of the bottle. "Impressive."

She expected him to make a smutty remark about it not being the only thing that was, but instead the smirk shifted momentarily to a smile as she came closer.

"Special occasion," he said, his gaze going right to her. His arm reached out and she passed the bottle into his waiting hand, their fingers brushing lightly.

"We could have gone to…oh, I suppose Luigi isn't there anymore." She was uncertain of when exactly it was supposed to be, though judging by what she was wearing and the way her hair was styled it was still the '80s.

He nodded in answer, pouring a measure into one of the glasses and handing it over to her, before taking care of his own.

"It's better this way," she smiled, cradling the glass to her chest after taking the smallest sip, "just the two of us."

"You're finally makin' sense," he quipped, "better late than never."

She shook her head fondly, watching him as he took a healthy gulp. He then deposited the bottle and his glass onto the dresser, and she followed suit.

"Time to let this go, Bols."

She nodded, feeling the world starting to go fuzzy at the edges, the colours softening and fading, like an old photograph left out too long in the sun.

Though there was another place – a real place – waiting, she still felt emotional at the thought of saying goodbye.

"Don't cry, Alex."

She smiled at the sound of his voice.

"We 'ad a good run."

"The best," she agreed, her voice cracking slightly.

"Come 'ere, you daft tart."

She couldn't open her mouth to say anything further, slipping into the warmth of his embrace. Despite herself, she couldn't stop from crying on his shoulder. She felt as well as heard the rumble coming from his chest as he consoled her, his hand coming up to smooth against her hair.

"I know," she gasped, pulling back a little so that she could see him, "it's silly. You're already there. But it's not…"

"Give it time," he said, hands solid against her shoulders. "You couldn't stand the sight of me at first."

"That's not true," she said, "if you recall, I fell at your feet."

He smiled, bringing a hand to her cheek.

"How long have we got?" she asked.

"Here?" he replied, "until that bottle's drunk. Maybe a little longer."

"Not that long then," she laughed.

"No. But I think you're forgettin', Bolly, that it's only the beginnin'."

A rush of energy went through her veins and she felt as though she might fly, if she didn't have him there to ground her.

"Do you mind if I put some music on?"

The look on his face wasn't one of being impressed, but given the situation, he quickly relented. "If you must."

She smiled over her shoulder, moving back into the sitting room and being aware of him following her. Instead of playing something on cassette she felt the impulse to turn the radio on, the strains of a David Bowie song filling the flat. She turned at the feeling of Gene's hand against her waist, the last thing she knew of this world the euphoria she felt at finding him, finding her place.

And you, you can be mean
And I, I'll drink all the time
'Cause we're lovers, and that is a fact
Yes we're lovers, and that is that

Though nothing will keep us together
We could steal time just for one day
We can be heroes for ever and ever
What d'you say?

It didn't come as a shock that Gene wasn't thrilled at the prospect of rehab, and her main role when it came to visiting him was that of cheerleader, with the tiniest bit of a stern matron mixed in when he was being particularly difficult. He flipped between finding the physical and psychological harder to deal with; usually, whichever one was closer on the horizon was the one he'd build a greater aversion to.

She offered to be with him for his first physical session, given that it didn't clash with her work commitments or anything that Molly needed her for, but he clammed up when she mentioned it. "I don't want you to see me strugglin' like I'm a bloody toddler," was his response. She fought the urge to get too exasperated, telling him that he could have it his own way. The next time she saw him he didn't say that much about it but he seemed brighter overall, which made her think that it could have only gone well, or at the least better than he expected.

As it went the psychological sessions proved harder to cope with, to the point that he near enough pleaded with her to make an intervention.

"Don't see why I can't just talk to you instead," he said, pout forming on his face, his demeanour closest then to the 'other' Gene.

She didn't have to try very hard to school her expression into one of logic met with the faintest touch of disapproval, having mastered the look many times in dealing with an adolescent daughter.

"I'm not here in a professional capacity."

He huffed, and she had to suppress letting out a laugh at how he was behaving.

"You must have had some sort of counselling before," she followed up, trying the gentle approach.

"Me long-term memory's hazy. It's been that way for years. Can't see it miraculously changing thanks to being in the company of a head-shrink for an 'our at a time."

"Little tip, don't call them that."

He frowned at her. "I do 'ave manners, despite what you think." Then, a moment or two later, he said "sorry."

"It's okay," she replied, used to the shifting of his moods - which weren't all that bad, considering - and understanding that it was difficult for him. "You might not think it, and it'll probably take a few weeks to feel like it's having any impact, but it will. Everything is being offered to you because it's going to help."

He was quiet for a while, and she hoped that he was taking on board what she had said. There was a lot that they'd spoken about over the weeks, about their experiences and 'memories' both shared and individual, but there was equally as much that had been left unsaid, and it was still the time to tread softly.

There was a look on his face that she couldn't ignore, one that caused a jolt to rise up through her whole body.

"I know," he began, only a little haltingly, "and I know that I can't rely on you for everythin'."

She smiled faintly, while knowing that she was in dangerous territory.

"But you know what it's like…you're the only one who does, at least anywhere near. And knowin' what you know anyway…you can see why I'd prefer it."

"I understand, I do." She resisted acting on the desire she had to reach closer and take his hand into hers. "But someone who can be totally objective will be so helpful. That's what I found, afterwards. It'll work in tandem."

He didn't look entirely convinced, so she smiled wider.

"And we can still talk. You're not going to get rid of me that easily."

"You gunna carry on with your book? I could probably give you enough for a few chapters on me own."

She'd almost forgotten that she'd mentioned it to him; it wasn't the thing that was at the forefront of her mind these days. How flippant she'd been before everything…it left something of a sour taste now, even to think about.

"I…I don't know," she said, not wanting to fumble for an answer that she knew didn't sound convincing. "I think I might go back to the drawing board. When I can actually manage to write again."

"Fair enough."

She was glad that he didn't argue the point. Doing research was one thing, but when you had gone through it all yourself it was most definitely a case of being too close for comfort.

"In a few years maybe," she added, reassuring herself as much as Gene, "or decades."

"That's good to know," he returned, with an encouraging half-smile. "And while I'm sure yer capable, I'm just lettin' you know now that I'm happy to offer my services. Not sayin' that I'm Shakespeare or anythin', but I reckon that I've got at least one book in me."

She was near grinning when she answered, "I'm sure you have."

Her hand went to the half-covered bunch of grapes at his bedside, and he huffed as she picked off a few.

"Oi, Bolly. Should 'ave bought your own if you wanted some."

"I did pay for them, so technically…" She responded further by taking up the full bunch in her hands, something which failed to amuse him.

"Fat lot of 'elp you are!"

"Well, I think I am, actually." She got up from the chair and took a couple of steps backwards, placing the grapes down at the furthest end of the bedside cabinet. "If you want them so much, then they're not too far away."

His scowl turned softer, at a quicker speed than she was used to. "This isn't written into the plan, unless you've been 'aving a word with the doc behind my back."

"No," she shook her head lightly, "just something I thought of on the spot. It certainly can't do any harm."

"I'd beg to differ."

She didn't know if she expected him to actually co-operate, but then she really should have known better than to doubt the tenacity of Gene Hunt. Fuelled by panic, she stepped forward when she saw him shifting his weight onto his arms, propelling himself upwards.

"Can I – "

"Ta, but if I can't manage gettin' the bedsheets back then I'm buggered."

She took a step back again, flailing her hands before clutching them behind her back, somewhat nervously.

His actions were considered, rather than slow, and Alex watched frozen to the spot, her heart feeling as though it had lodged itself in her throat. He wouldn't thank her for trying to help, so she stayed put, as proud at his progress as she had been watching Molly from the sidelines at her school sports days.

His feet found purchase on the floor and steadily he found his way, arms stretched out, looking for support. She still didn't move, though it became harder to resist. After a few pauses and one or two shaky steps forth, then back, then forward again, he reached his goal, grasping onto the plastic, breath heaving with the merit of victory more so than with the weight of effort, she was certain of it.

She had clapped her hands together without entirely thinking, causing him to huff out a breath of a laugh.

"No need for applause, Bols. Even if you are a hard bloody taskmaster."

"No, I…I don't mean to…it's just brilliant to see you on your feet." She smiled, her spirit filled with joy as well as relief. "You're doing so well. At least, from what I can tell."

"Glad to know I've got your approval," he said, head turning towards her with a burgeoning smile of his own. "You can come along to the next session if you like. If it works out with your schedule, that is."

"I might just take you up on that offer."

She was wracked with nerves when the day came, thinking perhaps that he'd have changed his mind and be horrified to see her there. There hadn't been any need for her to worry as the look on his face when he saw her put her at rest. She assured him that she didn't need to be there for the whole session but he insisted that she stay. He did fantastically well, the therapist saying as much. "Always good to 'ave some moral support," he said, looking pointedly at Alex while doing so. The therapist smiled at her and remarked that she could come to every session, if only to give the chance for Gene to show off.

She didn't go to them all but made it along at least once a week. Every time she went she was astounded at how much progress he'd made since the last time, though she didn't labour the point too much, not wanting to seem patronizing. On the days that his confidence was in need of a boost she was sure to give a few subtle mentions, enough to lift his spirits without seeming excessive, and before long they were back to chatting and bantering again.

" 'ow's Molly gettin' on?"

"Keeping out of trouble. Everywhere except for home." She paused before shaking her head, feeling somewhat guilty. "Well, that's not entirely fair, but she has her moments."

"I thought every teenager did."

"Oh god."

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just strange to comprehend sometimes, that I'm the mother of a teenager."

Molly's birthday had come and gone just over a week ago, the day itself a quiet one. Molly had insisted that she didn't want any kind of fuss, to go anywhere in particular or do anything, other than meet up with a couple of friends in the afternoon. Alex had a good idea that she was doing so purposely, so as not to cause upset. More than anything that had come from all of this she hated that her daughter's birthday had been forever overshadowed.

It was coming up to a year to the day that she'd woken up, come back to the real world, been pulled from the brink…there were so many ways to think about it. It felt like hardly any time had passed, and also like several lifetimes had been lived. She was pretty sure that Evan wanted to do something to mark it, but she didn't want to think of it as an occasion, even if she couldn't come up with a better thing to celebrate than emerging from a near-fatal coma and surviving a life-saving but incredibly risky operation. Perhaps it was because it all felt so raw, still, something that she was continuing to process.

"Time just…"

"Flies by?" Gene filled in her unfinished sentence, "I'd say that I know it does, but then I'm not entirely sure."

She smiled a little awkwardly, though they were past apologies now.

"You should bring 'er along to the next session."

She hadn't thought about that.

"If you're sure?"

He smiled a true, open smile. "Course I am. I'm workin' on me best moves to date."

"I don't know whether to be honoured or offended."

"Not to worry, Bols, you'll see them too."

"She'd love to. Although, I'd have to check her calendar, she's far busier than I am when it comes to social appointments."

"Think I should be grateful on that score. Though you know if you ever get sick of me, you don't 'ave to keep comin'."

"Well, that hasn't happened yet. Besides, I'm keen to witness these moves of yours."

She lay in bed that night replaying their conversations, physically cringing. She told herself that she was being friendly, and that their relationship had reached the stage where they could easily banter with one another without any misunderstandings or misinterpretation. They had formed a bond outside of their shared dream world, which was only to be expected, given the similarities of their experience. She thought of Gene as a friend – and it had long since occurred to her that she didn't have too many people in her life that she could call friends – and the last thing she wanted was for anything to risk spoiling their friendship. Not to mention that his ongoing recovery was the most important thing of all.

All the same she couldn't shake the fact that she did find him attractive. At first she believed that it was the after-effects of the other time, things getting mixed together in her mind. She'd come to know that there were differences between the two versions of Gene, and if anything, she had a marked preference for the real-life Gene.

Which put her in a very difficult position indeed, but she was confident that she could put any complex feelings she had for him to one side. Not that the psychologist in her would advocate that was a particularly good idea, but it simply had to be done.

Her resolve would begin to waver when she saw him standing, steadier on his feet even if he did still need to use the bars on both sides of him for support. Molly cheered him on and he'd smile at her vocal encouragement, and Alex thought she'd have to take a walk outside at the sight of her daughter and Gene together, cajoling one another, in order to save herself. Somehow she stayed put; it seemed that in those moments her heart had more willpower than her head. Of course Molly insisted on coming to as many of the sessions as she could, begging with Alex to do so, and she could hardly refuse, feeling that she'd put her daughter through quite enough as it was.

Maggie made a trip down from Manchester, and Gene was overjoyed to see her. Not only was she his oldest friend, if estranged by distance and recent years, but she was a vital part of his past. Alex left them alone during Maggie's visits but she couldn't help watching through the glazed window at the beginning and the end, entering into the room as softly as she could, glad to hear laughter being shared.

She saw the tears brimming in Maggie's eyes as they walked the corridors and made to leave the hospital, having made plans to go for a meal before Maggie headed north once more. Alex knew they weren't tears of sadness. There wasn't really an adequate way to describe the emotions she had felt in the last few months, and she hadn't let herself cry in the same way that Maggie went on to do, abandoning their reservation to settle for some snacks over a couple bottles of wine. Perhaps she was worried that if she started, it would take at least a week for her to stop.

"He's doing so well," Maggie managed when she had recovered her breath enough to speak, clutching on to the hand that Alex had provided for way of support. "Thank you."

"I haven't done much," Alex replied, her gaze falling to the floor, "not really."

The tight squeeze Maggie gave to her fingers caused her to look up again.

"You've done everything." The firmness in her voice made Alex tremble inside for a moment. "Honest to God…if it wasn't for you, I 'ate to think what would 'ave been. You're an angel. His guardian angel, for certain."

She laughed a little, though she was deeply and truly touched. "I'm not sure that's exactly how he would put it, but I thank you all the same."

"Well, you know what he's like. He might never say it, but it's up there. And," she put her free hand upon the left side of her chest, "in there. I know it is."

Maggie's words lingered in her head that night as she salvaged another bottle of wine from the back of the fridge, being careful not to let it disappear completely (she had left that world behind, after all), and ended up staying with her much longer.

Gene looked at her somewhat strangely the next time she visited, and she had the rather absurd thought that perhaps he could read her mind. And so she tried to think about anything else, the most mundane things possible, as opposed to the idea that they could somehow be one another's saviour.

For, after all, if it could be said of her, then she was quite sure that Gene and the many different ways she had come to known him had played an integral part in finding her way back to herself again.

"We've met before, Alex," he uttered once she had taken her usual seat at his bedside.

She smiled and did her best to come across as flippant, not wanting to give in to the fearful feeling that was taking deeper root within her as the seconds went by. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Not that," he was quick to say. She could see the serious look in his eyes, searching her own for recognition. " 'ere. In reality, I mean. Christ, if I could 'ear myself…"

She shook her head while he trailed off for a moment. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility, given that they were both officers of the Met. Yet she couldn't for the life of her remember, and she was certain that she would have done. Someone like Gene Hunt was most definitely memorable.

"I'd forgotten meself," he went on, as if answering her questioning thoughts, "which isn't surprisin'. It was talkin' with Maggie that brought it back. Seein' you today, it's like it 'appened only yesterday."

"If you could jog my memory, I'd be grateful," she replied softly. He seemed momentarily hurt that she didn't remember as vividly as he did.

"It must 'ave been '98. Maggie reckons it was only a couple of weeks before I was shot. For the first time, that is. So it's little wonder that I didn't recall. Dunno 'ow it didn't come back to me when I came to and you were there, where you are now."

"These things take time."

He nodded his head somewhat soberly.

"Well, ever since, all the details 'ave been as clear as day. The call comin' through, the Super trying to get another team to cover it instead. A bomb threat in Oxford Street. Multiple threats, as it turned out. Every division in the middle of London was on the scene in the end, and I'd be buggered if I was missin' out. Gotta face up to your demons, isn't that right, Bolly?"

She nodded without saying anything, the fragments of the day she must have buried at the bottom of her psyche fitting back together again.

"Thought I was bein' brave, but in all honesty I was brickin' it. Wanted nothin' else to drive away and leave the rest to it. But I've never been one to leave my team high and dry, so I gave meself a talkin' to and stepped out. And the first one I saw was a young woman, couldn't have been more than mid-twenties, look in 'er eyes like a rabbit trapped in the headlights. I could only see that look at first, nothin' else. I knew I had to go to 'er. To you, Alex. Then I looked again, and I knew why she was so afraid. Because – "

"Molly," she interrupted. "I had Molly with me. There was a case that came through that morning, Evan had to go…my God, how had I…?"

The look in Gene's eyes was deeply empathetic as she spilled out her words, forgiving her for what she couldn't forgive herself. It was natural when so much trauma had been experienced, to block out hours and days. At least it hadn't been years.

She looked down for a moment or two, expecting to see Molly as a toddler sitting in her lap.

"Turned out for the best, there was nothin' there. But we weren't to know."

She met his eyes again, tears brimming in her own. She remembered now, every second. The crippling fear that she felt, the shame she had for not being able to protect her daughter. The certainty she'd held that time had caught up with her, seventeen years or so too late.

The arm that went around her, holding her close – holding them both close – as he directed them to safety. She'd felt protected from the second his hand clutched onto her arm. She had looked up at him, and clearly, she must have taken the memory of him in, strong enough to stay with her into a whole other existence. He had said something to reassure her, though the exact words were lost. He had spoken to Molly, touched his fingers to her small cheek, given her a rare – and, she could remember, beautiful – smile.

I'm everywhere, Bolly. I was needed, and I was there.

It couldn't have been longer than a minute or two until he put them into the care of one of his officers, asking that she and the little lady get some special attention. She had been so stunned by everything at the time that she hadn't been able to speak, only cradling Molly tight to her lest something else, a terrible cruel twist of fate, should occur.

"It was you."

"That's what I've just told yer. Blimey, and to think you had a head-start on me."

She couldn't help smiling at his remark, recognising his need to lighten the mood. "It's just…"

"One hell of a coincidence?"

"You could say that."

The part of her that she was giving an increasing amount of credit to, which the Alex of not all that long ago would have scoffed loudly at, was telling her that it was much more than that.

She didn't think she would tell Molly, all the same. Not for the time being, at least. She still needed the time to process it all. Besides, she didn't want to give her daughter any ideas that couldn't possibly come to be.

Once she had taken a couple of deep breaths the words that she had meant to say for far too long left her lips.

"Thank you."

The look of confusion returned to his face, albeit hazier than it was before.

"I wasn't doin' anythin' other than my job."

She smiled at his modesty, or perhaps it was something else.

"Still, it meant a lot to me. It always will."

God, she wished she could look away from him, or at least stop the acutely specific thoughts from running around in her head.

He held her in place, like he had held her for so long. There was a smile now, almost a mirror of the one he had given to Molly on that day, which was suddenly so vivid in her mind.

"I'm glad. Not that there could have been a bloody bomb, obviously."

"No," she replied, nearly laughing.

"That I knew yer. In a way."

She nodded, the inexplicable and unexplainable steadily becoming less so. "Me too."

"If I wouldn't 'ave been near enough dead, I like to think I could 'ave helped. On the day you…"

"I know," Alex uttered, not much more than a whisper. "I'm sure you would have done."

He continued to get stronger, and she saw him more clearly now as the man he was, who she had known for mere minutes as opposed to years. She could only imagine everything he'd done and seen, and yet she felt like she knew everything too.

She could also sense that there was so much more to come, even if it was likely that he wouldn't go back onto the front line. Nothing could be ruled out when it came to Gene Hunt; she knew that much.

"You should be the first to know," he said, as she accompanied him after a particularly intensive physical therapy session, "they're gunna let me out into the wild again."

"Gene, that's fantastic."

She could see her own wide smile reflected in his eyes.

"Feels a bit like I'm dreamin' and nobody's bothered to wake me up. Thought I'd be spendin' the rest of me days here."

"When will you be discharged?"

"Three weeks from now, officially."

"That's not long."

"Yeah, I'd better get my arse in gear and start lookin' for somewhere."

The surprising good news was still sinking in, and the nonchalance with which he spoke threw her further off course.

"You don't have anywhere to live?"

"It's not that much of a shock, Bols. The landlord probably got someone else in hours after I got to the hospital in the first place. And, like I say, I didn't expect that I'd ever be gettin' out again. Don't you worry yerself, somethin'll turn up. It always does."

It was only with hindsight she might have thought otherwise about saying anything, but even with the benefit of that she knew she wouldn't have withheld the offer.

"We have a spare room. You don't have to, of course, but the offer's there. I can't exactly see you out on the streets."

He didn't say anything for a few seconds – though it felt longer – and she was about to say that she shouldn't have been so stupid.

"I wouldn't want to be an imposition."

She almost sighed with relief, but smiled instead. "You wouldn't be anything of the kind. What are friends for if not to help one another out in times of need?"

"You've done a lot more than that, Bols."

"I'm not keeping score," she chuckled.

"Just until I get back on me feet."

"Of course."

They'd near enough got back to his room, when something gave him pause. "And Molly wouldn't mind?"

"Certainly not. I can ask her, just to be safe, but I already know what the answer will be."

Sure enough, Molly was beside herself with excitement at the prospect of Gene moving in. She went so far as to offer up her room for the purpose, though Alex reassured her that wouldn't be necessary. The thought of Gene settled into a purple painted bedroom complete with fuzzy fairy lights draped across the bedstead did amuse her.

She did also have to remind Molly that it wasn't going to be a long-term arrangement; just until Gene felt more secure, and so he didn't have to rush into renting the first overpriced and undersized flat that London had to offer.

The day arrived, and the butterflies in her stomach told her that she had many better ideas over the years. Molly had been insistent on a 'welcome home' banner tacked to the door of the spare room, and Alex couldn't recall a time when she'd felt more awkward than when it stared them both in the face as she showed Gene up to the place he would call his own for as long as he needed it.

"Sorry, it was Molly's idea, and I never have the heart to say no these days."

"It's a nice touch."

She caught his eye quickly and smiled, dropping her gaze to the floor.

"Dinner is usually at seven, and there's no curfew, not for you anyway."

"Probably wouldn't be a bad idea. The days of pub crawlin' are well behind me, anyway."

"Well, there's wine in the fridge, and I'm sure I can stretch to a few bottles of beer."

"I wouldn't say no. That's very kind of yer."

Her words got caught in her throat and disappeared from her brain for a while; all she could seem to do was stare at him.

"If there's anything else you need, or want…just let me know."

"Will do," he answered, "though I think I'll be very comfortable."

"Great. Good. Well, I'll let you get settled."

She felt a hand brush against her arm as she turned to walk away, and inhaled sharply, her eyes meeting Gene's.

"Thank you, Alex. Not just for this, but for everythin'."

She smiled at him, letting her arm linger for a while before dropping it.

"Nonsense," she replied, thinking it's the least I can do. "I'm glad to be here for you. To help how I can."

He smiled back at her, a smile that showed his gratitude. "Don't wanna keep you."

"No," she said, slightly shellshocked as the situation began to sink in, though she tried her best not to let it show. "See you later."

His eyes remained on her as she walked away; she could feel the weight of his stare. It didn't make her feel uncomfortable in the least. Instead, she welcomed it.

"In a bit, Bollykecks."

A/N: Heroes written by David Bowie and Brian Eno.

I didn't plan on such a gap between updates, but life happened. Just two chapters to go now though!