Author's Note
Hi guys, sorry this took so long! I was toying with so many ideas for so long, but I've finally found my direction (I think!). HUGE thanks once again to my super sidekick @GenieBolls, she's a lifesaver! It's a bit of a dark one, so apologies in advance! But there'll be lots more Galex in the chapter to follow I promise! All feedback welcome as always :)
--
"John, where the hell are we going?"
"Just trust me, Lips. I'm just following orders."
"Whose orders might they be?" Shit. D.K was right, she was onto him. Remaining silent, he kept D.C. Beth Philips at his side as they strode, Harrod's to the left of them both. After crossing the road, he took his detective constable into what resembled a shop, but it'd been laid bare and likely barren for quite some time. Why did she trust him? John had asked himself that question over and over. He hadn't even given a real reason for their needing to visit this empty unit, and still she had obliged. What will they do with her? D.K had warned him about playing his cards close to his chest. He thought he had, though seemingly not close enough. Didn't have Philips down as the whistleblower type...far too loyal. Despite John's assumptions, D.K wasn't the type of man to take those kinds of risks.
It hadn't taken long. John hadn't been informed on what would happen, but he wasn't completely naive either. There'd been blood. More blood than he expected. A macabre disarray; Philips supine on the ground, whilst a pool of crimson formed a swelling halo around her head. The job was done, he'd completed the task. Two men in balaclavas and a measly knife, that's all it had taken. Now, as one cautiously kept watch, the other pressed an iPhone to his ear. Both listened, didn't speak a word. As soon as that call ended, everything changed. He was tussled to the ground and the air was suddenly hostile. "What are you doing?" he whispered loudly, confused. "Wait, this wasn't the arrangement, I'm on your side! I'm one of you-"
"'An appeaser is one who feeds the crocodile, hoping it will eat him last.'" The man in a long, black coat had entered the room through a back door. His appearance was unfamiliar, but John knew that distinctive cockney accent all too well. "Winston Churchill...wise man," he added, pressing a cigarette between his lips to light it.
"I'm not appeasing anyone, I just did what you asked me to do. I've always done what you've asked me to do." John's voice raised with panic. "You wanted Philips, I brought you Philips-"
"Well done, mate. Have a sticker." D.K smiled at the man kneeling in the centre of the room, but his eyes didn't follow suit. Strangely his voice sounded even more ominous in person than it had over the phone. "It's a shame, really. You're a bent, greasy bastard but you get the job done, I'll give you that." The tall, dark featured man began to circle the edge of the room, occasionally inhaling from the cigarette in his hand. The spoken words were directed at John, but D.K didn't look at him. Beaman felt a lump form in his throat, almost as though he was being choked internally. "Still, at least that poor girl hadn't caught wind of just what a naughty little boy you were." John's eyes followed the dark man's glare, finding the young woman on the receiving end of it staring right back at him with glassy eyes. It's your fault. He could hear her voice in his head. You killed me. It's all your fault.
John turned back to D.K. "You said if I brought Philips to you, you'd let me go."
"I say a lot of things, mate, don't take it personally when my actions don't match up. It's not you, it's me. Haha, I love that one." John fought to find his feet, thrashing violently, strengthened by fear. An attempt at escape was futile, the more he thrashed, the harder the two men hit back. "Go on then lads, I'd better be getting off, the missus has cooked me a steak. Finish up here, not so messy with the geezer, eh? Cleaner bills are already through the roof." With a jovial pivot, he exited the room.
The second D.K vacated the room, John's head was struck so hard, his vision went black. His head filled with nothingness. Struck so hard, the brain inside it bled. Suddenly it was cold, dark and still.
Celestial bodies encompassed him. Snowflakes fell from invisible clouds, some landing upon his long, blonde eyelashes as they flickered. He was confused. Where the hell am I? Stars shone everywhere, in every direction. He rose frantically, looking all around.
Rubbing his eyes, the stars were gradually replaced with day-lit mayhem. Snowflakes had instead been pieces of ash, carried by the harsh December breeze. Fumbling to his feet, he tried to piece together what was going on. He was in exactly the same place, only it was different, it was odd. He slipped out of the alleyway the same way he'd entered it. Before him stood Harrods' unmistakable architecture, only it wasn't looking quite as grand as he'd last seen it. "Armed bastards coming through! Move it!" a man yelled in the distance, forcing his way through the thick smoke and shaken crowd with two women and two men in tow.
His confused eyes focused on the setting. There'd been an explosion, a cloud of smoke lay still above the earth-coloured stone. I know this, I've seen it before. He racked his brain for the memories he knew were stored somewhere inside. I was here. He began to run, unhinged at the overwhelming sense of deja vu. In search of the three year old boy that resembled him, he raced towards the corner, where Brompton Road met Hans Road. His brain connected the dots. This was it, his life flashing before his eyes.
--
"Right, Shaz, radio the station, see if Fenchurch West knows anythin' we don't," Gene barked.
"Yes, Guv." Shaz turned away and did as was asked.
"Ray, Chris, gather statements, get what you can, try not to worsen anyone's day more than it already 'as been. I wanna know what 'appened in the moments leading up to the explosion. Bolly, wi' me. Let's go an'- oi!" Gene leaped in front of his female D.I to shield her from the maniac belting towards her.
"I- I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't look where I was going," he pleaded as Gene's hands held him by the material of his coat.
"Why were you running like a bat out of hell?" Gene grumbled. The confused man scanned the surroundings, still trying to piece together the puzzle he'd been struck into. "I'm talkin' to you. Don't expect me to assume you fancied a fine, winter's jog a few minutes after a car's gone boom." Boom? A bomb? The IRA bomb. Harrod's. That was 1983. But why am I in 1983? "Start talking you scouser twat-"
"Guv..." Alex tried reasoning with him. It wasn't often he listened, though he'd learned to pay attention to the the brainy tart on some occasions. Letting go of the younger fellow, he eased off as Alex stepped forward.
--
"Are you police?" the man asked them both.
"Yes," Gene answered. "And we've got a terrorist gobshite to catch."
"I was..." Choking on the smoke-filled air, he held a hand to his mouth as he coughed. "Where's the Guv? He said he'd help me if-"
"The only Guv you need worry about is the big bastard right 'ere, son-"
"I think I'm dyin' or I'm- I don't know what's happenin'-"
"What's happenin'? What's happenin' is some scrote decided he'd celebrate the festivities by turnin' a blue Austin saloon into a firework display-" The woman interrupted him, tugging on his arm and whispering something inaudible into his ear.
"What's your name, Sir?" she then inquired softly.
"Beaman. D.S John Beaman."
"Oh, joy," the taller man responded, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets as he looked at the ground.
"Are you in pain?" the woman continued.
"No, no. But I should be. Look I- I was struck on the head-"
"Lucky you found us then, ay?" The man flashed a sarcastic grin. "Yer legs still work so yer can come with us. Be'ave yerself and maybe mummy bear 'ere will show you some tender loving care."
"But...who are you?" John's puzzled stare flickered between the two officers stood before him; they glanced at each other. Shifty, thought John.
"Detective Inspector Alex Drake," the lady answered with a sympathetic smile. "And this courteous gentleman is D.C.I Hunt-"
"Gene Hunt," the Guv growled, "and I suggest we save Show an' Tell for back at the station and focus on actual police work. Yer know? The nice bloke who blew a dozen people to kingdom come?" Gene pointed a stiff finger at the huge building. "That is our priority." He looked John up and down. Not a total weed but I'd still knock ten bells out of 'im if I 'ad to. "An' as for you, keep up or piss off."
And so John obliged, had ever since. Uncertainty of whether he was alive or dead loomed over him. There was no blood, no headache. Nothing that resembled 2014. It was all so...1983. He had nothing to live for, not really. If this is death so be it, John resolved. At least I've got nobody to answer to here.
--
It had been five weeks to the day now, since D.S Beaman was introduced to CID. Almost three weeks had passed, since the fateful encounter between Hunt and his female inspector. He'd feared a change between them and by God did he get one, but it wasn't in the way he'd dreaded. Ye of little faith, he'd said to himself, maybe she likes a bit'a rough after all. Gene's supposition wasn't wrong. Alex had basked in the physical and emotional release brought by the ease of tension. She still wound him up occasionally; she'd he'd missed the bickering if it has vanished completely.
"Do yer think D.I Drake is slippin' the Guv happy pills in 'is tea?" mused Chris.
"He has been a bit different lately," Shaz agreed, looking over at the office in which the relaxed D.C.I was puffing away at a cigar, lost in thought. Ray smirked.
"He's slippin' her something more like."
"Ray, don't be disgusting." Shaz cringed.
The Guv had been positively different. He found it difficult to be miserable when he was so far from it. Sex at least once a day, twice if they woke up early enough and three times if the filing cupboard was unoccupied on a quiet working day. And it wasn't just sex, it was bloody breathtaking sex, literally. It was more than that though, something of a mutual understanding between them that that needed no mention. Neither could've foreseen how it would all unfold, but neither could've been more satisfied with how it did.
They'd become inseparable, longing to be in each other's proximity whenever they weren't. The honeymoon period, concluded Alex, I wonder how long it'll take him to start telling me to shut my big, upper-class gob again.
"Ma'am," the desk sergeant approached D.I Drake's desk, prying her out of her daydream. Focus, Alex.
"Yes?"
"Just received word from special branch-"
"Special branch? Saying what?" Alex frowned with growing concern.
"Calling all units within a twenty mile radius to a jewellery blag on King Street over in St James'. Christie's showrooms, four blokes with sawn-offs, six blokes, four women and a small child being held hostage-"
"Aren't special branch handling it?"
"No Ma'am, few of their men are at the scene but their Guv's away, and most the team. Said something about a training exercise-"
"Guv!" Alex hollered, only to realise Gene had already appeared in the doorway, cigar puffing away.
"Must I clean up the mess of every department in this force that doesn't belong to me?" He turned back to his desk, putting the cigar out. "What's occurrin' then?"
"Blag in St. James', four sawn-offs and eleven hostages." Alex had barely been able to finish her sentence before Gene had grabbed his coat.
"Shaz, make sure all uniform've been sent to King Street."
"Already on it Guv," Shaz answered.
"Chris, you can come with us." Gene strode out of his office, shouting orders as he did so. "Johnny boy, Raymondo, meet us there in the Escort, no ditherin'. Take Terry and Bammo wi' you an' all, could do wi' some backup." He was already half way out of the door, Alex in tow and the three men not far behind. Nothing like a bit of good, honest policing to settle sergeant rock down, Gene pondered. All morning his brain had flooded with images of Alex, bent over the kitchen counter in her skimpy nightdress. Craning his head to the right, he caught Alex already eyeing him up as they paced the corridor. "What?"
"Tonight..." Alex spoke in a hushed tone to avoid the others hearing. "Let me take you out." Good God, she thought, that sounded even more embarrassing out loud. Averting her eyes, she was too pained to even witness Gene's facial expression.
"You goin' all feminist on me Bolls?"
"No...I just thought it'd be nice, you know...my treat for a change."
Not another word was spoken until Chris had clambered into the back of the quattro, with Ray and John on route in the escort. While Alex silently longed for a black whole to swallow her up, Gene had been mulling it over in his mind. The fact a skirt had asked to take him out on a date blew his mind. He'd been asked- no, begged to take women out on dates before, but he'd never been asked to be taken out.
After Gene pulled away, speeding off in usual fashion, he casually asked where she had in mind, taking Alex by surprise. He'd continued the conversation despite Chris being sat just behind her. Then again, she thought, Chris couldn't start a piss up in a brewery, let alone cotton on to what Gene and I are up to.
"Boulestin," she answered. "It's not far from Christie's actually, if I remember correctly. It's been a long time since I last visited." Gene gave Alex a knowing side glance, and she smiled subtly in return.
A lifetime ago?
A lifetime ago.
"Guv, we're here," announced Ray over the radio. Gene raised his radio to his mouth.
"Sit tight, don't make a move until I can assess what's going on."
"Yes Guv."
They glided around the corner onto King Street. Crowds had gathered; armed police, reporters, nosey passers-by. The quattro screeched to a halt inches behind the escort, next to which Ray and the others were waiting. The three of them climbed out of the mars red motor, Alex letting Chris out as soon as she'd vacated it. "Right...Raymondo, what're their demands?"
"The usual, Guv. They want a million quid's worth a'jewellery and a getaway-"
"-or they start firing?" Alex interjected.
"Mm."
"Fandabidozey," Gene clapped and rubbed his palms together, "lock and load, gentleman." Opening the boot to the motor, the men all grabbed a weapon each. The Guv turned to the uniformed men not far from him. "Standby until I radio you in. We need ter tread very carefully, alright? Nobody innocent dies today." The group of young PCs nodded, remaining fixed in their positions. Stepping into Gene's path, Alex pleaded with him. Storming in there's far too risky, he'll get himself shot.
"Guv, let me talk to them, see if I can connect before you go in all guns bla-"
"-No." Not even allowing her to finish the sentence, Gene pouted...tilting his head back and squaring up to his female inspector.
"But I just think-"
"Choose which firearm goes best wi' yer lipstick or wait 'ere until the job's done. Scum like that are not goin' ter listen to a copper in a frock and I am not 'avin' you risk your life whispering sweet nothings to 'em, okay?"
"Fine." Grabbing a pistol and a couple of refills from the boot of the quattro, Alex loaded it in preparation.
--
"Guv!" Chris wailed. Bullets flew everywhere. They'd managed to draw two of the assailants out of the showroom they occupied. John and Chris had dressed themselves in their clothes; the two most closely matched to the builds. It was the Guv's, albeit very improvised, idea: sending them both in to try and disarm the other two gunmen, or better yet shoot the bastards.
Only they'd achieved neither. John's radio had sounded with a familiar, cockney voice that seemed to be haunting him, giving them away almost instantly. Gene and Ray had stormed in the moment it had all gone wrong, with Alex making a beeline for the hostages. Instinctively she untied the child first, followed by the child's parents. I hope Molly is safe, she pondered after her long-lost daughter in the midst of the carnage. Five hostages had already managed to scarper; the two remaining gunmen too caught up in the bullet frenzy to notice.
The team were brimmed with adrenaline. Ray picked off one of the blaggers, sending him downward with a thud and a hole in his leg. Chris was still desperate for help. "Guv, I'm trapped!" His only protection was a tall, thin filing cabinet, leaving half of his torso exposed to the one remaining blagger. The Guv raised his revolver, finger on the trigger and thumb pulling back the hammer. Finding a gap between two pillars, he aimed at the bastard who was seconds away from firing at his D.C. But he froze. Not her. He could hear a struggle...and D.I Drake had disappeared from his peripheral vision. Anyone but her.
--
Alex fought endlessly but her efforts were in vain. She couldn't shout, couldn't overpower the hands constricting her airways, choking her so tightly that pressure built in her eyes. In the corner, she was sure John was lurking; the telltale blonde quiff only a couple feet away from where her gun lay futile on the ground. Help. She wanted to scream - she could see he was idly observing, but no words could be formed. For a split second, the man's face above her flickered between that of the blagger and that of Keats. Gene said he'd be back. She lay helpless, I didn't expect it to be so soon. The edges of her vision began to disintegrate. Real tears formed in her eyes.
--
Bolly. Gene caught a glimpse of her white boots, protruding from around a desk about six feet away. His feet had launched him towards her. Without hesitation, he'd gripped the bastard denying her of oxygen and threw him to one side, sending a bullet zipping through the air into his back.
Bang.
"Guv!" Ray bellowed.
Bang. Bang.
Gene fell to his knees beside Drake. "Ray, get an ambulance!" he ordered, panic-stricken by the lifeless woman beneath him. No, his heart raced, you don't get to do this Bolly. Not now...not ever. He was swallowed up by emotion, as though everything else ceased to exist.
"Chris- Chris is hurt, Guv." Ray gulped back his fear; at least attempted to.
Shit. Gene cast his eyes over to the filing cabinet Chris had hidden behind. He'd shot him, hadn't he? The blagger? Or hadn't he? He couldn't remember, his recollection was hazed. Slumped against the wall, Chris looked deathly white. Blood seeped from the right of his chest. He blinked, unable to find the strength to cry out in pain. "Ambulances, two of 'em. Now!" repeated Gene. Ray looked hopefully to John who simply nodded, proceeding to call for help. Meanwhile, Ray fell at his oldest pal's side.
"Stay with me, mate. Just stay with me." He took Chris' hand and gave it a squeeze. Look like a right poof, he thought to himself, but he didn't care, not now.
--
9:06. The numbers flashed before Alex's eyes as she fell victim to the stars. Snarling laughter rang in her ears, muffled as though she was under water.
--
Gene had pinched together Alex's nostrils, blowing into her mouth every pascal of air in his lungs. "Come on Bolly, wake up." Her body showed no response. Don't you dare, woman. Another breath...and another. "Just take a breath Bolls." His hands were shaking from the mixture of adrenaline and anxiety. Now is not the time for an attack'a the wobblies you stupid twat. "Wake up." More breaths, chest compressions...Alex lay response-less still. "Wake up!" Desperation had perforated his every cell. Never bloody took 'er this long before. "Breathe, Alex. Just bloody breathe!"
--
The stars dissolved before her eyes and the numbers on the clock began to flip frantically. "Breathe, Alex." The words resonated on a loop in the vast nothingness that surrounded her, forming a sea of comforting sound that drowned out the growls.
"Alex!" Gene repeated, cupping her face with leather-swathed hands. She gasped. The inhalation felt like an inferno in her throat, but at least she could feel; if only to feel pain, it meant she was alive. She didn't only feel pain, though. She felt emotion...strong, fulfilling emotion that made this fictitious existence worth its while.
--
Gene hadn't muttered a word at first...didn't know how to. Feeling her breath on his face, it pricked his skin on her every out-breath. The image of her eyes inflamed and tinged with blood lingered in his mind; they'd almost matched the redness around her neck. Bastard.
"...come on Chris, you twonk. Yer can 'ave a kip when we get to the hospital..." He'd heard Ray from across the room, broke Alex's stare to gape over at the two men.
"You stay with us, Christopher!" he'd bellowed. "D'you 'ear me? Don't you dare leave us!"
He remembered how Drake was already gazing at him, when his eyes re-found hers. A knowing look. They did that a lot, speaking without words.
The second the ambulance crews had crashed into the showroom, Gene felt instantly redundant. He'd held her hand, hadn't he? Or had he imagined that? He was certain he'd felt her squeeze his palm reassuringly; as if he was the one in need of reassurance. "If you wan'ed rough, you only 'ad to ask, Bolls." Humour was his way of coping. Could've lost 'er. He was utterly bewildered. Could've lost 'er for good. He'd caught the weak smile that appeared on her lips for a split second, but you didn't lose me, did you? Even smiling feebly looked like it pained her.
"Sir, please," the medic bloke pressed, already having asked Gene to step aside four times - not that he'd heard. Eventually he'd complied, but not until he'd leaned close to her.
"You'll be okay," he'd murmured, raising himself to look into her dry, bloodshot eyes one last time before letting the ambulance crew do their job.
"Guv?" Ray snapped Gene out of his trance, drawing him back into reality. He must've been staring at the plain, hospital wall across from him for the best part of thirty minutes, sat twiddling his thumbs as he waited.
"Mm?"
"I've been thinking-"
"-Not breakin' up with me are yer, Raymondo?"
"Well it's just...I don't remember seeing Beaman when we left." Gene's eyes remained fixed on the wall, though he listened attentively. Beaman...where did that ponce disappear to? Ray continued, "Chris said som'et an' all...before the medics arrived I mean."
"What?"
"Said he didn't trust 'im, didn't say why but I could tell he wan'ed to. He was ramblin' on about a load of bollocks, but I could've sworn I 'eard 'im say som'et about that pencil-neck, Keats-"
"D.C.I Hunt?" interrupted a nurse.
"Yes?" Both he and Ray stood up; Gene briefly scanned the woman in uniform with his eyes; bird looks familiar.
"The young woman, she's been asking after you. Just round that corner, first door on your left."
"And Mr. Skelton?"
"Still in surgery I'm afraid, too soon for any news. Sorry."
Gene simply nodded, cueing the blonde-haired nurse to pivot and pace away. Ray piped up again, continuing the conversation.
"So do yer reckon Keats has got somethin' to do with-"
"Not now Ray."
"Sorry Guv."
The Guv pouted, nodding to Carling before leaving him in the hallway as he strode towards Alex's side-room. Keats played on his mind, but given the day's disarray, he forgave himself for struggling to connect the dots. Instead, he knocked on the door, pausing for a few moments before letting himself in. "Heard you wan'ed me, Bolls."
