AN; I only ever meant for this to be a one shot, but a couple of people were asking for another chapter, and as we have no more A2A
for a whole year, I figured "Hell, why not?". It means that the story is ever so slightly lacking in a plot, and that I've upped the rating
to M, cos it gets pretty dark in this chap, and probably will be like this for quite a few chapters, until I decide to lay of the angst a wee
bit and give Gene and Alex a happy ending :) Please comment / criticize, I will actually reply this time, as my email was royally
mucked up when I posted the last chapter. Enjoy!
(Oh, and it's probably obvious, but flashbacks, of which there will be plenty, are in italics.)
"- Oh don't cry Mummy! Why are you upset? It wasn't that man, was it? The tall one, who left really early in the morning? He woke
me up, kept on shouting about Brolly or Bobby or someone. I bet he was drunk. People shouldn't drink really though, cos it's awfully
bad for them y'know." Molly said, less than subtlety displaying her disdain for the large amounts of alcohol her mother had been
drinking. Alex didn't get the hint. She shot up as the meaning of what Molly had just said sunk in. Gene was here. Not dead, not an
alcohol induced delusion. Real. Alive. Leaning on the bed post for support she stood up. The world around her was spinning, but
Alex was too shocked to even notice.
"I need to go out Mols, are you alright with that?" Alex said, making a weak attempt at a smile. "Can you call Evan and ask him to
stop by?"
"Mum! The doctor said that you're not meant to go out yet, that things might not be completely sorted out."
Too right, Alex thought. She should be a bullet ridden corpse lying in a store cupboard in 1981, and so should - no - Gene shouldn't
even exist, let alone be here, now, alive and well. She needed answers, and she wasn't going to get them lying in bed drinking her own
weight in alcohol. Alex turned to face her daughter.
"Listen, Molly, I'm only going to be at the library, I just need to sort some things out. I'll be O.K. I promise." she said sincerely, then
grabbed a long coat and a pair of sunglasses from the dresser and swiftly slammed the door shut behind her, before Molly could
remind her how her last promise had ended.
--
Alex drove haphazardly, somehow avoiding crashing the car into the rush hour traffic as she made her way home. One car behind
her tooted their horn and she gave them the finger, the other hand adjusting the rear view mirror so she could see the ass hole who
had a problem with her driving. She didn't know why she was surprised when she saw her view was blocked by a pair of very intense
blue eyes. It took all her will power not to turn around, but somehow she managed it, long enough to say what she had been reciting
in her head since she had read the articles in the library.
"I'm sorry, Gene. I didn't know. I truly didn't know. I sat there and complained about the annoying Asian nurse and how I loathed the
hospital food, when you had to..."
She recalled the faded newsprint in her head: 5th November 1981...Massacre at London Metropolitan Police Station...15 killed in cold
blood...among the dead were 4 on duty officers, WPC Sharon Granger, DS Ray Carling, DC Christopher Skelton, and... and DI Alex
Drake...And only one survivor. There were other articles too - Remember, remember the 5th of November; Survivor of November
5th massacre pays tribute to fallen colleagues; Police no closer to finding the 5/11 murderer- But she hadn't been able to read them,
as her tear filled eyes had made the electronic lighting cast stars on the glass of the microfilm. The tears were threatening to come
back again, but she shook them away quickly, and tried to regain her composure.
"When you had to lay there, and listen to every person you'd ever respected, cared about... loved... die. I'm sorry for being so naive, for
thinking that nothing could be worse than you dying. I'm just so, so sorry."
He wouldn't catch her eye. That was unusual, he always just watched her, he rarely did anything else. There was a cold empty silence
before he replied.
"Two years Bols. That was how long I made it. Two years of dragging m'self outta bed every soddin' morning, knowin' that I didn't
have a single fuckin' thing to live for. I bloody dreamt about that day every night, and thought about it everyday. And then I couldn't
take it. I got outta bed, drunk a stupid amount of alcohol and drove the Quattro off a bridge. Anything to get rid of the sight of your
dead body out of my mind. Only I woke up again, and you were still there, sitting up in an hospital bed like you'd just seen a - Alex!
ALEX!!"
The mirror smashed into thousands of pieces, along with the wind shield. The shards cut at Alex's face as the force of the crash threw
her backwards, icy cold scratches on her pale skin. Along with the glass came a tiny fragment of memory, strangely vivid and bright as
she started to lose conciousness.
--
"Fireworks Bols, you comin'?"
"What? What are you talking about Gene?"
"Guy Fawkes Alex, it's t'day. Y'know: Remember, remember the 5th o' November?"