"Armed blag on North Road, a jeweller's place. Five blokes with guns. Move, move, move!"

Those three sentences were enough to galvanise the A-Team of Fenchurch CID- Gene, Ray, Chris and myself- into action, and in a flurry of papers and cigarette smoke the room was evacuated of the four of us as we rushed towards the Quattro and piled in, tyres screeching away and heading to the blag before my seatbelt was even fastened. Gene glowered at me as if to say, "What are you, a copper or a harpist?", and I left it, holding onto the door for dear life instead.

They were just coming out as we arrived, bags full of jewels in hands and backpacks, guns slung over shoulders and in holsters at their hips. The ringleader was the first to make his move, pulling his revolver out suddenly in one smooth move and shooting at the windscreen of the Quattro, smashing it with a disturbingly beautiful sound; as glass cascaded onto me, I could feel the draft from the bullet, just centimetres away from my ear.

"Drop yer weapons! Yer surrounded!" Gene yelled, his Manchester tones stark in the cold air, lifting over the screams of people around us and the yelps of the robbers to each other, masking even the roar of the old van they were using.

The leader laughed, firing again, this time getting Ray in the leg. Ray collapsed back, clutching his injured thigh, clearly in horrific pain from the injury; I could hear his gasps of agony from the other side of the Quattro, desperate and shuddering, more like something from a horror film than anything else.

"That's IT!"

Gene advanced further, almost effortlessly dodging bullets, his face serious, grim, contorted with rage and hatred. The man to the right of the leader received a bullet to the chest as Gene's gun recoiled in his gloved hand, wisps of dark smoke drifting lazily away from the barrel as the man dropped like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Another was felled by Chris, crouched beside his mate, firing away until his gun was destroyed by a bullet down the barrel; dropping the carcass of the pistol, he dragged Ray from sight instead, sheltering him behind the Quattro.

It was me and Gene against about four of them, minus the one we'd gotten; Gene was moving forwards all the time, managing to avoid the continuous fire towards him as I distracted them by shooting as well, screaming at the top of my lungs to give them even more confusion. Gene's hand was a blur as it shot over and over again, the gun like a living, murderous creature in his palm, bending to his will, destroying the creatures in front of him.

For a moment, my head reeled with recalled senses: a deep, sharp grief for someone dear to me, the terrible agony of loss and the pain and fury of the memories of this day... I couldn't think where they could have come from at all, and my blanked mind refused to unblock itself for me. Shaking my head free of these alien emotions, I turned back to shooting, relieved to realise that I'd only been thinking for a second or two, and that Gene was still up and shooting, and by now had taken another blagger down, giving a grim smile as the man lay in the road, nursing a bloody shoulder.

My eyes moved of their own accord, focusing on something important and yet completely insignificant; I could see the manhole cover just next to Gene's boot, and realised with a cold jolt of shock that another step would unbalance him, shifting his weight onto the uneven surface of the metal cover.

Some remembered agony shot through me as I leapt up and ran out, knowing what I was doing was stupid but not about to stop for anything, knocking him out of the way of it and shooting as I went, my shoulder banging into his warm solidness as he yelped, tripping over his boots and falling onto the cool concrete but safe and uninjured.

I raised my gun again and took the leader down, watching with a dark satisfaction as he toppled and sank to the earth, his hands at the wound in his stomach.

Turning, I could see Gene watching me with a quizzical look on his face, something I knew nothing about in the depths of his mesmerising blue eyes.

"Wha' was that for, Bolly?"

There was genuine confusion in his voice at the start, but it faded even as he spoke.

In the second that followed, I knew everything: the devastating loss of Gene at this very blag; the months of agony and sadness and fury at the world and myself and the blaggers and just everything conceivable; the torture of someone else, someone who had never known Gene and didn't care to preserve his memory, taking his place in the little world, the small community that he would never belong to; the mind-numbing mourning of the man I loved beyond any other I had ever met or romanced.

Gene's irises met mine, my wide eyes reflected in the midnight pupils, and in that second we both realised it, and both stored it away in our minds and reached out to grasp each other's hands, feeling the skin of the other on our own, vowing never to let fate separate us again as it had before.

A voice found its way to my ears as I rested my forehead against Gene's, my flesh sensing the pockmarks and scars and wrinkles on his, each telling its own little story that told so much about the man they belonged to, my hand still grasping his as though it was the most valuable thing in the world.

"If you two are done, Ma'am, Guv, I'm bleedin' to death over 'ere..."

Snapping out of it, we laughed at each other and Gene pushed himself up, brushing gravel off his trousers as he marched over to Ray and ripped a strip from his own shirt hem, pressing it against the wound to try and stop the bleeding. Ray watched thankfully, his features still tight with pain but knowing that he would be OK. The blaggers were being rounded up by the massed ranks of uniform who had followed us to the scene, hobbling into cars holding wounds and groaning at their friends, sending the coppers looks of anger and hatred as the doors slammed on their freedom and the lights started up on the tops of the cars.

Watching the plod cars pull away and an ambulance crew hoisting Ray up into the back of their van, I reached back and pulled Gene towards me, wrapping my arms around him and smiling as he returned the hug, his eyes still on Ray and worry festering in their bright depths but a small smile tugging at his pale lips.

"I'm so glad I didn't lose you, Gene."

He turned to look at me properly, thankfulness in his expression, his fingers squeezing mine in a rare show of affection.

"I'm sorry you lost your daughter, Bolls. If there was anythin' I could've done..."

I silenced him by putting my finger on his lips. Surprise flitted across his face, but he fell silent at my bidding.

"There was nothing that could have reunited me with Molly, Gene. At least this way, I can have one person I will always love with me at all times. I don't know if you'll ever understand fully, but just know this much: I know I made the right decision, and I'm not going to regret it."

Gene's eyes told me he understood, staying fixed on mine as we began walking towards the ambulance, crowding in and sitting down next to each other, Gene's hand leaving mine to hold a compression pad against Ray's injury but my hand on the warm skin of his waist, sneaking underneath the ripped fabric of his shirt to feel his body and his presence, a presence I knew I would never tire of or stop thanking whatever united us for.

A/N: I'm sorry this is so late, but I've had exams and such and my writing computer's packed up... hopefully PC World will shed some light on the problem, but until then, horror of horrors, I have no word processor! D: I hope you enjoyed this anyway, and please remember to review! Jazzola :)