Disclaimer: BBC, Monastic and Kudos own Ashes to Ashes. Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol. But I wouldn't mind being given Gene for Christmas!

Thank you yet again to everyone who's reading, faveing, alerting, and (especially) reviewing this story. As promised, here is Stave IV, just in time for Christmas. I'm afraid there will be a short wait for Stave V as I haven't finished writing it yet, and it's going (by my standards) to be rather long.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this stave. If you have time to review amid the festivities, it would, as always, be ever so much appreciated.

A merry Christmas to all my readers!

"You!" Gene snarled. "We've found out a lot about you since I saw you last, you bastard."

"I am aware of that," said the shade gravely. It had a harsh Irish accent which Gene remembered too well.

"The investigating team searched your flat an' found your diary an' all your papers. Another one who's as daft as a brush salesman's sample case. Just like Drake, going on about this world not being real. Said you'd survived a successful suicide attempt." Gene shook his head in disgust. "Why do I always attract the liars an' weirdos? We know you'd been stalking Drake an' tried to kill 'er, you drove 'er an' me apart, you corrupted Chris, you were behind Operation Rose, you killed PC Summers an' Drake said you tried to frame 'er. Why?"

"Let us just say that every man has his reasons."

"What, for destroying other people's lives?"

"You can stop questioning me. This isn't the Fenchurch East interview room, you know."

"I wish I 'ad you there right now, mate, with the door locked, the tape recorder switched off, an' nobody to 'ear your screams."

"If I stopped to explain myself to you, we would be here all night, and I have much to show you."

"So. You're the one from Hell?"

"That is correct."

"Can't say I'm surprised," Gene snapped. "So why did Mac think I'd want to do time with you, of all people?"

"You have pardoned one man whose actions sent him to Hell. Two nights since, you gave him a hearing. I do not ask for pardon, only for the hearing. Who knows but that it may ultimately do good to him and to me, as well as to you?"

Gene had only just been thinking largely on forgiveness. Whether Summers would ever deserve it was something he was not yet ready to consider. All the same... This was the third part of his journey, and he was not prepared to give it up now, any more than he would ever give up on a case before it was solved. Besides, if he walked away, he had no idea where he was and no way of getting back home. Probably that's why Mac told Nelson to park me here.

"All right," he said reluctantly. "Mac sent you, just like 'e sent Sam an' Nelson, an' I'll take the ride wi' you for them. Now you can tell me why you're 'ere."

"My assignment tonight is to show you what will happen at Christmas next year."

"How come you know about the future?" Gene sneered.

Summers smiled. "Oh, I can claim to have first hand experience."

Suddenly they were standing outside Gene's house at night. A brief glance showed that it was dark and empty. A "For Sale" sign stood by the gate.

Gene shrugged. "So, I've moved house. Never liked the place much anyway." A sudden spark of hope kindled within him. Does this mean that I've moved in with Bolly? But he was damned if he would ask that question of Summers, of all people. He would have have to wait and find out.

"Let's see how your colleagues are keeping Christmas."

They were standing in Luigi's. As before, the place was bright with Christmas decorations. CID sat at their usual tables, eating and drinking, but Gene could sense that the atmosphere of gaiety was forced. He scanned the assembled company, and was shocked to find that he was not there. Nor was Alex.

"Hang on, where am I?"

"You have - transferred."

"What!" Gene was appalled. "Left Fenchurch? Abandoned the team?"

"I'm afraid so."

"What about Drake? Has she gone with me?"

"No, no, she's here, she's just not - here."

Gene silently resolved that if the man did not stop talking in riddles, he would personally remove every tooth from his head, one by one. He was about to grab Summers by the lapels and announce his intention in the most colourful language at his command, when Jim Keats arose from his seat at one end of the tables and tinkled his fork on a glass to gain attention. Silence fell, and the team turned towards him. Apathy was etched into every face.

"Ladies - " he hesitated as he scanned the faces before him, and recommenced, "Lady and gentlemen, I want to take this opportunity to thank you for all your help and support since I became your DCI."

"WHAT!!!" Gene bellowed. Naturally, the only person to hear him was Summers, who motioned him to be silent as Keats continued, "I know this has been a hard year for us all. But I'm confident that we'll put that behind us now and move on to a brighter future. Policing is changing, and we must change with it. I know that we can adapt and move with the times, and that with you behind me, Fenchurch East will become one of the most progressive stations in the Metropolitan Police. A place where anyone would be proud to work, just as I am proud of all of you. Thank you."

There was a wretched smattering of applause, and Keats sat down. The undertow of conversation began again, and Gene went off like a land mine.

"Keats, DCI? That smooth, smarmy, creepy, lily-livered, form-filling, self-serving, time-pleasing, fault-finding, pen-pushing little poof? Do you mean to say that I've buggered off and abandoned my team to his tender mercies? Over my dead body!"

Summers spread his hands wide. "An emergency appointment following your departure. The man's an eejit, but he's doing well enough. But, as you see, the team aren't behind him. In their hearts, they're still loyal to you."

As he spoke, Keats had arisen from his place and walked down to the other end of the table, where Chris and Shaz sat. Both wore black. Chris looked older than his years, and Shaz, her pretty face so swollen with constant crying that it was almost unrecognisable, was leaning her head on his shoulder as though he were the only thing keeping her upright, and his arm around her the only thing sustaining her. Gene and Summers drew near as Keats began speaking to them.

"It's good of you both to come," he said gently. "I know how hard it must be for you."

"That's all right, Sir," said Chris sadly. "You've been very kind to us, and we appreciate it. But we won't stay long, if you don't mind."

"Of course not."

Shaz raised her head, as though that simple action were the greatest effort in the world. "She never even had a birthday," she wailed."She only had the one Christmas, and Chris wasn't even with her for tha - a - at!" She burst into tears, sobbing on a descending scale, over and over, which cut Gene to the heart. Chris tightened his arm around her and stroked her hair, but he did not try to comfort her. There was no comfort to give.

"What's all this?" Gene demanded of Summers. "Where's Tammy?"

"She died last September," said Summers gravely. "Cot death. Poor child. Her parents are devastated, as you see."

Gene's heart seemed to stop for a moment. "Oh, God, no," he whispered. "No. Not that."

"Why should you care?" Summers replied sharply. "As Chris doesn't have a kid, he won't make any trouble about coming in on Christmas Day."

Gene recoiled from his own words, flung back at him by that harsh voice, as though he had been struck by a bullet.

"I didn't mean it like that..." he muttered shamefacedly.

"Oh? What did you mean, then?" said Summers, with genuine interest.

While Gene was casting around in his mind for a reply, Keats moved back down the table to speak to Ray. "Carling, where's DI Drake?"

"She's upstairs in her flat, Sir." Ray's voice was respectful, but held no warmth. "I knocked at her door and told her that we're all down here, but she said that she wants to stay where she is."

So that's what Summers meant by here, but not here.

"She should be here with her colleagues." Keats sounded faintly irritated. "If the Skeltons can make the effort, so can she."

"I wouldn't if I were you, Sir," said Ray, but Keats had already moved away and was heading towards the staircase to Alex's flat. Summers touched Gene's arm, making him shudder, and suddenly they were in Alex's living room. She was sitting on the sofa, staring at the television without taking anything in. She looked utterly drained, as though she no longer had any interest in life or any desire to live. Gene felt his heart breaking again as he looked at her. Tammy's death must have brought her daughter's death back all over again.

There was a knock at the door. She rose, walked listlessly to the door, and opened it.

"Jim. Come in." Her voice was as flat and devoid of interest as a stagnant pool.

Keats followed her into the living room and sat on the sofa beside her. Gene bristled. That's where I used to sit with her, before we quarrelled. How dare he sit in my place?

But then he's got my office now. My job. My place. Why have I left? Where did I go?

"Wine?" Alex pointed to the open bottle on the table. Gene noticed that no more than a glassful had been poured from it. As though she doesn't even have enough interest in life to get drunk.

Keats smiled. "No, thanks. I can't stay long." He lowered his voice. "I'm sorry to see you like this, Alex."

She tried to smile, and failed dismally. "Sorry. I'm not good company at the moment. It's hard, this time of year. It's always hard."

"I know," said Keats sympathetically. "Just remember, you're not alone."

Alex sighed impatiently. "I know, I know, I'm being ungrateful."

"I didn't say that, and that wasn't what I meant." Keats' tone conveyed gentle reproach. "Why don't you come downstairs and join us, just for a few minutes? You know you'd be welcome."

"Not only that, it would strengthen his authority with the team no end, if she's seen to be backing him up," Summers muttered cynically to the seething Gene, who nodded.

"The Skeltons are there," Keats went on. "They'd be glad to see you."

"Chris and Shaz?" For the first time, there was a glimmer of life of warmth in her voice and her eyes. "That's brave of them. God knows, it's even harder for them than it is for me. But at least they still have each other. I don't have anyone."

"That's not true." Keats still sounded reproachful. "You're surrounded by colleagues who are your friends too. We all love you."

"I know." Once again, Alex lost that tiny spark of animation. "But I've lost the two people I loved most, my daughter and Gene, and nothing can make up for that."

"EH?" Gene gasped.

Alex wiped her eyes. "My daughter - I've given up hope of ever seeing her again in this world, but I still hope that I may find her in another place, another time. I know I'll never see Gene again."

"No, Bols, no," Gene said desperately. "Now I know 'ow you feel, I'll come back from wherever I've buggered off to, an' I'll say sorry. We'll make it up. Don't cry, love, it'll be okay."

"It was all my fault," Alex went on. "If only I hadn't rejected him so completely when he tried to apologise. After that we were both too proud to try to make peace, and things just got worse and worse. I keep telling myself that I should have tried harder to stop him leaving that day."

"You mustn't blame yourself," said Keats gently. "If Hunt was going to do something, nothing would have stopped him. Do you really think he'd have listened to you?"

Alex shook her head woefully. "No. He wasn't listening to anyone, by then."

"It wasn't your fault," said Keats firmly.

Alex stared at nothing. "I never even told him that I loved him. If I had, maybe he wouldn't have left."

"Your devotion does you credit. I only wish it had a worthier object."

Alex looked as though she was about to flare up, then subsided. "I can't expect you to understand." She shook her head. "You only knew the embittered bastard he became after Operation Rose. I knew the good, kind, decent, brave, honest, loyal, noble-hearted man he was before then. The man I loved. Will always love. My matchless Lion."

Gene held out his arms to her, and stopped, frustrated, as he remembered that she could not see him.

"I'm sorry," Keats said quietly. "I didn't intend to make it worse for you."

"I know."

"Come downstairs with me. We all want you with us."

"Remember what I said when you offered me dinner on Christmas Eve, last year? It's awfully kind of you, but no, thanks."

"It's Christmas," Keats persisted. "A time for new beginnings. You have to come back to life at some time. Why not try making the first step now? It would help Chris and Shaz so much, if you were join us."

Alex scrubbed her eyes. "All right. For them." Her voice was almost inaudible. "But not for long."

"Brave girl." Keats' voice was warm with approval and encouragement. They stood, and she dragged off the shapeless jumper she was wearing and put on her long cardigan. The one she was wearing when we bugged Mac's office.

"Thanks, Jim," she said gruffly. "You're such a help. Always there."

"All part of the service." He opened the door and offered her his arm, and she took it. He smiled encouragingly. "Remember, the first step is the hardest." They went out together, and the door closed behind them.

Gene stared after them in shocked disbelief. "She's gone off with 'im! With that smoothie bastard!" He looked at Summers, almost pleadingly. "But it'll be all right. I'll come back to 'er, an' we'll make it up. I'll be in time to stop 'im getting 'er, won't I? Won't I?"

Summers opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, and said something else. "Let's see how you're getting on in your new home."

They were walking along a dark road, late at night, with a wall running beside them, beyond which appeared to be parkland. It was bitterly cold. Summers turned his coat collar up, and Gene, wearing only his suit, felt perished. He wished that he had brought his overcoat along on this trip.

"Bloody 'ell, 'aven't exactly moved upmarket, 'ave I?"

"No," Summers replied shortly. They stopped by a gate. "This way."

"Short cut?"

"You could say that."

They passed through the gate and found themselves in a cemetery. Summers led the way, and, to Gene's consternation, did not keep to the path, but strode unerringly ahead between the neat lines of gravestones until he halted before one neatly kept plot with a very new marble headstone.

"Here we are."

"Eh?"

Summers pointed to the stone. A shaft of moonlight illuminated it, and Gene read the inscription.

DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR GENE HUNT

10 FEBRUARY 1946 - 17 OCTOBER 1984

"The wicked flee when no man pursueth, but the righteous are bold as a lion" - Proverbs 28:1

"No!" he whispered. "No!"

"But yes," said Summers, behind him.

Gene turned to him. "But you said I'd transferred."

"So you have. This is your final, permanent transfer." Gene stared at him, aghast, as he continued, "In the months following last Christmas, you pursued your detached and solitary way, growing more and more isolated and suspicious of everyone around you. You became convinced that all the members of your loyal team were trying to bring you down. Drake, whom you believed had lied to you; Skelton, who had betrayed you; even Carling, who is a Mason and who was once responsible for a death in custody. In October, during a murder investigation, you received a tip-off that an eyewitness had information, but was too afraid to come to the station to speak to you. You were given a place and time to meet them, late at night in a lonely side street. Drake and Carling were convinced that it was a trap, and begged you not to go, or at least to let one or both of them come with you to watch your back. Skelton was on compassionate leave then, following the death of his child. But you refused to listen to anyone. Why should you? Traitors, one and all. So you didn't tell anyone the time or place for the meeting, and you gave them all the slip to make sure that none of them could follow you.

"But they were right. It was a trap. The message had been sent to you by a member of John Carnegie's former team, who was out for revenge on the man who had brought his Guv down. You sat waiting in your car, at the appointed place, smoking a cigarette while you waited for your informant to arrive. He came up to the window on your side, drew his gun, and shot you at point blank range. Drake and Carling found your body hours later. They had been searching desperately for you all night."

"No..." Appalled and fascinated, Gene reached out to run his fingers over the lettering on the stone, feeling the fresh, sharp carving beneath his fingers.

Summers spread his hands wide and shrugged. "You've seen the effect of your death upon all those around you. Your team is desolate, Keats is DCI - as you said, over your dead body - and Alex is heartbroken. Of course she blames herself for not having been able to stop you, the day you went to your death. But Keats is right for once. Nobody could have stopped you, not even her. Especially not her. She chose your epitaph." He stooped, picked up a bunch of flowers which lay on the grave, and showed Gene the card attached to them.

For my Gene. This is the only Christmas present I can give you this year. I gave you my heart long ago. Forgive me for never telling you.

Alex.

Gene sank to his knees, his face buried in his hands. "Oh, God."

Summers stood over him triumphantly. "Remember what Mackintosh told you? Loneliness is one of form of Hell. Knowing the harm you have done to those who love you, when it is too late to make amends, is another. You left it too late to escape Hell. Your world, Mr Hunt - and welcome to it."

He turned to go, but Gene scrambled to his feet and seized his arm. "No! No, you Irish creep, you are bloody well not going off an' leaving me like this!"

Summers glanced down coolly at Gene's hand on his arm, then up at his face. "Pardon?"

"Why show me all this, if I'm going to die anyway? Tell me it's not too late."

"Why should I?"

"Sam came from Heaven, an' he said, whether I see 'im again, depends on what I do now. He said, I have a hope of being able to change the man I will be. Mac an' Nelson both said, While a man still lives, it is never too late to change his course. I'm still alive. This is Christmas 1983. You told me, you're showing me next Christmas. But this is what'll 'appen if I don't change. I have changed."

Summers regarded him superciliously. "Have you?"

"Yeah. I'll let Chris 'ave the day off to spend Christmas with Shaz an' Tammy. I'll let 'im 'ave all the time off 'e wants, to be with 'em. I'll stop punishing 'im, an' I'll treat 'im right from now on." His voice dropped lower. "I'll tell Bolly I've been a bastard, an' I'll ask 'er to forgive me. I'll trust the team, because I'll know they trust me. I'll make sure everyone I know has a merry Christmas, an' I'll do everything I can to make it like Christmas for 'em, all year round!" He gripped Summers' arm tighter. Desperation increased his strength. " So, tell me it's not too late."

Summers looked down at Gene's hand on his arm, and threw him off with surprising force. "Enjoy your new home, Mr Hunt."

Caught unawares, Gene staggered backwards and tumbled into the open grave as it yawned open behind him. He was falling, down, down, down...

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

TBC