And forward march... thanks again for the reviews, and to my beta-extraordinaire :) nearly there now!
It's impossible… Alex had awoken in the middle of the night, questions swimming endlessly in her head without answer. The multicoloured glow of various monitors and machines punctuated the darkness in the ward. The small hours she thought to herself. She tried to sit up, but winced at the stabbing pain in her temple. Sighing, she turned over and pressed the button by the bedside for the nurse to come. To her surprise, it was Dr Cooke who arrived, smiling in the half-light as she pulled the curtain back.
"Hello Alex," she said. "I was in the nurses' station when I saw your bed light come on. Thought I'd pay you a personal visit."
Alex smiled uneasily. "I'm in quite a bit of pain, actually. Woke up with it. I know you can't give me much, what with the um, pregnancy and everything…" she trailed off.
Dr Cooke shook her head. "No, not really, I'm afraid. We only found out through a routine blood test, and that was already after you'd had anaesthetic and morphine. We certainly couldn't risk anything else at this stage."
Alex groaned.
"How about a cup of herbal tea then?" the doctor continued. "Might help you sleep at least?"
Dr Cooke returned five minutes later with a cup of camomile tea. She sat on the edge of the bed where Alex was now sitting up and looked at her, concerned.
"Can I ask… are you happy about your pregnancy Alex? You just seem… I don't know. It's just… now would be a good time to say, if you don't want to…"
Taking a small sip of the tea, Alex laid her head back, resting the cup on her belly. She smiled at the doctor. "No, I am happy… I'm just… well, confused as to how it happened."
"Well if you don't know that by now!" Dr Cooke joked, "You're beyond help!"
Alex rolled her eyes. "I mean I have no idea who the father is. Well, I do… but it's impossible."
Getting up to leave, Dr Cooke smiled at her patient. "In my experience, nothing is impossible Alex, no matter how unlikely it might seem. You try and sleep now eh?"
"Dr Cooke," Alex said urgently, "Can you please do me a favour and get all the notes you can, from my accident, and my admittance here. The police report, the paramedics… I need to know everything."
"I'll do my best. I'm off duty in the morning, so I can try and sneak them to you before I go. I suppose since you are the police it can't do any harm."
Alex finished her tea and lay down again. She tried to clear her thoughts completely, to empty her head of all the questions cluttering it. When sleep finally claimed her, it first brought peace and then gently, silently opened a door in her mind.
Across the city, Gene's eyes closed. His hands clutched at the grey blanket covering him and his lips made tiny movements in the dark as pictures flitted through his sleeping head.
The two lovers' bodies breathed and jerked in a simultaneous dance: eyes watching the same flickering movie as they were paid a visit by the ghost of a Christmas yet to come.
Alex awoke and drew the covers up around her neck to keep out the chill winter air. She felt an arm snake around her waist, a hand travel across her stomach and slip inside her nightshirt to cup her breast. "Mmmmornin' Bolly," came a deep rumble against the back of her neck. She smiled.
"Good morning… brrr, cold morning. What time did you set the heating to come on at? It's freezing in here."
Gene snuggled closer against her back, murmuring into her hair. "Well you were the one who insisted we move to bloody Scotland. Anyway, never mind, I'll soon warm you up." He placed a kiss on the back of her neck and squeezed her breast, groaning as she wriggled backwards, her bottom against him.
"I wonder if Father Christmas has been?" she moaned lazily, as Gene's mouth roamed her skin, his hands now pushing her nightshirt upwards.
"There's only one man getting anywhere near my wife's stockings Bolly - and that's me!" Gene growled, easing his erection between her thighs. Alex let out a long breath, the heat growing in her stomach as she felt his teeth bite gently at her shoulder. Suddenly she had a feeling she was being watched. She glanced to the foot of the bed to see a pair of shiny bright blue eyes smiling up at her.
"Gene," she whispered. "Stop… stop it… now!"
"Aw, but I'm…"
Gene opened his eyes and followed Alex's gaze to where their son was now trying to climb onto the bottom of the bed, a Christmas stocking in one hand and a toy truck in the other.
"Christ," he uttered under his breath, hurriedly pulling away from Alex and drawing his pyjamas up. He slid out from under the covers and took hold of the little boy, holding him to his bare chest in a loving hug. "Wow, Sammy, is that what Santa brought yer?" The boy beamed and giggled, waving the truck above his head. Gene carried on, "Well, let's give mummy a kiss and then you can go an' show Molly yer truck while we get dressed and then we'll all go an' see what else Santa brought eh?"
Alex sat up in the bed, kissing her son and watching contentedly as Gene carried him off towards the door. Her eyes lingered for a moment on his tented pyjama bottoms. Hmm, that'll keep for later Mr Hunt, she smiled to herself as she slipped out of bed and pulled her robe about her.
The noise and bustle of breakfast being served on the ward woke Alex from her sleep. She blinked and sat up, her hand moving instinctively to her stomach. My son… she thought. Reaching under the crisp white pillows, she drew out manila folder, with a note pinned to the front. "I have no idea how these got here. V x"
With shaking hands, Alex opened the folder, and looked at the two files inside. One she recognised immediately as the preliminary police report. She pushed it underneath and glanced through the medical file, scanning words like, '9mm' 'cranial' and 'blood loss' through to the blood test results. Negative, of course, for all the usual suspects, but beside the hCG test was a figure Alex could make no sense of, with the words 'early pregnancy' scrawled underneath. The ink seemed to rise off the page and slap her in the face. Think, think….
She slowly opened the police report, her heart pounding. The handwriting on the page was barely legible, but knowing a few facts herself made it easier to fathom out. No mention of Arthur Layton, or the earlier hostage incident. Christ, don't they put two and two together? She read further down.
Arresting Officer: Detective Inspector Martin Harper
Suspect: Detective Chief Inspector Ge…
Alex's stomach lurched as adrenaline flooded her veins. The files fell on the bed. He's alive. He's real. He was there.
"Got somewhere more important you need to be Ms Drake, eh? I'm not happy about this but, well, we can't make you stay now, can we? And besides we do need the bed, ha ha!" laughed Mr Chakrabarti as he signed Alex's discharge sheet. "But do take great care Ms Drake, get plenty of rest and no excitement, yes? Is somebody coming to take you home?"
"Yes," said Alex. "My, er, friend Evan is coming, with some clothes for me. He'll be here any minute."
Mr Chakrabarti extended his hand to Alex, who took it and shook it solemnly. He may have been old and balding and just a little eccentric, but his deep brown eyes shone with a youth Alex couldn't quite understand. He turned to leave her, stopping just by the door of the ward. "It all happens for a reason Alex. Just trust that - and you will get what you need." And with that, he was gone.
A short while later, Alex was climbing into the passenger seat of Evan's car, still clutching the police report under her jacket. The hot summer day of London swam around her, so many people everywhere, and so many cars. So different to 1981. She glanced at Evan as he put his belt on and started the engine, carefully checking all the mirrors before pulling away gently. Such a contrast to Gene Hunt's cavalier attitude behind the wheel. Would she ever tell him what had happened, what she knew? There was no way she could ever try and explain, even to herself. Can I ever forgive him? On the other hand, he had taken such good care of her, even through her rebellious teenage years and now; he was like a grandfather to Molly. Dependable, unexciting. He had learned his lesson it seemed.
The car swept through the baking streets; towers of steel and glass bearing down on Alex as she sat wordlessly in the passenger seat. Suddenly she spoke. "Evan. I need to go to…"
"I know," Evan replied, not taking his eyes from the road. "We're on our way to Limehouse police station now."
"But…"
Evan glanced at her briefly and smiled. "We can't let them send down the wrong man now, can we?"
Gene sat up with a start. He threw the blanket on the floor and drew his hands down his now stubbled face, remembering. He had dreamed it was a Christmas morning, his time and surroundings unknown to him save for the warm familiarity of the woman in his arms. And then, all at once the events of yesterday were there and rage and panic coursed through him again. He leapt to his feet and pulled on his shirt. Naturally his tie had been confiscated, so he left two buttons undone and grabbed his suit jacket. He slammed his fist against the grey metal door and pressing his face to the tiny window yelled, "Open up this bloody door! NOW! OI!"
DI Harper appeared, sauntering down the corridor sporting a black eye and cut lip. The injuries looked somehow out of place on his lily-white, youthful face. He had a uniformed officer in tow - an old hand with lived-in face and an impressive beer gut. "Now, now, Mr Hunt." Harper said. "No need to get over excited. I've got good news, your lawyer's on his way." Harper gestured to the desk sergeant to open the door.
Gene walked out in to the corridor, putting his jacket on as he went. "Lawyer?" he asked, confused.
"Yes. Mr White. Don't you know him? He rang first thing this morning to say he was representing you."
Gene curled his lip and walked down the stairs to the main reception area, before being ushered into an interview room. Well these haven't changed much he thought, noting, however, the rather more sophisticated sound recording equipment. DI Harper followed him in and took a seat at the far side of the table. In his hand was a thick and ancient-looking paper file.
The two officers sat there, staring at each other with little more than impatience and distain, while the sergeant stood by the door. Several minutes passed before there came a knock at the door. "Come in!" Harper called out.
The lawyer was barely in the room before Gene leapt to his feet, heart racing. "Evan!" he exclaimed. "'Ow is she? 'Ow's Alex?" The words fairly tumbled from his lips.
Evan smiled, "Why don't you ask her yourself, Mr Hunt?" He stepped to one side.
And then she was there, shining like some supernatural light in the dull grey of the room. She looked pale, nervous; beautifully fragile like a torn-off piece of heaven. Different, but the same. Her hair, shaved at one side revealing a fresh wound, the rest long and straight. Gene drowned in the very sight of her and before he knew what had happened, he had her in his arms, holding her, touching her, pressing his face into the curve of her neck.
Alex could not dare to believe her eyes, as she walked in the doorway, he was all she could see. He seemed to dwarf everything in the room. His hair was shorter and his cheeks and chin rough with stubble. Piercing silver-blue eyes alighted on her, darkening with the pleasure of what they saw. With his shirt buttons undone and dark tailored suit jacket hanging open, he looked every inch the raffish rogue: tall and strong and achingly handsome. In an instant she was in his arms, feeling with her own hands what she was unable to believe she could see.
They cradled each others faces in their hands, no longer aware of anything or anyone else in the room but their own selves. Finally, Alex found the strength to whisper, drawing a thumb across Gene's lips as she did so, "You're real… oh my God, you're real…"
Gene lowered his mouth to her face, kissing her eyes, her forehead, her cheeks and finally her lips, holding them to his in the most tender caress she could ever have imagined. He touched a fingertip very gently to the scar on her temple and breathed, "You're alive…"
"Thanks to you."
There was a cough. "Er, if you don't mind…" DI Harper was on his feet, gesturing to Gene and Alex to take a seat. "We do have an investigation to be getting on with."
"I take it I'm no longer prime suspect then?" sneered Gene.
"Well, let's just hear what DI Drake has to say shall we? Mr White here seems to think she'll support your allegation that it was a Mr Arthur Layton who shot her."
"You don't sound sure?" Evan interjected.
"Well, let's just say it all sounds a bit far-fetched. You said you'd shot a man on the barge, DCI Hunt, but there was nothing to be found. No body, no blood even…"
Alex suddenly spoke. "But the hostage situation earlier that day, at the Tate. Surely you have confirmed with your colleagues that that was Arthur Layton. And that he asked for me, specifically, when they cornered him?"
"We know that a man calling himself Arthur Layton was behind that, yes."
Gene and Alex looked at one another, not understanding. "Are you trying to say that wasn't him?" Gene demanded.
DI Harper folded his hands across the file on the table and looked directly at Alex. "What do you know about this Layton, exactly?"
Alex swallowed, unsure of what to say next. How much she could tell without giving too much away, or coming across as clinically insane? "Well, not that much as it happens. I know he used to sell drugs… bit of money laundering. DCI Hunt could probably tell you more…"
Harper narrowed his eyes. "And how's that then?"
Shit, Gene thought. "I, er, did a bit of research a while back for another case. 'E was a police informant for a while. 'Ad a vice ring though, with a junk shop to wash the cash… drugs mostly. This was in the, er, the late 70s, I believe." He coughed and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, taking Alex's hand in his own under the table.
"Look, DI Harper, are you going to charge my client or not? Because if not, I think he and DI Drake would like to be getting home now. DI Drake particularly, needs plenty of rest at the moment, so you can ask her for a statement now and then she can leave, yes?" Evan was growing impatient with Harper and it was evident in the tone of his voice.
DI Harper sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Well…" he drawled. "The ballistics report on the fragments recovered from DI Drake yesterday will be with us shortly. If they don't match your gun, Mr Hunt, then that combined with DI Drake's statement will mean we'll have no possible reason to continue holding you here. But," he continued. "It certainly wasn't Arthur Layton. At least not the Arthur Layton you described."
Gene shot a glance at Evan, who looked at Alex. Then both of them looked back at Gene, who shrugged his shoulders. They all fixed questioningly on DI Harper.
"You see, DCI Hunt, I did a bit of research myself. This is Arthur Layton's criminal record. Every collar, every caution, every charge, every stretch. From nicking cars at the age of 15, right up to his death."
"His death?" gaped Alex and Gene in unison.
"Read for yourself," said DI Harper, pushing the file across the desk. "Your Arthur Layton was shot dead, by the police, in a drugs bust. July 1981."
"But… but…" Alex suddenly felt nauseous and dizzy. She grasped Gene's hand tighter.
"'Oo shot 'im?" Gene asked, somehow dreading the answer.
"A Detective Inspector Ray Carling."
"Detective Inspector…?" Alex whispered.
Gene swallowed, bile rising at the back of his throat. "And, uh… 'oo signed it off? 'Oo was the DCI?" It can't 'ave been me, it can't 'ave been me.
"Tom Fletcher."