I don't own Ashes to Ashes

The lyrics included in this chapter are evidently not my own; credit goes to Nick Lachey, but the song fits well, I hope you agree!

---

He left quickly, with one last brush of his lips against her ear, letting himself out whilst she lay there, apparently too shocked to move. He closed the door behind him, then sank to the ground on the landing outside, head in his hands.

Shit.

It had been unbearable to have to resist her; unbearable, painful, heart wrenching... and yet if he hadn't, if he'd gone with her wishes and actually kissed her, actually let something happen, then they'd have ended up in a more awkward mess than this, surely? He knew what he was like; he knew he was bad for her, he knew he'd mess with her head and hurt her, and that was the last thing on earth he wanted; because it was Bolly.

He'd messed other women around time after time, and it had never really bothered him; he started it, he toyed with the idea of making it a regular, serious thing, then he ended it and they never spoke again...

But he actually liked Alex, and therein lay the problem.

She fascinated him; she was clever, funny, sexy, great at her job, and gorgeous to boot. But sooner or later, surely that fascination had to come to an end? And then what would they do? If he shagged her, say, and took the risk of a relationship with her, it was only a matter of time before it went to shit and one of them –and, hierarchically speaking, it would most likely be her- had to leave, to move away... and could he bear that?

She wasn't just a skirt these days; it was a bloody nuisance, but last night had proven, once again, that they weren't just DCI and DI, not just colleagues; they were friends, companions even... and it wasn't like him to have female friends. He had female acquaintances... but they were just women who he occasionally dabbled in sex with, who were all otherwise attached and knew it wasn't serious; and if they ever thought it was, they'd end it.

But Alex?

Not an acquaintance; though he knew he'd only scratched the surface, something he'd rediscovered having listened to her speak about Molly last night, he sometimes thought he knew her better than he knew himself. It wasn't difficult, he knew; any time something to do with him came up, he simply buried himself at the bottom of a large bottle of whiskey, away from the demons he wanted to keep at bay, and there was little to know...

But was she a friend? Did friend do it justice? A 'friend' didn't ring at three in the morning and ask him to stay the night because they were scared, surely? He could imagine Ray's response, if Gene or Chris were to ring at that time of night; "don't be such a poof" he'd say... and the thing was, if it was anyone but Bolly, male or female, he'd have said the same thing.

So where did that leave him? He wasn't just a friend, but he wouldn't allow himself to cross the line between whatever they were and whatever they could be...

And he wanted her; he didn't think he'd ever wanted anyone quite so much... but it was that wanting, that innate desire that tugged him towards her, which warned him to stay away; she was too good for him. And although now, in this moment, the idea of spending years upon years waking up just as they had today appealed greatly to him, he couldn't be sure it wasn't just a delusion; and being delusional would have been fine, if he didn't have to work with her, didn't have to see her everyday, didn't have to spend day after day debating case after case... but he did.

So, even though it hurt, he did what he knew he had to do; he walked away.

----

Alex stared at the door for what felt like hours after he'd walked out, though in reality the time passed was a few mere minutes. She was confused and hurt, and at the same time, she was touched and thankful, though reasons for each were many and incoherent.

Her skin tingled where he had traced his nose and hands over it; it felt warm and static, as though an electric current had been passed over her skin. She was cold and hot all at once, and as she lay there, staring at the closed door and wishing he would re-enter with cups of coffee and settle himself down beside her, she was struck by an overwhelming sense of loss; suddenly, the comfort his presence had offered had been ripped away from her, as though the carpet had been torn from beneath her feet and she had lost her balance. The haven of his arms, earlier so reassuring, had been broken through, ripped apart, and suddenly she felt at the mercy of the elements, too weak to resist them, victim to their power... The fear and panic that had slowly dissipated throughout the night all returned to her in one powerful wave of emotion, and from lying there dumbstruck, she was suddenly sat down and rigid with sobs. She shook and shook, but Gene didn't return; an hour later, when the ache in her lungs from her ragged breathing had ebbed slightly, and the tears had all been shed, she pulled herself into the shower and started to get ready for work.

---

Alex walked into his office and he could see the pain in her eyes; rejection shone through the facade of confidence as she placed several case notes down, informing him of leads in small-scale investigations and levelly informing him that perhaps they should go and see Benji Bragden.

He wanted to take her in his arms and apologize; she couldn't possibly know it, but he was hurting too, and all he wanted, all he desired in the whole world at that moment, was to take comfort in her soft body pressed against his... but he wouldn't, and he knew it. So he stood up, grabbed his coat, shrugged it on, and indicated for Alex to leave the room before him. She said nothing, simply complying.

He was annoyed to note that she'd donned a cardigan that covered her arse from view; he slammed the door on his way out.

---

Benji Bragden was scrawny, with greasy brown hair, red, spotty skin, and a dress sense that made Gene want to cringe. He was wearing drainpipe jeans, tucked into white nylon socks that came out of black, tatty trainers. The shirt was checked, thrown over a white round-necked top and buttoned halfway up the chest, half-tucked into the jeans; not so bad, if it wasn't for the torn sleeves, the bright pink checks, and the fact the look was better suited to someone a little cooler. His glasses were horn-rimmed and brown, resting slightly crooked on his nose, which looked as though it had recently been broken. When Gene flashed his police badge, Benji didn't look at all surprised, tiredly holding out his hands without speaking a word. Both Gene and Alex frowned, before Gene shrugged, tugging –but not altogether too hard- on the boys arm as he lead him to the car.

"You sit in there," he said gruffly, opening the door and pushing him in the back, where Ray was sat, looking wickedly menacing with a small grin on his face. "Don't do anything stupid, and DS Carling won't 'ave to 'it you." He slammed the car door shut, locking it quickly, before turning to Alex.

There was a moment as he looked at her where their eyes met, both sets filled with confusion, and he had to double-take before he spoke. "Right Bols, lets 'ave a look round."

---

It was a dingy, one-roomed flat, but for the small toilet that lead off to the right on entry. The brown wallpaper was peeling from the walls, the carpet was stained with what looked like ten years of food, and the small bed that lay in the corner was sagging under its own weight, a thin mattress stretched over it. A cooker was in the corner, on which were two saucepans which, on closer inspection, held fast-decaying beans, stuck to the bottom and turning a nasty green colour. Gene rolled his eyes, rifling through the kitchen cupboards; corn flakes, spaghetti tins, a few off-white plates and a mouldy loaf of bread.

"Not a hungry one our Benji," he muttered briefly, looking at the seven-day-past best before date. He turned from the kitchen and pursed his lips in thought.

The room was a mess, with boxes, clothing and beer cans strewn across the already limited floor space. A few scrunched up balls of paper were discarded too, and, typically, it was these that Alex gravitated towards, carefully unfolding each piece and taking in the contents. Whilst she did so, Gene briefly thought about turning the place inside out, but he knew Alex's reaction would be one of utter annoyance, and the last thing he needed was for her to have extra reason to be pissed with him. So instead he watched her, hands in his pockets, waiting for her to say something of interest... and when she didn't he turned to the small, beaten-looking bedside table, which was falling apart at the hinges, and pulled the drawer open.

There wasn't much inside; an old looking notebook, with faded writing on the front advertising some company or other, a wallet, a few pens that looked as though they were running on the last reserves of ink, and a small photograph in a handcrafted frame, made out of several drinking straws and masking tape, with a piece of card covering the back and holding a faded picture of a much younger Benji, and a woman Gene assumed to be his mother.

For a moment, Gene considered the photograph, then placed it aside and picked up the wallet; a few pennies, a five pound note, and a condom. He mentally clapped the boy on the back for being prepared, but then placed that aside, too, tentatively picking up the notebook and opening it to the first page. It was blank, except for a small drawing of a stick boy and girl, and a heart. Beneath it, someone had drawn a kiss. He flipped through the book quickly; most of the pages were filled with small, cramped black writing, but as the centre page fell open, Gene stopped, putting his fingers out to stop any more pages passing, quickly pulling out the other half of the picture strip they had found in Rosa's purse.

This one was torn along the top, slightly cutting off the top of Benji's floppy hair. The picture was slightly different to the one Rosa had been carrying; the couple were looking one another in the eyes, both giggling like children. In Gene's opinion, Benji still looked like a useless, unattractive dork, but it was evident that they were both happy enough... Turning it over, he found a small scrawl, in a different hand to that on Rosa's picture.

For my darling Benji x

There was no reason behind it, but somehow Gene felt a strange, gut-instinct, that something was not right, as though something were missing... he looked over to Alex, who was staring at the piece of paper she held with scrutiny. He waited a few moments, but when she didn't look up, he cleared his throat, beckoning her over and holding the picture out to her. "What'd you make of it?" He asked gruffly.

Alex's eyes were filling with tears again; it was quite evident just what she made of it. "He's got the second half," she said eventually, swiping at her eyes. She briskly added, "It's just sentimentality Gene... I wouldn't expect you to understand."

He stared at her for several moments, feeling his chest tighten slightly; yes he knew he deserve it after the way he'd left that morning, but surely he'd shown just how sentimental he could be, hadn't he? He'd left for her sake, not his own! "Right," he said softly, voice low. "Right..." he repeated it a few times, and then looked back to the notebook, eyes falling on the scrawling hand, forcing him to blink. He read it a few times, then looked at Alex, who was still wiping at her eyes about the photo. He rolled his eyes at her, but couldn't deny the fact he wanted to reach out and comfort her, hold her, tell her everything was going to be ok...

"Here," he said, pushing the book, open on the correct page ,to her chest, before walking around her, lifting up the mattress and peering under it, half-expecting to find a stash of fifty-pound notes; but he found nothing except old socks, and dropped the mattress again quickly.

---

Alex could feel his eyes on her, feel the hurt radiating off him from her comment, but she wouldn't take it back; he had no idea how much his actions that morning had hurt her, and she felt justified in pointing out her bitterness to him. But his brief touch, the pressing of the notebook into her chest, had sent her heart skipping, and had it not been for the fact she was so choked up by what she read, she'd probably have turned to him and obligingly fell to her knees in apology... as it was, as her eyes could only scan the paper, legs like jelly as tears fell unashamedly down onto the page, silent reverence to the poetic declaration of love.

I hear the emptiness that echoes in your cries, and someday I pray that you will finally realize...You're BEAUTIFUL, that's all that I can say, UNFORGETTABLE, I'm caught in every way, don't ever let the mirror tell you lies, just look at your reflection IN MY EYES... YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL

He'd written some words in capitals and bold red pen, making them stand out against the page, prominent and obvious, the message clear as day, his meaning bold and forceful, feelings plain, open for the world to see.

Benji Bragden might not be much to look at, but he had a way with words.

---

Other than the notebook and the photographs, there was nothing noteworthy in the flat; the papers Alex had been scrutinizing were simple bank statements, showing the scant amount of money that Benji held to his name. Gene piled them onto the bed and turned to Alex, who was still staring at the notebook, her back to him. For a moment, he wanted to tell her to hurry her arse up, that they had work to do and she was wasting time...but then he heard her small, shaken sobs, and, apart from rolling his eyes and telling her to grow some balls, the only thing he wanted to do was gather her up in his overcoat and hold her there, stop her shivering, stop her tears... "Bols," he said gruffly, "get your arse in gear. We've got a suspect to question."

And he walked out again.

---

She joined him in the car a few minutes later, her makeup scrubbed away from her face, eyes still red, but in her opinion alot more presentable now there wasn't mascara dribbling unattractively down her cheek. As she checked the rear-view mirror to look at Benji, she saw Ray looking from Gene to Alex with suspicion, and she had to turn her head away, looking out the window as Gene put the car in gear and began to drive.

---

Gloved hands gripping the steering wheel tight, Gene didn't dare look at Alex, fixing his eyes firmly on the road ahead, paying unnecessary attention to the body of a dead pigeon, and to road signs, and other cars... anything that sat outside the four walls of his beloved Quattro was a haven from the awkward cold that had settled like a blanket over the car the moment his DI had rejoined them.

He didn't know what she'd expected him to do; he could hardly wrap her in his coat on the job, lie down on the creaky bed of a teen-murder-suspect with her in his arms and tangle his fingers in her hair, fall asleep with her ear pressed to his fast beating heart... he couldn't, much as he'd have liked to.

He needed to talk to her; he knew he did, but he didn't know what to say... how did he explain any of it to her, when he himself was confused about how he felt? He didn't do women... well, he did women, but he didn't do commitment or caring relationships... not since his ex-wife. He'd left a string of conquests behind him since then, and he refused to let her be the next; she deserved better than his failed attempts at romance and his commitment-phobia. Glancing sideways, he saw her staring resolutely out the window, and resolved to talk to her, as soon as they were done with Bragden.

---

"I didn't kill her you know," Benji said softly, seated opposite the two of them in the interview room. He met Alex's brown eyes with his own green ones, and though they weren't particularly attractive or compelling, there was a sincerity in their depths that Alex couldn't help but believe, and Gene could see her practically melting into a maternal-puddle. He rolled his eyes and sat back, arms crossed over his chest as he spoke.

"What exactly was your relationship with Rosa McKellen?" He said gruffly. He could see Alex's look of distaste out of the corner of his eye, and it was mirrored on Benji's face as he turned his gaze on Gene.

"What sort of a question is that? She was evidently my girlfriend or you wouldn't have bloody brought me in!" It struck Gene in that moment that, though he looked like a geek with a poor dress sense and bad skin, there was a more ballsy personality to the young man sat before them than they'd estimated, and his jaw ground tightly as he leant forwards, voice low, assessing him quickly.

"The question, Bragden, was a more polite way of saying 'were you shagging 'er?'"

Benji was visibly angry, his thin hands clenching repeatedly. "You don't have to answer that," Alex said softly, but Gene interrupted.

"Yes he bloody does, Drake!" He slammed his hand on the table and hissed again, "were you shaggin' Rosa McKellen?"

"She was my girlfriend for two years," Benji said bitterly, "what do you think?" He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, holding them there, breathing shallow and heavy, for several moments. When he pulled back, his eyes were red, but he was evidently calmer. Gene resisted yelling at him for a straight answer when Alex turned a sharp, withering glaze on him; he sat back in his seat, jaw set in anger as Alex leaned forwards, voice soft and gentle.

"I know this is a very hard time for you, Benji... DCI Hunt is just trying to follow the right course of investigation, and, unfortunately, that means interviewing any possible suspects..." She reached a consoling hand across the table and touched his dangerously bony wrist with it. "Would you like anything? A cup of tea? We'll just have a chat for a bit..."

Benji shook his head, "I don't want a cup of tea... thank you." His eyes were glistening as he said, "I want to know who killed her... I want to know more than anything because... because I... she..." he trailed off briefly, then whispered, "I wish I could help you, I really do... but I don't know how I can."

Alex nodded slowly, "that's ok, Benji... it is... just tell us about the last time you saw Rosa... when was it? What did you do? Things like that..."

"Tuesday night," Benji said softly, looking at his hands, which were shaking and quivering. "She came round in the afternoon... her mum dropped her off at my flat... had a takeaway... a cuddle... stuff like that..."

"What'd you eat?" Gene said, arms crossed and eyes stern as he fixed an un-quavering gaze on the young man before him.

Benji rolled his eyes, "we had Indian. It was her favourite."

"What's yours?" Gene asked. Once again, Alex and Benji shared the same look of utter disbelief. "What?" He answered gruffly, "I'm followin' my own course of investigation!"

"What's the relevance?" Benji said calmly.

Gene leant forward on the desk, "what I want to know, Bragden, is why you felt it necessary to buy her favourite takeaway, the night before she wound up dead?"

"If you're trying to pin me with killing her it won't work; for starters, if I wanted to kill her, I wouldn't give a shit about feeding her, would I?" Benji met Gene's eyes and went on; "My favourites Chinese; her is Indian. We'd been together two years, and I bought her dinner to celebrate. I don't have a lot of money, so couldn't take her out properly, so I got her favourite. Satisfied?" His gaze was level, and Gene shrugged.

"We'll see 'bout that." He pulled the photo out of the evidence bag he held beneath the table, sliding it across the table. "For the record," he growled, "is this you in the picture?"

Benji rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Were you aware that Rosa McKellen had another picture from the same strip in the purse that we later found in the warehouse near the body?"

Benji nodded. "She always carried it in her purse; she liked to have it with her... I kept mine in my book..." he looked at Alex, "what's happened to my book?"

"We've got it," Alex said softly, reaching under the table to pull the bag from Gene's fingers; their skin brushed and she froze, not daring to look at him but feeling his eyes on her, before pulling it quickly towards her and taking the book from the plastic. When she slid the pad across the table, Benji sagged with relief.

"Thanks," he sighed, smiling briefly. Itching his cheek briefly he said, "I kept it in there, 'cause that's where it's safest... Thanks Ma'am."

Alex nodded, opening the book to the centre page, "did you write this?" She asked.

"Oh fuckin' 'ell," Gene grunted, standing up. "I'm gettin' a brew. You two enjoy your bloody useless tea-party won' you?" He slammed out of the door, a silence taking over the room for a few moments before Benji muttered, under his breath, "cheerful, ain't he?"

With a smile, Alex nodded. "He has moments of slight humanity, I assure you..." her mind briefly trailed back to that morning, wrapped in his arms... then she was looking at the tape, and she grinned. "Sorry, Guv." Pointing at the page Gene had shown her earlier, Alex said softly, "this is lovely," she said softly. "You had me in tears."

Benji's lips quirked slightly, "thanks..."

"Do you write much?"

Benji nodded. "Yeah..." He met her eyes. "I promise you, I didn't kill Rosa. She was... she was everything to me... always has been, since I met 'er." He looked away, bony hand trembling as it reached for his face. Alex nodded.

"I hope that's the case, Benji, but it's policy; you have to be here, I'm afraid... can you tell me about Rosa?" Her voice was tentative, but it seemed she'd asked the right question. A small, fond smile tugged at the man's lips and he nodded.

"What'd you want to know? The good, the bad, or the whole lot?"

"Whatever you want to tell me," Alex said.

He snorted at that. "I can tell you whatever you need to know. But I'm guessing Amanda told you she was anorexic and that she didn't like to eat alot..." he looked down. "That's why I got her Indian, Ma'am... she liked it... she ate it... didn' ever eat much else... 'course, she didn' eat much o' that... but it was summat..."

Alex smiled, nodding encouragingly, "yes, she told us... we didn't know about the Indian though."

Benji shrugged, "don't think she knows, to be honest... Rosa didn' ever ask for it; she liked it but she still thought it made her fat..." he blinked. "I told her she wasn't, I did..."

Alex nodded, "I'm sure you did."

There was another silence for a few moments, then he said, "she wasn't happy much... that's why I wanted that picture safe," he pointed to the booth picture, Rosa and himself giggling stupidly at one another.

"Never seen her laugh so 'ard since..." he smiled in reminiscence, turning his eyes eventually back to Alex and saying softly, "she had a shit life. She was ill, she hated herself, her Dad left when she was young, and her Mum still loves him and sees him every week, even though she thinks Rosa didn't know, and even though Rosa hadn't seen him in years..." Benji was gritting his teeth. "She wanted to see him," he said. "But he didn't want anything to do with her after she got diagnosed... not because he didn't love her... just 'cause he couldn't cope..."

Alex leant forwards, voice soft, "do you think it's possible that it was suicide?"

Benji met her eyes. "No." His voice was equally level, gentle, and Alex was preparing to nod in acceptance when he said softly, "she couldn't have done it; she spoke about it once or twice... how close she got... but she couldn't do it... too scared... couldn't hurt herself." He blinked, then softly murmured, "she asked me to do it once..."

"Asked you to do what?" Alex said, though she knew the answer already.

"To... to... to... you know..." he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. "She said she was... ugly... that she wanted to go to sleep before it got worse... that she didn't... couldn't, face herself... but she couldn't do it... she didn't like pain... she couldn't swallow tablets, either, so she wouldn't overdose... an' she couldn't afford other drugs so..." he closed his eyes. "She told me once she knew how she wanted to go, and that I'd help her if I really loved her..." A tear traced the lines of his face and Alex touched his hand gently.

"What did you say to her?" She probed softly.

Benji sniffed, wiping at his runny nose and speaking quietly, "I told her that," he said, pointing at the lyrics he'd scrawled in his booklet. "Just.... not so many words..."

Another silence stretched between them, the room cold, before Benji looked at her, tearful, and Alex wondered if he'd yet allowed himself to grieve... her answer came in his next sentence. "Can I see her? I want to say goodbye..."

Alex opened her mouth to answer, just as Gene slammed his way into the room, looking utterly furious as he plonked himself in his chair. "Right, Bragden, you're-"

"Going to see Rosa," Alex said softly.

Gene turned his head slowly to the left. "You pullin' my leg, Bols? 'cause it ain't funny!"

"He's going to see Rosa," Alex repeated, standing up and touching Benji's hand briefly.

"Get outside." Gene hissed, seething. "Outside... now!" When she didn't move, he grabbed her by the elbow and steered her out himself, against her angry protests. When the door shut behind them, he prodded her fiercely in the chest. "What the bleedin' 'ell are you playing at, Drake? He's a bloody murder suspect; he is not gettin' anywhere near that body without express permission from yours bloody truly, and I say 'bollucks to that!"

"Oh what a surprise," Alex hissed. "Do you really think him capable of killing her? You saw what he wrote Gene, you don't believe he'd kill her any more than I do and-"

"You seem to be very averse to catching a bloody killer 'ere Bols... first Ellison, now bloody Bragden... and you're forgettin' who's in charge... And that's me; yours truly; Gene Genie; The Sheriff. So do your job, get your arse in line or get outta my station!" His warning was growled, intense, and Alex was ashamed to feel a hot flush pass over her body at the look of utter passionate rage in his eyes, but she refused to let him see it.

"He just admitted she wanted to die, Guv!" She hissed.

"Oh well, there you go Bols, he must be tellin' the truth!" He moved closer, breath on her face as he growled, "you're the bloody psychiatry whizz Bols; you tellin' me everythin' that falls out of 'is mouth 'as to be true?"

"No... but..."

"Good. Screw your 'ead back on and stop letting your own feelin's get in the way; a girl is dead, 'nd I'm gonna find the bastard who killed her, with or without your 'elp!"

"But she wanted to die! Even if it's not suicide, it's euthanasia and-" she stopped as Gene pressed her against the wall, hands on her shoulders and body pressed along the length of hers as he hissed in her ear.

"Consider this a warnin', Drake; put another toe outta line, you're out on your arse. Understood?" He squeezed her shoulders tighter, almost painfully, then pulled back, loosening his grip and meeting her eyes with his, jaw set tight. "Go back to your desk, Bolly," he muttered, then pushed his way into the interview room, shutting and locking it behind him.

----

Mage of the Heart