Chapter 3

3 weeks earlier (give or take)

The relief as the cuffs came off her wrists was incredible. Alex knew what it was like to be a suspect now. It wasn't a side of the line that she wanted to be on again. She stood there quietly as she watched Keats signing the documents that secured her release in exchange for agreeing to work for him. This was the literal equivalent of selling her soul to the devil. It was, wasn't it? She'd seen a side of Keats that she didn't like at Farringfield Green and she knew that he'd played her for a fool. He had used her to get what he wanted. Had he always known that was Gene out in the field? If so then why had he needed her to be the one to uncover the body?

She'd really trusted him. She'd even started to trust him over Gene - how could she have done such a thing? And yet there was evidence on both sides. Gene had packed up and left – why had he done that? Where had he gone? If he didn't want to be at Fenchurch East any more then why hadn't he just gone to the bloody pub?

She thought about Keats and the scarf. Molly's scarf. There was no way to know if that was real or not. She had trusted Gene but what if she'd been wrong? What if she really could have gone home if she'd trusted Keats? Did she let the feelings she had for Gene cloud the truth about him?

She felt a little uncomfortable as she watched Keats glance up and give her a smile. She'd started to develop feelings for him too. She couldn't even admit that to herself, on some level she had always known she would be betraying Gene, but Keats had a silver tongue and had managed to talk his way inside her mind. She didn't want to but sometimes she found herself thinking about him. She wasn't sure when it started but it was happening with increasing frequency, or at least it had been. Now she'd seen that dark side. She didn't know where she stood any more and she'd never been more confused.

She gave him the weakest of smiles in return as he turned his attention back to the paperwork and signed the final part.

"Done," he said to a uniformed officer beside him.

"She's all yours," the officer told him.

Those words brought a wide smile to his face as he stood upright and tucked his pen away in his pocket.

"Yes," he smiled, "she is, isn't she?" he extended his hand to her. "Think I promised you a bit of lunch, Alex. Didn't I?" he nodded towards the door in a slightly patronising motion. Somehow Alex didn't even notice. All she could think about was the promise of food, and presumably something to drink. Water. No, alcohol. No, maybe water… Her thirst was raging, but alcohol… alcohol would make her feel so much better after all she'd been through…. Maybe water first, then alcohol…

"Alex." His tone was sharper this time. She felt a little like a guilty child being reprimanded for zoning out in class and tried to make it up to him with a forced smile. She reached out with a shaking hand which he took in his and led her from the station.

She glanced behind her as he took her across the car park. Somehow she just knew that she was leaving Fenchurch East for the very last time.

~xXx~

Alex watched the water tipping from the chilled bottle into her glass and wished that she could bend the laws of physics just enough to make the water empty faster. It was all she had thought about from the moment she sat down in Keats's car; that long, cool glass of water. It was funny but so often she'd be so busy with work that she might not eat or drink all day and never even notice, but take away the opportunity to just go and grab some food and water when she wanted to and that was suddenly all that she could think about.

After what felt like eons the glass was full and she reached out eagerly to take it until Keats placed his hand over hers to stop her.

"Let's wait for the wine, eh?" he smiled, "make a proper toast."

Alex hoped that her forced smile didn't look as nervous as she thought it probably did.

"I was only sipping some water," she said.

"Let's do it properly, hmm?" Keats peered at her from over his glasses.

Alex opened her mouth to protest that she was thirsty but something stopped her. She didn't want Keats to know that. She didn't want him to see any sign of weakness at all. She was feeling wary and didn't want to give him anything he might be able to use to wield power over her. She had to play things as coolly as possible.

With her heart sinking and her thirst raging she withdrew her hand slowly and forced another smile. How often was she going to have to do that? She lifted her menu and pretended to be very busy reading it for a few moments so that she didn't have to speak. She couldn't make conversation. Her tongue was like a strip of sandpaper. The last thing that she wanted to do was to try to construct a sentence.

"We'll have to take you shopping."

"What?"

His comment had taken her so much by surprise that she managed one word at least.

"Shopping," Keats repeated, "you can't carry on wearing the same clothes for the next fifty years, can you?" Something about the idea of spending the next fifty years with Keats chilled Alex to the core. Maybe it was a good thing she hadn't eaten for a couple of days because she couldn't have guaranteed not to throw up. "Look at the state of you. If you're going to be at your new desk before the end of the day you'll need to get out of that thing for a start. You're covered in mud." He looked her in the eye. "That's what happens when you crawl around, digging up dead coppers, Alex."

Alex felt the acid in her stomach churning as she looked away and said coldly,

"Please don't refer to Gene that way."

"In what way?" Keats held up his palms in a gesture of false innocence, "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. You had to know the truth."

"And you couldn't have told me?" Alex hissed across the table, "If you knew about Gene then why didn't you say it instead of making me drive out two hundred miles to dig up his bones?" She swallowed hard. There were tears approaching. Dear god, please don't let me cry. She knew that if Keats saw the tears then he'd have more ammunition so she swallowed and took a deep breath to keep them at bay.

"I did it for your own good, Alex," Keats leaned across the table. He didn't have his glasses on any more. When had he taken those off? Suddenly there was no filter to his eyes and he fixed her in a stare that seemed to go beyond the connection between two sets of eyes. It was something far deeper. He wasn't looking into her eyes, He was looking into her mind. She felt strange and shaky as he trapped her I that stare. "If I'd told you, you never would have believed me. I needed you to see it for yourself."

"It was cruel, Jim," she whispered, her voice trembling far more than she would have liked, "whatever you may think of Gene we were a team, and we were strong."

"Can't have been that strong, eh?" Keats pointed out, "if you believed the word of a stranger over his?" he drew away and leaned back in his chair. "Anyway, Alex, that doesn't matter now. What matters is that you've got a fresh start ahead." The waiter returned with a bottle of wine and Alex sat up a little straighter. It wasn't the cooling water that she longed for but it was liquid and the thought of it splashing over her tongue and sliding down her throat drove her crazy with anticipation.

Glug, glug, glug…. was wine supposed to take this long to get from the bottle to the glass? It felt like it took an eternity but finally she held in her hand a glass of the rich, red liquid. She licked her dry lips and almost inhaled the drink but before she could bring it to her lips she found Keats's held in front of her.

"A toast," he said.

Alex tried to give him a smile but it was faltering from the word go. Just a few more seconds, she told herself, a few more seconds and the liquid will be all yours. Slowly she reached out her hand and held her glass out next to his but lacking nourishment and sleep her hand shook so much that she feared she was about to spill wine all over the table cloth. She knew he'd seen it too.

"What are we drinking to?" she asked weakly, doing her best to humour him, "the future?"

Keats smiled at her. There was a spiteful glint in his eye.

"To the past," he said.

Those words stung Alex like nothing on earth. So cutting. So spiteful. The past; exactly where she was trapped. But once again, she refused to let him see. This time as she gave a smile it was genuine because she wasn't thinking about his words; she was thinking about that glorious glass of wine and how good it was going to feel against her arid tongue.

To alcohol, she thought to herself as she clinked her glass to his with great reluctance and then drew it towards her.

One second of hesitation.

One second where she contemplated the pleasure ahead.

She closed her eyes and pressed the glass to her lips, then tipped it slowly to allow the glorious wine to flow straight into her mouth; savouring the sensation as it moistened her parched tongue, revived the desecrated wasteland of her mouth, made her lips tingle and her heart race as she appreciated every last gulp like never before.

The second she realised she had finished the whole glass she knew she'd done a bad thing. The look on Keats's face told her so. The almost instant spinning of her head merely backed up this fact. In her half-starved and exhausted state the alcohol took hold very quickly and she took a few deep breaths to fight the hurried sensation of drunkenness.

"Everything alright, Alex?" he asked her as she tried to keep control of herself.

"Yes, fine," she whispered. The alcohol in her empty stomach burned like fire and her mouth was as dry as ever before. Worse now, in fact. Fuck, stupid alcohol. What had she thought she was doing? She reached for her water and downed half, not even caring what Keats thought this time. It felt good; better than anything she'd ever felt before. With a tiny gasp for breath, she sat the glass back down and glanced back at Keats. She couldn't read his expression. She risked a tiny smile and tried to block out the gnawing anxiety that built inside of her.

"Let's order," she whispered, trying not to slur. She felt like a teenager sneaking a drink of vodka from the family drinks cabinet. She needed some food to mop up the alcohol. And besides, it gave her an excuse to hide behind her menu again.

Was that to be her life now? Hiding behind menus, or perhaps paperwork, or newspapers or books? But the alternative was rotting in a cell and of the two she knew that she prided her freedom more.

That was all she had to keep telling herself. You have your freedom Alex. Concentrate on that. That's more than you'd have the other side of the bars.

Keats glowered at her as though he could read her mind. He smiled as he lifted his glass and silently toasted himself. Alex couldn't have been more wrong. Freedom was the one thing she didn't have.