Epilogue

February 27th 1997

There it was; a blue blob right on the end of his nose.

"Oh, come here," sighed Alex as she aimed a rag at the stain and started to rub it.

"I feel like I'm sprouting a smurf from me nasal cavity," Gene huffed as she rubbed a little harder.

"How on earth did you manage to get paint there?" she admonished.

"It's a rare talent," said Gene.

"It's not even the colour we're painting the room!"

"It's an exceptionally rare talent," Gene told her.

Gene had been true to his word. Since his proposal a month and a half earlier he and Alex had started a new phase of their relationship and grasped a fresh start for themselves. House hunting had proven easier than it initially seemed when a perfect property appeared within their price range, even though it was larger than they'd been looking for. A careful quest to research the property revealed that Geoff had once lived there and the remains of the loofahs had been putting off potential buyers so they were able to get it for a radically knocked down price.

The sale had gone through quickly and they'd been able to move in the week before, leaving Robin free to get off Simon's sofa and enjoy his own space at last. In a wholly unprecedented move Gene and Alex took the unusual step of using their holiday time to actually take a week off work to begin redecorating. Unfortunately things were not going quite to plan.

"Oh," Alex groaned, "It's not coming off. You're going to have to finish this yourself. Here." She handed him the rag and wiped her hands on a dust sheet. "I don't have time to sit rubbing white spirit on your nose all day. I'm going to be late for my appointment." She grabbed her bag ad began to rummage around inside it.

"You gripped with a heart-stopping sense of fear yet Bols? Gene asked.

"Yes Gene, I'm clearly quaking in my boots," she said in the calmest voice possible. Her expression turned a little sad. "I wish Kim was doing it for me."

She fished a sheet of paper from her bag and carefully unfolded it, a simple but beautiful design staring back at her.

"I know," Gene said quietly. He knew that Alex was missing her friend terribly and had worried endlessly about how she was recovering from her injuries and terrible loss. He wished there was a way to reassure her; a way to take a quick peak at the real world and make sure she was alright. He decided to try taking Alex's mind off her. "At least you're going to have a Batman original."

"True," Alex smiled sadly.

After Gene's acceptance and – as it transpired – fondness for her tattoo Alex had given serious thought to getting another. As her first one had been her way of connecting her with Gene when she was back in the real world so she had wanted a design to remember those she'd left behind in 2012. When she discovered that Robin had designed one of his own tattoos she'd been incredibly surprised.

"I had no idea you had artistic talent hidden away," she'd told him.

"Just a shame about my fear of paintbrushes," he'd shuddered, "and phthalo blue"

Alex had decided not to ask. She had, however, asked him to do her a special favour and to design for her a tattoo. She stared at the finished design; the two interlinking dragons symbolising the two children on the other side of the line that she missed with all her heart. Her transition to a permanent life in Gene's world hadn't been all plain sailing. Her decision had been the right one for everyone but she had spent many nights crying for Molly and the baby daughter that's she had never even seen. Her tattoo was a way to keep them with her always.

"Are you sure you're alright with me having this done, Gene?" she asked a little nervously.

"It's not like I've objected to yer first one," Gene reminded her, knowing full well that he'd lavished the area with a great deal of attention on more than one occasion.

"That is true," Alex gave a nervous smile, "you do know it's permanent?"

"And so are you," Gene was happy to remind her, "now bugger off and get yer arse inked."

"I am not having it tattooed on my bum," Alex told him haughtily, "I want to actually be able to sit down tonight." She had a sudden thought, "Oh, that reminds me, do you still want me to pick up a present for Simon?"

"If you're still in one piece," said Gene.

"What do you want me to get him?"

Gene supressed a smirk.

"A toaster," he said.

Alex frowned.

"You are a cruel, cruel man, Gene Hunt," she told him.

"And bloody proud of it," said Gene.

He watched her check her new haircut in the mirror and grasp her coat before she left the house, blowing a kiss as she disappeared out of the door. Gene turned his attention back to the paint roller in his hand and ignored the blob of blue on his nose that was making him go a little cross-eyed. He ran the roller across the tray to pick up more paint and turned back to the wall, covering it bit by bit with the bright, bold shade they'd chosen while VH1 played quietly on the portable TV in the corner of the room, sending out music to paint by.

"Not another bloody ballad," Gene mumbled as another song began, "Need some BeeGees or something, otherwise I'll still be painting this a week on Saturday."

He carried on coating the wall with colour and didn't notice the buzz of the channel changing at first. It wasn't until the loud, serious voice of the newsreader began to talk that he looked over.

"And finally today," the woman continued, "a plaque has been placed in a memorial garden in Manchester to put a name to the unknown PC whose body was uncovered at Farringfield Green four years ago."

The roller fell to the ground. It bounced an inch or so in the air, leaving splatters of green across the dust sheet draped across the carpet as a man fell to his knees beside it. Gene felt as though someone had gripped him by the heart. He stared at the screen, his mouth sudden; dry and his hands shaking visibly. He could hardly take in the words he'd heard spoken. Their meaning was almost too much for him to accept.

"A campaign to help the young PC find his identity finally placed him as nineteen year old Gene Hunt who disappeared during his first week on the beat in nineteen fifty three. The campaign was led by jewellery chain owner Hayley Ford, a relative of the fallen constable. Her connection to the body uncovered by travellers in two thousand and eight was brought to her attention by Detective Inspector Alex Drake who died earlier this year. Her will requested her ashes to be scattered in the same memorial garden; a ceremony for which was carried out in February." Then newsreader bowed her head for a moment to both signify the story was over and to check her notes for the end of the bulletin but before she could say anything the TV fizzed and switched itself off.

Gene stared. The screen was blank and the speakers silent but the words played through and through his mind. He bowed his head for a few moments to pay his respects to the young man whose name now indicated where he lay. It felt like some other person, another lifetime away, but it meant more than he knew how to express.

"You did me proud, Bolly," he said quietly, "now bloody well rest in peace. Both of you."

~xXx~

Robin stood at the open wardrobe door and shook his head. He didn't remember the nineties being this bad, he genuinely didn't. But faced with a wardrobe full of Britpop and boyband-inspired clothing he knew that whatever he wore was going to make him look like a twat.

"At this rate I'm going to be going to this bloody party in my uniform," he sighed, kicking the door shut and crashing out on his bed.

He stared around the bedroom so carefully moulded to his personality. It was spooky the way it had him pegged so perfectly. The walls were peppered with publicity photos from TV shows he loved while beside the combi TV in the corner were a stack of blank tapes for recording whatever came on. He was a bit of a tape hoarder and apparently the world knew. His eyes focused on a framed piece of art on the wall and immediately misted over. There as a lump in his throat that appeared every time he looked at it. It wasn't going anywhere; it was always there, waiting, bubbling under, about to bring a fresh flood of tears.

"how did it even get here?" he whispered as he stared at it, the piece of artwork that Kim had handed to him on Christmas morning; the piece bearing an amalgamation of his tattoos, the piece she'd worked on for weeks on the run up to the festive season. He couldn't understand its presence or how it made it across but he was forever grateful that it was there.

He'd found one or two other strange reminders of Kim about the premises too. Piles of tattoo magazines seemed somewhat out of place for him, and he wasn't sure how come such a strong presence of Kim had found its way there. He had stayed well away from the pile of magazines for now. They reminded him of her too much and he couldn't handle that yet.

It hadn't been an easy six weeks. He'd been up and down. There were two sides to Robin now; the I'm Fine side that he displayed like a mask at work or when someone tried to confront him, and the Robin who collapsed quietly in private, crying silently in bed when no one was around to see. He woke up every morning with his heart broken all over again as he stared at the empty pillows beside him. Giving him a double bed when she wasn't there to share it with him was cruelty in the highest degree.

He found his new life a daily struggle in many ways, even aside form missing Kim so deeply that it hurt him physically to live without her. He wasn't enjoying his work – although the dogs were starting to actually sniff out more than smelly shoes his heart wasn't in it, nor did it survive the occasional conversation he overheard Shaz having with her colleagues about the lost love of her life. Then aside from his work issues things were still strained with Simon as the two of them struggled to adjust to life in each othr's presence again without a relationship being the foundation of their contact.

All he could do was take things day by day. Sometimes he might have one glass too many, or one meal too few but he wasn't self-destructing and he wasn't going to ether, because the strength that Kim had given to him meant too much to him to do that. He wasn't going to let her down by falling apart.

Reluctantly he got to his feet again and went back to the wardrobe. There had to be something in there that wouldn't make him look like everything that was wrong with the nineties.

"Come on," he mumbled as he rummaged through. A waistcoat he wouldn't have touched with a ten foot pole fell from its hanger and he cursed. The contents of the wardrobe were bad enough, he didn't want them in a bloody mess as well so he scooped down to pick it up from the floor and spotted something in the back of the wardrobe; a pair of black, patent, clunky knee-length boots with frankly terrifying heels.

"Must be Alex's," he frowned. He'd never seen her wearing anything quite like them but they certainly weren't his. He'd have to taken them round later.

He thought he heard someone knocking on the door. He frowned and made his way through the flat to answer it. As he opened it up he found himself surprised to see Simon standing outside, looking a little awkward.

"Hi," he frowned, "what are you doing here? I thought you'd be getting ready for tonight."

"I am," said Simon, "I was… I was just sorting some stuff out… tidying up for later… I came across these." He pulled from his pocket a brown envelope which he held toward Robin. "I thought… I thought maybe you'd like to keep them. I thought… thought you should have them."

Robin took the envelope curiously and looked at it.

"What's in here?"he asked.

"It's nothing much," Simon said, not really wanting to go into detail, "just something I thought you'd appreciate more than me." He took a step back. "I'd better be off," he said, "I've got to go and pick up the drinks for later."

"Oh, Simon," Robin called him back, "I thought I'd better warn you… I've heard rumours Gene was plotting to find the worst present ever for you."

"Now why am I not surprised?" Simon sighed. He gave Robin a nervous smile. "I'm just glad I've finally got someone on my side to fight back against the we-age-differently-so-we-don't-have-birthdays crap."

"You've got to have birthdays," Robin agreed, "and surely ones where you don't age are the best kind?"

Simon gave him a little smile before stepping back again.

"See you tonight?" he asked.

Robin nodded.

"See you later," he said quietly as he watched him leave. He looked down at the envelope in his hand as he closed the door. He couldn't for the life of him work out what Simon would be bringing him. The envelope wasn't sealed; the flap simply pressed inside to keep the contents safe, so he quickly slipped it out and pulled forth the contents. The moment he focused on them he felt his heart jump in his chest as a mix of strong emotion, love and devastation flooded his body. He had to move across to the couch and sit down quickly before his legs gave way.

In his hands he held a pile of photographs, clearly collected over several months and many different nights out. There was a common theme across them; the face that Robin knew best of all. A young Kim stared back from the glossy prints. While the image of her showed a woman several years younger than the one Robin's heart belonged to there was no mistaking her – the energy, the personality, the smile – the one that she stopped using when she awoke in 2003 until her relationship with Robin brought it back to her face.

It was strange to see her in the photographs, belonging squarely to the nineties. Robin gave a distant smile as he thought about the fact that Kim had once been the one with a wardrobe full of clothes that she hadn't chosen herself too. Her blonde crop was present in the photos and although a few of her piercings were different and she was somewhat curvier there was no mistaking her.

He flicked through each one, watching a slow progression of her time in Gene's world; finding her way, growing, becoming stronger. He cursed himself as a tear dripped onto a picture and he wiped it away quickly. He missed her with every breath he took. Breathing never got any easier. But seeing her face, albeit from a different time, made him feel just a little closer to her.

"Thank you, Simon," he whispered to the empty flat. It was the most valuable gift anyone could have given him right then.

Slowly he stood up and continued to look through the photographs as he walked to his bedroom. He scowled as he found one of Kim with Shaz living it up at a nightclub and accidentally brutally destroyed it with a pair of scissors that he definitely didn't use to hack Shaz out of the picture.

As he entered his room his eyes scanned the space. There. It was the perfect spot. He pulled out the best photograph, a close-up shot of Kim with a bright smile and such a vibrant sense of life about her, propped it up on the cabinet beside his bed and stared at it. He didn't dare look for long, or he knew he was going to start crying and he didn't want to head off to Simon's party with red eyes. Plus, he was wearing eyeliner and didn't want big black streaks to give it away.

He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes for a little while, playing through his mind a show reel of memories. While Kim might have been far away, she would never leave his heart or his mind.

~xXx~

Simon stumbled through the door with the heavy bags dragging him down. He dropped them to the floor as heavily as he dared without smashing the bottles within and shook his hands a little, trying to get the life back into them.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled. His wrists were practically dead now.

He looked around the lounge. It looked neat enough. He started to unpack some of the bottles and stood them on the coffee table beside the glasses he'd put out earlier. It was strange having the flat to himself, he'd been so used to having his sofa occupied by guests that he wasn't sure how to deal with living on his own. First Kim, then Gene, and then Robin – his sofa had been home to several guests in the short tine Simon had lived there.

There was a certain irony to the fact that it was now that Robin had joined the world permanently that Simon was the most alone that he'd ever been in one sense. He'd become used to company. Now the silence was filled only by the squeaking of guinea pigs.

"Sorry," he told them as he put the champagne in the fridge and heard them wheeking, "these are not for you."

He was still finding it hard to move on. Baby steps. He was taking it day by day. He hated to admit it but he couldn't give up completely on his dream that one day he and Robin would reunite. Love didn't fade that fast. But he was trying to keep to the right side of the line and not overstep the mark. He'd been on his best behaviour for some time and managed not to make any snippy comments about Kim, nor about the haunted look that Robin wore so often. He had to trust that Robin would come to him when he needed him and would wait for that day.

He was trying hard to live his own life. He'd made new friends, started to take his work more seriously and made headway in patching up a little of his friendship with Gene. That in itself was a long, slow process but they were getting there and Simon was even starting to look Gene in the eye again.

Time was moving on and things were changing. For the first time since he'd become a part of Gene's world he felt as though just maybe it was his world too.

~xXx~

The sound of the waves lapping against the shore and the feel of the warm sun on her shoulders brought a smile to Victoria's face. She brushed her long red locks over her shoulder and stared out to sea. How had this become her life? From such darkness at the hands of Keats, her life had changed greatly. She knew who she had to thank for it too.

Her eyes focused on Nailer across the table as she took off her shades and gave him a smile. She had to laugh at the palm tree swimming trunks. She knew they were just an attempt to wind her up. She'd warned him against them so he bought seven pairs, "one for each day of the week." He wasn't what she would have called a traditionally good catch – she knew there were murkier parts of his past that she was better off never knowing, he had the start of a set of love-handles spilling out above the palm-tree trunks and he chewed his toenails when he thought she wasn't looking.

But he'd rescued her. He'd taken her away from an existence of pain and torment and delivered her safely to a whole new life. Victoria wasn't interested in a relationship, she'd been quite adamant about that – she had never been one to seek romance and love. But Nailer had never backed down and he'd chipped away at her defences a little at a time until he found his way inside. There was something familiar about him that Victoria could never quite place. His face warmed her as he smiled in her direction.

"Water's nice today," he told her, "might go back in later. Not sure yet"

"What a hard life, full of difficult decisions," Victoria teased.

A waiter loomed into view with a bottle of champagne which he showed to each of them in turn before pouring them each a glass. Nailer waited until he left before leaning conspiratorially across the table and whispering,

"I don't know why they always have to bloody show us the bottle. I don't know the first thing about champagne. Not until I'm drinking it anyway. If he wants a critique from the bloody label he should look elsewhere."

Victoria smiled and put her shades back on as the sun started to sting her eyes a little. She took in a deep lungful of the ocean air and looked out at the boats sailing in the distance. Early retirement – as he called it – suited Nailer. There was a sense of relief about him. He'd been good at what he'd done for all those years but it was time to get out. He could see himself feeling trapped in that business for the rest of his life otherwise, constantly battling to stay on top because he just couldn't give in and let himself be beaten into second place.

"So, what's the plan?" she asked hi.

"Plan?" Nailer lifted his glass.

Victoria nodded.

"There's got to be a plan," she said, "we can't have come all the way out here for nothing?" she looked at him expectantly. After a few weeks of lying low and moving around from place to place to avoid detection he'd suddenly issued her with a passport in the name of Carrie Sanderson and a suitcase full of beachwear. The next thing she knew she was sitting by the shore, drinking champagne and staring at a man in palm-tree swimming trunks.

"There's no plan, Vicky," Nailer leaned back, enjoying the warm sunshine against his skin, "I'm retired."

"I know you," Victoria narrowed her eyes a little suspiciously, "I've read all your files. I've just spent six weeks in your company. I've seen the interview tapes. You always have something on the go." He shook his head. "Some deal? Some scheme? Investing in someone else's business?"

Nailer shook his head. He was tired. His heart wasn't in that work any more. He'd found passion for something different.

"The plan?" he said. His eyes scanned the beautiful surroundings, then settled back on her with a smile. "We just live."

Victoria stared at him, his genuine expression never failing to strike her as a world apart from the man with evil running through his veins.

"We just live," she whispered back. Her lips twitched into a smile as she raised her glass and clinked it with his.

Life wasn't always what you expected it to be. Sometimes it took a strange and unbelievable turn. For Victoria someone had re-written the end of her tale. Her story had a happy ending. With the sun shining upon her she leaned back and closed her eyes. Everyone deserved a second chance, she reasoned as she thought about the strangeness of her new life.

And she deserved one too.

~xXx~

"Happy birthday," Alex smiled as she presented Simon with a bottle and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"I didn't think you 'did' birthdays," Simon commented as he waved her and Gene inside.

"We might reconsider that policy if your party is up to a decent standard," gene told him. He handed Simon a well-wrapped box. "Here. Enjoy."

Simon looked at the box dubiously as he held it under one arm.

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" he scowled.

"Like I'd give me best man a substandard present," said Gene.

Simon scowled.

"Now I know it's something crap," he said. Gene had been using the 'best man' line with increasing frequently to manipulate Simon to getting lattes and to placate Simon whenever he was pissed off with Gene. This time he supposed he was getting the line in in advance before Simon even had a chance to open the damn thing. He walked awkwardly to the table and unloaded the bottle and the box onto it before another knock sounded.

He walked back to the door and found Eddie on the doorstep with a black eye.

"Hi Sir," he said miserably.

"Eddie… your…." Simon indicated his eye, "what happened?"

Eddie hung his head miserably.

"I might have accidentally made a suggestion about unusual things to do with birthday cake to Marci," he said.

Simon closed his eyes and sighed. Over the last few weeks he'd become fairly good friends with Gene's new recruits, including Scary Spice-lookalike Marci Fell. Unfortunately Eddie's continued pursuit of the woman hadn't been going very well.

"I'll get some ice," Simon sighed.

Eddie thrust a small bag into his hands.

"Happy birthday," he said, trying to focus on Simon through his one remaining eye.

"Thanks," said Simon. He opened the top of the bag to peer inside and see what Eddie had bought him.

"it's a book of chat-up lines, Sir," Eddie said miserably, "the receipt's in there. After what happened to me earlier I recommend you take it back."

Simon frowned.

"Oh," he said, "thanks." Just as he was about to close the door he heard footsteps hurrying in his direction and stopped in time to see Robin arriving. "Hey," Simon hated to admit it but his heart still jumped in his chest at the sight of him. As much as he tried to fight it back, his love for Robin wasn't fading. He was doing his best to turn that love into friendship. It wasn't going to happen overnight but he was working on it.

"Hey you," Robin held out a large flat, wrapped gift, "Happy birthday."

"You already gave me something earlier," frowned Simon.

"That was just the holding gift until I picked this up," said Robin.

"Not that the sprout repellent won't come in handy," Simon said, "look, come in, come in." He waved Robin through and they walked to the table. "Drink?"

"In a minute," said Robin as he shed his coat and scarf, aware that Simon was a whisker away from smirking at his outfit, "Yes, I know," he said crossly, "whoever or whatever put together that wardrobe must have been heavily influenced by watching videos on The Box because there's nothing that doesn't belong on a bloody pop star."

"I'm saying nothing," Simon held up his hands innocently.

"At least I don't have any jumpers," Robin commented.

"Yeah, alright," sighed Simon. He put Robin's gift down on the couch and started to rip away the wrapping paper. "Are you coming on to Bask with us after drinks?" he asked hopefully.

Robin felt awkward. He didn't feel right going to the karaoke bar. It held too many memories from his short first trip to Gene's world and he could never face setting foot in the toilets, remembering the moments just before his exit from '95.

"Maybe," he said quietly.

"I hope you will," Simon said sincerely, "it won't feel like a celebration if you're not there.

Robin smiled nervously.

"Maybe I'll come for a bit," he said awkwardly. He cleared his throat, "is, uh," he felt himself reddening a little, "is she going to be there," he paused, "Shaz?"

"Yes," said Simon, "It's… not a problem, is it?"

Robin tried to be polite and not to pull faces.

"I don't feel comfortable being around her," he said, "it's bad enough being around her at work."

"I couldn't really not invite her," said Simon, "I knew her through Kim, and she hangs around with Jake and Marci."

"Oh great," sighed Robin, "Ronan Keating and Scary Spice. How does she know them?"

"They go clubbing together," shrugged Simon, "I don't know. They don't segregate your dog trainers from the rest of the station, you know." He finished unwrapping the gift and lifted up a large frame with a collection of autographs inside it. "Oh my god –"

"Do you like it?" Robin asked.

"How did you get these?" Simon asked as his eyes scanned all the Red Dwarf autographs Robin had collected.

"Oh, you know," Robin shrugged guiltily, "hanging around studios with an arrest warrant, photographs, a gun and a pen… it happens…"

"Well, thank you," Simon put down the frame and wrapped his arms around Robin's neck in a fairly excitable hug, "thank you! Thank you so much - How can I thank you for this?"

"You can buy me a new pen," said Robin, "Lister pocketed mine…" he drew back as Simon stopped hugging him frantically and turned his attention back to the frame. "Uh, speaking of photos…" he looked a little awkward, "Simon, I –"

Simon turned back to him with a slightly sad and nostalgic smile.

"it's aright," he said quietly, "I know."

"Are you sure you don't mind me having those?" Robin asked quietly.

"You needed them," Simon told him, "honestly, Rob, it's fine. I'm glad you like them."

Robin looked down with a nervous smile as an awkward silence fell. There were a few of those between them these days. Trying to work out where the boundaries of friendship lay after so many years together was proving hard and sometimes it was difficult to know what to say. Luckily Gene's gruff voice filled in the silence.

"Oi, Shoebury, you going to get that bottle opened? Some of us are turning into human deserts over here."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment and gave Robin a gentle smile, then turned around.

"Alright, Gene, give me a chance," he sighed, "God, anyone would think you didn't know how to use a bloody corkscrew."

"Never used one in me life," Gene told him, "Bloody teetotaller, me."

"Yeah yeah," Simon sighed as he fetched the bottle Alex had given him earlier.

Gene caught his eye.

"I knew a teetotaller once," he said.

Simon closed his eyes and a slightly sad smile flickered across his face. A lot of water had passed under the bridge since then.

"Funny that," he said, "so did I."

~xxx~

A trail of merry individuals marched to Bask a little after nine that evening. Drink had been downed, snacks consumed, music played and steak placed on black eyes belonging to Eddie.

"I haven't been to Bask for a bloody lifetime," Gene said as they came closer to the pink neon sign,. "I hope me voice hasn't deteriorated."

Alex looked at him and folded her arms.

"It would have difficulty," she said.

"Are you casting doubt on me singing ability?"

"To do that you would have to have some in the first place," Alex teased.

"Shut your flapping lips or I'll poke you in the tattoo," Gene told her.

Alex laughed and moved closer to him as they came to the doorway, then bumped into the back of Simon as he stopped walking quite suddenly.

"Good place to stop, Shoebury!" cried Gene, "why not try the middle of the M-twenty-five next time?"

"Look," Simon's voice was strained and sad. He pointed to a sign on the door and Gene and Alex moved forward to read it.

"Dear Customers," it said, "With regret, Bask will be closing its doors on March 9th. Thank you for your custom."

"I can't believe it," Simon said sadly, "this was my… well, my place. My hangout. My local."

Gene took a deep breath as he read the notice again and placed a hand on Simon's shoulder which made him glance around.

"Still is, Simon," he said, "always will be."

"I don't know what you mean, Gene," Simon shook his head in confusion, "it's closing in just over a week."

"Because," said Gene, "it has to disappear to reappear," he paused, "when you need it." He watched Simon's expression changing as he slowly came to realise what Gene was trying to tell him. "Looks like you're ready, Shoebury," he said.

Simon swallowed.

"My Railway Arms?" he asked.

Gene nodded.

"It'll be there when you need it," he said, "when they need it." He glanced at Eddie, complete with black eye, "When he needs it."

Simon nodded slowly. He hung his head a little and breathed in deeply. What a mix of fortunes – he was saying goodbye to his usual hangout, the place he'd spent so many nights, and yet it was becoming the symbol that he was finally getting to grips with the world. He'd earned it.

"It's not closing yet," Alex pointed out, nodding towards the door, "Come on, Simon - let's go and get your birthday going."

A lively group passed through the doors to begin a night of bad music, bad singing, bad décor but good fun. Simon knew that it was the end of an era, but it was the start of one too. He finally had a firm footing in the world. He'd stopped fighting it at last.

He had a lot to celebrate to that night. A birthday was only the beginning.

~xXx~

"I can't understand why he's not making any progress."

The doctor checked over the myriad sheets of notes in the patient's file. The file was almost as thick as a novel by now. Neither he nor his colleagues had ever seen anything like it.

"He hasn't responded to any medication," a female colleague began, "brain scans have shown nothing abnormal, and therapy is a no-go because he has become incapable of coherent thought. The last time we tried he just said the word Robin seventy two times in a row, did an impression of a gun then bit the therapist."

"When was the last time he slept?" the first doctor asked.

"He had about an hour, three days ago," she sighed anxiously, "he won't respond to any kind of medication to help him sleep. We tried the highest dose of tranquilisers we could safely administer and it made no difference.

"How many weeks has he been here now?" the first doctor asked as he watched Keats pacing up and down in the almost bare room, his hands bound together. His eyes were darker than they'd ever been before, his face twisted with fury and evil. He stopped to glare at the door as though he'd felt their presence before he even saw them there. It made them both step back a little.

"I am out of suggestions," the first doctor shook his head, "I think we'll have to look for a second opinion."

"Fifth opinion. It doesn't matter who we bring in, no one can offer an explanation." The doctor shook her head as her eyes went back to the manic man and his gnashing of teeth. "We have to face facts. Whatever is wrong with this man, we can't seem to help him, and his condition isn't changing.

~X~

Keats glared at the doctors as they finished their conversation. The room was soundproof but he could lip-read and knew exactly what the second doctor had said. He felt his face turning from an angry glare to a manic smile. That's where she was wrong – he was improving. Day by day, he was getting the extra energy a little more under his control. It had taken a long time but he was finding ways to harness it to his advantage now; to control it instead of letting it control him.

It wouldn't be long now. Soon he would have it at his fingertips; the power and the energy that he lapped up from those who dared to have a heart. One day in the not too distant future he would find himself in full control and all that energy would be at his disposal, used for the darkest purpose. So much power for one man to have. Darkness would descend and there was no one to challenge him. No one would dare. No one stood a chance.

Just a few more days and the energy would be under his control, then he would disobey the laws of physics, escape his binds and take the helm of his station once again.

Soon it would be his world too.

And there was no one to stop him.

~xXx~

2012

Kelly had asked to do it. For a stranger to tell her wouldn't have been right.

Kim was barely conscious, barely coherent. Her injuries and her trauma had rendered her weak and Kelly almost turned her head away as she walked into her hospital room.

"Ma'am," she whispered.

Kim turned her head and opened her raw, bloodshot eyes. She hadn't expected to see Kelly, the woman who had done her very best to avoid Kim at work after saving her life a year ago. The sight of her standing there, her face almost ashen with sadness, scared her.

"What?" she whispered just barely audibly, "what's happened?"

"I'm… I'm sorry," Kelly whispered. She took a deep breath, her hands shaking all the while, "It's Robin."

From the crushing pain in her heart, Kim knew. She just knew. That was all Kelly had to say for her to know inside what was coming, but Kim had to hear it anyway

"Go on," she whispered.

"One of your neighbours heard a commotion in your flat," Kelly trembled, "there were shots fired. She called the police. Robin… " she swallowed, "they… they tried to revive him but he'd lost too much blood." She bowed her head as she fought tears, I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm so sorry

The magnitude of the pain was too much for Kim to bear.

"No," her voice was small and scared; scared to believe that he was gone, scared to believe that the love of her life was no longer with her, "No," her face screwed up in agony as tears washed down her face, "Please tell me it's not true, please say… please say he's alright, please –"

The shaking of Kelly's head and the tears that slipped from her face to the ground showed Kim that it was true.

"I'm so sorry," she cried.

"No –" Kim's last word descended into loud sobs that shook her body and stung her throat. There were no words to describe her devastation and no words to rein in her agony. She'd lost Robin. She'd lost their baby. She'd lost everything.

The only thing she had to lose now was hope.

~x~

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep –

The alarm brought doctors and nurses flocking to Kim's room.

"What's happening?" one of them asked.

"I'm not liking the look of this," another doctor said.

They buzzed around her as they examined her.

"We need to get her back to theatre" one of them said quickly, "I suspect she's got internal bleeding, we'll have to open her up again and see what's going on."

"Come on, Kim, fight –

~x~

She didn't want to open her eyes. She knew she was still in the real world. She could tell that from the modern music playing away on the TV in the corner of the room. No safe passage back to Robin for her. That alone made her want to cry.

"Kim?"

The doctor was saying her name again and again, wouldn't take no for an answer. Reluctantly she opened her eyes. She didn't want to. Didn't want to acknowledge her heart was still beating.

"Kim, I need you to listen to me."

""Fuck, this pain –" Kim's face screwed up.

"You can have another dose of morphine shortly," the doctor told her.

"What's happened to me?" Kim couldn't understand why there was so much pain in her abdomen when it had been fading. It was back, plus some.

"You had some internal bleeding," the doctor said sombrely, "we had to take you back to theatre and open you up. The bleeding has stopped, you've been given a blood transfusion, you' re going to be fine now."

She wasn't. She was far from fine. How was anything going to be fine again? She closed her eyes and turned her head away.

"I just want to sleep," she whispered.

"Kim, I need you to listen carefully. I'm afraid there were complications," the doctor told her.

She froze for a moment. Those weren't words she wanted to hear, unless they resulted in her passing away. She turned back and looked at him.

"Why? What's wrong with me?" she whispered.

The doctor looked at her seriously.

"There was so much damage to your womb," he said, "we had to perform an emergency hysterectomy to stop the bleeding."

Those words came at her like another series of gunshots to the guts. She stared at him, silently begging him to take those words back and tell her differently,

"What?" she whispered.

The doctor hung his head.

"I'm very sorry," he said quietly, "it was a necessary procedure to save your life. Without it you would have bled to death."

Her eyes closed and she gulped back tears.

"Oh god," she cried, her voice laden with desperation, "oh god, no –"

How could she take any more? How could life be so cruel? Not only had she just lost her baby but now she would never have a chance to conceive another? Her heart ached and her devastation burned her chest. She wanted to die. She wanted to turn back the clock and stop the doctors from finding her in time to save her life.

Her life was over and the light of hope in her heart was fading fast.

~x~

"I'm sorry," the solicitor adjusted his glasses and looked at her seriously, "I can't help you here, Miss Stringer."

"But you said I was a good candidate," Kim's voice bordered on desperation as she felt her lip trembling, "you said you were going to start the process."

"Your situation was different then," the solicitor told her sympathetically, "You were in a stable relationship with a happy home life. Unfortunately," he paused and looked at her sadly, "unfortunately your circumstances have changed. Your recent bereavement, the fact that you would be pursuing the adoption alone in a profession that carries its risks, in your present state of health… I'm afraid you are no longer a good candidate to adopt the Drake baby."

Kim couldn't hold back the tears. They burst forth like an April shower as she clutched her hands together.

"But that tiny little thing," she cried, "she has no one –"

"Molly Drake's foster mother is perusing adoption of the baby," the solicitor informed her.

Kim felt like someone had wrung her heart out.

"What?"

"To keep the two Drake children together," he explained, "I'm sorry."

Kim just stared. She didn't even cry this time. It was as though the pain had reached a level so high that it didn't register any more. It went right off the scale. She simply sat there, staring ahead with dead eyes.

"Well," she whispered, "I won't waste any more of your time." She slowly got to her feet, her body still wracked with pain from her injuries, and walked out of the office.

She heard the solicitor calling after her with a pointless apology that meant nothing to her. In fact, in her mind, very little meant anything any more. Everything that she loved, everything that she cared for, all of it had been wiped out from right beneath her nose.

The final flicker of light in her soul faded and died, right there and then. Her hope was gone. Her compassion drained dry. Her joy was dead. Her love of life suffocated until it simply laid down and faded away.

She felt no more. It didn't do to feel. Feeling only led to pain. And pain was something she didn't care to experience any longer.

Her heart may have been beating but she was dead on the inside.

~x~

She stared at the spot just above the Super's head. She didn't look people in the eye any more. That generally led to a sympathetic tilt of the head and a 'how are you doing?' That wasn't a question she wanted to hear, nor to respond to. Nor, in fact, did she want to spend time talking to people. She shut down conversations before they could begin.

Her clothes almost hung from her body like rags on a scarecrow; her bones protruding from beneath her skin, her eyes sunken and dull and her skin pale and sallow. The masculine cut of her clothes and the heavy, clunky boots that encased her legs up to the knees were all that stopped people from seeing her as a shadow of the woman she was before, physically at least. Her dead eyes and firm jaw along with her sharp tongue kept any questions about her state at bay.

"First of all, it's great to see you back," Superintendent Hedges began, "we all hope that you continue to improve and recuperate."

Continue? That was a laugh. That implied that she had even begun.

"Thank you sir," she said. Her tone was firm but cold, devoid of emotion.

"Secondly, the unveiling of the memorial plaque in the car park for Chief Inspector Thomas will take place this Friday," he looked at her sympathetically. "If you would like to be the one to say a few words –"

"No," Kim said quickly. She swallowed back any hint of emotion, "I think that would be best left to someone else."

Hedged hesitated, then slowly nodded.

"Very well," he said, "I understand." He linked his fingers and leaned forward. "Now, the main reason I've asked you here today is to discuss with you the fastrack opportunities that are available right now.

Oh god, not those again.

"Sir, I'm not –"

"We're having difficulty finding a suitable candidate to fill DCI Huston's shoes in CID," the Super interrupted before she could turn him down, "we've interviewed several candidates for the post but no one has met the standards we've been looking for. CID needs someone who will be a harsh, driving force. It's faced a lot of controversy in the past year, with the awful DI March business and various mutterings of dissent. CID needs someone who's not going to take any crap, who's capable of making fast decisions and who's never afraid to get their hands dirty. We want to promote internally."

He looked pointedly at Kim and finally she had no choice but to meet his eye.

"Me?" she couldn't quite take that in.

"One word and you'll be on the fast track training scheme by Monday. You'll be heading up CID by the end of the month."

Kim stared, her mind racing. She'd never intended for her career to progress this way. She had never been promotion-hungry. She had sometimes wished she had more ambition in her working life but climbing the ladder had never been important to her – it was doing the job well and keeping people safe that mattered. Even DI was further than she'd seen herself going. She had always felt life was more important and never been the kind of person who was happy to let her job take over. But now her job was all she had left in her life.

"What if I don't pass the fast-track training?" she asked her voice low and steady.

"You'll pass it," said Hedges, "Face it, DI Stranger, You're not going to fail, are you? You were made for this job," he looked at her seriously, "it's your destiny." She felt a strange sense of anticipation as he asked her, "so what's it going to be?"

Kim pursed her lips for a moment, her mind covering more ground in moments than she'd he ever thought possible, but whatever was going through her head her instinct made the decision for her.

"I accept," she said bluntly.

The Super smiled and began to talk at speed about the fast-track process and what to expect but Kim zoned much of it out. It all seemed to fade into the background, just as most of the days did since she lost Robin. She did a lot of nodding politely before shaking his hand and going back to work.

She was flattered by the offer. She knew it was a big deal. But she couldn't bring herself to care the way she would before.

It was just a job, but it was all she had left.

~x~

She drained her glass dry and put the bottle away. Nights were spent alone with scotch and the television. Of her limited company, the scotch had little effect any more and the TV showed nothing of interest. She waited nightly until a mixture of the drink, the exhaustion from the lack of food and the pills that she was supposed to be cutting back on started to make her sleepy and then she'd pull a blanket over her body on the couch, unable to face sleeping in the bed alone.

Once again she found her eyes closing. Every time it happened she wished that something would happen to stop her from waking up again but so far she'd been out of luck. The TV continued to drone on in the background with some late night repeats of What's My Arse? Or some other such crap that she hadn't even been watching as she found herself falling into a deep sleep that would keep her in darkness until morning.

The TV screen crackled, but she didn't see it.

The speakers buzzed with static but she didn't hear it.

The images came onto the screen at breakneck speed, one after another, flipping through them like someone surfing the channels;

Fzzzzzz –

A woman's face, paralyzed with fear, knowing what was ahead in a situation she remembered only too well –

Fzzzzzz –

The man whose hair mixed with blood from the wound as the bat clubbed him around the head and sent him to the floor in a bloodied mess of unconsciousness.

Fzzzzzzzz –

The man who stared on in horror as the walls crumbled and smoke filled the air and the one whose arm was outstretched to another fruitlessly offering help to escape the un-escapable.

Fzzzzzz –

The screaming. So much screaming. So much panicking, so many feet running, so much blood spilt.

Fzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

The TV flicked off just as her eyes flickered and slowly opened. She didn't see a moment, not a second of it. She hadn't heard any of the cries for help or the painful screaming. She hadn't seen the warnings that filtered through from a desperate world about to find its darkest moment.

So why was her heart racing and her stomach in knots?

She closed her eyes and forced it out of her mind.

No dreams. No thoughts. Just sleep.

And darkness, across the other side of the line.

~xXx~ …To Be Continued…~xXx~

A/N: Whew, I feel totally wrung out! Finally time to put the tissues away :P I really can't say enough of a thank you to everyone who's read this story and I am really grateful to everyone who has reviewed and left me comments and thoughts along the way, I really appreciated the encouragement

Special thanks to Morgana (A gift basket of loofahs and beard fics on their way!) Oceancounty (hopefully you've put your stick away) rantandrumour (who didn't read this epilogue because it doesn't exist and definitely doesn't contain a lot of mean things happening to Kim!), Fenella Church, Sillygenie, sash queen of the jungle, Sillivan, Jointhehunt (I am so sorry for giving you a fear of the beard!), Life-is-for-finding-answers, purplekerrycat and wwedx on ffnet, and massive thanks to Charlotte and Noemi from FB for still following and enjoying the series - Charlotte, I am sorry!

For many reasons this fic is always going to be special to me and I'm sad it's over. But I will be starting a sequel because I apparently can't stop writing :P The actual sequel I'm hoping to begin tomorrow, it follows on straight after this story but it going to be fairly out there at the beginning – I hope you'll stick with it because things do become clearer! I'm also going to write a shortish story - mostly for my own peace of mind :P - about Robin's 6 weeks back in the real world, which I hope to start this week. And also I want to pick up writing Strange Little Girl again which I haven't written since the end of tlast year because I wasn't sure how I was going to take things with Kim in the story arc that's now ended and I needed to get that out the way first. I'm hoping to start posting more to that of Kim's story later in the week too :)

Finally, I hope some of the songs I used for chapter names and lyric-wise brought back memories for some of you – I picked all songs that reminded me of my happy art college years – 1997 and early '98 held some of my happiest memories and I had a lot of fun looking through old charts to remind myself of the music that used to play on the radio whilst making giant collages of stinky prawns and octopi while trying to avoid a neurotic art tutor who was always losing her handbag!

I'd better post this – it's waaaaay later than I was hoping to finish since various children decided they didn't want to sleep tonight! I, on the other hand, do – goodnight! :) x