I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes

Thank you for all of the encouraging reviews for the last chapter :) I'm glad it went down so well. I've written this since finishing NaNo to fit in between what I'd already done. Hope it's worth the wait. Huge thanks to Feline for getting this done amidst her Uni work :)

Hope you like it!

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Alex didn't hear his voice again.

After her initial terror at seeing his face, and having run screaming down the corridor, she was brought back to bed by a panicked hospital warden, settled in with a cup of water, and then given a pair of painkillers that had sent her to sleep almost instantly.

That was two weeks ago – since then, she'd slept, she'd been poked and prodded, she'd been briefed on her condition and she'd been asked not to move around alot, and the only thing she had been able to think of was Gene.

It was ironic, she mused on more than one occasion, that she had spent every moment with him longing for her daughter, and yet now she was here, to all intents and purposes returned to her rightful place in the universe, with Molly visiting every day, the only thing she could think about was what might have happened to him. Had he been arrested? Surely not – they couldn't really think he meant to shoot her, could they? Well, she considered, perhaps, given the circumstances of their dispute the day before, they might have had reason to question him, but there was no way that they could really believe it – not if they'd seen his face as the bullet tore into her stomach, anyway.

The odd thing, she realized, was that it hadn't even hurt that much; there had been a dull ache somewhere around her abdomen, and a slight difficulty breathing, but really, it had barely breached her mind- the only thing she had been able to see or feel or hear had been Gene – Gene, looking more petrified than he could have known, the blood draining from his face and fear darkening his eyes. His mouth had moved, out of synch with the noise that reached her ears, but there was no mistaking it once his gruff, and yet somehow velvety voice had infiltrated her mind. It had been desperate, more pleading than he could possibly have realized, and she had been vaguely aware of a dull clatter of metal as the gun hit the floor, of his face coming nearer as he sank to his knees at her side and then- and then she had woken up.

She couldn't remember anything else after that, though she assumed that she had been taken to hospital and Gene had snuck in to see her, given that he'd been on edge and thoroughly worried for himself when his voice had breached through to her – it had terrified her. She had expected normality if she returned to two thousand and eight, expected that she would have to deal with losing Gene's constant force of solidarity at her side, but after a few hours she would be able to convince herself it had all been a dream...

She'd had no such luck.

The moment she had seen his face, her heart had begun to pound, confusion clenching at her stomach- the realization that she couldn't forget him was so profound that she had tried to run, her legs weak beneath her but yet somehow still working, pumped full of adrenaline that had caused her whole body to shake... She had told herself, as the nurses steered her back to bed and fed her a dozen different painkillers to send her back to sleep, that he was just a figment, that she was just hallucinating, that when she awoke again, she'd realize how silly she had been...

But even now, two weeks later, having been discharged and proclaimed free to return home – with the understanding that Evan and Molly look after her for the next month or so, regardless of the protest she may or may not put up in the mean time- she couldn't seem to convince herself that it had all been a dream. She had agreed to go home, based on the fact she felt claustrophobic in her hospital room, and had felt, since waking up, that perhaps all she needed was to escape the room itself in order to forget all that had happened within its confines. Now though, she couldn't bring herself to leave; the idea of leaving Gene behind her for good made her heart ache more than she had ever thought it would.

Molly and Evan were sat outside waiting for her, content with her explanation that she simply needed a few minutes alone to collect herself, and that she'd be out shortly. She wanted to join them, to lose herself in their conversations and riddle herself with laughter as Evan threw all sorts of jokes and impressions around... but she felt held back, restrained, even, as though leaving the room was some sort of betrayal to the man that had stolen her heart, the person that, for so very long, she had tried to convince herself was imaginary.

She'd believed it, in part, after waking up, until, in a moment of madness, she had hiked up her hospital gown and searched for the bullet wound Gene had inflicted; she hadn't expected to find anything.

But there it had been – not fresh, as she might have expected, but closed over, scarred, as though it had been there for many, many years... She'd begun to cry on sight, and moments later, the nurses had run into the room, inserted a drip into her arm and sent her back into a deep, dreamless sleep. She hadn't brought herself to look at it again until this morning, and at the sight of it she'd felt a dull ache at the pit of her stomach; it hadn't been there before she'd been admitted to the hospital.

She'd asked the nurse about it when she came by with her clothes, and had received a frown and a shrug in reply. "Sorry, Miss," she had smiled, though there was no trace of sincerity in her tone. "I've never noticed it before – looks like it's been there a while, though."

The slight confirmation of her time in eighty-two had left her unnerved and confused – if, as the scar on her stomach might suggest, she had really gone back in time, and really met Gene, Ray, Chris and Shaz, then surely everything she had discovered then must now be true? So, she thought with a dry mouth, how was she to handle it? The knowledge that Evan had known all along why her parents had died still rankled slightly – she knew his reasons for keeping it from her, of course she did, but there was no denying that it ached. All those nights as a child where she had curled up against him on the sofa, sobbing hopelessly into his chest and asking the inevitable question of 'why?', as though she expected an answer from him, as though she could really have thought he knew...

She had never considered that, in actual fact, perhaps he had known- it had always been a mere form of release, to cry on the shoulder of a man who claimed to love her family as much as she did... She had never realized that his love for them might have been of a different sort, or that perhaps it was this 'love' of his which had led to her parents deaths...

She shook her head, standing up and biting back the tears which threatened to spill from her eyes. She shouldn't be blaming Evan – she hadn't expected to be angry at him. She'd expected to swell with gratitude at the sight of him, at the knowledge that he'd protected her - after all, how would she have reacted if he had told her that her father had wanted both she and her mother dead? She would have shaken her head, ran to her room and locked the door, and the next morning she would merely have shrugged it off, pretended that it had never been said... she would never have believed it at all, unless she had seen it with her own two eyes- and now that she had done exactly that, the knowledge of it all was nearly too much to bear.

Standing up, Alex gathered together the few things she had with her – the mobile Molly had brought in a few days before, a stack of 'Get Well Soon' cards from colleagues and her hospital wristband, which for some reason she felt an unwitting attachment to – and placed them into her simple black handbag. Wearing a plain white blouse, black trousers and jacket, with her hair pinned neatly behind her head and feeling decidedly overdressed, Alex made a mental note to visit the hairdressers and the shopping centre as soon as possible.

With one last, almost wistful look around the room, she joined Evan and Molly in the corridor, putting on a brave smile as her daughters' slightly smaller, warmer hand slid into hers. "Come on, Mum," she smiled, "Evan's bought cake!"

---

Alex went instantly to bed, pleading a headache to a disappointed looking Molly, and shaking off Evan's look of concern with a smile, stopping to kiss them both on the cheek and speaking in a soft voice to her guardian and friend, while her daughter slunk sadly into the living room. "I'm fine," she assured him, "really, I'm fine – I just need to get some rest. I haven't moved in over a month, it's just taking some getting used to."

She headed up the stairs, and, after glancing around in slight confusion at the unfamiliar layout, she found her own room, freezing in the doorway and staring at the plain room before her.

It was a pale vanilla colour, with a beige carpet, a bland, wooden wardrobe, a metal-framed bed and a large wooden desk, on which sat her silent PC terminal, white in colour, with matching keyboard and mouse. She blinked at the dull colour scheme, pushing away the immediate comparison with her deeply coloured bedroom above Luigi's and stripping off swiftly to lie beneath the plain, white cotton sheets that had been freshly laid out for her. The moment she closed her eyes, a familiar, rugged face filled her vision, and she couldn't bring herself to push it away.

She drifted to sleep, and as she slept, she saw nothing but Gene.

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She awoke in the dark, the curtains of her room having now been closed, and the clothes she had discarded without thought on the floor now resting neatly over the arm of her desk chair. She half smiled, realizing that Molly must have been in to check on her, before swinging her legs out of the bed, rifling through her wardrobe and pulling on a pair of jogging bottoms and an old t-shirt that hadn't seen the light of day since a good ten years previously, before tiptoeing down the stairs, sighing to herself when she saw that the living room light was on, walking slowly in and managing a slight smile in Evan's direction when he looked up.

The light in the corner was on, lighting up his face and highlighting the contours and lines that had most assuredly not been there when she had seen him last, either in the present day or in nineteen eighty-two. His eyes looked sunken in his skull, lacking the laughter that she had always been able to find in their depths as his lips twitched into a barely-there grin. He was drinking whiskey, she noticed, and felt an immediate pang in her stomach, attempting vainly to push it away as the amber liquid glittered in the light. His beard had become slightly untamed, and his hair had developed even more grey strands than before, and it struck Alex in that moment, for what seemed like the very first time, that he was getting old.

A moment later, she was on the sofa next to him, curled up with her knees to her chest and her head on his shoulder, as she had done so many times in her youth, words catching in her throat as tears stung at her eyes. She didn't miss Evan's look of worry, nor the way that he instantly muted the already barely audible television set as his arm slid around her shoulders. "You ok, Titch?" he murmured, and Alex couldn't help but laugh – albeit wetly- at the reverted use of his childhood nickname for her. It was fitting, she realized; at that moment, she'd never felt more of a child.

"Fine," she said, surprised at how easy it was to be comfortable with this man after everything she had learnt, and the slightly tenuous relationship that they'd developed in eighty-two. Evan ruffled her hair lightly, careful not to brush the wound still visible on one side of her forehead, his grip on his glass slackening as he looked at her.

"You sure?" He asked, evidently disbelieving. Alex only nodded, reaching for the glass in his hand and lifting it to her lips. Evan's eyebrows flew up his forehead and into his hairline as she sipped it, his voice confused as he spoke next. "Since when did you like whiskey?" He asked, waiting for the inevitable grimace, the shake of her head as she pushed it back into his hand and insisted that she didn't; none came. Instead, she shrugged, taking another sip and wrapping her arms around her legs as the familiar warmth spread to her fingers and toes, filling her from the inside out. Single malt, she smiled; Gene's favourite.

Evan waited a few moments, before he pulled the glass from her grasp, settling it on the table at his side and ignoring her disgruntled sigh as he eyed her sternly. "You shouldn't be drinking," he told her firmly. "You're on enough drugs to kill yourself if you overstep the mark."

Alex sighed. "I'm fine," she repeated, resting her head back on his shoulder. "Just need a nightcap, that's all- it's nothing to worry about."

With a roll of his eyes, Evan settled his arm around her shoulders, ignoring the unease in his stomach as Alex bit on her lip, looking as though she might burst into floods of tears at any moment. "Get to bed, Titch," he said eventually, affectionately patting her arm before dislocating himself from her, pushing her lightly and indicating that she should move.

Alex heard the familiar intonation in his voice, the tone that said he didn't want to revert to being her guardian, but that he was bordering on nagging if she didn't take his advice- she couldn't help the slight burn of tears in her eyes as she considered the number of times that he had adopted that tone in her childhood. The stinging realisation that each time he had said it, each time he'd taken on the role of responsibility, he'd known what had really happened to her parents, lied to her about it, told her that he didn't know, dawned on her suddenly, and she shivered, looking down slightly...

When Alex didn't budge, he looked at her concernedly, searching for something to say that wasn't patronising, but would still get his point across – she looked thoughtful, resigned, and Evan knew he had to tread carefully- he knew how stubborn she could be, and somehow he doubted that a spell in hospital had had any impact on that streak of her personality. "Alex, I-"

"What happened to my parents, Evan?" She asked softly, surprised by the timid note in her voice when all she could feel in her stomach was confusion and anger.

She saw his eyes widen slightly, saw the frown that creased his forehead, and watched as he sank slowly into the armchair opposite her, ignoring the churning in her gut as Evan shifted his gaze to the wall behind her head rather than look at her.

"Alex, we've spoken about this before. Maybe you-"

Alex shook her head, interrupting quickly. "No we haven't," she said. "Not really- you haven't been honest with me, have you?" She tried to meet his eyes, but Evan averted his eyes, shaking his head.

"The Doctor said this might happen," Evan started, "delayed concussion, memory loss, confusion... I'll call them and ask for-"

"Please, Evan," Alex whispered. "I'm not suffering any delayed trauma – I know that you know what really happened..."

He stared at her, meeting her eyes with hopeless pleading, but he didn't need to verify it – she wouldn't give up unless he told her. She'd got that look in her eye – the fierce determination that he'd found so inherently attractive in her mother, and that had always sparked a protective instinct in his stomach whenever it rekindled in Alex; she wouldn't let up. And he couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, she already knew.

"Alex," he said desperately, "I swear, it was only ever to protect you; I would have told you if I'd thought it would do you any good whatsoever, but-"

"Please," Alex reiterated, eyes glistening with tears. "I already know for the most part – just tell me... I have to hear it from you... I have to know it wasn't a dream... that it was real – I need to know it was real. Please, Evan?"

She saw his face fall, pain contorting his once handsome face into the grimace of a tortured man, before he nodded, reaching for the bottle of whiskey that Alex had failed to notice on the coffee table, and taking a large swig before he dared to speak.

When he did, his voice was haunted, distant and eerie, and Alex dragged the pale blue blanket from the top of the sofa and wrapped it around herself as he told her everything, with such painful honesty that it was almost more unbearable to hear his words than it had been to see it for herself.

He told her of the affair with Caroline, of their joint guilt, of their admissions that it had all been a mistake, and of how they had ended it when it had gone too far. He told her how he had resigned, in the hope that Tim wouldn't discover the affair, and then he told her, with an expression so wrought with guilt and pain, that Tim had found out – somehow, though he still couldn't understand how, when they had both been so careful never to let it slip – and recorded a message on his video camera, before planting a bomb under the car he had leant them for the morning.

"Do you have the tape?" Alex asked, already knowing the answer, but needing the clarification, not just that what she had learnt had been real, but that-

"No," Evan said softly, his voice shaken and emotional, "the DCI in charge disposed of it- you were never supposed to find out."

Alex stared, feeling the overwhelming discovery press down upon her shoulders like a physical weight, unable to think straight as images flashed before her eyes- Gene taking Alex Price's hand after the explosion... Gene carrying her younger self into the Police station... Gene ripping the tape from the video and throwing it away...

The confirmation, the very reality of it all, shook her, and if she hadn't been sitting down she would have collapsed where she stood. She wanted to feel thankful, relieved that Evan had finally come clean to her, told her the truth, without leaving out any gaps... she should be grateful that he viewed her as an adult, but somehow she couldn't shake the unbearable wave of bitter pain that was sweeping through her as she realized, with incredible clarity, for the very first time, that the events in her coma had not just been dredges of imagination from overworking on Sam's case... Sam, she realized, struck with the familiarity of it all- not DI Tyler, or Sam Tyler, or Case number 1-9-7-3; Sam.

She blinked, pushing away memories of nineteen eighty-two, attempting to forget the snatches of information she had gleaned from what she had once thought to be imaginary constructs, and looking at Evan's crestfallen and worried face with tears trickling down her cheeks. She managed a watery smile, but a moment she was sobbing helplessly, wracked with grief and pain and confusion, and he was on the seat beside her, drawing her comfortably against his chest and holding her in his paternal grasp.

She wept, unsure whether she was crying anew for the circumstances of her parents' death, or for the knowledge that the people she had left behind had been real. Their faces swam before her one by one; Shaz, Chris, Ray, Viv... Gene.

His fearful face remained before her eyes for longer than all of the others, and she buried her face into Evan's shoulder, sobbing helplessly as he shushed her, rocking her gently as he had done so many times over the years in the dead of the night, soothing away the fears and demons that had haunted her youth and had since returned to plague her adulthood.

The feeling of safety that she had always recognized within him, even before her parents deaths, returned tenfold, and her love and respect for him grew as he ran his hands through her hair, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as he hummed a familiar lullaby that, even through the haze of tears and heartache, brought a smile to her lips.

"I'm sorry, Titch," he murmured, "you were never meant to find out... I know that doesn't make it any better, but- well..." he trailed off, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. Four in the morning; he had to be up in three hours. The sensible thing would be to go to bed, but somehow-

"How did you find out?" He asked quietly, giving Alex a gentle, reassuring squeeze and praying that she wouldn't burst into a fresh round of tears.

Alex stiffened, gulping and glancing at the floor, searching for a valid excuse and fabricating something, stumbling over the first plausible explanation that she could think of. "I saw a file – at work... Layton's. It said he was a client shortly before they died, and had been a possible suspect, but then when I looked at their file it said that Ti- my Dad, I mean, had been- that he'd-" She stopped, feeling her voice crack and sinking against Evan's chest as she burst into renewed tears as the pain of it all crashed down around her once again; she could only be thankful that he saw no reason to question the validity of her statement.

"I am sorry," Evan reiterated. "I should have told you as soon as you were old enough to understand, but I... I didn't..." he trailed off, waiting a few moments before he managed to recover himself, resting his head on hers as she continued to cry silent tears. "I couldn't be sure that you wouldn't hate me- they were perfectly happy before, Alex, and it was me that drove the wedge between them... Losing the two of them was – it was awful, Alex... I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, too..."

She managed a small, watery smile as she looked up at him, and then reached across for the glass of whiskey. Evan barely even protested, except to frown in disapproval as she swallowed the last dregs and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I think I'll go back to bed," she whispered finally, sniffing slightly as she drew herself back into a normal sitting position. Evan nodded, gently taking the glass from her fingers.

"Ok," he murmured, gently rubbing at her arm. "I'll make sure Squirt doesn't wake you up in the morning... I'll be back by twelve."

Alex could only nod her head blankly, shakily getting to her feet, with Evan swiftly rising to steady her when she stumbled slightly to one side. "Come on," he smiled hesitantly, drawing her out of the room by the elbow, "you need some sleep..."

He led her up the stairs, bracing her around the shoulders with his arms whenever she had difficulty keeping her balance, occasionally pausing to clarify that she was alright.

At Alex's door, he twisted round to meet her eyes, placing his palm across her forehead and feeling the warmth of her skin. "You're burning up," he said, sight. "Get into bed- I'll fetch you some water." A moment later, he'd run off down the stairs, and Alex weakly opened the door and eased herself back under the blankets, shivering slightly as the cool fabric touched against her hot skin like ice.

When Evan returned, she was curled in a ball, the tears still fresh on her face, and after having set the water on her bedside table, he settled himself onto the mattress, stroking her hair consolingly. It was only after several minutes, when the crying had eased slightly and the shakes had dispersed, that Alex managed to speak.

"What happened to Gene Hunt, Evan?" She whispered, watching her guardian's blue eyes flicker with surprise at her question. His jaw tightened, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped before he replied.

"He's still around somewhere, I think... how'd you know him?"

Alex shrugged. "His name was on the file... I just- I don't know... I'm glad he's ok." She managed a weak smile, though she didn't miss the sad look in Evan's eyes. "He is ok, isn't he?" She whispered, her heart hammering worriedly in her chest.

Evan stroked her hair softly, averting his eyes from her and speaking quietly. "He's fine, Alex- get to sleep now, hey? We can talk tomorrow."

She wanted to argue, wanted to protest and demand to know what had happened to Gene, why Evan sounded so hesitant and reluctant to tell her anything... She wanted to, but Evan was already leaning over to press a soft kiss to her forehead, in the same way he had when she was thirteen and suffering from flu, and tears threatened her once again.

"Love you, Titch," he murmured. "Get some sleep."

Alex could only nod, allowing Evan to tuck the blankets gently around her before he left the room.

The room went dark, and left alone, her mind became wrought once more with grief and longing, not for her parents, but for Gene, in the hope that wherever he was in the present day, nothing was wrong... The only thought she had as she drifted off to sleep, was of him.

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Hope it was ok :-)

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Mage of the Heart