I don't own Ashes to Ashes to Ashes

I'm sure you'll all wish to shoot me for this, but I'm afraid there's no 2008-Alex in the next few chapters – it's just Gene for now! I'm so grateful for all of your support so far, and I hope the story continues to be worth the read. Before posting, there was no 08 Alex at all until about five donkey-years down the plotline, but I'm glad it's working alright now that she's been included :)

Hope you all enjoyed the Christmas festivities/snow, and that the chapter is to your liking!

This chapter's currently unbeta-ed, but I'll update it as soon as the faulty internet has been restored!

Until then, all mistakes are my own!

----

CID was bustling when Gene entered, and although he could sense the trepidation with which his colleagues followed each and every one of his movements, when he barked out his orders -in what he hoped to be a reasonable rendition of his usual gruff manner, and which he sensed went far to replace their confidences in his ability and his expertise- they obeyed without hesitation. All at once, they were rushing to do as they were bidden, although Gene still couldn't shake the unease in his person, nor could he ignore the insistent, nagging presence of doubt in the back of his mind, which said that they were only doing as he ordered to prevent winding up in a coma, or with their body on the slab...

He slammed into his office in a poor attempt to displace the doubt, hoping that in bashing around and making as much noise as possible, he could forget the renewed wave of self-loathing and disrespect that threatened to crush him with its weight.

He'd felt himself biting back a wave of nausea and vomit at the sight of Alex's obscurely neat desk as he'd passed it; it had looked desolate, abandoned in the middle of the room, like a blazing beacon to each and every person who came and went, sending off signals in all directions to remind anyone who happened to see it; he, Gene Hunt, had nearly topped his DI.

Amidst the wave of guilt and self-disgust, however, he was shocked and unnerved by the next hit, one of sickness and revulsion, that overcame him as he remembered, all too vividly, the woman he had given himself over to right before that very same desk; Jenette's perfume wafted in his nostrils as the door closed behind him, acrid and vile compared to the warm, spicy scent that had burrowed into his mind and body over the past few hours in Alex's flat, and by her side at the hospital.

Gene's stomach turned, his head spun, and he grabbed a fistful of darts and threw them with anger and rage at the waiting dartboard; one hit double twenty, another hit the five, and the final one bounced off the metal rim and ricocheted onto the filing cabinets with a clatter and a clang. Grinding his teeth, he lashed out with one booted foot, placing a dent in the metal drawer of the cabinet closest to him; his ankle cracked and it hurt like hell, but it didn't go anyway to helping him- he wasn't sure he'd expected it to.

He could feel hatred rising anew in his chest as he considered all that he had allowed to come between himself and Alex; Jenette's poisonous words had wormed there way into his mind, and somehow, her vile, pathetic imitation of Alex's incontestable beauty, had wriggled into the space that had, momentarily, separated he and his DI, ripping asunder all that could and might have been if he'd simply gone home that evening and allowed himself to calm down... But he hadn't had the foresight to leave well enough alone, hadn't taken the time to think about what he was doing, about what he was allowing to slip through his fingers as he acted so callously, or had the sensitivity to consider the woman he would be pushing away...

And now here he stood, in his familiar office, where Alex had so often berated him, or consoled him, or told him where to shove his poxy-bollucks ideas, whilst she lay across town, only just on this side of the thin line between life and death... His mouth was dry, his palms sweaty, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage, pulse thundering in his ears, his whole body fearful and revolted...

He had still found no explanation for his dalliance with Jenette; she had admitted to him, had she not, that she was only interested because her brother was getting banged up? She'd told him that without a trace of hesitation, and yet he'd still listened to her when she tried to turn him against Alex, still believed her when she suggested that the woman who'd saved his bollucks from castration more times than he could count had, for some insane reason, transferred to the other side of the pavement...

He should never have listened; it had made no sense at all, however he looked at it. Because, after all, had he ever really believed that Alex was bent? Deep down, he'd known it was impossible the second after the doubt had formed, but it hadn't stopped him using it as an excuse, as a reason to get back at her, a way to hurt her...

The bastard he had thought to be buried in his past -the one that he had tried to keep dormant within his chest ever since he had met Sam, ever since he had begun to understand once again what it was to be a decent man- knew that the real reason he had considered Jenette's offer – sex, entertainment, and whatever else it was- was that he had wanted to make Alex jealous...

Him; Gene Hunt. The over-the-hill, overweight, nicotine stained, lardy, alcoholic bastard that he was, had, for several brief moments of insanity, believed that Alex Drake – perfect, intelligent, feisty, gorgeous, Alex Drake- could be made to feel jealous if he stuck his tongue down some gobby backstreet tarts throat.

Well, he told himself, reaching straight away for the bottle of whiskey on the shelf nearby, more fool him. Alex had been, and always would be, in a league so far above his own that he became an insignificant dot of existence when she looked at him; he was nothing to her but a colleague.

And suddenly, he realized that the reason he had really ended up with Jenette, wasn't that he honestly believed that he could make Alex feel any significant feelings of loss, jealousy or regret- ot was simply because he'd realised, deep down, as Jenette had settled herself against Alex's desk, that there was no way his DI would ever glance twice at him.

That was it, he thought. In those moments, where he had been silently grieving the bond he had shattered and torn between them, he had simply come to terms, for the first time, with what he should have always known- he would never be good enough for Alex Drake. The best he could hope for was a mimic, a pale comparison that made him feel ill and undeserving of life itself...

Because although he'd been angry with Alex - he'd threatened to kill her, for Christ's sake- he hadn't truly lost the hope for fixing their friendship until Jenette had entered the office; somewhere underneath the thick skin and the brutish facade he'd put on, he'd hoped for Alex to return to him - there, in the dead of night, in the abandoned office where they had waited for Chris to arrive, in the silent room where she had consolidated him as he sat with an innocent girls blood splattered across his shirt, where he'd told her so many times to stop talking bollucks and start talking sense... He hadn't been waiting for Jenette, or anyone else; the reason he had stared so longingly at Alex Drake's desk was because, when the door opened, he had wanted nothing more than for her to walk through to see him and tell him she was lying, simply to protect him, to save him, to make sure neither of them were hurt... But when Jenette had walked in, everything had crashed down around him; the realization that Alex wasn't coming had been enough to turn his world inside out, and he'd taken anything he could get... It was simply ironic that the 'anything' he'd longed for had transmuted into nothing.

The door to his private office opened, and Gene jerked round in shock, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to collect himself, wondering if it was obvious what he'd been thinking before Ray stepped into the room.

"Everyone's ready to get down Bakers Street, Guv," Ray assured him, closing the door in his wake. "Girls name's Alice Tibbett; the Super wants the bastarding kidnapper cuffed an' banged up by lunch." He held out a familiar weapon, and Gene's heart constricted, his hands clamming up and throat drying as his eyes fell to the well-handled black pistol that had stayed at his belt for years.

It was the same as ever; simple barrel, comfortable grip, the same black trigger that had saved his life more times than he could count... it had been fully loaded with six bullets two days previously; he knew if he looked now, there would only be four. Once upon a time, Ray might have tried to replace them, but Gene had made it perfectly clear on more than one occasion that nobody was to touch his gun but he himself... Now he wished that he'd not been so stringent in the past.

He glanced at Ray's face, seeing the expectation and sense of comradeship echoed in his blue gaze, and a moment later he reached out, his hands hesitant as he took the familiarly weighted weapon in his hand, hefting it slightly in his palm.

It shouldn't feel awkward to hold it, he realized. He'd shot more people than he could count, saved countless lives, including his own, with this very weapon, and though every time blood was shed it had echoed through his mind for days, it had never been like this. Somehow there was something haunting and eerie about the weapon now; it felt like betrayal of the worst sort- worse than sleeping with Jenette, worse than not believing Alex or hearing her out when she'd tried to talk to him... Since shooting Alex, none of its previous deeds mattered- this gun had somehow become the enemy; to handle it would only add insult to her injury.

He wanted to drop it; it felt as though it was burning his hand, as if, were he to pull the trigger with his finger, it would simply backfire on himself – and it wasn't as though he wouldn't deserve it if it did... He met Ray's eyes again, saw the concern, the crease of his eyebrows, the slight worry in his gaze as Gene failed to relax at the feel of his gun, at the feeling of safety it should have brought with it... He knew he had to act normal, as though nothing were amiss, but it didn't change the fact his hand felt as though it had been dipped in acid and set to light...

He took a deep breath, ignoring the horrific sensation of burning, pushing it to the back of his mind as he gulped, clenched his fist, and attempted to breathe... A moment later, he nodded his head, gulping back panic and self-loathing as he replaced the gun in its holster. Ray nodded back, offering a strange quirk of the lips that looked as though it might have been intended as reassuring, but that in reality reminded Gene of a quacking duck having trouble laying its eggs.

He said nothing, and followed Ray out into the main office, feeling cold sweat trickle down his brow, feeling his hands go clammy, his mouth go dry, hoping against hope that nobody else would notice as he attempted to wet his lips with his coarse tongue...

Something cold and metal touched against his hand, and he jumped, twisting round to see Shaz, dressed in non-uniform and holding a gun out to him that looked as though it were brand new. It was almost identical in make to the weapon that now hung traitorously at his waist, though he knew that it had rarely been fired, except for testing, and wouldn't yet have drawn blood... Shaz was watching him, a sad, understanding smile on her lips as she shrugged her shoulders in sympathy.

Gene blinked, wiping his hand subconsciously across his forehead before gulping, nodding slightly, and reaching for the gun at his waist, unclipping it with a wave of relief. "Thanks, Granger," he muttered, pushing the old gun into her outstretched hand and taking the new one into his; it fit like a glove, felt completely right in his hand, cool and soothing against the burning insistence it had just replaced. "Lock that one away somewhere," Gene ordered gruffly, unable to be courteous as his gratitude welled in his chest... he hoped Shaz understood his true meaning as he went on. "Don't care where- just... anywhere... Don't bloody wanna see it ever again." He shoved the new gun into the holster at his waist, drawing a cigarette from the packet resting in his breast pocket and lighting up before he turned back towards the team.

"What we doing then, Guv?" Chris piped up, sitting nervously on his desk, glancing from Ray, to Shaz, to Gene, with something that might have been worry, or could have been simple confusion... Gene gritted his teeth for a few moments, and then he nodded.

"Let's go catch us some scum!" He said, hoping they didn't notice the wave of nerves as it crested in his stomach, or the way he glanced warily to the side as Shaz disappeared to dispose of his old weapon... Judging by the roar of approval that followed his words, he thought he might have succeeded in fooling them.

----

The warehouse on Bakers Street was worn, damp, and made of brick that looked as though it might crumble at any given moment. The smell of mould hung in the air, and Gene had to wrinkle his nose with distaste as he deliberately sped past, swerving around the next building before parking the car, leaving it and doubling back to crouch in a large alcove across the road from the main warehouse. Ray was at his side, mumbling something incoherent under his breath, just as Shaz and Chris walked down the street hand-in-hand.

A completely unexpected and irrelevant wave of bittersweet jealousy shot through Gene at the sight, shocking him with its intensity as his eyes followed their movements; there was nothing forced about their expressions- they laughed easily and happily, and it looked effortless, like it didn't matter that they were on the job – they weren't faking those smiles, and they weren't faking the looks in their eyes, or the oddly intimate way that one or other of them would reach across to brush at the others clothing... For a heart wrenching moment, Alex's face flashed before his eyes, the feeling of her hand in his suddenly burning at the forefront of his mind as he looked on at the younger couple, wishing with all his might that Alex were here, that eh could- his train of thought was interrupted suddenly as Ray spoke at his side.

"Guv, the Dad's coming down the road," he muttered, nodding towards a short, black haired, bespectacled man, dressed in a smart business suit and holding a large, black briefcase; he was looking around nervously, as though scared of being followed, and Gene's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Who spoke to him yesterday?" He muttered, his eyes never leaving the father of the kidnapped girl, until he had disappeared through the side door of the abandoned building. Gene watched as the other man cast one last glance over his shoulder, skimming the shadows with his eyes, searching for something... For a moment, Gene wondered whether he should walk out, assure the man they'd get his daughter back safe and sound... but then the other man had disappeared, and Gene felt his teeth clench with worry, his mind working quickly as he tried to think.

"Me an' Chris, Guv," Ray replied, risking a small glance at his DCI and grimacing at the look of concentration on his face – before Tyler and Drake, that would have meant he was deliberating how best to knock ten shades of crap out of the suspect they were about to arrest... Now Ray wasn't so sure.

"How was 'e?"

Ray blinked. "Shittin' 'imself, weren't he?"

Gene nodded, chewing on the inside of his mouth for a few moments, waiting for something to happen, glancing around for something... it took him several long minutes to realize just what it was he was searching for.

"Where's the mother?" He asked eventually, casting his gaze quickly up and down the street, before turning to Ray, who stood at his side.

"Not coming, Guv," Ray answered, frowning. "Ain't no place for a bird, is it?"

The radio at Ray's waist crackled, and a moment later Chris' voice sounded; it was only then that Gene realized he and Shaz had disappeared around the far corner, well out of his line of sight. "Car's turnin' in, Guv; it's a red Cortina, an' the girls in the backseat."

"Ruddy bastard," Gene growled under his breath. "That's my bloody car!" At that moment, the car rounded the corner, skidding to a halt in front of the warehouse, with no apparent care for the dustbins it sent flying or the girl in the backseat who shrieked against the cloth which had been stuffed violently in her mouth and bound with tape.

His blood boiling away in his chest, heart pounding in his throat, Gene only just managed to jerk Ray back into the alcove as the DS levelled his gun at the tall, broad-shouldered kidnapper who was dragging the blonde youth from the car. He handled her with a roughness that turned Gene's stomach, a hand clenched firmly on her shoulder, gun pressed hard into the girls back as he jerked and shoved her towards the warehouse.

"Don't bloody shoot!" Gene snapped, looking back at Ray just in time to see his eyes narrow on the kidnapper across the street.

"I've got him, Guv," Ray murmured, finger moving to tighten on the trigger. A moment later, Gene had slammed Ray's hand against the brick wall, watching as the gun flew out of his grasp, clattering onto the floor a few metres away, in the middle of the pavement, perfectly visible if anyone were to glance their way.

Gene's body went rigid as, for a brief moment of terror, he thought the kidnapper had heard, thought that at any moment he'd turn around and see it lying there, bold as brass... His heart hammered away, making all else inaudible for a horrible stretch of time, until, with a breath of relief, he realised that they hadn't been heard, as the kidnapper and Alice Tibbett disappeared into the warehouse.

"I could've got him," Ray started, the moment the side door had closed behind them, but the instant Gene turned his angry gaze on him, he stopped, bowing his head and nodding slowly. "Sorry, Guv."

"You could've shot the bloody girl! Or missed, and then he'd do the bloody job for yer! Don't be a bloody div!"

Ray looked down, grinding his teeth noticeably before nodding again, his face tight. "Right, Guv." He muttered. "Sorry, Guv."

Gene nodded, glancing across the street before reaching for the radio. "Alpha one to all units; Raymondo and myself are moving in. Chris, Shaz, get your arses back round here pronto and make sure nobody gets out of that building 'til we've got the girl back- if the bastard tries to escape, shoot 'im in the bollucks and drive that car over his bloodied knackers!" He switched the radio off quickly, shoving it back into his pocket and lifting the gun from the holster now hanging at his waist. He glanced at Ray, watching as the DS collected his discarded gun from the floor. "Ready?" Gene asked.

"Yes, Guv," Ray murmured, nodding his assent. They both glanced around, checking swiftly for any other passers-by, before walking swiftly across the road, using opposite side doors as various officers appeared from the seemingly abandoned buildings nearby.

"Circle it," Gene muttered in their direction, before pushing into the warehous itself, gun held aloft in front of him.

---

The silence of the warehouse descended on him like a blanket, and he had to stop in his tracks as he adjusted to it all; outside the building, the street had been quiet, with the only noise that reached their ears coming with the distant rumble of the city- main roads, sirens, shoppers and citizens going about their daily business a few streets away- making just enough noise to lull Gene's nerves as he had stood waiting for the kidnapper to appear... But, in here, no sound seemed to penetrate the thick walls, and the surroundings were heavy with muck and humidity, the dirtied air seeming to wheeze through his lungs with great difficulty.

Gene swallowed against the acrid taste in his throat, biting back the desire to heave as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Part of him had expected there to be a light of some sort- a distant flicker of torchlight, perhaps, or the vague luminescent glow of a candle, less noticeable and significant than an electric light, but enough to hint at some sort of existence... But there was nothing; the building was dark, with only vague slithers of daylight breaking through the cracks in the badly boarded up windows, small particles of dirt flitting in and out of their path, twirling and floating down to the floor once again.

Dust was thick in the atmosphere, and Gene found himself covering his mouth with his hand, breathing awkwardly as he tried to avoid sneezing and choking. The floor was coated with many years worth of grime, dust and muck, the culmination of it all muffling his footfalls as he stepped forwards, ears sharp as he listened for any nearby sound, his eyes wide as he tried to see as much as possible in the dim light. There was nothing, but for the vague outline of a slightly off-centre door a little way across the room, which he instantly headed towards. He moved slowly, his gun still held before him, hand steady as he walked across the room, testing the floorboards lightly with each foot before he went on, glad that the wood had not yet aged enough to be creaking.

When he reached the door, it was hanging precariously on its hinges, with one corner worn and moth-eaten, wood and paint flaking off in large clumps. He carefully nudged it aside, slipping through the doorway and breathing a sigh of relief when it stayed silent. He frowned as he stepped through, blinking when he came face-to-face with a large wooden staircase that led downwards, looking completely out of place amongst the abandoned shelving units that hadn't been used in years. The banister was flaking, the steps themselves looked precarious, and Gene bit his lip slightly as he stood there. He glanced left and right, searching for any sign of movement in the darkness, vaguely wondering where Ray had gotten to... There was no mark of any other living thing, and a chill swept down Gene's spine. Hesitant, he glanced around several more times as he tried to think, to collect himself...

The instincts blazing in his gut told him to walk down the stairs, to see what lay down there and whether there was anything amiss; another part of him said that to go down the stairs was to go in on the back foot and put himself and others in danger... But then the sound of a child's muffled sneeze reached his ears, and he made up his mind.

A few moments later, he made his way down the stairs.

---

He assumed that the bottom floor had once been used for the packing of boxes, just as the rest of the warehouse, but now it was empty, bearing signs of flood damage and leaky pipes, the scent of damp heavier here than at any other place in the building. He carefully rounded the banister, ducking behind a pile of damp, mouldy boxes as unfamiliar voices drifted up towards him through the thick, dank, humid air, sounding eerie and out of place, but strangely clear at such a distance through the compressing silence of the warehouse.

"-'cause if you've brought coppers, Tibbett, you're gunna see this little girls brains splattered across the wall – and be sure that I'll turn the lights on for that." The voice was cold, ruthless, calculating, and Gene shivered, the London accent harsh and grating on his ears. A muffled shriek of fear and panic drifted towards him, and Gene felt himself cringe, his whole body tensing up, muscles rigid with disgust.

"I swear!"

Gene could only assume that the panicked, high-pitched voice that sounded out was that of the girl's father... He couldn't see, but if he could, Gene would bet that he would see sweat beading on the man's forehead, see his hands shake and his jaw quiver... He grimaced, listening as the man continued to babble on. "I swear, please, there's nobody else here, nobody but me! Just give me my daughter back!" The man was bordering on hysterical, his voice quivering, rising even further in pitch, and Gene could only imagine the desperate gestures the other man was making, the over-eager wringing of his hands, the grappling for his daughters touch in utterly incomprehensible need...

"Please!" He went on. "You've got the money! You've got what you wanted – please give her back!" The hysterical begging continued, and Gene closed his eyes against the inevitable cold laughter of the kidnapper.

"I'll give you your daughter back, Mr Tibbett, when I'm back in my car, with the money in the back seat, and no sign of the Police- then, and only then, you can have your daughter back!"

"Please! Please! She's terrified! Please! There's nobody here, nobody at all, just me, just-"

A distant crackle echoed through the empty space of the room, and the muffled shouts, the hysterical begging and the amused, cold laughter halted, the whole of the abandoned warehouse falling into silence as the crackle continued. Gene panicked; he'd turned his own radio off, made sure nobody could contact him... But had he remembered to tell Ray and the others? Shit. Where the bloody hell was Ray?

"Alone, you say?" The cold voice was angered, bitter, resentful, and instantly Gene's heart began to pound in his chest, his tongue going paper dry as he swallowed hard against the horrible lump that formed in his gullet.

"Nobody else, you say?" The kidnapper hissed. "Just you?"

"Yes..." the fathers' voice was small, terrified, and defeatist. "I swear, I didn't know there was anyone but-"

"Then you won't mind checking that staircase then, will you?" The tone was unmistakeable; demanding, overpowering, full of command, and reeking of rage and frustration. "Because, Mister Tibbett, if there is someone over there, then I can assure you that it will take a great deal more than twenty grand to stop me shooting your daughter through her pretty little skull!"

The muffled shrieks grew louder, and a moment later there was a loud crack of skin-on-skin, a menacing growl of anger and the thud of a small body hitting the floor. A loud cry of horror and rage followed it all as the girl's father watched on in horror, his gasps and sobs echoing around the room. Gene heard a loud rustle of movement, just before Ray's familiar, gruff voice ripped through the darkness, strong and clear.

"Put the gun down!"

Gene was moving in seconds, crouching down and descending the stairs with gentle, yet still quick steps, keeping his eyes peeled for the scene that he had been forced to listen to for the last few minutes, the scene he had been helpless to interfere with as the exchange was carried out... As he moved swiftly downwards, he kept his ears carefully peeled, hearing a long, loud snarl as it tore itself from the kidnappers throat.

"I think it's you, Officer, who should put the gun down..." There was a sudden flurry of movement, the stifled sounds of gasps, shrieks, and then Ray's loud emission of 'bollucks', before the kidnappers laughter broke through it all, the sobs of the girl going unheeded as he went on. "Because, Officer, if you don't, I'm afraid this little girl will lose her life," there was a sympathetic tutting noise, the pursing of lips and the exaggerated sound of a sloppy kiss, before the laughter died down to a soft chuckle. "So, so, unfair, isn't it, Alice?" He crooned. "Your Daddy is a very rich man, and rather than settle this himself, he saw fit to involve the police," he chuckled, and as the scene came into view, Gene felt his stomach turn, his body wracked with nausea.

The man had one arm around the girls waist, crushing her against his chest, his lips inches from her ear, nose practically buried in the soft blonde locks of her hair. The gun he had earlier pushed into her back was now pressed hard against her head, and the gagged girl was sobbing, shaking and quivering in her kidnapper's arms. Her father was kneeling on the floor barely a metre from her, his arms outstretched, tears streaking down his face, his whole body wracked with anger, grief, pain and worry. A few metres away stood Ray, positioned at the foot of a block of stairs similar to those that Gene himself had so recently descended. In the Sergeant's hand was a gun, held with uncertainty and worry as his lip quivered with indecision. Gene tried to catch his eye, to tell him to drop the weapon, but it was to no avail.

"Put the gun down, Officer, and perhaps we'll be able to come to a reasonable agreement about this little girl's fate..." The ultimatum hung in the air, sinister and evil, and Gene could almost hear Ray's brain working in his head, could practically see the cogs turning as the younger man attempted to calculate angles, to work out the probability and likelihood of being able to shoot the kidnapper down without risking the girls life... He watched as Ray's jaw gritted slightly in his mouth, and he knew in that moment that they'd both come to the same conclusion; Ray wouldn't be able to shoot without harming Alice.

Both Ray and Gene realized in that moment that the kidnapper was no fool when it came to weaponry and defence; he had brought the girls head directly in front of his heart, her bound hands covering the rest of his chest, whilst her reasonably chubby form blocked out his own torso; the only open area was the head, and even that was uncertain, since he had pressed himself so close against the young girl that there was no way to distinguish where his head ended and hers began, especially in the dim light of the warehouse.

Gene could practically see the flash of anger in Ray's eyes, see the finger tighten and tense briefly on the trigger in agitation and anger, before Ray nodded, slowly lowering the gun to the ground in defeat as he kept his eyes locked on the scene before him. His gun clattered against the floor, and Gene watched as the DS lifted his arms in surrender. "How 'bout you let 'er go now, 'ey?" Ray asked. "Give us the girl, an' take the money..." Ray's voice quavered ever so slightly as he was rendered defenceless, but he made no other movement. Gene gulped hard as he walked slightly closer, quiet and undetected as he manoeuvred his way between boxes and shelves, trying to get a clear shot; he was too far away.

"I'm afraid it's not quite that easy, Officer," the kidnapper murmured. "You see, myself and Mister Tibbett had an arrangement; an agreement – almost a contract, if you will. And in that contract, I made it explicitly clear that no police officers were to be alerted to this little exchange..." He pressed his gun harder against the girl's head, his voice full of fake smiles, dripping with sardonic amusement and false sweetness. "So tell me, Mister Tibbett..." He said, turning back to the girl's father. "How much is your little girl's life worth?"

"Anything!" Tibbett sobbed helplessly, reaching out a quivering hand. "I'll give you anything, please, please give her back, I just- please! Please, give her back now! She's terrified! I'll do anything, I-"

"Don't exaggerate," the man snapped with distaste, tugging the girl closer still, his hand moving to her small neck as he turned the gun on her father with the other. "You will not give me anything, nor are you capable of it," he was sneering in amusement, cocking the gun as his long fingers trailed over Alice's face and neck. "So tell me," He went on. "And tell me reasonably- what's she really worth to you?"

At that moment, Gene rounded the shelves, finding himself in clear view of the scene, the kidnappers unprotected back the perfect, unsuspecting target. He took a deep breath, levelled his gun, steadying his trembling hand with a deep breath before lining himself up for the shot.

Pictures of Alex, comatose, bleeding and gasping for breath all flashed before his eyes; he forced them away, steadying his hand once more and breathing deeply, the air heavy and thick in his lungs... For a moment, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to think of nothing but this room and the people in it- when he opened them again, his finger tightened on the trigger, the weapon jerking slightly in his hand with the force of the shot; as he watched, the barrel opened and the bullet flew.

----

Yeah, yeah, I'm evil, I know, I know :p There'll be more soon, with any luck :-)

Let me know what you thought!

Mage of the Heart