I don't own Ashes to Ashes
This one's un-betaed for now, so all mistakes are my own!
Hope it's alright!
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Alex sat in her bed, staring at the closed window and feeling her heart hammer away in her chest, her breathing heavy and irregular as she did so. She glanced alternately from the door to the window, feeling her body clam with fear and anticipation at the realisation that there was no draught seeping in... At first, she told herself she was dreaming, that she'd become so used to Gene's voice and character that she could close her eyes and fool herself into believing he was talking to her... But that didn't explain the breeze, or the taste of his drink, or the minty-fresh scent of his toothpaste that, briefly, she had thought to be in her imagination. Her skin tingled from the warmth of the breeze, and she touched her cheek with a fearful reverence as the reality of it sunk in.
It felt just as it had back then, back in eighty-two, where she had convinced herself Molly was with her, occasionally seeing her, holding her... But this was meant to be reality; this was meant to be truth, and yet, somehow, Gene could still reach her, she could still feel him, smell him, taste him...
She was out of the bed a second later, throwing on a loose pair of trousers and a grey sweatshirt, before walking as quickly as was humanly possible down the stairs, ignoring the soft lull of music that drifted from Molly's room, waving off Evan's look of concern as he poked his head around the living room door, and snatching the telephone from its cradle.
For a moment, she blinked, staring at the contraption as though it were some sort of foreign instrument; her eyes fell instantly to the base of the telephone, expecting to catch sight of a wire cord linking the receiver and the cradle together, but there was nothing. She stared, completely bemused, before shaking her head and punching in the familiar number, holding the phone up to her ear as she waited impatiently.
A few seconds later, there was a loud, piercing beep in her ear, followed by the operators shrill, automated voice; "The number you have dialled has not been recognised."
Alex froze, her heart hammering, then pressed the red button, hung up and tried again.
"The number you have dialled has not been recognised." There was a slight pause, a second of silence, and then it repeated, identical to before; "The number you have dialled has not been recognized."
With a gulp, Alex hung up, dropping the phone on the table and covering her mouth to stop the loud, violent, wracking sob that threatened to rip forth from her chest. For a moment, she simply stared at the receiver, her mind ticking repeatedly as she tried to understand her mistake, to come to terms with why she couldn't remember the correct number, why she-
She froze, her mouth and tongue drying up as she reached a trembling hand towards the black book of telephone numbers that always lay on the table beside the phone itself. Without hesitation, she flicked to the 'W's, her heart pounding and stomach churning as she swiftly scanned down the page.
"Who are you ringing?" Evan asked from the entrance to the living room, frowning concernedly at her as she bit back repeated sobs, her hand still over her mouth as she stared at the page before her, chest and back heaving as her gasps became more strangled, more painful.
A moment later he was beside her, one protective arm slung around her shoulder as he hushed her softly. As he stood there, his eyes fell to her finger, which was pointing to the fifth number on the list, and was labelled with the simple title of 'Work.' He glanced at her, frowning, waiting for her to say something, but she didn't. Instead she simply stared as her mistake dawned on her all of a sudden.
"Work," she whispered eventually, her voice cracking and painfully strained. "Twenty six years ago."
---
Evan took her back to bed, bringing her a steaming cup of tea and watching her carefully as she brought her knees up to her chest, rocking childishly back and forward as she attempted to calm herself.
"Come on, Titch," he murmured, setting the cup on her bedside table and forcing a smile. "Get to sleep... You won't do yourself any good running about the house."
"You don't understand," Alex whispered, shaking her head as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "I need to call work, I need to know if-!"
"Alex, they've managed for over a month without you; I'm sure whatever it is that you think is urgent can wait – just get some sleep." He leaned over, pressing a kiss to her forehead and turning from the room.
Alex didn't protest, simply waiting until his footsteps could be heard on the wooden panelled floor of the hallway, before reaching for the phone and book that she had slipped up her sleeves and snuck upstairs unnoticed, flicking once again to 'W'. After a few seconds of staring, she punched in the six digits, and listened as the familiar dialling tone started up.
A few moments later, someone picked up, and her stomach twisted, not giving the person on the other end time to speak before she cut across.
"Hello, this is DI Alex Drake; could you put me through to Superintendent Malcowitz? Thank you."
There was a hurried confirmation, then another dialling tone, before the phone was snatched up and her former DCI spoke, sounding utterly bemused and bewildered. "Alex? You're meant to be off sick!" There was a slight hint of irritation in his voice, and Alex smiled.
"I am, Ant; I'm still in bed, I just need you to do something for me... Call it personal interest, I just-"
"Alex," Malcowitz replied sternly. "Don't you think you should be resting?"
"This will help me rest Ant, I just need to know something about a former police officer, that's all..." She hesitated then added, "Please?"
She heard him gulp, practically felt his indecision reaching down the phone line, before he sighed and murmured his assent. "Alright," he conceded, "who is it?"
"DCI Gene Hunt, formerly of GMP, transferred down to Fenchurch East in 1980 with DS Ray Carling, and DC Chris Skelton," she reeled it off quickly and easily, and she could hear his chuckle of amusement.
"Should've known you'd have his back story... what d'you want to know about him?"
"Everything," Alex said instantly. "Anything you can get your hands on."
Malcowitz sighed, and she could imagine him rolling his eyes and pushing his black hair out of his eyes. "Alright... I'll email it over this afternoon, and-"
"Would you mind sending it over with one of the others?" Alex asked swiftly, biting her lip nervously. "Only, I can't use a computer for prolonged periods because of my-"
"Because of your head, right," Malcowitz agreed, sighing. "Sorry, I forgot; I'll get Troit to run 'em over after lunch. Now get to sleep!"
----
"Here you are, Ma'am," the young DC, tall, brown haired and muscular, held out a large, thick brown envelope which bulged noticeably. "Everything we've got." Alex reached out with a nervous hand, though her smile was bright and split her face in two.
"Thank you, Liam," she breathed, eagerly ripping open the envelope and drawing out several brown manila files. She flicked briefly through, glancing at the label on each, surprised to find that Ant had provided her with the files of Ray and Chris as well. Heart hammering, she beamed at him, unable to stop herself as her face seemed to contort with uninhibited joy. "You have no idea what this means to me!"
Liam Troit just grinned, shrugging his broad shoulders as he answered her, "by your face Ma'am, I'd say I can take a good guess." He glanced at his watch, and then sighed. "I have to go; Guv wants me taking statements down the bank as soon as I'm done here, and you know what he's like when he gets a bee in his bonnet about something!" Alex laughed, nodding as she walked him to the door.
"That I do," she conceded, grinning. "Take care – and make sure he doesn't overwork you!"
Chuckling, Troit opened the door, leaning forwards to catch Alex in a gentle, friendly hug that both surprised and pleased her. "He couldn't if he tried," Liam laughed. "I'm worse than he is!" With a small smile, he added, "don't spend all day reading that, Ma'am- ain't good for your head, and Mr White'll have my guts if he thinks I gave it to you!"
She grinned, shaking her head at his reference to Evan as she answered him in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. "I won't... thank you!"
Liam nodded, stepping onto the steps and turning slowly back to her. "And, Ma'am... when you do read it, make sure you're sitting down, please? It ain't exactly roses in the park." He was down the steps before Alex could say anything else in response, and she simply watched him leave, her stomach clenching as she glanced down at the top file. As soon as Liam had clambered back into his Renault, she turned away.
Closing the door, she hurried back to her room, placing the files of Ray and Chris on the bedside table, before sliding under the blanket and flipping Gene's file open.
---
It was everything she'd learnt about him, plus twenty years before and twenty years ahead, and Alex's heart constricted with every word that graced the pages before her. The documents inside ranged from hand-scrawled character reports from former senior officers - including, both to her dismay and yet simultaneous relief, that of SuperMac – to details of promotions, pay, significant events, and medical records. It was far more cohesive than the Gene she knew would ever have bothered to make it, dating right back from his enrolment and following it through right up to his retirement, with cross-references and an index page.
As she read, her heart hammered like a drum inside the confines of her ribcage, her breath short and rasping as the true weight of the realisation pressed down upon her shoulders; whatever she might have thought, whatever she might have believed in the past, Gene Hunt had been real, and, if the file was to be trusted – and knowing Anthony Malcowitz's thoroughness, she had implicit belief that it was – he was still alive.
A small droplet of water spattered onto the file, and it took her a moment to realize that she was crying, rivers of tears running silently and profusely down the plains of her face, splashing onto the words in front of her and blotting the old ink of the file. Wiping her streaming eyes on the back of her sleeve, she attempted to stem the flow, her vision blurry and unfocused for several moments as her chest heaved upwards with the force of her breathing, the chill air slicing down her throat and into her lungs as she swallowed gasps in a desperate bid for calm.
It took several minutes, in which the world seemed to spin and the only source of clarity was the feel of the paper beneath her fingers, the black, capitalised lettering swimming before her eyes, and the soft, distant whispers that drifted to her ears on a wind that she couldn't feel, but which reached into her mind and heart and forced her heart to tighten and contract.
The first voice was foreign, dim, and distant, barely brushing her consciousness as the words slid in and out of her ears like water from a pipe."Don't go putting all your eggs in one basket, you understand?" It was vague and unknown, almost crackly, and but for the reply, she would have shaken her head and forgotten about it within a few moments... But then the reply came to her ears; it was strong, etched with regret, pain and, despite the soft tone, loud and striking to her ears.
"She's the only basket I've got, love..."
It echoed in her ears, resonating through the shell of her mind as her body shook with grief and anguish, Gene's pained, bitter voice washing over her and filling her with a sense of dread so profound that it beat against her skull. The urge to help him was overwhelming, and her heart hammered so hard in her chest that for a moment she was convinced it would crack open her ribs and burst from her chest in its desperate plea to help him. Wracking sobs shook her whole body, and pain shot through her skull and stomach, tearing at her innards like fresh shards of lead drilling through her flesh and bone.
The need to shout out was quelled in her chest as she drew the file against her, her racing heartbeat thundering furiously against the paper as she crushed it unthinkingly to her. Her teeth bit into her lip, her body curled into a tight ball, and the salty liquid continued to roll down her face as the pain in her skull, - which should, by rights have been the most prominent, wrenching agony of the two- subsided, leaving simply the stinging, searing pain of her stomach that threatened to slice her in two.
Alex's hands clenched on the file in her hands, and she dared not reach down to feel the ghostly scar that etched along her flesh, not even when she convinced herself that it was bleeding, that the metal bullet was ripping her open and forcing apart the skin that should never have been marred, tearing out stitches and leaving her wound open and gaping. She concentrated only on the paper in her hands, on the feel of its smoothly textured surface beneath her fingertips...She forced herself to forget the roar of London traffic, to ignore the pain and the fear that gripped her very being and made her tremble with horrific anticipation; when she thought she had managed it, when all she knew was the gentle grain of the paper and the slight ridge where the manufactured folds were laid, she closed her eyes, attempting to commit only the files touch to memory...
The instant her lids shut, Gene's face swam before her eyes, his voice breaking through whatever barriers of time, reality and life stood between them and booming in her ears in a manner that was both gut-wrenchingly horrible and heart-warmingly wonderful... Her sobs returned, yet they were gentler now, more sorrowful, and for a few moments she could feel a warm pressure against her fingers, contrasting with the chill that had descended upon her bones and refused to leave since she had left the hospital.
"Need yer to wake up now, Alex." His voice was soft, pleading, desperate, and she knew that if ever her heart were to break, it would be now, in this moment, where his familiar, strong, gruff, yet horrifically distant voice shattered with pain and split with anguish and made her whole being splinter into shards of piercing guilt.
"I know yer wanna punch me to kingdom come," he went on, "an' that's fine... just tell me I ain't a complete knob'ead before I cop it, 'ey?" A bubble of laughter rose up unbidden in her throat at his words, and then it transmuted into loss and grief so intense that she thought her skull might split from the pressure behind her throbbing temples. His voice reverberated through her mind, echoing in the dark, growing louder and louder until she could no longer hear the blood that pounded viciously through her head, nor the ragged, trembling rasp of her breathing as it ripped through her chest and lungs. She was briefly aware of her tears streaming ever more profusely down her cheeks, before she slipped into a fitful, grief-stricken slumber that left her even less rested than before.
---
When she awoke, the room was filled with a soft glow, the golden hue of the sunshine breaking through the crack in the curtains, bathing a small part of her face in light as she flickered back into consciousness, forcing apart her sticky eyes as she lay still. The warm tenderness of the rays caused her lips to twitch in a small smile, before her hands tightened around the file still clutched against her breast. It was slightly creased at the edges from where she had lain upon it, and she briefly berated her foolishness before sitting back up on the bed, her lip trembling as her fingers caressed down the edge of the file.
It took the sharp, stinging pain of a paper cut for her to realize that the searing agony that had previously ripped at her head and stomach had subsided, as had the torrent of echoes and whispers that had slipped through the ether.
A wave of loss and longing swept over her, and she realized that, despite her best intentions, she missed him; missed him more than she could ever have comprehended prior to this whole messy, malformed situation that she found herself plunged into. The truth, she realized, was that the moment his voice had slipped through, the moment she had deluded herself into hearing and feeling his presence, was the moment that she had felt the most alive since returning to the present day. With a shiver, she slipped beneath the duvet, tugging it up to her chest and moving to flip open the file once again with one hand, whilst sucking swiftly on her injured finger as the stinging tear in her flesh throbbed angrily.
As her eyes fell on the familiar photograph that had resided upon Gene's warrant card, there came the soft sound of smaller footsteps upon the stairs, slightly irregular, as though the person ascending were skipping steps occasionally, but walking normally for the rest of the time. A half smile tugged at her lips as she recognised Molly's light steps upon the landing, and it was only as the feet grew louder, as the floorboard outside her own room creaked tellingly beneath her daughters weight, that Alex thought to hide the files she had been given. With a hissed curse, she pushed Ray, Chris and Gene's files beneath her pillow, only just managing to hide them and throw her head down onto the pillow before Molly entered.
She waited a few moments as her daughters face peered around the door, before lifting herself slowly into a sitting position and smiling wearily. It was not an Oscar winning performance by any means, but Molly seemed content, and entered the room with a broad grin upon her face, kicking off her slippers and sliding without hesitation beneath the duvet, settling herself easily in Alex's arms and eliciting a small tinkle of laughter.
"Evan said you were sleeping," Molly murmured, head resting on her mother's chest as Alex's own arms wrapped protectively around her smaller body. "I thought you might be hungry, so he saved you some chicken..."
Alex smiled, nodding slowly as she tightened her arms a little more. "I'm starving... I don't know when my last meal was." She laughed, resting her head on Molly's and feeling the frown on the girls face as she spoke.
"It was yesterday, just before you left the hospital." Her voice was slightly agitated, and Alex could barely conceal the light ripple of laughter that shot through her chest as Molly went on. "I'd have woken you this morning, but Evan said you got up late in the night and should stay in bed..."
Alex could tell there was more to her daughter's statement than initially appeared; her voice had lilted slightly towards the end of the sentence, trailing off almost suggestively, as though imploring her mother to reveal every single iota of information that kept her from being in bed late at night. With a sigh, she rolled her eyes, stroking through Molly's brown hair with gentle fingers as she shrugged. "I just felt a little strange, that's all," she said softly. "Thought I might clear my head..."
"With whiskey?" Molly scolded.
Alex grinned despite herself; thirteen going on fifty indeed. "It was only a sip," she insisted, her facial muscles twitching with amusement as Molly instantly adopted her superior voice, taking on the knowledge of a paediatrician and the voice of a barrister as she turned angrily towards her mother.
"You shouldn't be drinking alcohol at all in your condition!" She narrowed her eyes as she went on, eyebrows furrowing together as she did so. "You've just been in a coma and had serious head trauma! You should be drinking water, eating normally, and avoiding alcohol at all-!"
Alex laughed, unable to stop herself, as Molly's young, childlike face twisted into a telling grimace, hinted with hues of red embarrassment as she attempted to adopt the superior role in their relationship and conversation. The glower on her face only served to add to the amusement, and Alex found herself drawing Molly tightly into the circle of her arms, laughing into her hair and unconsciously inhaling the familiar flowery, earthy scent of her daughter. The laughter subsided after several moments as she found herself wrapped in a cocoon of impenetrable warmth, the heart-lifting scent filling her nostrils and lungs until she was lost in the haze of motherhood, arms wrapped tightly and desperately around Molly's back.
A well of tears formed in Alex's eyes as she felt the familiar wave of protectiveness sweep over her, filling her from head to toe with nothing but love and pride. Molly stilled in her arms, returning the embrace with tenderness as she glanced up at Alex, seeing the trickle of tears that slid silently from her eyes and instantly softening the look on her face.
"Do you want me to bring you dinner?" Molly asked, edging closer against her mother, as though for reassurance that she was really there. Alex grasped her ever tighter, feeling the burning sensation at the back of her throat that always preceded violent sobbing as the tears fell thick and fast down her cheeks and guilt welled up in her chest.
"Oh Molly," she whispered through the sobs, choked up and strangled as she clung tightly to the familiar, warm body that she had cradled so many times during her life, chasing away Molly's childhood demons with a warm embrace and a laughing joke... Yet now she found herself reduced to infanthood once again as her daughter became her rock, her reassurance, just as Evan had the night before, and her head rested on Molly's as she cried uncontrollably, unable to think at all, not noticing the panicked tears that slid down the younger face as they clung tightly together.
---
It was half an hour later that Molly managed to extricate herself enough to go and fetch Alex's dinner, by which time Alex had thoroughly exhausted her tear ducts, and was simply rasping her grief in harsh breaths of air. She could feel her own repulsion building up in her stomach; she felt sick at the thought of grieving for a man when she was finally returned to her daughter, but even worse than that was the fact she had used her daughter to slake her grief, weeping on her as though she had lost something when, in actual fact, she was returned to the one person that mattered, the one that she had sworn to look after, to return to unconditionally... So why then did she feel so empty, so alienated?
Her thoughts were interrupted as Molly returned, holding a tray of food in her hands, which she set on Alex's lap before clambering back into the bed and beneath the duvet, her knees pulled tightly up to her chest as she watched her mother closely. Alex half laughed, only to choke as it transmuted into a half sob. Silently, Molly poured her a glass of water from the jug upon the bedside table, pushing it gently into Alex's hand and watching quietly and nervously as she drank it. Smiling gratefully, Alex slowly swallowed down half the glass before picking up her fork and moving to spike a small piece of chicken and pasta on the end, before putting it into her mouth almost nervously. She felt her stomach growl gratefully in response, and, surprised out of her grief by the fervent need for food, she proceeded to devour three quarters of the plateful, until her stomach felt as though it were physically bulging, and she placed the cutlery down with a small smile in Molly's direction.
"Tell Evan it was lovely," she said, swiping at her sticky eyes and watching as her daughter pursed her lips in assessment, before nodding and smiling weakly as she moved the tray away.
There was a moment of indecision after her small feet touched the floor, a moment where Molly seemed to tremble with confusion and uncertainty, before she half placed and half dropped the tray on the floor with a clatter, and clambered instantly back into the bed, wrapping her arms around her mother so tightly that for a moment Alex struggled to breathe. Tears splattered on Alex's top as Molly sobbed softly into her neck and spoke weakly in the darkness.
"I love you, Mum," she whispered, sniffling quietly as Alex's arms encircled her back.
Eyes stinging, Alex nodded, stroking the familiar soft brown hair as she spoke softly in her daughters' ear. "I know," she whispered. "I love you, too."
----
Gene awoke coated in sweat, his whole body trembling and shaking as Alex's question rang through his head; "Am I dead yet?"
The only consolation that broke through his mind was that surely, if she had died, then either the hospital or the station would have rung him, would have told him that she'd not managed to make it... But that didn't stop him snatching the telephone book from behind the sofa, flicking to the relevant page, swiping the phone from its cradle and punching in the numbers with clumsy fingers.
The lump in his throat was harsh and cold as he attempted to gulp away his worry, his blood pounding in his ears as the metal rock that blocked his airwaves seemed to scratch and scrape against his oesophagus. The dialling tone seemed to stretch on for an age, and by the time the ringing started he was clenching and unclenching his spare hand habitually against his thigh. There was a slight scuffle as the phone was lifted from its cradle, and Gene barely granted the nurse time to speak as he curtly interrupted, voice panicked and gruff as he asked for the appropriate ward, and was redirected quickly.
"I need to speak to Marion," he demanded as soon as he was through. "Tell her it's DCI Hunt... from Room 3... I need-!"
"I- I'll just go get her, Sir," the terrified nurse replied, and he could hear her scurrying away, hear her slightly high-pitched squeaking as she called for Marion, then the murmured responses and conversations, before the phone was collected up and the older woman's comforting voice reached down the line.
"Mr Hunt?" She sounded confused, and he contained a sigh of relief.
"Is she ok?" He asked, his breathing harsh, his heart hammering. There was hesitance, a confused pause, and for a moment he feared the worst. "Marion, tell me she's-!"
"She's fine, dear," she assured him softly, though her voice was evidently confused. He let go the breath he had been unthinkingly holding, just as she carried on. "Dear, is everything-?"
"Yes," he snapped abruptly. "Everything's absolutely great! Fandabbydozey! Brilliant! Fan-fucking-tastic!" His voice was angered and frustrated, and he took a few moments to calm himself before he added, in a slightly quieter, though no less gruff voice; "I'll be there in ten minutes."
He didn't wait to hear her protests, and two minutes later he'd pulled on his coat and boots and was walking out of the flat with a thundering heart and a bitter taste in his mouth.
----
A little shorter than my normal chapters, but I thought this was a decent cut-off before the next chapter :-)
Mage of the Heart