Ashes to Ashes 1. Dancing With Ghosts

A/N Months later and I still hate *that* ending - for many reasons but mostly because its tarnished the whole damn thing for me. My muse seems to think that writing an alternative episode eight will help and I'm willing to try anything that might stop me feeling bitter at just the sight of the series one boxset, never mind actually watching any of the episodes.

Door To The River

Chapter One ~ Dancing With Ghosts

She'd remained composed when he'd placed his hand in hers, his grip light but firm as he'd risen to his feet; had remained calm when she'd stepped into his arms, blurring the boundaries between their respective personal spaces; had faltered only a little when he'd questioned, his voice felt as much as heard, her choice in music. But it was the feel of his lips, unexpected but not unwelcome, against her forehead that was finally her undoing. A swarm of butterflies tried frantically to escape from her stomach in response to his kiss and she revelled in the sensation as it spread throughout her body. Her mind however, because she really could not stop analysing everything, drifted towards the fact that he was touching the very spot that had given her so much trouble when she'd first arrived in this world. She'd endured the most awful, drilling headaches at times, courtesy of that bullet burrowing its way into her head, and nothing - not drugs, or alcohol, or lying down in a dark and quiet room - had made much of a dent in them. Vaguely, as his mouth broke away from her head as gently as it had arrived there, she wondered if he would have had more success taming her headaches; being with him, like this, was just heavenly - she'd never felt so serene.

Slowly, and as the patch of skin he'd just kissed continued to tingle, she raised her head from his shoulder, leaving the rest of her body firmly against his. The small movements they'd started out with had dwindled to an almost complete stop; they were no longer dancing - though they'd hardly been waltzing around the room to begin with - they were just holding on to each other. Her eyes landed on his lips first, a desire to feel them against her own stirring violently in her belly at the mere sight and thought. It came as no surprise to her - she'd come to accept that she was more than a little bit in love with Gene some time ago - but the intensity of her reaction, and the certainty that it was entwined with, managed to catch her breath. A little hesitantly, her gaze wandered from his mouth to his eyes, to the beautiful blue framed by long lashes, and her stomach fluttered again with the confirmation that, at that moment, he wanted exactly the same thing as her. Up until tonight she hadn't been so sure of either of those things.

For some time now she'd been struck by a crippling hesitancy where Gene was concerned. Deep down she knew that she could trust him, especially with regards to his integrity; he was the man who'd been as determined as herself to bring down Super Mac and his corrupt little dealings regardless of the consequences; he was the man who'd let the chance to collar a notorious criminal pass him by in order to shield an old lady from the truth; and he was the man who'd destroyed a video tape to protect a little girl from the truth about her parents. She'd never had any doubts, as others had, about the day he'd shot her and if DCI Jim Keats hadn't insisted on hanging around, a wooden spoon behind his back to stir things up, she most likely would have arrived at this moment with Gene months ago.

From the start her instinct had been to dismiss the D&C man as the slimy twat that Gene kept insisting he was but it wasn't as if Keats was asking her, as Summers had, to be corrupt or to betray Gene and the team; he'd just suggested that she dig a little further into something that might possibly help her to get home - and she'd never stopped wanting to go home. But there was more to her ambivalence than just Keats' stirring. Maybe if Gene hadn't been so reluctant to tell her the full story surrounding Sam's death, or if she hadn't received those visits - of whose relevance she still couldn't fathom - from a dead Police Constable, she might not have looked any further into Keats' inferences, upsetting both Gene and her relationship with him in the process. And if she was being completely honest she could admit that a small part of her had been looking for a reason - any reason - not to give in to her feelings for Gene; in case it stopped her going home; in case she did go home; because it meant putting her complete trust in him and that was a gift she rarely bestowed upon anybody. But she was willing to risk her heart with Gene.

Her eyes strayed back to his mouth, to the lips that felt as if they were still pressed against her forehead. He'd finally told her the truth tonight; she'd pleaded and pushed for months with little success but today he'd finally relented and told her all about Sam's 'death' and the part he'd played in it. Whatever the reasoning behind his change of heart she was inordinately pleased that he'd trusted her with the truth; for one thing, it made her less cautious about returning the favour but, more than that, to glimpse behind those walls of his, to see inside his soul even for just a few minutes, had meant the world to her. Gene Hunt kept the world at a respectable distance but he'd chosen to let her in. But his confession hadn't been exactly what she'd expected; it wasn't so much that she'd thought he'd killed Sam - though a small part of her had feared that outcome - but more that she'd presumed that whatever fate Tyler had met would eventually befall herself, too. That theory now seemed highly unlikely; she had no reason, could not foresee any either, to fake her own death though she couldn't quite understand why Sam had felt the need to do just that. Right then, she wasn't sure that she even cared.

With a small movement of her head, she met Gene's eyes briefly - in desire and in silent agreement - before refocussing her gaze upon his mouth. Edging forward, she kept her gaze low, transfixed by the sight of his slightly parted lips and the gentle caress of his breath against her own. She let herself slide slowly into the moment; after years of dancing around him - and her desire for him - there was no need to rush now that she was finally ready to surrender. Her heart started to pound in anticipation, and appreciation, of what was to come; it thudded so loudly in her chest that when the door to her flat took a sharp pounding for a split second or two she was quite sure that it was only the sound of her own heart breaking free.

Realisation quickly set in when she felt Gene tense against her, his hand slackening in her own even as the rest of his body froze, and she closed her eyes in frustration. He'd told her once that this life was all about timing; having just failed miserably to prevent her parents' death she hadn't quite believed him at the time and she felt justified in that assessment once again. It might have been the anger that was starting to swirl in her veins - or it might have been there for much longer, perhaps from the moment Gene had wrenched her from her coma-induced return to the future - but she overwhelmed by the awful feeling that they weren't going to have many more chances to be together. With her blood starting to boil with irritation rather than desire she decided that this time she wasn't going to let the opportunity go without a fight and whomever was at the door could just bloody well bugger off. She opened her eyes, determined to ease away any doubts that Gene's posture seemed to hint he might now be having, but only froze herself in surprise at the sight of the man stood in front of her.

With her limbs refusing to co-operate, she focussed on taking calming breaths as the ghostly copper who'd been stalking her for the last few months stared quietly back at her, that same inscrutable expression etched upon what remained of his face. In the beginning she'd been a little apprehensive at the young constable's appearance; it wasn't so much the horrific injury that had been inflicted upon him but more that she'd been stalked by a dead man once before - in the guise of a clown that previous time - and his intentions towards her had been anything but benign. But she'd soon come to realise that she wasn't in any kind of danger when he'd appeared. As time had went on she'd started to suspect that the young PC only wanted to show her something - because speaking obviously wasn't part of his repertoire - and, as he'd persisted with his visits, she'd hoped that it was something of great importance. She was quite taken with the idea that, if she could just figure out what he wanted from her, he might even be her way out of this world.

She felt reasonably calm as she stared back at the dead man in her arms, his sudden presence in her flat, and at the expense of Gene, only briefly troubling her thoughts. His hand felt icy cold in her own and his thick overcoat - with the familiar number that had haunted her as much as he had done these last few months sitting proudly on each of his shoulders - was infused with a damp chill that she could almost smell. He remained deathly still against her, his cold touch slowly seeping into her own bones, yet she felt inexorably safe with him. For the first time since he'd started to appear in her life, she took the time to thoroughly map his sad and bloody features; she was so close that she could clearly see the hole in his head, could see the blood - and other matter - that had oozed from the gaping wound during the last minutes of his short life, and she could see his eyes, the left one peeping sadly at her through all of the mess. Two beautiful blue eyes. Her breath caught in her mouth at the familiar shade as her heart started, for entirely different reasons this time, to thump loudly in her chest again. A light suddenly flicked on in her mind just as an opposing darkness enveloped her, wiping out the world around her and pulling her down into its inky depths. As she fell further and further down, one thought tumbled through her head.

'Gene'.


	2. Half Truths Compromised

A/N Thanks for all the great reviews for the first chapter. A little later than I'd planned - thanks to all the snow - but here's chapter two.

Door To The River

Chapter Two ~ Half Truths Compromised

"Gene."

The name escaped her mouth along with the last of her breath as she woke with a sudden jerk that pressed her down into the bed rather than forcing her upright; with both of her hands resting at either side of her head on the pillow, and her palms facing upwards, her re-entry in to the land of the living was a disorientating one - almost as much as the dream that had caused it. The sensation of falling from a great height and landing on the mattress lingered for a short while, even though she knew that it hadn't been real - just as the dream that had preceded it had not been real. She kept her gaze fixed determinedly on the pale ceiling above her until the sensation faded but as she regained her equilibrium her dream came flooding back to her - the dancing, the desire, the dead policeman - and she felt dizzy once more. The rational part of her grasped on to the notion that it had simply been a dream and nothing more, but a little nagging voice inside her head argued that her dreams, in this world at least, were not without meaning. And there was only one - very daunting - conclusion to draw from her dance with the ghost: the young man who had been haunting her since she'd woken from her coma was Gene.

Somewhere in the blissfully ignorant state of mind that only sleep could provide, Gene was sure that a voice, a woman's voice, had called out to him and he slowly opened his eyes in response. If he had given it more thought he might have dismissed the notion as ridiculous: there might have been a few booze fuelled one night stands along the way but he hadn't spent the actual night with a woman since the ex-wife had done a runner. As he squinted into the light that was attempting to make its way through unfamiliar curtains, it slowly dawned on him that last night hadn't been just any other night. There'd been no stumbling home drunk from Luigi's to fall asleep on the sofa; nor had there been a pit-stop at the office for a night-cap that usually ended with him falling asleep at his desk rather than making it home. There'd been something much better; there'd been someone who'd made him want to stay the night. Without much thought, but with a complete lack of grace, he turned over, fighting with the covers all the way, to confirm that she was still there, that he hadn't just dreamt last night, and that it had been her who'd called out for him.

Movement from the other side of her bed brought her out of her reverie and, as the rest of her body remained firmly glued to the mattress beneath her, she slowly turned her head in time to meet the gaze of the man she'd danced, and kissed, into her bed the previous night. The man who wasn't who he had always seemed to be. She was vaguely aware of the fact that she needed to say something, or at least move a little, in response but all she could do was stare wordlessly, and in much the same manner that she'd scrutinised the ghostly Police Constable in her dream, at Gene. Searching his barely awake features - the dark blond hair that was in a deliciously rumpled state, the fine wrinkles that were visible at the sides of his eyes, the mouth that was starting to form into a lazy pout - she desperately wanted to believe that she was wrong: Gene couldn't be dead. Her dream had merely been a picture perfect replay of the previous night, right up until that knock at the door anyway - the appearance of her ghost had certainly been a more effective distraction than an unwanted visitor at her door. Gene couldn't possibly be the young man whose life had met such a violent - and early - end; he was lying in her bed next to her, decades older and very much alive. And dead men couldn't do the things he'd done to her last night; 'upstairs outside only' had been an extremely conservative estimate on his part.

Gene carefully returned her gaze as she stared dazedly, and silently, and maybe a little tentatively, at him. It wasn't exactly the response he'd anticipated - not after last night - and thoughts of leaving before she could tell him to go slunk all too easily into his head. Time and again he'd let such thoughts direct his actions towards her but he wasn't going to yield so easily this morning; twenty-four hours ago he'd have bet a small fortune against ever waking up in bed with Alex Drake and yet here he was, as naked as the day he'd been born and within touching distance of an equally bare Bolly. He could scarcely believe his luck; right from the moment he'd met her, bedding her had seemed like an impossibly long shot. He might have come close a couple of times over the years but nothing more than that, so when she'd asked him out to dinner he'd been more than a little surprised. He'd said 'all right' of course, and as casually as he could, but the only thing he'd felt any kind of certainty about regarding their 'date' was her determination to discuss Sam bloody Tyler; after months of stalling on the subject he'd decided, as he'd trussed himself up in that dinner jacket just for her, that he'd finally tell her the truth about Sam if she asked. Somewhere in his head, maybe even in his heart, it had felt as though it was his last chance to be honest with her and spilling his guts had turned out to be less painful than he'd feared; she hadn't chastised him - not much, anyway - but, better than that, she hadn't hated him for covering up for Tyler either. And, best of all, she'd made her intentions for the rest of the night very clear.

Of course, the rest of the night hadn't progressed as smoothly as he'd have liked - where Alex Drake was concerned, things rarely did. But somehow Ray's terrible sense of timing, an interview with a murder suspect, a trip to a bombed out embassy and a bracing fight with DC Skelton in the middle of CID - and a not so manly embrace with the younger man - hadn't made her change her mind, though he had only discovered that much by taking a chance and following her up to her flat. When she'd let him inside, he'd quietly acquiesced to her lead; he'd sat on the sofa next to her, shared a drink - or two - and some conversation with her. Though his desire for her had never felt stronger, he'd been content to leave whatever was going to happen - or not happen - between them in her hands. It had been a bit of a gamble, but so had the whole night, and when the pounding on the door to her flat had come - just as he'd got that bloody dancing lark she'd insisted upon out of the way and they'd finally been about to kiss - he'd really thought that it was a risk that wasn't going to pay off. But she'd simply ignored the interruption and kissed him. Had kept on kissing him until whoever had been at the door had taken the hint to bugger off. All of which made him think - perhaps naively, perhaps hopelessly and just perhaps correctly - that despite appearances to the contrary, she hadn't suddenly decided she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life. It was - she was - certainly worth another gamble. "Never known you be so quiet, Bols. Rendered speechless after a night with the Gene Genie, eh?"

After two and a half years in his company she was fairly certain that his bravado was there to cover his uncertainty - and she couldn't blame him for being a little unsure because she hadn't exactly given him a warm greeting thus far. On the other hand, after spending two and half years with him, she knew that there was also the possibility that his ego just might think that he had kissed her, and more, into some kind of delirium. She held on to that train of thought because, after all that time with him, she did know Gene - and he was so different from the quiet, uniformed man who'd appeared to her. Gene Hunt had a presence that grabbed hold of you by the shoulders, pressed you up against the nearest wall and demanded your attention - he never hovered in the background, unwilling to say even a word. They just couldn't be the same person. Holding blindly on to that, perhaps flawed, reasoning, she finally turned towards him, stretching across the bed to kiss him briefly on the lips - as much to reassure herself as him. "I just... had a strange dream," she explained, and not untruthfully, as she settled back down on to her pillow, leaving her free hand resting on his warm cheek and her gaze on his once more.

Stunned by, and a little unprepared for, her quick movements he managed to cover both things fairly well - along with the sense of relief that was washing over him. If she'd kicked him out of bed he wasn't sure what he'd have done but it certainly wouldn't have been pretty; he'd let her in last night, deeper than he'd ever let anyone else, and though finally spending the night with her would have been of some consolation it would never have been enough to ease the hurt that he knew her rejection would cause him. He did not bare his soul to her just for the sake of one night - like many things about Alex, his feelings for her went deeper than that. He reached towards her, ghosting his hand underneath the covers and onto her, letting it slide across her waist and smiling when she made no protest. "Surprised you weren't dreaming about me," he grinned at her but Alex only frowned in response and his hand quickly stilled its movements.

As he'd spoken, for the briefest of moments she had seen the gunshot wound that had marred her young Police Constable on Gene's face, its size and location matching perfectly and obliterating her attempts at denial. As Gene's eyes watched hers with concern, that blue she'd dreamt of drowning in a sea of many times over in danger of pulling her in, she felt it again, just as she had in her dream, that wave of certainty: it was him. Her heart began to ache at the thought of the fine, and no doubt tragic, details that would explain just how Gene and the ghostly policeman could be the same person even as she berated herself for taking so long to make the connection. The truth had been staring her in the face all this time but she'd been so consumed with Sam's disappearance, and all that it could entail, that she'd not seen the - perhaps only now - obvious, the most likely, explanation. It crossed her mind that had she not given in, physically and emotionally, to her feelings for Gene last night she'd still be pondering the significance of PC6620 this morning but she let that thought fade as she finally acknowledged his worried features and the fact that his hand had ceased its ministrations. "I was dreaming about you," she whispered, tracing her fingers over his unblemished forehead and cheek. "I dreamt that you were dead," she admitted reluctantly, to him and to herself.

"Sounds more like a nightmare," he replied quietly, letting his thumb brush gently across her skin in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Her words had struck a sharp chord with him - though, absurdly, her obvious distress at the thought of him dying pleased him immeasurably - because he'd had a similar, recurring, dream about her. They'd only started after she'd come round from her coma; bizarrely, he hadn't been plagued by such nightmares when she'd been lying at death's door and at his doing - he'd still dreamt about shagging her, or saving her from some life threatening situation and then shagging her even then. But everything had changed once she'd woken up. These days, in his dreams at least, he always failed to get to her in time; he was always forced to watch her die; he always seemed to lose her. The images were so crushing that he'd tried to distance himself from both her and his feelings for her, certain that he was going to lose her - maybe not to death but possibly to Jim bloody Keats.

Alex nodded vaguely in his direction as she slid her hand down to his heart, feeling it beat as soundly beneath her palm as it had on her first day in this world. There was nothing about him, there never had been save for her own initial view that this world existed only in her head, that suggested he was anything but a living being - just like herself. But he wasn't like her: he was dead. And as she gazed into his eyes, his hand gently caressing her once again, his heart pressing a steadying rhythm against her palm, she realised that he was completely oblivious; Gene believed this world to be the definitive one. She'd had the odd doubt over the years as to whether Gene knew more than he was letting on about this world but there was a memory, one that had played over and over in her head since she'd woken from her coma, that had never seemed more pertinent than it did right then; he had been too angry, had been far too disappointed, with her the day she'd tried to tell him that this world was something else for her to truly believe that he could have been deceiving her all this time. And his ignorance made some sort of sense; if her own experiences were anything to go by, then gradually forgetting the real world was par for the course in this one - and if Gene had once been that young police constable then he must have been in this world long enough for a few rounds of amnesia.

"It was a nightmare," she agreed finally, her hand trailing back towards his cheek and stroking the skin that lay there, but she wasn't just thinking about the dream itself. She feared that there would be reverberations that would echo further than Gene; they swirled dangerously at the back of her mind, threatening to attack as soon as she gave them enough thought, but all she could - all she wanted to - think about was Gene. They hadn't just spent the night together, they'd gone a long way in re-establishing a connection that had been broken for too long - and now it was under threat once more because she couldn't just ignore what she'd discovered. There was a reason for the ghostly visits and the recurrence of the badge number - but she had the awful feeling that it just might tear her and Gene apart.

"I could help you forget all about it," he offered, letting his hand extending its explorations. It wasn't an entirely selfless suggestion on his part; the chance to have her again, in the daylight this time, was as much a motive as soothing away her bad dream.

After last night she didn't doubt that, for a short time at least, he'd be able to make her forget everything else in the world, including her own name, and right then blissful ignorance was as appealing as the man himself. He leant over and kissed her, softly and gently, his warm lips and the sensations they were creating promising to deliver on his offer. She crumbled ridiculously easily at his touch; she'd been racing towards the finish line for months, ever since she'd arrived in this world, but this was the first time she could remember that she'd ever wanted to pull out of the race altogether. Her perspective of Gene might have changed but her feelings for him had not and if this was to be the calm before the storm then she'd savour it. Returning his kiss, she moved in closer towards him, her hand reaching around the back of his head to slide her fingers into his hair as her mind slipped into sweet nothingness.

Encouraged by her response, Gene slid his hand up from her waist, his fingers tracing her ribs until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast. Unfortunately, just as he reached his target the phone at the bedside trilled noisily into life, interrupting them once again. They parted lips - more his doing than hers - and her beautiful eyes came to rest on his in question but with the same level of frustration and annoyance and desire he was feeling visible in the shades of hazel. He was tempted to follow the lead she had set the previous night and ignore the interruption completely but his sense of duty kicked his desire in to touch. "It could be the station," he offered in explanation and with a small pout; no-one at CID, save for himself, would dare to knock at Alex's door but a phone call was not beyond their capabilities - especially if they couldn't get hold of him. With any luck, and he was on some kind of a roll in that respect, it'd be a wrong number and he could go back to devouring her.

For a moment he thought that she was going to defy him - and it wouldn't have been the first time - but she relented, nodding once in agreement even as a sad smile settled across her lips. She disentangled herself from their embrace and reached across - and away from him - for the phone. Sadly, his winning streak came to an abrupt end when she turned back to him, phone in hand, and greeted the caller with a cheery, if somewhat forced, 'good morning, Shaz'. The only thought that entered Gene's mind as he slumped down on to his pillow was, 'bugger'. It was, however, accompanied by a faint smile; after the turbulence of this past year, he had his Bols at his side again - how could it be anything other than a good day?


	3. Devil In The Detail

A/N Apologies to everyone who is/was following this story; between writing 'Under Control', xmas, and a bout of the flu it's been a little neglected of late but I'm hoping to nurture it back to good health.

Door To The River

Chapter Three ~ Devil In The Detail

A small frown started to settle on his mouth as he walked into Fenchurch East and nodded a greeting at the new desk Sergeant, the anticipated and painful twist in his guts at the sight of the other man unfortunately not failing to appear. There wasn't anything wrong with the man who had taken over Viv's shift at the front desk - he was a good bloke, dependable if a little quiet - but his presence was, and would always be, a stark reminder of the officer he'd replaced. The same officer that, despite his best efforts, he had failed to save. It didn't matter to Gene that Viv's own lapse of judgement had played a part in his death; the Skip was one of the team, one of them, and he should have been there when the Sergeant had needed him. Nothing could ever change the fact that he'd let Viv down or fully expunge the guilt that was wrapped so tightly around that unalterable fact; if he hadn't distanced himself from everyone else this last year, the shooting and subsequent investigation into it and his team opening up all manner of things that he'd rather have remained private, Viv might have been more willing to come to him. And if he hadn't been so caught up in his own situation he might have realised that there was something bothering the Sergeant.

Averting his gaze from the source of such darkening thoughts his eyes landed on another. Alex had remained at his side - which was exactly where he wanted her - ever since they'd left her flat but she'd seemed a little subdued for most of that time; the only time she'd really come to life had been when the odd man out at the crime scene they'd been called out to had unexpectedly done the same. It was worrying but, just as he had done in her bed not so long ago, he was trying not to read too much - and too negatively - into her behaviour. The location that Granger had given them had borne more of a resemblance to a butcher's shop than a crime scene - and to his disdain had gangland written all over it - and though he knew that Alex had coped with worse situations he was holding on to the hope that it was the sight of all that blood that had distracted her and not some seed of doubt over last night that had suddenly sprouted at the first sight of daylight. He'd caught her staring at him on more than one occasion and each time she'd offered him a small smile in response before averting her gaze but he wasn't sure what it meant; the bloody woman - like all women, though always more so with her - was a mystery to him. His eyes left her profile to briefly roam the length of her, the longer coat she'd taken to wearing hiding her curves but a smile flickered onto his lips at the memory of what lay beneath her clothing. There were some things about her that were no longer such a mystery to him. He quickly withdrew his smile when they rounded the corner and he found DCI Keats loitering, with what could only be intent, outside of CID.

He'd disliked Keats on first sight though that had come as no surprise: the man worked for D and C - they were all untrustworthy bastards who walked around with sharpened knives glistening behind their spineless backs. Keats had done nothing to dissuade him from that initial assessment when he'd invited himself into Gene's office and had proceeded to make grand threats about bringing down his empire. That particular axe had been hanging over his head for such a long time that the arrival of some pencil-pushing upstart shouldn't have had such an impact but there was just something about Keats - other than the gut feeling that warned him the other man hadn't been lying when he'd implied that he'd known the truth about Sam - that both worried him and made him go on the defensive whenever he saw the slimy twat. It was a constant annoyance to him that no-one else seemed to think the same way. He'd had to watch the man worm his way into the teams' respective - and in some cases, thick - heads these last few months; after the reception that the rest of CID had given him when he'd accidentally shot Alex it hadn't come as a surprise to see them waver in their belief in their Guv once again. It was bloody frustrating however, even though he could accept that his own behaviour wasn't helping. It was unsettling, too, knowing that the end was drawing closer - career wise anyway, because covering up for Tyler all those years ago might just prove to be the final nail in his coffin - but having to wait for that speccy four eyed bastard to make his move. And Keats would take that swing eventually.

As he stepped towards the other man, Gene readied himself for the inevitable confrontation but Keats only acknowledged his existence with a brief, and dismissive, glance before he turned his attentions towards the other occupant in the corridor, striding towards her and reminding Gene of the reason why his dislike for the man had grown into hatred.

"Have you got a moment, DI Drake?"

The question startled Alex a little, causing her to slow to a halt in the middle of the corridor; from the corner of one eye, she'd noted Keats' presence as she'd turned into the corridor but she hadn't given the man much more thought than that simple acknowledgement because, just as it had been for most of the morning, her mind was almost entirely preoccupied with the man currently at her side. The man who she'd just recently come to understand was dead. The short passage of time since that discovery had not lessened its impact. She'd spent a long time in this world believing that Gene was just a figment of her coma-fuelled imagination, but she'd spent even longer wishing that he was real and having that desire both confirmed and denied with one swift punch to the guts was a blow that she was still reeling from. She could imagine how much worse it would be for Gene if she told him the truth - and that was a proposition that was causing her just as much consternation.

As she'd relayed the details of Shaz's phone call to Gene, one of the thoughts she'd been so eager to ignore had pushed its way into her head: she had to tell him. The alternative, of keeping silent, of lying to him by omission, held little appeal for her, nor could she think what else she was supposed to do with the information; the truth wasn't always palatable but, if their situations were reversed, she would want to know. Her whole existence in this world had been a search for the truth; whether it had concerned her parents' deaths or Sam Tyler's disappearance, knowing had been better than not - no matter how much it had hurt at times. Watching him as he'd paraded over the crime scene, so full of life and energy, completely unaware that this world - and his existence - wasn't what it seemed, she'd tried to think of a way to make him believe otherwise. She had no real proof and she knew from previous experience that Gene wasn't one to welcome outlandish notions with open arms. But every time he'd caught her staring at him, and her attempts at covering up her feelings had only elicited concern - and something more, something that had made her heart fill with a piercing ache - from Gene in response, she'd faltered. Even if she could make him believe her, she'd be tearing down his whole world and possibly him with it. And she didn't want to knowingly cause him pain - that would hurt her more than any truth ever had.

Somehow she'd muddled through the morning with that dark quandary in mind, the crime scene mostly background noise as she'd silently lurched between honesty and silence - and to think that she'd believed, stupidly it now seemed, that coming to a decision about Gene, and her feelings for him, would bring an end to the uneasiness that had clouded her mind ever since she'd found Sam Tyler's case file. Further down the corridor, Keats stared at her with an almost pleasant sort of smile on his lips, waiting for her reply, and Alex forced out half a smile at him in response. She struggled to escape her troubled thoughts and come up with a plausible reason to deny him his request but she was ultimately saved the bother by Gene.

"No, she hasn't," Gene growled as Alex continued to hesitate, brushing past the other DCI with more force than was necessary and the assumption that Alex would follow his lead.

"In private," DCI Keats added on, as if Gene hadn't said a word, focussing on Alex as he spoke and manoeuvring himself to stand nearer to her now that DCI Hunt had left her side.

Talking to Jim Keats was the last thing that she wanted to do though she was a little surprised that he wanted to speak to her at all; the last time they'd spoken he'd barely been able to hide his disappointment when she'd told him that she believed Gene when he'd explained what had happened to Sam. What she really wanted - needed - to do right then was to sit down at her desk, or somewhere quiet and without distractions, and work out what she was going to tell Gene. Or if she could tell him at all. "It's not really a good time, Sir," Alex offered, agreeing with Gene but not following him, remaining where she was whilst she spoke to Keats so as not to be seen as being entirely disrespectful - Gene could get away with such behaviour but the man outranked her. Over Keats' shoulder she watched Gene come to a halt just outside of CID and then glare back in her direction with thinly-veiled annoyance.

Despite her protests, and seemingly oblivious to Gene's ever darkening presence down the corridor, Keats persisted: "It is rather urgent, Alex. I even tried calling at your flat last night because I thought you should know about this as soon as possible. Before you did something you might come to regret."

"I..." Alex began quickly, intent on refusing him further until a niggling feeling stopped her in her tracks. She wasn't sure why, because there'd been nothing in his tone of voice to suggest as much, but his last sentence had almost sounded like a threat. He knew that she'd been on a date with Gene last night - Keats had made her feel so uncomfortable that she'd blurted the whole thing out to him beforehand - so it wasn't difficult to surmise exactly what he seemed to be warning her against. And he was a little late in that respect. Searching his face for confirmation, one way or another, she found something dark, something dangerous, in his features that she'd never seen before. She'd always been hesitant to put her complete faith in Jim Keats, just as she'd been reluctant to place all of her trust in Gene, but now that she had heard, and had believed, Gene's version of Sam Tyler's 'death', she realised that she'd been right to remain unsure about him. She'd not had time to consider the flip side to Gene's confession - there'd been the bombing, the in-fighting, the dancing, the sex and that life changing dream to occupy her thoughts since then - but now it was staring her in the face: why had Keats been so Hell bent on convincing her that Gene's involvement in Sam's disappearance was far more sinister than it had turned out to be?

Having lingered close enough to hear what was passing between them, and to realise that Alex wasn't making any kind of move to leave, Gene stepped back towards the other occupants. He didn't like the way Keats had spoken to Alex and he wasn't particularly keen on the revelation that it had been the other man banging on the door to her flat the previous night. All the times he'd seen the two of them deep in conversation, all the times she'd seemed to take that bastard's side over his, flashed suggestively through his head as he paced towards them but he was damned if he was going to let this be another one of those scenes. He wasn't going to leave her to that git's beguiling ways again; that was how he'd almost lost her in the first place. "She was busy last night," he informed the other DCI, keeping his voice low but firm. The statement caught Jim's attention and for the first time since he'd stepped into the corridor the younger man turned his attentions away from Alex and, stepping back just a little, faced him.

Keats let his gaze settle on Gene's for a long moment, almost indifferent to the glowering looks that were being hurled his way as the unspoken meaning behind DCI Hunt's words became clearer to him. His lips set into a grim line as his eyes flickered briefly back to DI Drake, searching for further confirmation of Hunt's inference in the woman's face and finding it in her silence. "Oh, I see," he said quietly.

"Do you?" Gene growled, ignoring the almost dangerous tone to Keats' voice and moving in a little closer to square up to Keats, his hand forming into a fist in preparation; he'd wanted to smack the bastard right back to wherever the Hell he'd sprung up from since the day he'd met him and right then the consequences of punching the man who could very well be his downfall escaped him. "Good."

A warning bell sounded in Alex's head at the scene in front of her; it should have come courtesy of Gene's almost territorial response but it wasn't his behaviour that had triggered her concern – if anything she felt relieved that he was there with her. It was Keats' cool demeanour in light of the confirmation - because his earlier warning seemed to suggest that he at least suspected as much and there would be trouble because of it - that she and Gene had spent the night together that worried her. It might have been more advantageous to keep that particular piece of news from Keats for as long as possible though she supposed it would soon be common knowledge anyway; after Shaz's phone call, they had arrived at the crime scene together, with Gene still wearing the previous night's clothes - sans the waistcoat and bow tie, though he hadn't really worn the latter to begin with - and whilst it seemed that Chris had not jumped towards the obvious conclusion, Shaz and Ray, judging by the pointed looks she'd seen passing between them, certainly had. The gossip would likely make it around the station faster than Gene drove the Quattro round London. As Keats calmly pulled out an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket, turning his attentions back towards her with a pleasant sort of smile upon his face, a feeling of dread started to circle her stomach.

"I had that roll of film developed for you," Keats said amiably enough, holding out the white envelope towards her. "Its contents are very interesting. Where exactly did you get it, Alex?"

With everything that had happened in the last forty-eight hours, she'd completely forgot about the roll of film that Keats had insisted on taking possession of. She wished she'd put up more of fight over it; she wished that she'd put up more of a fight over many things where Jim Keats was concerned but that regret slipped from her as the answer to the question she had asked herself moments ago finally came to her. Everything Keats had said or done these last few months had been to try and break the connection between herself and Gene that he'd seen so clearly on his first day at Fenchurch East: he wanted them apart. It was the same reason he was giving her the photographs now, in front of Gene. She wouldn't be surprised if Keats had known the truth about Sam Tyler's disappearance all along, too; maybe he'd even held that over Gene - it would certainly explain why Gene hadn't seen Keats off by now. She should have been angry at Keats for the deception but her ire was immediately directed at herself - how could she have got him so very wrong? She'd convinced herself that Keats was nothing like Martin Summers; he hadn't taunted her from afar with cryptic messages, hadn't kidnapped and drugged her, hadn't asked her to do anything that was illegal. No, Jim Keats had been more subtle than that, had slunk into her life like the snake that had tempted Eve, but his intent had always been the same. And she'd fallen into the same trap all over again.

"I found it," she said quietly, reaching out and snatching the envelope from Keats' hand. At the time of taking the roll of film from Gene's drawer, when she'd had doubts swirling around and around her head, she'd felt justified in her actions but now it just seemed like theft and that newly acquired sense of guilt over the subject made her gaze flicker quickly towards Gene, certain that he'd somehow realise what she'd done. Gene met her eyes firmly in response but his face revealed nothing and she suspected that if he didn't already know then she might have just given herself away.

"Oh, that's right," Keats smiled innocently, as if he'd just momentarily forgot the answer to his question. The smile slowly slid from his face, leaving only a sharp line in its place which he aimed directly at Alex just long enough for her to think that he wasn't going to take it any further. But, of course, he did. "She found it in a desk drawer," he said, turning back to DCI Hunt and rearranging his mouth into an overly sincere smile. "The things people leave lying around," he added on with a small shake of his head and a purposeful look at Gene.

"Is that all, Jimbo?" Gene asked, his face a picture of complete disinterest. "Only, some of us have got real police work to do rather than poncing about down the chemists with holiday snaps."

If Keats was disappointed by the reaction he didn't show it. "Yes, I believe that's all. I've still got some reports to finish up, Superintendents to meet with," Keats replied with a large, almost gleeful, smile on his face this time. "No rest for the wicked," he grinned before, with one last look at Alex, walking off in the direction of his own office.

Keats' parting shot went whistling over Alex's head as her attention was still focussed upon Gene. Despite his easy dismissal of Keats she knew that the darker haired man had got to him. She could see it in the hard set of his face and in his eyes as he glared at Keats' retreating form whilst carefully avoiding her own. "Gene..." she started cautiously once the other DCI was out of view but Gene only shot her a quick - hard - glare before stalking off towards CID, his frosty reaction causing that ache in her heart to spread painfully out into her chest.


	4. Unbetrayed

A/N Meant to have this chapter up sooner - sorry! Real life got the better of me. Again.

Door To The River

Chapter Four ~ Unbetrayed

The envelope might have only contained photographs but it felt heavier than that in her hand; it felt as if it was pulling her down and as Gene stormed off along the corridor and away from her, she feared that - thanks to DCI Keats' malefic meddling - it just might succeed. It was something she wasn't going to let happen, not without a fight. With a hurried pace of her own she navigated the length of the corridor, managing to catch the door to CID with her free hand just as started to fall shut behind Gene. His desire to put some distance between them only supported her assertion that Gene was, at the very least, considering the possibility that she had obtained the roll of film from his desk drawer; Keats had virtually said as much out in the corridor and, thanks to glorious techni-coloured hindsight, she could admit that they were probably some of the truest words the odious man had ever spoken - it was just damned annoying that he had chosen to do so now. But she couldn't blame this solely on Keats; she was the one who had sneaked into Gene's office and taken the roll of film. And she'd done so knowing that there were certain things - such as respect and trust and lack thereof - that were more likely to set Gene off than others.

She let the door swing shut behind her as she stepped into the main body of CID, hot on the heels of - and intent on trying to explain herself to - Gene, but he didn't acknowledge her presence. The rest of CID did though, a number of heads immediately turning her, and Gene's, way and a low murmur starting to make its way around the office. With a small sigh, the greeting confirming her earlier suspicions that there would only be one topic of conversation in CID today, she took another step forward. When she caught up with Gene and they had the now seemingly inevitable row, they would probably be the subject of gossip for the next week, too. It certainly wouldn't improve Gene's mood. Coming to a stop at that thought, right in the middle of CID, she let her gaze roam warningly around the office. Ray and Chris, who were already seated at their desks, quickly averted their eyes as her own steamrollered over them - a response that the others, with the exception of Shaz, followed. The younger woman had obviously been busying herself at the whiteboard, which had already been set up in its occasional residence just in front of the Guv's office, but she had turned slightly away from it at the entrance of her superior officers and the ensuing noise.

Alex offered an encouraging smile when Shaz - shrewdly not addressing the Guv who was heading her way - sought out her attention. The response was enough for the young Detective Constable to announce, even as Gene came to a thundering halt next to her, that she'd started up a directory of all possible 'Vicky P's in the city. It was fair to say that, aside from one of their 'dead' victims springing briefly back to life and giving them the lead that Shaz was intent on following, and herself a small shock in the process, Alex hadn't paid much attention at the crime scene but it was heartening to see Shaz throwing herself into the case and blossoming in her new position. Staring quietly at the younger woman her smile started to falter as a ghost of an idea flittered through her thoughts.

Gene gave the white board a cursory once over as he approached it but his mind was firmly on other things, mostly the little interlude he'd just witnessed between Alex and DCI Keats. The sight of the man had been unpleasant enough but Keats' thinly veiled suggestion that Alex had stolen from him had soured his mood somewhat; the thought that it might just be true was threatening to ruin his day completely - and it didn't seem such a stretch, either. Inside his desk drawer, amongst a few files, an emergency bottle of whiskey, and the odd spare tie, there was actually an undeveloped roll of film; it was an item that he'd possessed for years, always keeping it close by but never willing to do more than that. For Keats to imply that the photographs were one and the same meant that he had to know that there'd been a roll of film in there to begin with - it was too random a guess to be otherwise; the bastard had probably been snooping around his office ever since he'd arrived. Or - and this was the thought that got to him most - Alex had told Keats as much; the guilty glance that she'd sent his way as she'd taken the envelope from Keats hadn't gone unnoticed - and she was one of the few people ballsy enough to go mooching around his office, locked drawer or not. Two and two seemed pretty much like four but he didn't like the answer one bit.

"At least someone's reliable," he grumbled to the young woman he'd almost waited too long to promote. As he turned around to face the rest of CID and found them lounging around as if they were at a Butlins holiday camp, he wondered once again why he'd hesitated so long over Granger's promotion; she was going to go far, that one. He wasn't particularly interested in the case himself but then he was the Guv - he didn't have to be. "Right you lot – concentrate on the third man. He did not fit that very bloody picture the Hardymans painted. I want to know who he is and what he was doing there."

"Yes, Guv," Chris said, the only one to give a vocal response as CID - minus Shaz who already had a head start - sprung obediently, and finally, into life.

DC Skelton received Gene's attention for a short moment – memories of hugging the younger man the previous night creeping self-consciously into his head and making him as uncomfortable as he'd felt when he'd actually embraced Chris - until his gaze caught sight of Alex, standing just inside of the office but looking as if she was miles away again. He'd spent all morning trying not read too much into her behaviour but now he couldn't stop himself - and his interpretation was heavily influenced by Keats, and the photographs, and that recurring dream he kept having of losing her. "DI Drake! My office," he ordered loudly, feeling ridiculously pleased when she jumped just a little at his command. His words had the added bonus of cracking the whip at the rest of the team, though the sight of them hurriedly busying themselves, desperate not to stray into the firing line, did little to lighten his mood. Moving to stand in front of the open door to his office, he held Alex's gaze whilst holding out a hand in invitation to her.

With a heavy heart, and the idea that the sight of Shaz had almost sparked into life chased away by Gene, Alex followed his order, making her way across the floor of CID. Her colleagues sneaked further glances at her as she passed by, but this time they were looking at her almost in sympathy. Just before Gene slammed the door to his office shut, she heard Ray muttering, most likely in Shaz's direction, "No way they were at it last night." She sought out Gene's gaze to ascertain if he'd heard the comment too - he was certainly closer than her - but he was studiously avoiding hers.

Inside the small room within a room the air felt as tense as the set of Gene's jaw. He carefully discarded his coat and located the bottle of whiskey that he kept stashed away but, she noted warily, he retrieved just the one glass from the cupboard and continued to avoid her eyes all the while. Watching him pace about the other side of the office, she wondered just how badly he'd react when she came clean about her light fingered act of betrayal. The phrase 'not very well' immediately came to mind but as he stalked his way around the desk she determined to do whatever it took to make this right between them. She wanted to fight for this man, not against him or with him. "Gene-" she began for the second time in the space of a few minutes as she took a hesitant step towards his desk, only to be cut off, rather than ignored, this time.

"Did you take the roll of film from my desk drawer and hand it over to Keats?" Gene asked coolly, not taking his seat but settling the glass and bottle down onto the desk. Somehow he was managing to keep the hurt he was experiencing from mutating into anger but he wasn't sure if that would continue when he heard her answer. It wasn't so much the suggestion that Alex hadn't trusted him enough to resist the temptation to go rummaging through his desk that was getting to him; he could admit that he hadn't exactly helped himself in that respect and, in effect, he had done the same thing to her - he hadn't trusted her enough to tell her the truth about Sam when she'd first asked. It wasn't even the fact that Keats had seen the contents of the roll of film either; he doubted that there would be some highly incriminating snapshot on there that would allow the slimy git to finally swing that axe - though, admittedly, he wouldn't be too pleased if there was. It was more the thought that she'd confided in Keats, had trusted that bastard instead, that was cutting its way into him with all the precision of a rusty blade.

His voice sounded eerily calm but she preferred it when he shouted at her. It meant she could argue back and whatever tension that existed between them would find some release. She hated the cold demeanour, hated when he tried to control his anger; he'd done it the day before Operation Rose and both the ensuing argument and the following day had ended badly. And he'd done it the night they'd found out that it was Chris who had betrayed the team; it was almost as disconcerting watching Gene's cool and calculated anger unleashed on someone else as it was being on the receiving end. "It's not as simple as that but, yes," she replied truthfully and just as calmly, even as the envelope tugged at her hand in disagreement.

He was sure that if he hadn't let her in, hadn't gone all out to impress her, hadn't laid some of his cards out on the table, hadn't spent the night with her, her answer would have still hurt but because he'd done all of those things her confirmation cut him so much deeper. And it meant that he lashed out in kind, that tenuous hold on his emotions slipping easily through his fingers. "Is that what last night was about, Alex?" he demanded, white hot anger warping the memory of the red hot night he'd spent with her. The doubts, the ones that had always mocked him for ever thinking he had a chance with her, came to the fore once more and with one harsh line of attack; after more than two years of keeping him at arms reach, had she only suggested the date for information, to gain his trust, to help Keats? "Were you keeping me sweet so you and that bastard could stick the knife further into my back?"

"No!" she denied, furiously and loudly, hurt by the very suggestion. Of all the things she'd anticipated him saying, that hadn't been one of them - though she suspected that his reaction had as much to do with his uncertainty about her and their tentative relationship as it did her theft of the photographs. Absurdly, instead of hitting back in return she found herself wishing that she'd spent the morning in bed 'reassuring' Gene further rather than answering the bloody telephone. They would have avoided Keats that way too. But his words still stung; she was prepared to do almost anything for this man, had refused to lose her faith in him even when he'd stubbornly refused to tell her the truth and his actions had screamed 'suspicious' - why couldn't he give her that much in return? Just as pertinently, why did she have to fall in love with such a stubborn and impetuous man? She stepped towards his desk, as close as she could get to both it and him, "Do you really think so little of me?"

"You jumped into bed with that Thatcherite wanker easily enough," he snapped and then regretted it almost as soon as the words left his mouth. He knew, deep inside, in a place that he barely dare admit existed, that there was nothing about their night together that suggested she was with him for any other reason than she simply wanted to be: the need in her eyes as they'd finally joined had only reflected his own; the way she had held on so tightly to him had only mirrored the strength of his feelings for her; and the longing in her voice when she'd asked him to stay inside her had only echoed his silent vow never to let her go again.

Alex parted her lips to refute his words but she got no further than that. His words had done more than sting her this time, he'd completely winded her and the struggle to find her voice was lost somewhere between her angry indignation and the search for breath. He might as well have slapped her. Again. A small voice, possibly a manifestation of what little remained of the spirited twenty-first century woman she used to be, urged her to turn around and walk away. One drunken one-night stand did not warrant the insinuation he'd just made. But as Gene's eyes bore impenetrably into hers she found herself hesitating; that he'd held on to her one lapse of judgement all this time might just mean something else entirely - and she really didn't want to leave things so unsettled between them. Usually, storming out of his office after - or during - an argument didn't bother her; they'd simply avoid each other for an indeterminate amount of time until one, or both of them, had calmed down sufficiently enough to make a tentative step towards the other and all would be - mostly - forgotten. But that had all changed; everything had chnaged now that she knew the truth about Gene. "That was different," she eked out eventually.

Her eyes had turned from the fiery hazel that he knew so well to the wounded brown that was rarely glimpsed but was always a sight that pained him - and though it wasn't always his fault, he was certainly to blame this time. He was a stupid bloody bastard who probably deserved her as little as he, in his darker days at least, thought he did. "It was different," he agreed with more than a tinge of regret and apology, some stubborn part of him unwilling to let the word 'sorry' pass his lips. He didn't need Alex's almost dejected gaze to tell him that it wasn't enough. "I don't know what to think," he admitted, finally taking his seat and averting his eyes from her sad gaze. The bottle on his desk eyed him invitingly but behind it, in her hand, was the envelope that had cast a shadow over everything and he bristled slightly at the sight. Leaning slowly back in his chair, he sought out her gaze again, "You went behind my back and stole from me, Alex."

"I know and I shouldn't have done that," she agreed, unwilling to apologise properly to him under the circumstances. "But there was just something about Sam Tyler's accident that didn't quite add up. You wouldn't talk to me about it and all the while Keats kept implying it was because you'd done something awful to Sam. I was just looking for something - anything - to prove that I wasn't insane, or stupid, or just blinded by my feelings, for wanting to believe in you."

He didn't doubt either the sincerity of her apology or her explanation - the whole thing had been a bloody, and yet so easily avoidable, mess from the very start - but he was taken slightly aback about her admission of feelings for him. It should have been obvious from their night together but after her hesitant reception towards him first thing this morning, and her subdued behaviour thereafter, he hadn't been so sure. The whole thing with the photographs hadn't really helped either but her confession was cultivating his hopes that there would be more than just one night with her once more - though not enough for him to try and discuss the subject further with her even though he wanted to. So, instead, and just to clear up the matter in hand, he asked, "And our good friend Jim's part in all of this?"

"Keats realised what I had, and where I'd got it from, and he took it from me," she sighed ruefully, searching his eyes as she spoke and mentally chastising herself for almost letting Keats take Gene from her, too. Hoping that the anger that had flared so quickly had dampened down she leaned cautiously forward. "I regret that part most of all because I realise now that all he wanted to do was keep me from you - and I almost let him," she admitted as she slipped the envelope onto his desk, placing it in front of the bottle that had thus far remained untouched. "It's what he's trying to do now: keep us apart."

It could have been because of those bloody feelings that he was so against discussing, but he believed her. If he hadn't been so angry at the thought of her colluding with Keats he would have realised that something else was going on: Keats wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire, so there was no way in Hell that he would have dropped Alex in it so blatantly out of some sense of decency. "Well we can't have that, can we?" he said with the faintest of smiles, uncertain as to whether she'd agree with him.

She knew that, where Gene was concerned, this was as good as saying that all was forgiven; there'd be no apology for the things he'd just said to her, though she'd not actually apologised to him either for taking the roll of film in the first place. But it was all she needed right then. "No, we can't," Alex agreed, accompanying her answer with a small shake of her head.

He smiled a little wider at her answer before dropping his gaze down to the white rectangle on his desk, as much to hide his obvious relief as to contemplate the very item that had come between them. The roll of film had sat in his desk drawer like some sort of 'Pandora's box' for years, its contents likely to rock his world and now it had been opened. "Still want to see these?" he asked, glancing up at her again as he spoke.

She couldn't deny that she was a little curious about the contents of the envelope; something in there had made Keats seek her out but, then again, it was probably wise to consider that as much a warning as anything else. "I don't need to see them. I trust you, Gene," she replied quietly, taking a small step away from both the photographs and him in further evidence of her answer.

He leant across the desk, one hand slipping on top on the envelope, his eyes alternating between her and the photographs. Though her reply pleased him in many ways, a small part of him had been hoping that she'd want to take a look at them; he'd resisted the temptation for so long but now his hand was being somewhat forced - he couldn't not look knowing that Keats had. "What if I wanted you to stay? To look at them with me?" He asked the question quietly, somehow managing to hold her gaze even though he felt incredibly uncomfortable right then. Asking for her trust was one thing but asking for her company, admitting that he needed her, even in some small way, was much harder.

"Then I'd stay," she said softly, perching herself on the edge of his desk. It was a simple enough request though it saddened her to think that it wouldn't always be one that was so easy to answer; when the time came for her to go home she'd have to take it. But she could be here with him now; she could go through the photos with him, if that was what he wanted, and then maybe she could find some way to tell him the truth.


	5. A Step Before Running

A/N Massive, massive apologies for the time it's taken to update this story.

Door To The River

Chapter Five ~ A Step Before Running

Relinquishing his hold on the envelope - and dropping his gaze from the beautiful woman currently sat on his desk - he unscrewed the bottle of whiskey and poured out an overly generous measure into the solitary glass that he'd picked up in muted anger on his way in, when he'd thought that Alex might have betrayed him. In a way she had done just that but it wasn't as bad as he'd first feared, nor was it worse than anything he had done during these last few unsettling months. And it didn't seem to matter now, anyway; she wanted to be with him - and in all possible senses. Setting the bottle down his eyes drifted upwards, finding hers on him even as she shrugged her coat off her shoulders and draped it over her lap. In his peripheral vision the white rectangle hovered ominously but he kept his focus solely on Alex as he offered her the glass, watching as a smile slowly blossomed its way across her mouth in response. Without a doubt, Alex Drake was drop dead gorgeous, never more so than when she smiled at him like that. It was the very same smile that had made him realise he wanted more than just getting in to her knickers; they'd been sat in Luigi's at the time, somewhere near to the end of a first date that had never quite led to a second, when she'd laughed - when he'd made her laugh - and then smiled at him so beautifully that he'd thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

Alex took a sip from the glass and he continued to keep his gaze on her, drinking in that glorious sight even as he picked up the bottle again and took a long swig from it. Why they'd waited so long was beyond him. The bottle stayed in one hand as he reached out for the envelope with the other, standing it up lengthways on the desk as he finally let his gaze drop away from Alex. The envelope stared back harmlessly at him, giving nothing away; pressing his thumb and forefinger against the envelope he guessed that there were perhaps a dozen or so photographs inside. Keats had claimed that the photographs were 'very interesting'; for once he didn't doubt the other man but he had a feeling that there would be a Hell of a lot more to it than that. He raised his eyes slowly to Alex, the glass in her hand now resting against the coat in her lap, her gaze still falling softly on him, and told her something that, just like his involvement in Tyler's disappearance, he'd kept strictly to himself for the last three years, "They're Sam's photos, not mine."

She couldn't keep the surprise from registering on her face but had she been able to her voice would have still given her away: "Sam's?" The high pitch seemed completely out of place but then so did the possibility that the roll of film had belonged to Sam: she'd found it in Gene's desk drawer so the logical conclusion to make - and she had - was that it belonged to Gene. It went some way to explain why Gene had been so angry with her, too. And it meant that those photographs were more important than she'd ever imagined they would be; she'd taken the film hoping to find out what had happened to Sam but maybe it would explain the 'why' of his departure instead. It was a mystery that she still didn't understand - not even Gene knew that much - and one that could still have an impact on her presence here.

"Found the roll of film in my desk drawer after Tyler had gone. Don't know when he managed to sneak it in there," Gene explained, the frown that always appeared at the thought of Sam creeping across his lips as his gaze dropped to the envelope again. There'd been a note attached to the film when he'd first come across it, with just one word, the painfully neat script so familiar, etched onto the scrap of paper: 'sorry'. That note had long since been misplaced but the feeling that there was more to it than just a simple apology had never left him; if that had been all it was, Sam would have just said as much to him before he'd left. The more Gene had thought about it, the more it seemed that the apology was for the roll of film. And the roll of film was in lieu of the explanation that Sam had said he couldn't give him. He didn't want to think badly of the other man but Sam had been acting so bloody strange, had been so secretive before he'd left that it was hard not to assume the worst: that the reason Sam had left was so awful, so grave, that he hadn't been able to tell him to his face.

Placing the bottle back onto his desk, a scraping noise piercing the quiet of the room as glass slid an inch or two across wood, he tapped one end of the envelope against the surface of the desk. Despite, or perhaps because of, his fears he'd never felt the need to have the film developed - though he'd made sure it had made the journey south. It had meant being stuck in a strange sort of limbo all this time, never knowing for sure if Sam had strayed to the dark side or not, but it had always seemed better than discovering that the man who had taught him so much, who had helped him right his own path in the world, had got himself into so much trouble that he'd had to leave. Except, it wasn't better; not lately, anyway. Since Alex had started asking questions that he'd wanted to answer but couldn't - not without implicating himself, not without implicating Tyler - he'd started to feel a growing anger towards Sam; for asking him for help when he knew that he wouldn't be able to refuse, for making him part of a secret that had come back to haunt him, for making him lie to Alex. It was an anger that had made him snap at the mere mention of Sam Tyler; had made him rip down the press cutting that had adorned the wall of his office for so long; and had made him burn a piece of jacket shaped evidence. An anger that was eating away at him and the only thing that had really helped had been confessing his part in Sam's accident to Alex.

Leaning on the desk he looked again to Alex, her faint smile littered with questions that she couldn't ask and he couldn't pick up, and he pouted weakly in response. He'd been baring his soul to her, little pieces of it at a time, from the very beginning and she'd never once used it against him; last night he'd told her that he'd helped Sam fake his death and all she'd done was waltz him into her bed. He could trust her, she trusted him and if he had to finally confront this then she was the only person he wanted there with him. She was the only person he wanted - end of.

"Suppose we better have a look, eh?" he half ordered, half asked, waiting for her slow nod of agreement before he proceeded any further. Flipping open the envelope, he carefully extracted the photographs. The first one - of Sam and Annie - leapt straight out at him, unearthing memories of another era as he discarded the empty envelope. Images of the streets of Manchester that he'd sheriffed for so long, of the boozy nights in 'The Railway Arms' and its enigmatic owner, of his beloved Cortina, and a host of long forgotten faces flooded through his thoughts. Across his desk, and breaking through his recollections, he noticed that Alex was leaning forward and angling her neck to get a better view. Without hesitation he slipped the photograph off the top of the pile and handed it over to her, watching her again as she studied the image.

"That must be Annie?" She asked the question quietly, her eyes scanning over the woman in the photograph closely; she knew Sam, of course – she'd seen his picture in the files that she'd requested back in the days when she'd simply thought DCI Tyler an interesting case study – but she'd never seen the dark haired woman at his side before. Sam had once described Annie to her in his narratives but all she could recall was the way he'd spoken about her: with respect, with longing and most of all with love. In 2008 she'd simply thought that Sam had fallen for a construct of his own psyche; it was why she'd thought Sam was as mad as a box of frogs and why, in the beginning, when she'd found herself drawn to Gene, she'd wondered if there was room in that box for herself. But that wasn't the case now. She wasn't sure what this world was, or to whom it even belonged, but she was sure that when she got home she would, if she could even bear to, talk about Gene in the same manner.

Gene nodded as he answered her question with a simple, 'yes' but he suspected that she missed both responses as her attention remained solely on the photograph in her hands. It was almost as if she was looking at the two of them for the first time and he wondered how long it had been since Alex had last seen Sam. The news that his then newly appointed DI had known his previous pain in the arse DI had come as a bit of surprise to him. Sam had never once mentioned knowing a posh, sexy and slightly nutty Detective Inspector in the Met; then again, Sam had only ever had eyes for Annie - and probably would have been the last person to describe Alex as nutty. They were as crazy as each other at times, which was probably why he'd never questioned their acquaintance any further. That and he really didn't want to know just how close they'd been. Alex had only ever spoken about Sam in the vaguest of terms but he'd never been sure if that meant they'd had something or not. But it was something he was keen to leave in the past. "You never met Annie, did you?" he asked after a beat, catching her attention that time, her eyes raising from the photo to meet his.

"No," Alex shook her head a little as she answered, suddenly wishing that she'd had that particular opportunity. She wished she could have had the chance to meet Sam too, in this world or the real one. Most of all, she wished that she'd never said she knew Sam Tyler; it had seemed like such a harmless thing to say when she'd first arrived here but now she was having to pretend with Gene all over again. She dropped her eyes to the photo, his gaze a little too intense for her to cope with; she supposed that in comparison to the other truth she was keeping from him, claiming to know Sam Tyler amounted to nothing more than a little white lie. And she felt as if she did know Sam, even if she'd never so much as been in the same room as him. At least, she knew the twenty-first century Sam Tyler - the man who had willingly given up the real world and surrendered to this one. But she knew little of the man who had settled into this world, had no idea why he would want to leave. "Did Annie leave with Sam? Did they stay together?"

"She left a month or so after the funeral. Told everyone she was going to her sister's in Hampshire for a while and never came back," Gene said quietly, answering the first question but hedging his bets on the second because he didn't know for certain that they were together. Annie had played the grieving widow to perfection, so much so that he'd never been entirely sure if she knew what was going on. Sam had been vocal in keeping Ray and Chris out of it - which had probably been for the best - but he'd never said if Annie had known of their plans or not. In the weeks after the 'accident', Gene hadn't dared say anything to Annie in case she really didn't know and he got himself into a whole load of trouble. It seemed unlikely that she hadn't known but then again it had seemed unlikely that Sam would have to fake his own death. "She must be with him. They were mad about each other those two. Had to keep separating them," he added on, as much to convince himself of the fact that they were still together as to answer Alex's question.

Alex nodded slowly at his reply. Sam had thrown himself off a building to get back to Annie so he wouldn't just leave her here, alone. And Annie must have felt the same way about Sam to have gone with him. She glanced down at the photograph again and they smiled out at her in silent agreement of her and Gene's assessment. "They were unbreakable," she said softly and Gene smiled at her in response, at her choice of phrase. She managed to return the gesture but as his eyes dropped away from hers so did her smile. Sam had got his happy ending but there wouldn't be one for her and Gene. She simply couldn't stay here.

Gene was still smiling as he glanced down at the next photo but it had nothing to do with the image of himself, Ray and Chris that greeted him; it was Alex's words, still floating through his head that were tugging at the corners of his mouth. However, the photo didn't exactly wipe the smile from his face either and he briefly wondered if he'd been wrong all this time, that Sam had simply left him the roll of film because it contained happier memories than the one his departure had created. Saying 'Goodbye' with a slide-show seemed like something the soft sod would do. Passing the photograph over to Alex, he let his smile grow wider as her eyes lit up and her mouth curved beautifully at the image in her hands. He watched her for a few seconds, feeling a little soft himself for hoping that it was the slightly younger looking version of himself that had provoked such a reaction.

The camel coat in the photograph wasn't new to her, she'd seen it before when Jackie Queen had sauntered into CD wearing it, but she'd never seen it on Gene before and the image was a striking one, easily capturing her attention. He looked younger in the photo - they all did, for that matter - but then that was no longer surprising to her. In her hands was proof that, whatever this world was, it was possible to live a life here. Gene had. He'd lived the life he should have had, the one that had been taken away from him. And somehow she'd decided that telling him his life was built on a lie was a good idea.

With no questions from Alex this time, he dropped his gaze back to the pile of snapshots only to find himself being dragged further into the past than the seventies. A picture of a house stood proudly in the centre, a distinctive weather vane perched on its roof and though it wasn't clear from the photograph itself exactly where the building was situated, Gene knew. Something cold and heavy curled around his guts at the sight. He'd been there before, a long time ago, almost another lifetime ago, when he'd been a young PC; he'd been just as determined to put the world to rights back then but he'd very nearly fallen at the first hurdle. There'd been a disturbance at the farmhouse and, with his partner and mentor lost to alcohol and merriment, he'd stormed in by himself, only to come face to face with a man with a shotgun. Just how he'd made it out of there alive wasn't clear; even at the time his recollection had stretched only to a messy blur of arms and metal and hands and adrenaline. Nothing had changed since that day, except perhaps his career in the force; it had been one Hell of an impression to make during his first week on the beat and had set him on his way up the ranks. Holding on to the photo he placed the rest onto the desk and sank back in to his chair. Of all the things he'd imagined finding on the photographs, this trip down memory lane hadn't been one of them.

Movement from the other side of the desk drew her gaze away from the photograph in her hands and her recently acquired, and damned persistent, turmoil. Turning her attention to the man sat opposite she found him scrutinising one of the photographs very closely. It had been difficult enough to see before but thanks to his new position her view of whatever it was that had caught his attention was completely restricted. She could, however, see something else. "Gene?" she said quietly but to no avail. A second try was more successful and as he drew his gaze towards her, she drew his attention towards the other side of the snapshot, "There's something on the back."

He turned the photograph around in his hands and the sentence imprinted on the back, which had to be courtesy of Keats, clutched firmly at his guts as he slowly read it out, "I think we've found our grave." His gaze returned to Alex, demanding answers from her, "What grave?"

"I think Keats wants me to believe that it's where Sam is buried," she answered hesitantly, hoping her confession wouldn't set Gene off again and still unable to see exactly where the grave in question was supposedly located. It had been Keats, as she had defended Gene for what had felt like the umpteenth time, who had suddenly stated that there was a grave. Sam's grave. She'd questioned him on it immediately, half out of curiosity, half out of disbelief, but he'd simply dismissed her. And with everything else that was going on she'd simply dismissed his comment but he'd effectively planted a seed in her mind, one he'd evidently been intent on feeding further with the photograph. Gene's eyes scrutinised her intensely and she hastened to clarify her previous sentence, "Which he obviously isn't."

Gene nodded at her explanation, satisfied with her answer, but as he flipped the photograph over and studied the farmhouse once again, that hold on his guts constricted further. Keats had wanted Alex to follow this photograph and go looking for a dead Sam Tyler; Sam Tyler had left this photograph for him to go looking for an explanation as to his disappearance. "But there's something buried up at Farringfield Green," he said quietly as he leaned forward onto the desk, placing the photograph onto its surface so that it faced her. His guts churned miserably in disagreement, in warning, at the thought of going back there but he'd already made his mind up. Whatever Sam had got himself mixed up in was up there and Keats seemed to know all about if; if that conniving bastard was trying to set him up - and attempting to use Alex to do so - he had know where he stood and what he was up against.

A cold feeling of dread settled in her belly as she finally laid eyes on the photograph. She'd seen that weather vane before: in her dreams, in her nightmares, out of the corner of her eye, but the first time she'd seen it had been on a news report that had bled into this world from the real one. A body, a police officer, had been discovered in the vicinity of the building and she had the sudden awful feeling that she knew exactly what - exactly who - was buried at Farringfield Green. It most definitely was not Sam Tyler but she did wonder if Sam had worked out who was buried at the farmhouse too - he'd left the photographs for Gene, after all, though that didn't really explain why Sam had left. Unsettled further by that thought, her gaze flickered slowly back to Gene. He was staring quietly at the photograph again, lost in his own thoughts once more, and she wasn't sure if they were the same as her own or not. He knew where the farmhouse was but was that all he remembered? Would a photograph alone be enough to unearth a truth that must have been buried so very deeply for him to believe that this was all real? It was treacherous ground but there was one thing she was sure of. "I'm not letting you go there alone," she stated quietly but firmly, with a tone that warned there could be no refusal on his part.

"Didn't for a moment think that you would," Gene replied, not in the least bit surprised that she knew what he was planning; there was no need to show how pleased he was at her response though.

She smiled at his begrudging tone, his warm gaze assuring her that he wouldn't have it any other way. And she knew then, as they lingered there, sharing a brief moment of understanding, that he didn't know. Sam hadn't been able to Gene the truth, had just upped and left, leaving a roll of film behind to explain things and now Gene was going to go to Farringfield Green and discover the truth in the worst possible way, though she was sure that there wasn't actually a good way to tell him. And all she could do now was be there for him, with him, and hope that he didn't hate her for knowing, for not saying anything.

When Gene broke the moment by slowly rising to his feet, she mirrored his actions, abandoning her glass and slipping her coat over her shoulders as he made his way to the coat stand in the corner. Without thinking, she tucked the photographs back into the envelope as he slipped into his own coat. It didn't seem right to leave them lying around and she offered the envelope to Gene as he took the few short steps towards her. "Ready?" she asked, once the envelope had been secreted away into his pocket. He nodded his agreement before swinging open the door to his office and stepping outside. And even though she didn't feel ready herself, she followed him out.

All heads in CID pricked up at his presence and Gene quickly singled out one man in particular as he came to a stop in the centre of the outer office. "Ray! Need you to take charge for a while."

"Guv?" Ray half questioned, half obeyed, rising to his feet as he spoke but remaining firmly behind his desk.

Alex slowly came to stand next to Gene and he couldn't help but think that under different circumstances he would have left her in charge of the investigation. But he wanted her with him and Ray needed to prove, to himself and to the team, that he was more than capable of running a case. At least, Gene hoped he was. "Not feeling up to it, Inspector?"

Ray practically puffed out his chest in defence, "Course I am, Guv." He shifted uneasily from one foot to the other, returning the Guv's gaze before he finally asked, "But what will you and Drake be doing?"

"That's none of your business, DI Carling," Gene snapped.

"We're just following up a lead," Alex stepped in as Gene visibly tensed next to her. "It's a different case, Ray, but it needs to be kept under the radar for now," she added on, a little too cryptically as the Sergeant's gaze drifted briefly to Shaz before coming back, after a very brief glance at Gene, to hers. The twinkle in Ray's eyes and the slightest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth suggested that he had got hold of completely the wrong end of the stick. Well, to be fair, he was somewhere near to the middle of the stick. "Not like that," she denied but Ray was already turning towards Chris, demanding money.

Alex sighed under her breath but before she could offer further protestations Gene repaid her earlier favour and stepped in, full on 'Guv' mode, bawling out both Ray and Chris. Around her CID seemed to spring to life at the sight and sound of the Guv throwing his weight around, a display of authority that she'd always quietly admired - albeit whilst usually loudly resisting it. She stepped back a little, content to watch him in action for a few moments because she feared that once he knew the truth, once they found the grave, this would all change. He would change. She took another step backwards and caught sight of DC Granger. The younger woman, who was seated at her desk and pretending to be engrossed by the file in front of her, lifted her head slightly to offer Alex a shrewd smile that suggested she too didn't quite believe the 'official police business' excuse either.

As Gene's rant started to die down, she simply smiled at Shaz; there was no point denying it to the younger woman and perhaps it was better that they all thought she and Gene were heading off to her flat - the truth wasn't pleasant and Gene deserved to know first. But it struck her then that she might not be the only person in the station who did know. She'd been so caught up with the connection between the farmhouse, Gene, and her ghostly visitor that she'd not considered why Keats had written that message on the back of the photograph. He must have known that there was a grave at the farmhouse to begin with; she'd always presumed, from the things he'd said and implied, that he was from the future, too - so he must have come from around about the same time as herself. And he must have also known that it wasn't Sam lying in that grave, yet he'd been willing to send her to Farringfield Green with that presumption. It was further proof, that she could have done with months ago, that Keats was not to be trusted.

It had quietened down in CID and she could sense that Gene's attention was now back on her but there was something that she needed to do before they left. "Listen, Shaz," she started, moving closer towards the DC's desk. With the exception of Gene, they'd all been taken in to some extent by DCI Keats. It was gratifying to know that she wasn't the only one who had fallen for his questionable charms but it was worrying, too. She couldn't leave without first trying to warn the others. "I know DCI Keats seems to want the best but whatever you do, don't trust him. With anything," she carefully advised the other woman. Shaz's gaze turned quizzical, though thankfully not sceptical, and Alex struggled for the right words to convince her. The problem was, she wasn't entirely sure what kind of threat Keats posed - she only had the distinct feeling that he was more dangerous than he appeared. She finally settled on, "I think he wants to take us all down."


	6. Resurrected And Feeling Blue

A/N Again, I can only apologise profusely for the time it has taken to update this story.

Door To The River

Chapter Six ~ Resurrected And Feeling Blue

The name, she thought as she stepped out of the car, was rather misleading: green certainly wasn't the colour she'd ascribe to this particular patch of Lancashire. Above her, the sky was low and grey and almost threatening. Ahead of her, the field, battered by the worsening weather, was as brown as it was green and its lustre, its desire to bloom, had long since been abandoned in an effort to simply survive. And to her side the farmhouse also had a weather beaten appearance which she assumed was the result of years of human neglect. In fact, it looked as if a soul had not stepped foot in this place, excepting Sam Tyler's visit of course, for decades; if the news report she'd witnessed in her hospital room was anything to go by, it would remain relatively untouched for the next twenty five years - in the real world, anyway. An inconspicuous epitaph to a young man who'd deserved more than a fleeting glimpse of life - but it was one that she could see so clearly now.

On the journey here, once they were out of the city and his vocal dissatisfaction with other road users had died down considerably, she'd tentatively asked Gene about the photograph and the farmhouse that was framed within it. She'd told herself that helping him unearth his memories would be the best way for him to come to terms with his death; if Gene remembered of his own accord he might be more receptive to the truth than she knew he would be if she just blurted it out - and, if she was being honest, she was starting to doubt that she actually had the heart to tell him herself. But her gentle probing hadn't exactly worked out as planned - he had only given her a triumphant account of the day he'd tackled an armed intruder and came out on top. Her heart had ached at the thought that it must have been the same story he'd told himself a hundred times before in order to carry on believing that this world was real, that he hadn't died. And it hurt almost as much to think that whilst she might now have a fairly good idea of the circumstances surrounding his death, Gene was still largely oblivious.

Hugging her coat closer to herself to ward off the damp feeling that hung thickly in the air, she shut the car door with a nudge from her hip. Normally such an act would have earned her a scathing glance at the very least from the car's owner but on the other side of the Quattro - whose paint job appeared more vibrant than ever thanks to the drab surroundings - Gene only stood in silent contemplation, his eyes fixed firmly ahead; when she followed his gaze it led her to the scarecrow that stood atop a slight incline and marked the spot where a young police constable had been buried. Her eyes slowly trailed back to Gene; with both of his hands holding onto the open driver's door in front of him it was almost as if he was trying to shield himself from the sight and for the first time since she'd made the connection between Gene and PC6620 she wondered if something had clicked into place for him too.

"Gene...?" she asked hesitantly, a part of her hoping that he had remembered something whilst another part of her was dreading the exact same thing.

Gene slowly turned his gaze towards Alex, her voice drawing him out of his trance. It was the farmhouse that had been the first feature in the vaguely familiar landscape to capture his attention; it had stood wearily in the distance as he'd slowly approached the farm, the short drive hampered as much by the feeling of dread settling in his stomach the muddy pot-holed path that was passing itself off as a road. But as he'd brought the car to a halt and surveyed the surrounding area, faint glimpses of his only other visit to Farringfield Green passing through his mind, his eyes had spied the scarecrow and that uneasy feeling in his belly had turned icy cold. He couldn't quite grasp why he felt so uncomfortable here; this was the scene of his first arrest, this was where his career in the force had really started, so he should have been filled with a sense of pride or accomplishment but instead every instinct inside of him was telling him to leave and never look back. But he did know that his unease had started to appear long before they'd even reached Lancashire.

On the way here, Alex had - not entirely unexpectedly - asked him about Farringfield Green. He didn't like talking - or even thinking - about his past at the best of times and at that point in the journey he'd been more concerned with what Sam might have done than his own experiences here. But despite both of those things, he'd found himself telling her all about the day he'd made his mark in the world. It was another little piece of his soul that had been revealed to her with alarmingly little reluctance and with just a little bit of boasting, too; taking down an armed man single-handedly should have been impressive by anybody's standards but when he'd finished recounting the tale Alex had only stared sadly at him, that same knowing look she was currently sporting present in her eyes. He'd tried to brush her reaction off - it wasn't as if she didn't act strangely from time to time - but it'd unsettled him far more than he'd liked and during the heavy silence that had blanketed the rest of the journey he'd tried to figure out just why that should be.

It hadn't taken him long to come to the conclusion that it was her quietness that had bothered - and still did bother - him. Right from the beginning she'd always been, amongst other things, a mouthy tart; if she disagreed with something he said or did she wasn't shy about letting him know. Sometimes, he could reluctantly admit, she might even have a point. And to be fair, she wasn't against praising him when she thought he was doing the right thing either. He used to idly muse over the idea that she was in love with the sound of her own voice until he'd realised that the only person who felt that way about those posh vowels of hers was himself. But she'd said nothing more in the car, not even about the way he'd glossed over some of the details that for the life of him he couldn't quite seem to remember. That had bothered him as well because she rarely just accepted what he told her. His part in Sam's disappearance was a case in point; he'd spent the last few months trying to avoid the topic of Sam Tyler but she'd refused to accept his heavily abridged version of events, the same instinct that made her such a good copper chipping away at him until he'd finally come clean. And Tyler was another thing that had bothered - and still did bother - him; after all that time questioning Sam's disappearance it seemed odd that now they were on the verge of discovering just why the younger man had wanted to leave all of this behind, Alex was strangely quiet on the subject. He'd expected conjecture on the subject at the very least but it was as if the other man was no longer important; to her or to their trip to Lancashire.

Every time he'd taken his eyes off the road to sneak a glance at her she'd either been lost in her own thoughts or offering him the same weak smile that had been on display this morning at their bloody crime scene; her subdued manner had made him fear the worst once more though this time his darkening thoughts had little to do with her possible regret over their night together. But he felt sure that it did have something to do with him. "This isn't about Sam, is it?" he asked Alex across the roof of the car.

"No," Alex whispered sadly, adding on, as much for his benefit as her own, "It was never about Sam." Silently, she acknowledged that it had never been about her parents either, or Operation Rose, or any other loose end that she'd chased so longingly after; if she'd realised as much at the start she could have saved herself some of the heartache - and maybe Gene some of the pain that had yet to come. On the other hand, had she focused on Gene from the start - and it seemed incredible now that she'd just brushed him off as nothing more than a construct - before she'd discovered the good, kind, decent man that lay underneath the brusque exterior he might have been spared nothing. "It was always about you, Gene," she offered, giving him the truth about this place and hoping that he could hear the other truth that lay within those few words.

The confirmation of what he had already come to suspect felt like a blow to the guts, though he still didn't know why he'd been struck. But Alex apparently did. He wanted to ask, to demand to know, why she wouldn't tell him what was going on but the hazy memories of storming into the farmhouse that were slowly emerging warned of an unwelcome answer to that line of questioning and he remained silent. Avoiding Alex's prescient gaze, his eyes strayed to the scarecrow again. In the weak light that was managing to squeeze its way through the heavy blanket of clouds above, the object that had initially caught his attention shined almost dangerously at him; his gut instinct warned him that if he gave in to the objects lure there'd be no going back but he had the strangest feeling that if he didn't face this now there'd be nothing for him to go back to. It didn't make much sense - not a lot of this did - but he was sure of one thing: he'd run away from the truth once before, when Alex had lain close to death in a hospital bed, and for all the bollocks that got bandied around about ignorance being bliss, in his experience that simply wasn't true. Not knowing if Alex was alive or dead had been Hell on earth. So despite his instinct to the contrary, despite the air of decay that hung threateningly over the farm, and despite Alex's worrying silence, he slammed the car door firmly shut.

With the decision made, he trudged slowly forward with just a trace of reluctance, his gaze solely on the scarecrow as he walked but aware that Alex was only a little way behind, matching his every step. He took her presence to mean that he was on the right track and as the mud beneath his feet clung desperately to his boots, making each step just that little bit heavier, he became more determined to get to the bottom of this. After all, he couldn't have her one step ahead of him - he was the Guv for pity's sake, it just simply wouldn't do. As he neared the top of the small incline the scarecrow stood upon, he realised that the object he'd been both drawn to and repelled by was in fact an epaulette. His blood ran cold at the sight, the low temperature spreading through his body despite his coat and gloves.

Stepping closer to the stuffed effigy he reached out a hand towards the small piece of metal, plucking it from the scarecrow with ease, and brushed a gloved thumb over its still smooth surface. The numbers passed silently across his lips, confused recognition stumbling its way through his head at the same time. "It's..." he started hesitantly, staring at the piece of metal in his hand, the memory of polishing the same set of numbers with as much enthusiasm as he'd polished his boots as clear as daylight, but he couldn't quite finish the sentence, its ending far too abhorrent.

Alex took half a step towards him then stopped in her tracks. Her immediate instinct had been to comfort him but she wasn't sure if he'd remembered what had happened to him here or not. She hugged her coat to herself again and tried to gently push him that little bit closer to the truth. "It's yours," she said softly.

Everything became horribly clear to him with those two words and his hand curled around what was once his badge number in a futile attempt to block it all out again. But it wouldn't go away; it was like a floodgate had been opened and it was taking all his strength just to keep afloat. He screwed his eyes shut tight, both in denial and remembrance, the latter winning out. Behind his eyes he could see the flare of smoke and fire as the gun exploded, obscuring the face of his killer; he could smell the gunpowder and hot metal, the last things to ever curl around his nostrils; and he could feel the hot sharp pain as the projectile struck his head. He'd been drawn here because there was a grave beneath his feet: his grave. The grave of the nineteen year old Gene Hunt who'd burst into that farmhouse with all the enthusiasm and bravado that youth could bestow only to be met by the muzzle of a gun whose owner had taken neither of those things into consideration but had seen fit to take his young life instead. He hadn't dusted himself down and walked out of here all those years ago. He hadn't gone anywhere. He was dead.

He peeled his eyes open slowly and carefully, stealing a glance at Alex who stood silently out of his reach, her arms wrapped around herself. Blinking away that sight, his gaze falling on the bleak ground beneath him once more, he wished that her arms were around him, were comforting him, instead. His whole life had been a lie; his career, his marriage, his friends – it all meant nothing. He was nothing - but worse than that, the woman who'd burst into his life, all fur coat, high heels and low cut dress, the woman who made him feel so alive every time they argued or flirted or - as he'd only just discovered the previous night - fell into bed together, knew that he was nothing; nothing but a skinny kid who'd ballsed up the first opportunity he'd been given to play the hero. And that was all he'd been doing since then: playing. It was all too much. He had to get away; from this awful truth, from the corpse beneath his feet, and from Alex.

"Gene," Alex called as he turned swiftly, never once raising his eyes to hers as he charged by her. For a moment she could only watch as he stormed down the hill, cursing herself for telling him, for having to be the one to tell him. Gradually she came to her senses; she couldn't - wouldn't - leave him alone, even if that was all he wanted at this moment.

She hurried after him, managing to close the distance between them considerably as Gene slowed to force his way into the farmhouse. When she finally caught up and followed him through the door she found herself in a kitchen that looked as neglected as its exterior and, thanks to the boarded up windows and the dying light outside, one whose nooks and crannies were shrouded in a deep gloom. There were muddy boot prints on the otherwise dusty floor and they led her to Gene who was on the far side of the room, his back to her, head bowed and gloved hands gripping the edge of the sink. She noted that what little light there was shone directly on him.

Alex had entered the building with more elegance than himself but he'd still heard her approach. He had considered getting into the Quattro and driving away but that would have left her stranded here alone - and she wasn't the one seeking solace in loneliness. It wasn't that he didn't want to see her, more that he didn't want her to see him. "How long have you known?" he asked, staring miserably into the sink, his eyes distractedly tracing the cracks that marred the white basin. It was better than turning to face her, better than seeing the disappointment, the revulsion, or worse the pity, in her eyes.

"About you?" she stalled, the rough edges of his broken voice cutting jaggedly through her. "I only realised this morning."

"This morning," he repeated slowly. It almost felt like a lifetime ago now. When he'd woken up next to her just hours ago his future had seemed endless, full of promise and as if he was quite possibly at the start of the greatest adventure of his life. Now he didn't even have a life.

With his back to her she had no further insight other than the wounded tone of his voice. She knew he'd be devastated by the truth - if she was in his place she certainly would be - it was why she'd struggled to tell him but she wasn't sure if he was angry with her for keeping silent. Or just for simply knowing; he'd been truthful with her about so many things over the last few years but she wasn't sure that this was something he would have wanted her to know if he'd had the choice. "I didn't know how to tell you," she whispered across the room, wanting to explain herself, wanting him to let her in again. She watched him closely as she spoke but he didn't move an inch. "And then there was the call out to the railway arches and you were so magnificent, so alive... I wasn't sure I could tell you," she continued, edging carefully towards him this time. "Then Keats produced the photographs and you wanted to come back here and I... I still didn't know how to tell you." She came to a stop just outside reaching distance of him, not knowing what else to say. 'I'm sorry' sounded far too much like pity and she didn't think he'd want to hear anything like that.

Gene sighed softly to himself as he considered her words. It all made more sense now; her 'dream' about him dying, the sad looks she'd been giving him, the unusual quietness that had consumed her for most of the day. He could even understand why she'd struggled to tell him. "Doesn't matter," he said quietly, absolving her of her guilt. She might not have been able to find the words to tell him herself but at least she'd been here with him; she hadn't just left a cryptic photograph, sealed with intrigue and mysterious goodbyes - though he couldn't really blame Sam for dodging this particular bullet. "None of it matters now."

"That's not true," she argued, her heart breaking at his defeated tone. He was giving up, and on everything by the sound of it, and she refused to let him do so without a fight. She might not know what this world was but she did know that Gene Hunt had a role within in it - and a very important one; without him she wouldn't have survived more than fifteen minutes here and, though she couldn't quite comprehend the bigger picture, she suspected that might be true for more people than just herself. "You're still Gene Hunt. You're still the Manc Lion, still the Guv," she said firmly.

He slowly turned around to face her, relieved to find none of the things he'd feared on her face but wary of the determined set of her jaw. He'd seen it many times before and knew exactly what she was trying to do. But he wasn't the Guv; he never had been. "Alex," he warned, but she cut him off.

"You're still the man I love," she admitted, placing herself right in front of him, leaving only a thin layer of air and dust between them. She angled her head to meet his eyes, her heart pounding loudly in her chest from telling him something that she'd only recently come to understand herself. She wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to make it all better but she kept her hands at her sides, curling her fingers into her palms as much to instil some warmth in them as to prevent herself from reaching for him. "And nothing will ever change the way I feel about you."

Something inside of him, way down deep, burst into life in response to her confession and then started doing, what felt like, uncontrollable cartwheels around his belly. It was - she was - a lifeline in this stormy sea of misery; being the Guv, or the Manc Lion, held little appeal but being the man that Alex Drake loved was something that he wanted to be and despite the fact that his world was falling down around him, a smile twitched at his lips. She was gorgeous and smart and for some reason still wanted him. And if he dipped his head just ever so slightly he could kiss away the anxious curve of her mouth.

"Oh, Alex," a voice sneered from the shadows, its tone as dark as the gloom it originated from. Keats tutted loudly as he stepped forward into the light, "I thought you were better than this."


	7. Gone Dark

A/N I'm sorry for the long wait for an update; I lost someone wonderful last month and writing this chapter slipped to the bottom of the (suddenly very long) list of things I needed to do.

Door To The River

Chapter Seven ~ Gone Dark

Instead of following through on his desire, and leaning in to kiss Alex, Gene pulled back slightly; just the sound of Keats' voice was enough to put him off his stride. It was a power the other DCI had wielded from the moment he'd stepped into Gene's office and had threatened to tear down his empire; he used to think it was because Keats had somehow worked out his - slightly illegal - part in Sam Tyler's 'death' and would, after a suitable amount of time spent toying with him, eventually expose his indiscretion and ensure that the axe that had teetered over his head for far too long would finally fall. But it seemed now that Keats had been more perceptive than that. The bastard must have known what had really happened at Farringfield Green right from the start and that using this particular piece of his past against him would be far more effective - and more devastating - than simply stripping him of his rank. This way had the capacity to strip him of absolutely everything.

To the rest of the team he was simply the 'Guv'; someone who commanded loyalty and respect, neither of which could really be demanded by some daft kid who'd managed to get himself killed before he'd even had the chance to scuff his boots. Thanks to the sympathetic ear that DCI Keats had extended to each of them - coupled with his own behaviour during these last few months - he wouldn't blame any of them for turning their backs on him once they found out the truth. And Keats would no doubt take great pleasure in telling them, if he hadn't already done so. They were probably half way out of the door by now, just like Sam Tyler - whose strange behaviour just before his departure made more sense now. Gene had considered the younger man to be the closest thing to a friend he'd ever had but it hurt to realise that even he hadn't wanted to stick around once he'd discovered the secret that lay buried at Farringfield Green. But Keats had ultimately failed because Gene still had Alex; she was prepared to look beyond the blood that was, most likely, beneath the layers of dust and time, still staining the floor of this very kitchen - and she was willing to see past the young man who'd spilt it.

Behind him, the dying light of what was turning out to be the darkest day of his - admittedly counterfeit - life squeezed its way through crooked gaps, that had been created by haphazardly nailed planks of wood on the window outside, and into the kitchen, navigating their way round his body to fall gently on Alex, highlighting every beautiful inch of her face. The uncertain smile that had nestled on her mouth as she'd made her confession was still present and he wished he'd taken the chance to kiss it away, just as he had done - almost a lifetime ago, now - in her bed at the start of the day. He didn't want her to think that her words had meant nothing to him because they'd meant the world; maybe even this world. Still wary of the intruder who'd denied him the intimacy he'd needed, he offered Alex a small smile which drew her lips into a straighter, more assured, line but as Keats - who had the most annoying habit of interrupting at the worst possible moments though, to be fair, any moment that had Keats in it was immediately ruined - spoke up again, directing his words at Alex once more, her smile dissolved into a frown.

"Is this what you really want, Alex?" Keats demanded harshly from the gloomy end of the kitchen where he was still loitering. Both of his hands were tucked deeply into the pockets of his long grey raincoat and anger was etched almost as deeply onto his face as his question went unanswered, and he continued to be ignored, by the other occupants of the room. "Don't you see what he's done? He's kept you here all this time, Alex. You and Chris and Ray and Shaz. Dragged you all into his little fantasy, bullied you into accepting that this world was real and all so he didn't have to face up to the truth about himself."

Gene wanted to deny the accusation but couldn't. Until just a few minutes ago he'd been certain that this world was real and that he was very much alive but that had all been turned on its head; for all he knew, he could be guilty of all the charges Keats had just levelled at him. But Alex would know anyway. She'd always known; his crazy fruitcake of a DI, with all her talk of the future and constructs and reality, wasn't as nutty as he'd always thought she was. Or maybe she was crazy for still wanting to be with him after some of the things he'd done to her. Most of the time he'd just ignored her strange comments or dismissed them with a scathing shake of the head but other times he'd teased her, mocked her even, and had come up with a succession of names for her. And although most of that went part and parcel with working in CID there were other, more regrettable, instances that should have made her want nothing to do with him at all; he realised now that she'd told him the truth that day in his office, just before Operation Rose had went down, and all he'd done was shout at her, reject her, suspend her and then shoot her.

"Alex..." he started slowly, not sure if he should apologise to her for the things he'd said and done, thank her for never giving up on him, or ask her what the hell was going on - and, for once, it was the latter that scared him the most; he'd say sorry a thousand times and spend the rest of his time here singing her praises if it meant avoiding the truth for just a little bit longer. The fact that she still had feelings for him - hopefully - meant that he hadn't somehow unwittingly conspired against her or the others but even if that was the case he couldn't see a happy ending on the horizon; either Alex, and the others, were still alive and could leave this world - and consequently him - or they were all like him and dead in the ground. His gut was telling him, maybe because of that connection he'd always felt with her, that Alex was dead. And that she just didn't know it.

"I know," Alex soothed as he struggled for more words, but it didn't have as much of an impact as she'd hoped. When she'd told Gene that she loved him he'd stood that little bit taller and she'd seen the most amazing spark in his eyes; they were usually so guarded but there'd been fight and hope - and perhaps reciprocation - stirring violently and desperately in those captivating eyes of his. It had been a beautiful sight that had unfortunately died away as soon as Keats had made his presence known and now, thanks to the weighty accusation that Keats had just slung their way, Gene's shoulders had sagged once more and that brief flicker of a smile had been vanquished. He looked as broken and beaten as when she'd first entered the kitchen and it was all Keats' fault. She longed to reach out to Gene, to reassure him further, but she was reluctant to do so in front of their no doubt, though she had no desire to look that way and confirm as much, grinning audience. She had the feeling that he was just waiting to pounce on any sign of weakness.

It was a two-pronged attack by DCI Keats; he wanted to get at Gene, to kick him whilst he was already down, and he wanted her to start questioning everything Gene had - and hadn't - done, to start doubting him once again. And she wasn't going to let either of those things happen. She couldn't speak for the others - though she realised now exactly what that elusive thought back at the station had pertained to - but she knew, admittedly deep in her heart which might just be a little biased, that Gene had not deliberately kept her here. Yes, he had believed that this world was real and had therefore demanded the same of her; sometimes that approach had hampered her attempts to pursue leads that she'd been sure would get her home but it hadn't been done knowingly - and those 'leads' had never materialised into much anyway. And even if she could find it in her to blame him for doing something unintentionally, he'd treat Sam Tyler in the exact same manner and Sam had still managed to find his way - albeit briefly - home. Gene Hunt had no more power over this world than she or Sam or any of them. "It wasn't like that at all. You just forgot," she added on, hoping the words would be enough.

"I'm sure Sam Tyler found some comfort in that ignorance when he realised his Guv was nothing but a skinny kid who hadn't lasted a week in uniform," Keats interjected, still choosing to skulk about in the shadows. "He couldn't wait to get away from you could he, Gene? Once he'd found out the truth. It must have killed him all over again to realise exactly what he'd thrown his life away for. Did you know Tyler committed suicide to get back here because he thought this was all real? You might as well have pushed him off the roof with your own two hands, Hunt."

A look of pain and utter despair swept over Gene's face before his eyes dropped from hers to stare quietly at his muddy boots. Alex hated Keats in that moment. Granted, she'd never been particularly keen on the other DCI but her anger towards him was swiftly reaching new heights; it flooded through her as she slowly stepped to one side, placing herself between Gene and the man who seemed hell bent on destroying him, and then pooled in her hands, forcing her fingers, which were already curled together in an effort to find warmth, further into her palm - it wasn't enough to break the skin but sufficient to leave a row of small arches on her hand. Keats stared back at her; thanks to the gloom she couldn't quite make out his face but she could feel his eyes on her, could almost feel the vicious smirk on his lips.

"It was Sam's choice to come back here," she said, loudly enough for Gene to hear, too though she wondered if he would even understand. From a conversation she'd had with Ray right back at the beginning of her journey in this world she knew that as far as Gene and the others were concerned, Sam hadn't left this world until his 'accident' just a few years ago. This would all be so confusing for him. If Keats hadn't turned up she could have taken the time to try and explain everything to Gene, now that he knew this world wasn't what it seemed, and it might have went a lot more smoothly than the last time she'd tried to tell him the truth. However, DI Tyler would have still been a tricky chapter of the story. She wasn't sure how much Sam had understood before he'd jumped from the roof of his station; in all of the tapes he'd sent her, he'd never once mentioned that he thought Gene or any of the people he'd met, and had described so vividly, had once existed nor was there anything to suggest that he believed this world was anything other than a coma induced fantasy. And she was completely in the dark as to why he'd wanted to leave when he'd discovered that he'd been wrong on all counts - and as to exactly where he had then disappeared to.

"And what about you, Alex?" Keats asked, finally stepping out of the dark and towards her. "What choice will you make? It's too late for the others but I can still help you get home. That's what you really want, isn't it? To go back to your daughter, back to Molly. I can help you. You just need to trust me."

To her shame, a small part of her wanted to believe him. Oh, she knew that he wasn't to be trusted, that every sixth word that came out of the man's mouth was either a twisted lie or an attempt at misdirection, but he was right about one thing - she wanted to be with her daughter. She shook her head, slowly and steadily, in defiance and in an attempt to oust the little piece of desperate hope that was in danger of leading her down the wrong path. "There's only one man I trust and it's not you."

"Such a shame," Keats tutted, shaking his own head - rather exaggeratedly - as he took another step towards her. "I had great plans for you, Alex," he confided as the room darkened noticeably, the sun outside on the last leg of its descent.

Gene suddenly stirred into life at the implied threat, the faint shadows dancing on the floor in front of her betraying his movements as much as the noise he was making - which sounded suspiciously like the cutlery that had lain abandoned, Mary Celeste style, next to the sink behind him being disturbed. As he stepped into line beside her she unclenched one hand and held it out, catching his forearm and silently persuading him not to proceed any further. She was relieved to see his fighting spirit resurfacing but she feared that Keats would have Gene hauled up on charges if he went over there and attacked the other man. If that kind of thing actually mattered now; there was certainly more to Keats than Discipline and Complaints and than he'd ever let on - she just wasn't sure what that was. "No, you didn't. You never had any intention of helping me. You were just using me to get at Gene and I'm done with listening to all of your lies."

The top lip of Keats' mouth curled briefly into an ugly sneer. "You think you've got it all worked out, don't you?" he asked but didn't pause for breath to give her an opportunity to answer the question. "But you've got no idea what this place is, what's really going on here, or even why you're here, have you? You still can't see it. Oh, this is too much," he smirked, an action that was more threatening than his sneer. "You're dead, Alex."

"No," she refuted quickly, accompanying it with a small shake of her head, but the defence of her own mortality was markedly less vehement than her defence of Gene had been. She'd always been able to deny the possibility that she might be dead; there'd been signs from the real world, clues to follow and a reason to keep fighting - but most importantly there'd been no one else to make her doubt herself. All of this was in her head and she was the master of her own destiny. But she knew now that this wasn't in her head and that she had very little control over her destiny - either in this world or the real one.

"You're as deluded as he is, Alex," Keats crowed as he took one more step towards her, putting himself just outside of reaching distance. "Maybe I should just leave you here believing that you can still go home. It'd almost be a Hell in itself. And poor Molly would still be all alone. No one to love her. Abandoned by her mother and-"

Cut off mid sentence, Keats clearly hadn't anticipated her taking a step forward and punching him; and if he'd seen her left hook coming, he couldn't have expected the force behind it either as the blow sent him staggering backwards. In truth, she'd surprised herself just as much as him. Physical violence wasn't her style at all - she must have been hanging around with Gene for far too long - but, even as her knuckles began to pulse with a sharp pain that saw fit to travel furiously up the back of her hand and through her forearm, she could suddenly see the attraction; it certainly felt good, satisfying even. And it felt so very real, a tangible piece of evidence for her to cling hopelessly on to because in her heart she knew that one of the more troubling features of this world was its authenticity.

She flexed her hand in an attempt to disperse some of the pain - and her doubts - as Keats caressed his jaw with his own hand, now standing straight once more. His eyes seemed to almost glow with anger as he stared at her though she was sure that it was simply a trick of the light, merely Keats' - thanks to her fist - askew spectacles flirting with the weak sunshine. Next to her, Gene shifted on his feet once more, a lion readying himself in anticipation of the retaliation that was sure to come, but she couldn't move. Her feet remained glued to the floor, frozen there by the insidious thought that Keats was right. Since she'd woken from her coma-within-a-coma there'd been no visions of her darling daughter to comfort her; there'd been no communication from the real world, no words of encouragement or reassuring echoes of hospital machinery; in fact, the last time she'd had any sort of 'otherworldly' experience had been the day she'd half dreamt, half imagined that she was being buried alive.

A small shiver hurried down her spine; far colder than the dank and dusty room around her, or the bitter winter's day outside, it spread throughout her body, settling in her bones. If she'd been able to move she would have taken a step backwards, away from the horrific thought that was swirling around her head and the man who had instigated it but she remained helplessly inert. In front of her, Keats' hand slipped from his jaw to his glasses, readjusting them on his face and disturbing memories of another day - the day she'd reluctantly spent some time on a dingy barge with a cold, calculating madman. Images of that morning flooded through her mind; Arthur Layton replacing his sunglasses before smirking at her as if he knew something she didn't; her - almost desperate - plea for an explanation as Layton aimed his gun in her direction; the unexpected explosion, because she'd really thought - and had desperately hoped - that she could talk her way out of it, as he'd pulled the trigger; and finally that bullet, spinning fatefully - and she now realised, fatally - towards her head.

The ache in her hand faded along with the memories, numbed by the cold and the chilling acceptance of the one fact she had always tried to deny. The one truth that had been in front of her from the start, in black letters on a white board and written by her own hand: DEAD. There'd never been a way home for her; she'd been lucky to make it as far as the hospital but that was probably only through sheer bloody mindedness - something that, after nearly three years of heavy usage, she was all out of. The realisation hit her almost as hard as the cast iron pan in Gene's hand struck the side of Keats' head, sending her tormentor to the floor in a crumpled heap; she'd been so distracted that she'd not noticed that either man had moved until then.

Satisfied that the other man was out for the count, Gene threw the blackened frying pan to the floor, making sure it bounced off Keats' prone body on the way down; the pan had been the nearest and solidest thing to hand when he'd stirred from his own morose thoughts and realised that Alex was under attack, that Keats was going to reveal the truth to her. He should have knocked the bastard out there and then but Alex had wanted to stand her own ground and he'd relented, a part of him relieved that he wouldn't have to be the one to tell her. He really wasn't that great at that sort of thing but as he turned his attention back to Alex he realised, even before she whispered his name so hauntingly, that she still wanted - still needed - him regardless.

"Come here," he ordered gently, but he was the one who moved and quickly at that, managing to catch her before she collapsed. She literally fell into his arms, and him, his sense of timing thankfully still intact. He held her close, tighter than he had the previous night, his heart breaking more for her than it had for his own demise. In the grand scheme of things, he'd lost very little - discounting his life, of course - but, and as Keats had so unkindly pointed out, Alex had a child, a daughter that Gene had once accused her of neglecting, and he couldn't even begin to imagine how painful that loss must feel. Nor did he know what to say, if any words could actually offer her comfort in this moment, as she cried for her daughter; he just held her quietly instead.

And outside, the sun finally fell for the moon, leaving them surrounded only by the night and each other.


	8. Back To Life

A/N Sorry. I really did try to have this up sooner but the road to hell is paved with them... And I've borrowed some lines from the finale; it might be a little late in the day to start bothering with disclaimers but those particular words are most definitely not mine. Sadly, Gene and Alex aren't mine either.

Chapter Eight ~ Back To Life

Stepping out of the car and onto the pavement, Alex paused to consider the building in front of her: its dull grey walls towered above her as it nestled against a starry background, some of the thin panes of glass that peppered its facade glowing warmly from within. When she'd first set eyes on Fenchurch East - which had actually turned out to be her second visit to the station - she'd wanted nothing more than to get as far away from the building as she possibly could. To her distress, and in a manner that would set the direction their relationship would take during those first few months, Gene hadn't been particularly accommodating to her needs, taking matters - and quite literally herself - into his own hands and then into the station; yet even then, on her very first day in this world, and when she'd been so sure that she'd simply assimilated someone else's fantasy, she'd been taken aback by just how safe she'd actually felt in his presence. It'd taken months for her to work out exactly why she'd felt so afraid that sunny July day and by then she'd long grown accustomed to the station - and its numerous inhabitants. But it'd taken even longer, more than two years since the day that had scarred both her childhood and her first year here, to realise that Fenchurch East was so much more than just a place of work to her: it was home. And she wasn't as perturbed by that thought as she perhaps ought to be.

That wasn't to say that she'd rather be here than with her daughter. If she'd had a choice in the matter she would have returned home to Molly in a heartbeat and long before now. She missed her daughter terribly but, more than that, she knew the pain of losing a parent; it was a trauma she'd experienced first hand and twice over and the thought of Molly going through the same thing, and not being able to be there for her daughter at such a time, made her heart ache. But she knew now that her heart must have stopped beating some time ago, taking the option to leave right along with it. Back in Lancashire, when she'd finally accepted her fate, she'd thought the pain would never cease. And it hadn't - but it had eased.

It had been wonderfully poignant and, in some cases, illuminating to meet familiar faces from her real future in this fake past but those encounters had also, though she'd not realised as much at the time, offered her some reassurance; though she could no longer be with her daughter, Molly would not be alone. There was Evan, the Godfather who she knew from personal experience would make a more than capable surrogate parent; Bryan and Marjorie, the Grandparents who thought the world of their only grandchild, would still be there; and if her experiences in her coma-within-a-coma world were more than just wishful thinking - and she'd long since given up thinking the best of her ex-husband - Molly would have her father, too. It was comforting to know that, in her absence, there were people who would love and care for her daughter - just as it was to understand that Molly's predicament wasn't her fault. Had she not had the chance to unravel the truth behind the death of her parents, admittedly something that was more of an attempt to find a way home than anything else, she might just have spent an eternity believing that her choice of career had condemned her daughter to a life without a mother. But she knew now that there was nothing she could have done to stop Arthur Layton finding and then shooting her; she'd been ripped from Molly's life by a grudge that had festered for decades before finally exploding in her face.

Gene had once told her that this life was all about timing and, though he might be tempted to go back on those words now, he'd been right. If she'd discovered the truth at the start of her journey in this world she wasn't sure that she'd have accepted it so well - if at all. But she'd had years here, time enough to slowly - and subconsciously - come to terms with the idea that she might never leave this place. And perhaps that was the very reason she'd found herself in this world.

His gaze settled on Alex as soon as he exited the Quattro; only the back of her head was visible to him over the roof of the Quattro as she stared at Fenchurch East but a frown still settled on his mouth nonetheless. He could never claim to truly understand her loss, parenthood was something he'd been denied both in real life and in this pretend existence, but he knew how hard it had hit her; back at the farmhouse he'd felt her despair tremor violently through her arms as she'd clung on to him and he'd heard her grief rattle through her chest as she'd sobbed against his neck. As soft as it sounded, especially to his own ears, he would have happily held her all night long; she had obviously found some comfort in his embrace and just that thought alone had meant more to him than he would have ever believed possible. But, long after her tears had subsided, she'd finally raised her head from his shoulder, pulling away from him in the process, to demand that they return to Fenchurch East. He'd tried to persuade her otherwise but she'd held firm, insisting that she was 'okay'; he hadn't really believed her but, then again, he didn't think that she'd really believed that he'd bought it either.

Walking around the back of the car he stepped onto the pavement beside her, the array of lights from the station illuminating her and the thin, but determined, line that was present on her mouth. His mouth twitched upwards slightly at the sight; she might not be as okay as she made out to be but she could be a tough old bird at times. After everything that had happened today he would have rather taken her back to her flat but she'd insisted on coming here, for the others' sake. The station was quite possibly the last place he wanted to be though; Alex might have claimed that he was still the Guv but he couldn't quite bring himself to agree with her. Part of him felt like a fraud; every promotion he'd ever received in this place, that meteoric rise from PC to DCI, felt undermined by the fact that he'd died that day at Farringfield Green. It wasn't as if he'd simply fallen off his horse, dusted himself down and got back on it; that particular horse had bolted and he was lying six feet under the ground. He should never have had the opportunity to get this far in the force.

But he knew that Alex was right: they should check on the others. And she was the only consolation that he could find in any of this. He might have foolishly thrown his life away, he might have easily succumbed to this fake existence he'd found himself in, but he would never have met Alex otherwise. And if he'd never met her, he'd never have been there for her; he would never have saved her from moving traffic, locked freezers or any of the nutters she seemed to attract. Nor would he have been around when she'd finally realised that she'd lost her daughter; she'd have been completely at the mercy of Jim bloody Keats. And that was the most important thing to him now: being there for, and being with, Alex Drake. If that meant walking back into the station, if it meant being the Guv once again - though he was sure that she'd make just as good a job of it as he would - then he'd do it.

"Alex," he said softly, the sound of his voice causing her head to turn in his direction, a small smile gracing her lips when her eyes met his. Without a word she stepped towards him, slipping her hand into his without ever breaking eye contact and despite the intimacy of the act, and the openness under which it was being carried out, he moved his fingers between hers and gently squeezed her hand. Alex smiled a little wider at that and, thinking that she was ready to go inside the station, he started towards the building but he got no further than a step or two before he had to stop, her hand tugging forcefully on his.

Gene gazed worriedly at her and Alex pulled a little harder on his hand, drawing him back towards her. "Before we go in," she started softly, squeezing her own bare hand against his gloved one in return. There was one more reason, and a fairly big and sometimes grumpy one at that, as to why she felt so at ease with the idea of staying here. She had Gene: the man who'd caught her in his arms when this world had knocked her off her feet; the man who'd held her as she'd cried for everything she'd lost; the man who, when she'd been so afraid of losing him as well if she let go, had let her stay in his embrace long after her tears had subsided - and all when his own world had been in as much turmoil as hers. Gene Hunt had taught her something that she wasn't sure was supposed to be on this world's syllabus: how to live, how to trust, and how to love. There was no other man alive - or dead - who could have given her that gift.

"Just one little thing," she whispered, closing the remaining distance between them as she raised her free hand to his face, her thumb sweeping across his cheek and tracing a path from the smooth expanse of skin that lay there down to his jaw where the hairs that were shallowly buried beneath his jaw had started to emerge. So much had changed since he'd turned up, freshly shaven and smartly dressed, for their date at Luigi's, but some of those changes had definitely been for the better. Still smiling, she curled her hand around to the back of his head and drew his lips down to her own. The kiss started gently enough, lips pressing lightly against lips, and that was all she had really intended: a brief, but intimate, moment to re-establish that connection between them, to reaffirm that, despite the day's revelations, nothing had changed between them. But it quickly deepened, the instigator unclear and unimportant as she let go of his hand in favour of sliding her own over his shoulder and around his neck, pulling him closer still, and kissing him with her heart and her soul as well as her mouth. And though they were surrounded by the cold night air she felt warm inside. She felt alive.

"Better?" Gene murmured softly as they finally broke apart. He kept his grip on the flair of her hips - previously hidden by that long coat of hers - that his hands had eagerly sought out as they'd kissed, holding her close so he could scrutinise her reaction. Alex nodded a reply, the accompanying smile on her face satisfying him further. And it was fair to say that he was suddenly feeling a hell of a lot better himself. Relinquishing his hold on her, he placed his hand on the small of her back instead as she tugged her coat around her body once more, and guided her towards the steps that would lead them up and into the station, that smile twitching on his mouth again as she leant, ever so slightly, into him all the way up the steps. She only moved away when they reached the doors and he pouted at the loss.

Navigating her way through the door, with Gene right behind her, Alex began to wonder what they would find inside CID. She hadn't really considered this part of the night, not even during the long journey back to London; there'd only been that sudden flash of concern - after she'd cried the proverbial river and her thoughts had started to clear - for the rest of the team. It was Keats' assertion that it was 'too late for the others' that had come back to haunt her, sounding more like a threat the second time round. Gene had seemed reluctant to return to the station but she suspected that might have had something to do with not wanting to face the team himself. He'd been a tower of strength for her - he still was, agreeing to come back to Fenchurch East with her because she hadn't wanted to do this without him - but she was under no illusions that he was coping with the fallout any better than she was.

As she walked by the front desk, Gene at her side once more though his hand was no longer at her back, the desk Sergeant on duty glanced briefly at them. A quick nod in their direction was his only response before he returned to his paperwork and Alex thought longingly of Viv. It seemed fair now to suppose that Sergeant James had been as real as herself or Gene or any of them but, in a way, she hoped that wasn't true. Viv had died, and oh so horribly, in this world and she couldn't stop the sudden, unsettling, feeling that death wasn't how this particular journey was supposed to end from settling over her. Death was how this tumultuous adventure had started - for all of them.

The question of what had happened to Sam Tyler seemed more pertinent than ever before. He'd gone to Farringfield Green, he'd made the connection to Gene, and he must have realised what it meant for himself but where had he gone after that? Despite the hole the car bomb that had killed her parents had made in her faith, and despite her unwavering faith in science, she could, tentatively, accept the obvious answer but the workings of it puzzled her. Sam must have faked his own death in this world to shield Gene and the others from the truth but then what? Had he just wandered off into the night or into blinding light? And the thought that this world was not her final resting place only added to her feeling of unease; it was as messed up and as vicious as the world she'd left behind but there was a strange beauty in that symmetry that she didn't want to lose.

She hugged her coat closer once more, despite the warmth the building offered, holding it tight against her torso with one hand as she walked into the office with Gene, each of them pushing open one of the doors to CID. It was deathly quiet inside, the few occupants present lost in their own respective thoughts, their bowed and silent heads the visible debris of the emotional whirlwind that must have passed through the room and proof that they already knew the truth.

"Guv! Ma'am!" Shaz greeted, her head springing up at the sound of the doors opening and her voice littered with relief. The younger woman was perched on her desk, her legs hanging solemnly over the side and looking, Alex thought, younger than her years. Chris was stood at Shaz's side, his hand resting in a comforting manner on the younger woman's arm though a frown resided on his lips. It drooped further when Shaz pushed herself off her desk, breaking contact with him in the process, and directed her attention towards her superior officers again, speaking this time with a hint of accusation in her voice, "Where have you been?"

Alex glanced at Gene, wondering if he would tell them the truth or just reprimand Shaz for being so forthright, but he only pouted quietly, leaving her to respond to Shaz's demand and she found herself struggling for the right thing to say. She knew that Gene wouldn't want his past shared with the others, not the fine details anyway, but she had to say something, she had to find some way to tell the others the news - if they hadn't already guessed. "Raking up the past," she replied but her eyes remained on Gene, watching his reaction. That pout of his wavered ever so slightly but he held up quite admirably otherwise. "And staring into the future," she confided to Shaz, turning her attention back to the younger woman. She didn't want to reveal the full story of her own demise either; she hadn't even told Gene and he was the only person she really wanted to share it with.

"What did you find?" Chris asked, stepping forward to stand next to Shaz once more.

"The same thing we found on those tapes, Chris," Shaz said quietly but kindly, her gaze remaining on Gene and Alex all the while. At their slightly puzzled faces she realised that they didn't know anything about the tapes and quickly launched into an explanation. "DCI Keats left them. He said it'd be in our best interests to watch them and I'm sorry, Ma'am, I know you said don't trust him, but we looked at them. And now we're dead." Her voice weakened at that last word but she rallied herself enough to continue, "We're all dead, aren't we?"

"I'm sorry, Shaz," Alex said gently, causing the younger woman's face to fall even further as if she'd been holding out for another explanation, for her to say that they'd all be okay.

"But how did he make those tapes? I was on that tape. The way I used to be. How did he do that? Is he... Is Keats...?"

Shaz couldn't seem to say the word itself but Alex knew what she meant. Everybody in the room knew what she meant; even Ray, who had remained behind his own desk since she and Gene had arrived, quietly smoking, had flinched slightly at the inference. He continued to keep his head down though, as if he wasn't listening, his gaze shifting between the overflowing ashtray - and given the amount of fag ends in there, variously standing to attention or lying dead against the thick glass, but all fighting for space, he must have been sat lighting one after another for hours - and the pile of betamax tapes that were stacked harmlessly enough on Chris' desk. Alex wanted to say something to comfort Shaz but she couldn't think of any. All she could think of was how close she'd let Jim Keats get to her and how close he'd come to persuading her Gene was the bad guy in all of this.

"He went down like a man when I hit him," Gene divulged, hoping to alleviate some of the fear that had been present in Shaz's voice. He felt certain that his newly promoted DC was right though - and Alex's silence seemed to confirm as much. He supposed that he should have been more surprised by the unmasking but after the day he'd had he suspected that there wasn't much out there that would surprise him. And funnily enough, he'd once, during a very dull afternoon, doodled a picture of Jim sporting a pair of horns and a pointy tail; it had taken centre stage on the dart board in his office before finally ending up in the bin.

Shaz's eyes lit up at the statement. "He's not coming back?"

"You don't have to worry about him any more, Shaz," he confirmed. They'd left Keats at Farringfield Green, breathing but still unconscious, and hands tied - courtesy of some old rope that he had found in an outhouse - behind his back. If Gene had got his way he would have tied the bastard to the metal piping under the sink - it had seemed sturdy enough - and left him to rot but Alex had quietly vetoed the idea, saying she'd had enough of death for one day. It hadn't crossed his mind then, probably hadn't crossed hers either, that they couldn't tie Keats to the laws of this world. But he meant what he'd said to Shaz; if Keats returned Gene would make sure the bastard never touched one hair on her - or anyone else's - head.

"So what are we supposed to do now, Guv?" Chris said, asking the obvious question.

Everyone except Ray was looking to him for an answer - even Alex - so he told them the only thing he could, the only thing he knew, the only thing he - despite his recent doubts - was good at. "We close the case," he said and Chris slowly nodded his agreement, swiftly followed by Shaz. When he glanced at Alex she simply smiled at him, her eyes telling him all he needed to hear - and then something else, too, as she looked pointedly past him. He turned to look in Ray's direction but the other man refused to meet his eyes. Not so long ago he would never have thought that Ray Carling would be the most difficult member of his team - that had been Alex's position for the last few years. But he'd obviously taken his death hard and Gene could understand that.

He walked slowly towards the whiteboard that was positioned near Ray. There was more information on it now than when he and Alex had left, the investigation clearly moving on a fair few paces, and he felt a growing pride in his team at their progress. "Looks good, Inspector Carling," he said, turning to face the man in question but Ray's stayed on his desk though he did nod his head slightly in response. "Needs a bit more work though," Gene added on, perusing the board again but watching Ray from the corner of his eye.

Ray finally glanced up. "Yeah, well - I got hung up on something else," he said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray with enough force to displace some of the contents.

"Accept it and move on, Ray," Gene partly ordered, partly appealed. The Inspector held his gaze but there was no challenge in the other man's eyes. "Cause whatever it is, it's over with. Nothing you can do to change it now. Nothing any of us can do," he continued, the last sentence spoken so softly that it revealed more of his own unhappiness than he'd wanted to. He could cope with Alex knowing the truth - even the thought that Tyler must have figured out what had happened at Farringfield Green didn't faze him too much - but he didn't want it going any further than that. And, in the same way, he wouldn't push any of his team for details of their past life either.

But his openness worked as Ray finally nodded, a grudging 'Guv' following the action. "Good," he said and quietly enough for only Ray to hear. "Cause we're still coppers. And as long as there is scum out on the streets we'll be there to clean it up," he stated loudly, his eyes sweeping around the room as he turned away from Ray's desk, meeting the others' gazes in turn. His eyes settled on Alex last of all, but for the longest amount of time. "Right until the very end."


	9. Not Forever Now

A/N Apologies first: I'm so sorry for the long delay. I thought I was coping well and then I hit a run of dates which proved that I was not. Denial's all well and good until the bloody dam breaks and the river floods... and your muse floats away with it.

A/N2 This is the last part - and for that, I apologise for the wait once again - though it isn't exactly how I'd originally planned on ending the story; I do think it's a change for the better - I just hope it was worth the wait.

A/N3 Big thanks to everyone who has followed this story, even bigger thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially those who took the time to leave a few words for every chapter - you know who you are and I hope you know how much your constant support has spurred me on (it might have taken years to finish this story otherwise). I'd like to say that writing this has done the trick and I'm now off to re-watch the whole shebang, right from episode one of LOM, but it'd be a great big lie. Finally, because this really is the end, I promise, and to quote Douglas Adams, 'So long and thanks for all the fish'.

Door To The River

Chapter Nine ~ Not Forever Now

The journey from the aerodrome, Gene thought as he took the last corner towards the station, had been, contrary to recent revelations that suggested just the opposite, lively; in the back of the Quattro, Ray and Chris had relived their respective heroic moments as Shaz, who he thought the bravest of them all for agreeing to go undercover as an air stewardess, had tried unsuccessfully to bring the lads' egos back to Earth, appealing on occasion to Alex, who was in the passenger seat next to him, to back her up. Alex had joined in easily with the banter but he'd been content just to listen to his team; it had felt pretty damn good to take down those dyke digging bastards but it had felt even better to be the Guv again. He'd realised this morning, as CID had gathered at the station and proceeded to hang on to his every word, that Alex had been right; it didn't matter that he'd only become the Guv in this world because in this world he was the Guv. End of. Nobody had questioned his authority or looked at him as if he shouldn't be standing there telling them what to do; not even Ray or Chris or Shaz who all knew that things in this world were not as they seemed to be.

Gene slowed the Quattro to a halt outside of Fenchurch East but his gaze was immediately drawn towards the building that had become CID's local purely because of its proximity to the station instead; a warm, almost golden, light spilt invitingly out of the trattoria, seeping through each window and up the stairs to pour like wine into the street. It wasn't such an unusual sight but its surroundings certainly were; next door to Luigi's, instead of the usual row of bland buildings that barely got a second glance most nights, there was only a spread of stars, as if the rest of the world had fallen over the edge of the universe. He'd discovered enough during the last twenty four hours to realise exactly what it meant: loss. It quite possibly wasn't the expected reaction to the confirmation that there was life after death but he was finding it difficult to see a rosier outcome. He had no doubt that what came next would be majestic but he also knew that it wouldn't need a self styled sheriff; there'd be no-one for him to protect and no-one to defeat. And though staying in this world was preferable, he also knew that it wouldn't be the same world that he'd inhabited all this time; so much had changed during the last twenty four hours and it wasn't over just yet.

The conversation amongst the back seat passengers died down as he killed the car's engine and he didn't need to glimpse in the rear view mirror to confirm that all eyes had strayed to Luigi's. Instead, he let his gaze settle on Alex in the seat next to him. This morning he'd woken up in her bed to find her sleeping form next to his once more; her face had been as bare of make-up as her body, disappointingly concealed beneath the sheets, had been of clothing and her hair styled by sleep and sex but he'd thought that she'd never looked so beautiful. And when she'd stirred from her slumber, all hazel eyes and smiling lips, and confessed that she could get used to waking up next to him, he'd thought that he'd never feel any happier. But he feared that Alex's words wouldn't hold true now; he was certain that if she'd had a choice in the matter she would have returned to her daughter - and he would have thought less of her if she hadn't - but as much as she wanted to be with him he didn't expect her to chose this existence, and therefore him, now either. If all the literature was true then there was a peace to be found through the doors to Luigi's that he doubted existed anywhere in this world and she deserved to find it. Even if it meant leaving him behind.

"All roads eventually lead to the pub?" Alex asked, her gaze remaining on Luigi's and the answer to the question quite literally in front of her. It seemed silly though in retrospect she should have worked this much out last night when, after the rest of the team had been dismissed, she and Gene had lingered in his office for a while, drinking his whiskey and mulling over the day's events. Whilst she'd loved his speech about carrying on in this world as if nothing had changed she'd worried that it wouldn't be so simple; when DI Tyler had discovered the truth about this world he'd just disappeared, never to be seen again, and she'd not shaken the niggling doubt that her fate was linked to his.

When she'd asked, Gene had been more accommodating on the subject than ever before, telling her all about the last time he'd seen Sam Tyler and the final words that had passed between them; the news that Sam had told Gene he was going to his local for a pint had seemed a strange thing to say, having just gone to great lengths to fake his own death and when she'd mentioned as much to Gene he had told her that he'd always assumed that Sam was just saying good-bye - in a roundabout, avoiding the issue, man kind of way, obviously - but she understood now that, just like the roll of film, Sam had left a signpost towards the final destination. And as she turned her head toward Gene she could see, even under the weak illumination of the street lights, that he understood as much too.

"That's just ridiculous!" she exclaimed and a little petulantly. In truth it wasn't the lack of a set of pearly gates that was bothering her; she had no preconceptions of what to expect in such a situation - she'd only very recently had her faith revived - though she could just about see, and it'd probably look clearer after a few glasses of wine, the symbolism involved. What bothered her, what had made her heart start to ache, regret and sadness pressing uncomfortably around it, was the thought of having to leave this world at this particular point in time; it seemed an extraordinarily cruel stroke of fate, perhaps even on a par with the cards that she'd been dealt both during her lifetime and her journey through this world. At least in this world she'd had more than two years to slowly come to terms with the loss of both her daughter and her other life but even that hadn't felt long enough; she needed more than two days to accept that this existence, this life that she had come to love so very dearly, would have to end as well.

"It's worse than that, Bols," Gene said evenly; he wanted to reach across the hand brake and physically comfort her but he was conscious of the, perhaps unwilling, audience in the back of the car - and that, as much as it had seemed to be so from the moment she'd stepped into his life, this wasn't just about the two of them. And it wasn't about what he wanted either. He wouldn't try to stop her leaving; he wouldn't stop any of them. Alex might have tried to persuade him otherwise but he feared that there was some truth to DCI Keats' claim that he had kept them all here because he hadn't wanted to face his own demise. After all, he'd ignored Alex's strange behaviour even though Sam had done and said similar things - the chances of having two nutty DI's with the same delusion had to be tiny but he'd never looked any further into it. He'd never wanted to either; he'd always thought that he was protecting Alex but maybe he'd just been, and his mouth twitched in a smile at the thought that some of her psychology nonsense must have rubbed off on him, subconsciously protecting himself from the truth all along. But at the expense of those around him.

"It's not even a pub. It's a bloody trattoria," he finished, slowly averting his gaze when the frown on her face fell further. Staring at the door handle he fought the urge to re-start the car and drive away from all of this and reached out for the door. In a way, her apparent unhappiness gave him hope; if she did, as it seemed, want to stay here then he wouldn't try to dissuade her - but it had to be her choice. They all had to make their own choice and without another word he opened the car door.

The cold night air filled the car as Gene exited the vehicle, a thin line on his mouth, and Alex hugged her coat closer, missing both the warmth and the man who seemed intent on giving all of this up without a fight. The door remained open so that Ray, who was seated behind Gene, could get out of the car and she reluctantly followed suit, leaving her own door open so that Shaz and Chris could squeeze out from the back seats as she stared unhappily at Luigi's once more. Last night, when she'd returned to her flat, the trattoria had been shrouded in darkness and silence; it had taken until this morning to discover, courtesy of Ray, that whilst she had been dancing Gene into her bed, Luigi had been announcing his departure. Given everything she'd recently learnt about this world she'd been worried by his sudden absence but now a small, and somewhat guilty, part of her was wishing that Luigi had stayed away, if only so she could have longer here.

From across the street the dull noise of a busy restaurant, faint laughter the only discernible sound amongst the muffled din, called out to her, the familiar aroma of Luigi's special sauce floating in the air with it and along side the light show that heralded the building it felt as though every sense was being lured towards the trattoria. And, to her surprise, it was a tempting mix. She'd never had a local before she'd arrived in this world; she'd known which pub was frequented by her colleagues when she'd been alive, and she was sure that she would have been warmly welcomed inside, but she'd always tended to stay late at the station to finish up paperwork and / or rush home to Molly instead. In this world there'd been no daughter to care for and a Guv who preferred beer o'clock to promptly completed case files; it was a combination that had led to some memorable nights, times when she'd finally felt part of a team, when she'd felt as if she'd belonged, and an afterlife that promised as much should have had her running towards it without question. But it didn't.

Instead, Alex walked slowly towards Gene, coming to a stop next to him to stand in the middle of road; Ray stood at the other side of the Guv whilst Shaz and Chris moved to her side and, as she ran her eyes briefly down each side of the line they'd formed, she was sure that they could all feel the same pull towards Luigi's that she had experienced. The faint noise suddenly grew louder for a few seconds before fading again, the unmistakable sign of the door being opened and then falling shut again, and she refocussed her gaze on the trattoria. A head slowly emerged from the stairwell, the light that shone through the windows bouncing rather unkindly off the receding hairline as the familiar profile of Luigi came into view. He moved so smoothly up the stairs that she was sure he was floating but then one foot, encased in shiny black leather, stepped out onto the street breaking the illusion. The smile that graced his face spoke of pure happiness and remained even when Gene greeted him in his own inimitable style.

"Thought you'd buggered off home," Gene bellowed across the street.

"Not without a leaving party, Signor Hunt," Luigi explained as he stepped towards the edge of the pavement. He stopped at the kerb to smile at the five of them in turn as he spoke, "And you are all invited. As my special guests, yes?"

A long silence followed the invitation as five pairs of eyes considered the Italian and his words. There was no doubt in Alex's mind that they all knew what was really on offer; it would be unkind to think that even Chris believed there was only a plate of pasta and a pint on offer. The frown that had marked her mouth since she'd laid eyes on the restaurant straightened out a little as she replayed both Luigi's words and her own immediate assessment of them, coming to a surprising conclusion; he was only asking them to join him. Grasping on to what could possibly amount to nothing more than over-politeness on Luigi's part was, she could admit to herself, almost a repeat of the sheer bloody minded-ness that had fuelled her futile attempts to return home - and she supposed that moving on from this world was as inevitable as the bullet that had struck her head killing her - but maybe this existence was kinder than the one she'd been ripped so violently from. After all, Sam Tyler had taken the necessary time to fake his own death before he'd left; in fact, Sam Tyler had chosen how both his lives had ended and she was finding it difficult to understand why he should be any different to her.

"I would love to come," Shaz said softly, making Luigi's face crease further in delight and Alex's gaze to fall on the woman stood next to her.

"Shaz wait," Alex blurted quickly, causing the younger woman to turn her head in her direction; she didn't want Shaz to leave - she didn't want any of them to go. And if she was right then they could all stay here, together, as a team, and carry on just as Gene had declared last night in the station. "You don't -"

"I know, Ma'am," Shaz interrupted, turning to stand in front of the older woman; the smile on her lips that had been present from the moment she'd stepped out of the car widened into one that was beautifully serene and the rest of her face fell in line with the lead her mouth had taken. "But it's okay. I want to go," she explained softly.

Alex smiled her understanding at Shaz; she respected the other woman's faith, the belief that there was something better than this and she took strength from it too. Like Sam Tyler before her, Shaz seemed to be suggesting that there was no one better than oneself to decide the right time to leave. Shaz wrapped her arms around Alex, the strength of her hold suggesting that the younger woman had already decided that she wouldn't be making the same journey and Alex returned the gesture with as much feeling because there were too many people in her life that she'd been denied the chance to say good-bye to properly.

When Shaz pulled away from Alex, that peaceful smile still residing on her mouth, her gaze quickly shifted from the older woman as Chris loudly cleared his throat and then spoke up: "I'm coming too."

"It still won't be the same as before, Chris," Shaz warned gently, her smile fading a little.

"I know," the DC agreed, moving a little closer towards her. "But you might still need a friend. And you don't want to walk in there alone, do you?"

"That's so sweet, Chris," Shaz smiled brightly at him. "It's what I've always loved about you." Chris was noticeably startled when the object of his affections threw her arms around him, embracing him tightly, but he recovered quickly enough, returning the gesture. And he only seemed a little put out when Shaz relinquished her hold on him and moved to throw her arms around the Guv instead.

Alex's smile wavered as she watched Shaz hug Gene, the latter hesitating briefly before embracing the other woman; she'd been so caught up with her own dilemma that she'd never considered what he - or any of them - would do. Gene had been magnificent today, both in the office and at the aerodrome, and if this had happened before their fateful trip to Farringfield Green she would have been absolutely certain of his choice. But yesterday she'd seen him at lowest ever point and though he'd been her rock this last day or so - in truth, for far longer than that - she wasn't sure if his desire to stay here was as strong. So far, everything he'd done seemed to suggest that he might have had enough of this place. She wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging her coat closer once more as her desire to remain here cooling a little at the thought of this world, of any world, without Gene in it.

Gene managed to raise a smile as Shaz relinquished her hold and stepped back to beam at him. Behind her, Chris stared quietly at him before offering a small nod of his head which he returned; as far as Gene was concerned, they'd settled their differences the other night in Luigi's. As soon as Shaz had said she'd wanted to leave he'd known that Chris would go too but he couldn't fault the younger man in that respect; he wasn't so sure that he'd follow Alex in there if she was intent on leaving. It seemed crazy to even think of letting her walk out of his life so easily when it'd taken so long to get this close to her but he was, or at least he felt as though he was, needed here in this world.

"You coming Ray?" Chris asked as Shaz returned to his side, the light from Luigi's illuminating them both.

Ray made no reply but his gaze moved from Chris and Shaz and towards Gene, the answer written clearly on his face. "About time I was moving on too, Guv. That div still owes me a tenner. As if you and Drake weren't going to shag each other." A smile spread across Ray's mouth when Gene held out his hand towards him and Ray shook it vigourously. No further words were deemed necessary between the two men and it was only as Ray moved away from Gene and towards Alex that he spoke again, directing his words at the other Inspector, "Not going to try and persuade me to stay then?"

"Would you say yes?" Alex replied. Whilst it was true that they'd not hit it off in the beginning, she would miss Ray Carling; she'd realised that he was more than just a one-dimensional construct of her shattered mind long before she'd discovered that he was, just like Gene and Chris and Shaz, as real as herself. And it had been Ray who had given her the most valuable piece of advice she'd ever received in this world: that being with Gene was the right place to be. Not that she'd realised how important those words would be at the time, though it was probably fair to say that Ray hadn't either.

"No," Ray answered, a small frown tugging at his mouth as sadness crept into his eyes. "I can't let this chance go by."

Alex nodded her understanding though she didn't truly comprehend his reasons; the answer obviously lay in his past - or, given how this world worked, possibly his future - but, having uncovered some unpleasant skeletons in her own closet during her time here, she respected his silence on the matter. She stepped forward slightly to kiss Ray on the cheek and the way he squirmed uncomfortably, his eyes looking anywhere but at her - or Gene for that matter - made her smile once more. There was a smile on his mouth too as he turned away from her, making his way towards Shaz and Chris, the latter offering Alex a cheery good-bye when she caught his gaze.

There was a hint of sadness in her as she watched the three of them walk towards the restaurant where Luigi was waiting to greet them; in the real world she most likely would never have met any of them and though she was glad she'd been given the opportunity to do so it was a bittersweet feeling to have to lose something that she should never have had in the first place. With that thought weighing heavily in her mind her gaze strayed towards Gene again, the pout on his mouth rendering him as mysterious as ever. For a moment or two she struggled for the right words to say to him, unsure if this was good-bye or something else entirely. "What do you think is through there?" she settled on asking, just as Luigi engulfed Shaz in a warm embrace which the young woman reciprocated whole-heartedly.

Gene watched Luigi release Shaz and move on to hug Chris; the daft lad let him but Ray put up more resistance when his turn arrived and, despite the circumstances, Gene smiled at the sight of his team slowly descending the stairs, Shaz leading the way. Luigi remained at the top of the stairs, still grinning like an idiot and still waiting for them as Gene considered his reply. "The final adventure," he answered eventually, settling for something that sounded neutral and, in his own mind at least, truthful.

His gaze slowly met hers and his eyes, and his reply, made her wonder if he was just as uncertain of her intentions as she was of his. "There's still plenty of adventures to have here," she ventured softly, hoping that he was just waiting to hear her say that she wanted to stay.

"Then I'd better stay and keep an eye on you," Gene replied with a tone that he hoped masked his relief. "You do have a nasty habit of getting yourself into trouble, DI Drake," he added on with a smile and it turned out to be infectious, quickly spreading to Alex, a beautiful smile caressing her lips and approving of his response.

It would be different between them now, of course; Alex knew his deepest darkest secret and there could be no hiding from it any longer. But, to be fair, she'd always seen through his bravado, had always been willing to try and take him down a peg or two when she thought it was needed, and there was no doubt in his mind that they'd still argue about methods and cases and that she would still disobey his orders. But it would be better, too, because he would have her; his lover, his friend, his partner, his Bolly. He'd been wrong the other night in Luigi's: there wasn't a 'world of difference' between them at all - they were more alike than he'd ever suspected. Thoughts about kissing her, which had emerged as soon as he'd realised she wanted to stay here, were quickly scrapped when Luigi, who had been momentarily forgotten, made his presence known once more.

"I think that you must settle your bill one day," Luigi warned from across the street, making both Gene and Alex turn their gazes away from each other and towards him.

Ever since she'd met him, Alex had never thought of Luigi as anything more than the kindly landlord who looked out for her, a caricature that she'd only briefly reassessed when she'd realised that there were others in this world who were just like her, but now she wasn't so sure; she had a vague recollection of Sam mentioning the barman at the pub he'd frequented but she was too elated to really try and make the connection. She hadn't been looking for an eternity, all good things had to come to an end after all, she'd just wanted a little more time here - and Luigi seemed to be offering her, offering them both, that much. "We will," Alex promised the older man as she slipped her hand into Gene's.

Luigi nodded at his favourite Signorina before his gaze shifted to Gene, a twinkle in his eye, "I am so happy you caught her, Signor Hunt."

"So am I," Gene agreed, feeling Alex's gaze fall immediately back on him. Now wasn't the time or place to explain just what Luigi meant but one day he would. One day soon - though he'd skip the part about him being the one who'd wanted her to fall in the first place.

With a final smile and quick nod of the head, Luigi disappeared down the stairs and into the light, that swell of music and laughter announcing his passing through the door before it petered out for good. The brightness that had surrounded the trattoria dimmed once he'd gone, as if all the lights inside had been turned off one by one, and the building next door reappeared in the process, seemingly only hidden by the light that had spewed from Luigi's. For a few seconds she could only stare quietly at the building, a little surprised that they'd been allowed to remain here but also a little apprehensive at the prospect. What made this world so appealing was its gritty authenticity; she'd always felt so alive in this world but that didn't come without risks that she suspected wouldn't be an issue had she stepped through the doors to Luigi's. But she didn't regret her choice and turning away from Luigi's, and those dark thoughts, she let her gaze settle on Gene once more, her smile slowly resurrecting itself in the process. It grew wider as her eyes slowly wandered down his face to his neck, his loosely knotted tie and unbuttoned collar revealing his throat to her and raising her temperature.

This morning he'd retrieved one of the shirts that had been taking up space in her wardrobe since she'd arrived here; they'd remained there in protest in the beginning, a refusal to admit that she would be staying, but even as time had marched on, and she'd expanded her own range of clothing to the point that space had become a premium, she'd never got rid of the garments. It wasn't because she'd slowly given up on the idea of going home but because she'd realised that the shirts belonged to Gene; given his tendency to drink himself silly at Luigi's, his seniority over the team, and the fact that he had his own key to the flat when no one else did it had slowly dawned on her that he'd been the one to crash there regularly. Until she'd arrived anyway. Yet he'd never uttered a single word of complaint about her taking over the flat and she'd let his shirts stay there as a reminder that there was more to Gene Hunt. And in retrospect that was perhaps the only thing she hadn't got wrong during her time here.

The green shirt he'd picked out didn't exactly match the tie he'd taken from his desk drawer later on in the morning but it certainly worked on him. A question that she'd always wanted to ask but had never found the right time or set of circumstances to do so popped in to her head, put there as much by his appearance as her sudden unwillingness to return to her flat tonight, "Gene, you do have a flat or a house somewhere, don't you?"

He stared at her for beat, nonplussed by her question and wondering if she was still a little crazy, before deciding that, in the grand scheme of things, he didn't actually care. He'd probably never understand her, even if he had an eternity to do so. "Of course I do."

"Then let's get out of here."


End file.
