Disclaimer: The BBC, Kudos and Monastic own Ashes to Ashes. The song "My Heart Will Go On" was written by James Horner and Will Jennings for the film Titanic.

Just time for one last little tHgo story before Series 3 ends! This is my first one-shot and my first songfic (it being me, there's more fic than song), written at intense speed so that I could publish before Friday, and therefore a bit rough around the edges. It includes some speculation for Episode 8 and its aftermath, which will doubtless be disproved when it airs.

Yes, I know, the song was written in the 1990s and was too late for A2A, but as you'll see if you read the story, there's a reason for that.

As always, reviews and feedback would be most welcome, especially as I've never tried to write a songfic before.

See you the other side of Series 3 - I'll need a whole box of Kleenex for Friday!

"And are you dreaming about him?" - Alex's therapist, Series 3, Episode 1

2008

She awakened to find herself back home, in a world that was strange to her, in which she was a stranger. She was repeatedly told that she had only been unconscious for a few days, that it was good to have her back, that she was very lucky. She did not care. She was surrounded by hospital staff, friends, colleagues, people who loved her and were kind to her, but none of them could reach her. They were not the people she needed. The only ones who mattered. Everything seemed to be coming to her from another planet.

She felt isolated in her despair. She knew that this world was real, just as she had always known that the return to 2008 that she had experienced in her coma had been false. But the knowledge that she had returned to a place where they were not, where they had never existed, made this reality unbearably dark and bleak. Even Molly was like a stranger to her. How could she not be? They had been apart for so long, even though Alex had been assured that she had only been in a coma for four days. She had heard the surgeon explaining very carefully to Molly that although her mother was awake, the injury to her brain might change her personality, and the puzzled, frightened child had accepted that, approaching her mother cautiously, hoping for a word or look of recognition. The doctors talked in hushed tones about shock, trauma, brain injury and mental breakdown. Against her will, she was taken to see a therapist, but sat, mute and resentful, refusing to say a single word or even acknowledge the woman's existence.

She was drowning in a grey fog, with no hope or desire of ever resurfacing. There was no point. She had nothing to live for, now. All she craved was what she could never have. She would have given the rest of her pointless life for one more glimpse of those fierce blue eyes, the scarred, beautiful face, the golden hair. To have the chance to beg for his forgiveness. Why had she so doubted the man she partly hated and wholly loved? Why had she failed him so completely? Why had she ever listened to that snake Keats? Why? Why? She asked herself the same questions time and again as she beat her pillow with her clenched fist and soaked it with her tears. She loathed herself when she thought how she had allowed Keats to dupe her into believing that Gene had murdered Sam. She had become a jackal's jackal, set upon an embattled lion. Would he ever be able to pardon her? Would there ever be a place for her at his side, beyond the stars?

Her physical injuries healed and she was sent home from hospital. She barely noticed. This world was a prison now, and one room in it was much like another. She did not have the choice of dying to find Gene again, as Sam had done. She could not abandon Molly. She lay in bed, day after day, unaware of the passage of time, mourning her treachery, her weakness, her unendurable loss.

It was Evan who reached through to her in the end. She had been unable to talk to him or even acknowledge his presence since regaining consciousness, knowing what she now knew of his unwitting part in the deaths of her parents. But one day, he came to her, sat beside her, and began to speak.

"Alex, my dear, I don't know why you're suddenly treating me as my enemy after all these years. I'm not going to ask. That's your decison. But I have something very important to tell you, and you are going to listen, whether you want to or not.

"Pete is applying to have Molly made a ward of court, preparatory to seeking custody, on the grounds that you are no longer a fit mother. I'm not at all sure that I can disagree with him. Since you recovered consciousness, you've barely acknowledged her existence. It's breaking her heart. I've done my best to take care of her, but I've had to get a nanny for her as well as a nurse for you. Your money won't last long at this rate. If you really don't care about your daughter any longer, then you can always let her go to a father whom she scarcely knows and who has never shown any interest in her. If you want to keep her, of course I'll fight your case for you, but as things are now, I don't know a judge in the country who wouldn't award custody to Pete. Then he'll take Molly away to Canada, away from everything she's ever known and loved. On top of what you're doing to her, that could destroy her.

"It's up to you, Alex. At least look as though you're making an effort. Get counselling, for God's sake. If you care at all about your daughter, her happiness, her future, then you'll make an effort to keep her now. If you don't, then whatever happens to her will be on your conscience."

It was the turning point. She had made two grave mistakes in the coma 2008 to which Gene's bullet had sent her. The first had been to talk to a therapist about her experiences in the 1980s. She shuddered now, at the thought of having opened the dearest secrets of her heart to that hatchet-faced bitch who had so categorically told her that her 1980s world did not exist. Not so real yourself, were you, sweetie? She had already resolved that in the real 2008, she would tell no-one. Sam had told her, and the knowledge he had given her had sent her to that world. If she told someone else, she might give them the power to enter it, and she would not give anyone the opportunity to take her place. The very thought brought further tears to her eyes. Evan was not the only person who had criticised her for her steadfast refusal to accept professional help. That meant that what she had to do for Molly now, had to come from herself.

Sending Molly away to Pete had been her second grave mistake in that coma 2008. She knew now, that she had only done it because she had known that that strange construct-daughter, who had responded so placidly to her regaining consciousness, was not real. She would never send her living child from her. Coming back to life and thinking of anyone but her lost friends felt like further treachery, but Evan's words reminded her, in a roundabout way, that Gene, the Gene who had slapped her face to arouse her from a coma, would never have approved of, let alone understood, her solitary, self-pitying grief. It was time to live again, even if it was for someone else rather than for herself. That day, for the first time since the shooting, she forced herself to get out of bed and come downstairs during the afternoon, while Molly was at school. Her legs felt like cotton wool, and she could not stop shivering. The effort was so great that she felt as though she were trying to climb the Matterhorn. But when Evan brought Molly home, Alex forced herself to rise from her armchair and open her arms for her daughter to run into them, just as she used to before the shooting. The disbelieving joy in Molly's face was her reward.

Her recovery was slow, but determined. She schooled herself to appreciate small blessings. The taste of a good cup of coffee. Sunlight on the grass. Horse chestnut candles, glowing against the green leaves. The sound of laughter. Above all else, she centred her existence around Molly, so much so that the child began to feel suffocated and Evan had to warn Alex, very gently, that she should be careful not to ruin their relationship with possessiveness.

There were setbacks. For a long time she would burst into tears whenever she saw a red car or heard pop music from the 1980s. She could not bear the smell or taste of Italian food. But for Molly's sake Alex persevered, and by the time the custody hearing took place, her improvement was so marked that Evan was able to make representations that Molly's continued presence was essential to her mother's complete recovery. Given this, and the fact that Pete had abandoned his wife and daughter twelve years ago, had given them no support ever since, and had shown no interest in the child until his former wife's illness, the judge had no hesitation in awarding custody to Alex.

It was around that time that she began to dream about them.

Every night in my dreams
I see you, I feel you
That is how I know you go on

The first time it happened, she thought that she had returned to the 1980s, and when she awakened in her own bed in 2008, her agony was almost unendurable. But when it happened again and again, she was able to accept that any return to that time and place which she cherished above all others, could only be temporary. Her dreams might seem real when she was experiencing them, but they could not compare with the glorious reality that she had known for so long. Nor did they take place after the events she had experienced. Mostly they appeared to take place in late 1981 and early 1982. When she and Gene had been closest, before Summers and Keats had destroyed their trust. Sometimes her dreams were a series of fragmentary images of herself and the others driving about in the Quattro or getting pissed at Luigi's. Sometimes they involved long and complex cases which she knew had never happened at the time.

Her subconscious was selective. The traitors whom they had lost to Keats, Viv and Louise, never appeared in her dreams. Nor did Summers. Once, just once, she dreamed that she was lying on the floor in a dark corridor with Keats coming slowly towards her, swinging a baseball bat and whistling I'm forever blowing bubbles. She was paralysed with terror. He stood over her, singing as he slowly removed his gloves, then knelt beside her and bent over her, reaching his hands out towards her face. Her only coherent thought was, that this was what had happened to Viv. As he loomed closer, she heard Gene's voice calling "Bolly!", and she awakened, screaming, knowing that he had saved her yet again.

She found it strange that although, while she was awake, she would give anything to be able to beg Gene to forgive her, she never asked him in her dreams. But that was because her dreams always took place before she had doubted him. She never dreamed about him as a lover. She had forfeited that right forever. Keats and her own unjust suspicions had robbed her of the love which should have been hers. It was during her waking hours that she lived upon the sweet but painful memories of herself and Gene dancing, of his warm, solid body against hers, his arm around her, his hand in hers, her head resting upon his shoulder, his soft kiss upon her forehead, their lips so nearly meeting, so close that she had felt his breath mingling with hers. The knowledge that, in those moments, she had been where she was meant to be. Those memories would have to be enough to last her down the interminable years. Why, oh why had she believed Keats that night, and fled the shelter of those strong arms?

Far across the distance
And spaces between us
You have come to show you go on

It felt as though she were living a dual existence. By day, she lived for Molly. By night, she prayed that she would dream again of being in the one place where she had felt truly alive. Every time she would awaken to find her cheeks and her pillow wet with tears as she mourned being separated from them, from him, once again. Even the knowledge that she would surely dream of them again in a night or so, could not lessen her grief. She would lie awake, trying to remember every word, every incident, every nuance of her dreams. They gave her the strength to continue, day after day, through the long years that remained to her.

Near, far, wherever you are
I believe that the heart does go on
Once more you open the door
And you're here in my heart
And my heart will go on and on

There could never be another man for her. All her former boyfriends got the cold shoulder, and she never so much as considered forming a relationship with anyone else. She knew that no real person would ever be able to compete with her memories of the good, kind, decent, flawed, wonderful, incomparable man whom she had loved and lost in an unreal place and time.

Love can touch us one time
And last for a lifetime
And never let go till we're gone

More than a year after the shooting, she was cleared to return to duty, but she was not allowed to work as a negotiator again. She was content with that. She was afraid that if she faced another gun-wielding hostage taker, she might have a flashback about Layton, and lose her nerve. She developed her role as a psychological profiler, winning commendations for her work in that field and eventually being promoted to DCI and Superintendent. She wrote several books, which won high praise from noted psychologists but did not sell many copies. She never wrote the book about Sam Tyler, but retained his file, took scans of every page, and locked the file and tapes in a safety deposit box on Talbot Street, where Gene had hired the boxes which had unmasked Chris, and where they had arrested Lafferty. She stored the scans, and MP3 files of the tapes, on an encrypted pen drive which she always wore on a ribbon around her neck, keeping her only physical evidence of her precious, lost world with her at all times.

Meanwhile, Molly repaid her devotion a thousandfold. The renewed security of her existence enabled her to negotiate all the tricky minefields of teenagerhood, knowing that her mother would always be there when she needed her. Alex saw her through all the spurts of rebellion, the tantrums, the unsuitable boyfriends, the breakups, the tears, the hormones, the joy and tragedy of youth. Molly passed all her exams with flying colours, went to university, left with a first class degree, and astonished everyone by becoming a TV journalist. The first time she saw her little girl doing a piece to camera on a mid-afternoon regional news programme with an audience of a few hundred thousand, Alex felt as proud as if Molly had been doing a State of the Nation address. Molly went on to work on BBC national news programmes, before being posted to Middle Eastern war zones to report on the conflicts there at first hand. Alex never missed her live bulletins, watching with mingled pride and fear such as she knew that Molly, as a child, had felt about her. You could've got killed in front of me. Now it was Molly who faced daily danger in the line of duty.

It was while she was working for the BBC, covering battles in the Gaza strip, that Molly met Neil Simmons, a top Sky News cameraman. She joked afterwards that they had first got to know each other when they were obliged to shelter in the same shell hole for several hours. The attraction was instant and mutual. When Neil was injured by debris from a mortar bomb several months later and was posted home, Molly applied to transfer to a job in the UK, so as to be near him. They became engaged shortly afterwards and married a year later. Alex was deliriously happy for them. She knew that Neil would give her headstrong daughter the strength and stability she needed. A couple of years afterwards, Molly took a career break after the birth of her son, David. His younger sister, Ann, arrived two years later. Alex was the most adoring of grandmothers. Molly put her professional life on hold for a total of seven years until both children were both well established at school. Many people expressed surprise that Molly should, in effect, throw up her career for the sake of her family, but to all criticisms she simply replied, "I remember what it was like for my mother, having to bring me up without my father's support. She had to work to keep us both. I don't have to do that."

And through the years, Alex's dreams continued to sustain her. Whether they were driving like lunatics after blaggers, flirting across the corner table at Luigi's, or quarrelling violently in CID, it did not matter, so long as she and Gene were together in her mind.

Love was when I loved you
One true time I hold to
In my life we'll always go on

It was shortly after her eightieth birthday that she began to have visions. It was a beautiful Sunday in spring, and Molly and Neil had promised to drive her out to the country for the day. The car was bowling along Notting Hill Gate when Alex, looking out of the window, suddenly caught sight of a familiar figure, striding briskly along the pavement. There could be no mistaking that curly perm, the bushy moustache, the well-worn leather jacket, polo neck sweater and jeans. She wound the window down and waved frantically.

"Ray, oh, Ray! Please stop! It's me, Alex!" But he paid her no attention and walked on.

"Mum?" Molly laid a hand on her arm. "What's wrong?"

Tears were streaming down her face. "Neil, please stop the car. There's someone there I have to talk to, an old colleague. I have to see him."

"Sorry, Mum, can't do. This is a red route."

"Neil, please, you must. You don't know how important this is." She looked out of the window again, but already Ray was out of sight.

The best Neil could do, was to take the car into the next side turning and park it there. Alex got out of the car as fast as her creaky bones would let her, and hurried back along the street, with an anxious Molly in her wake. But Ray was nowhere to be seen. Only when she had passed the point where he had been when she saw him, did she admit defeat, and Molly escorted her back to the car, crying bitterly.

"Don't cry, Mum, please don't. Maybe it wasn't your friend."

"It was. It was. I'd know him anywhere. But he didn't wait for me." Her tears broke out afresh.

"Well, maybe he just didn't hear you and went into a shop."

Alex shook her head, numb with misery. All she knew was that he had been there, so near to her, and then he had vanished again.

Molly got her back to the car, and they drove on, but she could not stop crying for a long time. Molly and Neil were very kind and understanding about it, but she could not help sensing their embarrassment, as well as their displeasure at her having spoiled the treat they had planned for her.

Looking back on it later, logic told her that of course the man she had seen could not possibly have been Ray. He had never existed, and even if he had, it was unlikely that he would still be alive now, let alone looking the same age as when she had known him. He had been in his forties, forty-five years ago, back in the 1980s. Yet she had been so certain.

A few months later, she contracted a bowel complaint and had to undergo surgery. There were complications, and she was kept in hospital for observation. She had a private room, and one of her few amusements was to watch the comings and goings in the corridor outside. One day, as she sat up in bed, reading a magazine, she saw in the corridor a newly discharged patient leaving, surrounded by a bevy of family and friends. Lucky devil, she thought. In the wake of the group came a young man in a denim jacket and tight white jeans, with blond highlights in his hair, who stopped to smile and wave before passing on. She waved back.

"Chris! Come in, and we'll talk!"

But he was gone. She could not get out of bed, and it was several minutes before a nurse came in and found her crying and calling. A call was put out for Christopher Skelton to come to the reception desk, but no-one came. Once again, logic told her that it could not have been Chris. Yet he had seen her, known her, acknowledged her, as Ray had not. She thought that her heart would break.

Her condition did not improve, and she remained in hospital for further tests. She was being taken in a wheelchair from one place to another, and the nurse left her in a corridor for a moment to see if the specialist was free. The corridor was empty, and Alex looked up to see a dark-haired young woman in an old-fashioned WPC's uniform walking towards her.

"Shaz! It is you!"

Shaz stopped in front of her, smiling. "Yes, Ma'am, it's me."

"And - and I've seen Ray and Chris, too, haven't I?"

"That's right, Ma'am."

Alex was crying again. "But why isn't the Guv here? Doesn't he know I want to see him more than anyone else? Does this mean that I'll never see him again?"

Shaz smiled again. "Don't worry, Ma'am. That's why I'm here, to tell you that you'll see him soon. He's waiting."

"Waiting? What for?"

"Until he doesn't have to go away. Won't be long now, Ma'am."

She smiled, put her finger to her lips, and walked on, and when Alex looked behind her, Shaz had disappeared.

Alex felt a sense of peace, greater than she had known in many years. Ray, Chris and now Shaz had all come to her as Gene's messengers, and through them she had his promise that they would see one another again. Now she was content to wait, and make the most of her remaining time with Molly.

A few evenings later, she and Molly watched Titanic on the TV in her room. The film had always been one of Alex's favourites, which was why she had called herself Kate Winslet when she went undercover at the Crescent Moon dating agency. Seeing it again for the first time in several years, she felt very deeply the parallels between herself and Gloria Stuart's character, Old Rose, who, like herself, had lost the man she loved and remained true to his memory down the years, supported only by her memories and her dreams.

She spoke the old woman's words under her breath, along with the image on the screen.

"A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets. But now you know there was a man named Gene Hunt and that he saved me in every way that a person can be saved. I don't even have a picture of him. He exists now only in my memory."

Except that nobody else would ever know. She would carry her secret knowledge to the grave.

As the credits rolled, Molly turned to her. "Mum! You aren't crying over it again? It's such an old film."

Alex wiped her eyes, but her tears kept falling. "The old ones are the best. Like me."

Molly grinned, switched the TV off, and handed her a tissue. "Like you."

Alex cast her mind back to the film. Old Rose had thrown the diamond, her one tangible relic of her lost love, into the sea. Alex did not have a diamond, but she did have -

"Mols, when you come tomorrow, could you bring me a laptop, please?"

"Whatever for? I hope you aren't thinking of doing any work, Mum. You know what the doctor said about you needing to rest."

"No, it's not work. I've got a pen drive with me here. It includes a confidential personnel file. I was given it for a book, but it'll never be written now. It's encrypted, but I want to make sure that it's deleted while I'm still able to do it. You know how careful we have to be about personal data nowadays."

"OK, Mum. So long as that's all you do."

The following day, Molly brought her laptop. The pen drive which Alex plugged into it was so old-fashioned that she was afraid that Molly's new, slimline laptop would not recognise it, but after a bit of cursing and hitting of keys it installed itself.

Format removable disk G:

Start

WARNING: Formatting will erase ALL data on this disk. To format the disk, click OK. To quit, click CANCEL.

Alex took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and blinked back the threatening tears.

OK

Format complete

"Mum? Anything wrong?"

"No. All gone." She unplugged the pen drive, turned the laptop off, and closed it. "Just one thing more. Will you pass me my handbag, please?"

Molly reached for Alex's handbag in her bedside locker. Alex fished out her keys and took one from the ring. "I have some confidential papers in a safety deposit box." She found a small notebook and scribbled on a piece of paper. "Here's the address. Talbot Street. You'll find a sealed packet in there. I want you to promise me that you'll burn it without opening it."

"Good God, Mum, this all sounds very cloak-and-dagger."

"Please, Mols. You don't know how important this is to me. I'll be able to go easily, if I know it's been done. Please promise."

"Steady on, Mum, of course I will. I'll go today, right after leaving you. It'll go into the first incinerator I find, and I promise not to open it."

Alex suddenly had a vision of Gene, standing over the brazier behind the station, feeding Sam's file and jacket to the flames that illumined his strong, handsome face.

"Thank you, darling. I know I can trust you."

When Molly had gone, she allowed herself to cry. Destroying the files had felt like cutting away a part of herself, but she knew that it had been the right thing to do. Besides, she no longer needed them. She already knew every word. Her memories would be enough to sustain her, for whatever time she had left.

That night, she dreamed of him again.

Near, far, wherever you are
I believe that the heart does go on
Once more you open the door
And you're here in my heart
And my heart will go on and on

Soon after that, Alex's condition began to deteriorate. She had expected that, ever since her encounter with Shaz. Molly and Neil virtually lived at the hospital, taking it in turns to watch over her, making sure that she was never alone. The grandchildren called in frequently. Both had left home years ago, David to start an IT consultancy and Ann to pursue a successful career in ceramics. Alex felt surrounded by love and concern. The doctors said little to her, but there were times when she could see that Molly or Ann had been crying, and she could guess what she had not been told. She concentrated on using the time she had left, to tell her family all the things she had never said, and all the things which had been said many times but needed to be said again. That she loved them all. That no words of hers could express how proud she was, of all of them. That Molly had been more than she could ever have hoped for in a daughter, just as Neil had been all she could have hoped for in her son-in-law, and David and Ann had been the perfect grandchildren. That she would always love and remember them, wherever she was. That she accepted that her time was nearly done, and that they should try not to grieve too much when she was gone, but should celebrate her life. Molly and Neil were surprised by her calm acceptance of her fate, but were grateful for it.

"It's all right, darling," she said, one evening when Molly could no longer hide her tears. "I've had a good long time, you know. Forty-five years longer than it might have been." Forty-five years in exile, living on memories and dreams. She suddenly felt guilty about that. Molly had deserved better from her. She firmly put the thought aside.

Molly dried her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mum, You haven't had much of a life."

"However can you say that?"

"It wasn't fair. Dad dumped you, and because of me you never got the chance to get together with anyone else."

"You didn't stop me," Alex said quickly. "Never think that. Your father made me mistrust men, and I wasn't going to want anyone who didn't want you."

"There are times when I feel that I took so much from you, and gave so little back. Once I moved out, you were on your own."

"That's nonsense, and you know it. You, Neil and the kids have been my world."

Molly sniffed. "But you've so often looked so lonely. As though you've been hungering for something you could never have."

Alex swallowed hard. Molly had come dangerously near the truth, but she could never let her know that. She reached out and touched her daughter's cheek very lightly. "Always noticed too much, didn't you? Ever since you were a little girl. You probably caught me while I was on a diet, passing a cream cake shop."

"Mum, don't joke."

"I can promise you, my darling, that there hasn't been a single thing I've wanted in this world, that I didn't have. Except for the cream cake." All she had ever wanted was in another world.

There was a short silence.

"Mum, who's Jean?"

Alex jumped as though she had been stung. "Wh-what makes you say that?"

"I was sitting with you while you were asleep, the night before last, and I heard you saying, "Jean, I need Jean." Who is she - or was she?"

It was a question which Alex had expected that she might be asked, ever since the shooting. She had her answer ready.

"Gene was a man. Spelt with a G, like Gene Kelly. He was the police officer who found me when Gran's and Grandad's car blew up. I was just standing there, in shock, watching the car burn, unable to take it in. He took my hand, and held me and comforted me. He made me feel safe. He carried me to his car and took me away to Evan. Later, he helped Evan to get custody."

"But I thought that it was Evan who rescued you that day."

"I think Gene thought that if I saw him again, it would only bring back memories of the blast. We lost touch. I started blocking out memories of the explosion, until I thought that it was Evan who had saved me. Then, after the shooting, I had a flashback and remembered it all. I never told Evan. I let him think that I still thought he was my rescuer, right until he died. I've been getting flashbacks again, just lately. I must have been dreaming about it when you heard me talking in my sleep."

"Gene. I remember now, you said that name when you were in your coma."

"That was my first flashback."

"We all owe him, then."

"We do. Always."

So memories of Gene would not die with her, after all. But if anyone else had to know, who better than Molly? There had once been a man who had saved the child Alex from the blast, without whom Molly and her children would never have been born. It was the best way for Gene to be remembered in this world.

That night, she awakened, frustrated that she had not been dreaming about him. She was aware of Molly, sleeping in the armchair beside her, and of something else. She sat up, and her lips parted in wonder at the splendour before her. The wall opposite had vanished, and in its place was a glittering firmament of stars, such as she had seen long ago, in another world. She could almost hear them singing.

"Look, Mols, isn't it beautiful?" She reached out to her daughter's arm to shake her awake, but for some reason she seemed unable to touch her, and Molly slept on. Without thinking what she was doing, she got up and walked towards the stars. Suddenly she stopped. How on earth could she have done that? For months she had been unable to stir from her bed unaided. She looked behind her, but the room and Molly were fading. She could only just see herself, lying motionless on the bed. She tried to turn back, but an invisible wall barred her way. She felt a moment's intense grief that she had been unable to say goodbye to Molly, but checked it. She knew that her work here was done. Molly would be all right now. Leaving her daughter at fifty-seven was not the same as leaving her at twelve. She turned to face the stars again, and was astonished to see that in their centre, they were massed together to form a solid upward path. Tentatively, she reached out one foot and stepped on it. It bore her weight. She looked back one last time, and was not surprised to see that the room and Molly had vanished, and the stars were all around her. The only way she could go, was forward.

Slowly and steadily, she walked up the path of stars. She lost all track of time, and although the way seemed endless, she did not tire. She looked down at herself, and saw that she wore a jacket, tight jeans, and boots. She put a hand to her face, and felt smooth, youthful skin. She was young again, and beautiful. She walked faster and faster, and then broke into a run.

All at once the stars vanished and she was standing in a well-remembered London street. Ahead of her, on the other side of the road, was Luigi's, with the green canopy over the entrance, and to her right was the station. She looked behind her, but the stars were gone, and the sky overhead was slate-grey. She was home.

She climbed the steps, pushed the swing door open, and stopped short in astonishment at the sight of a face she had not seen for many years.

"Morning, Ma'am." Viv smiled as he looked up from his crossword. "Good to see you again."

"Viv! But you're - you were - " She stopped, confused, remembering how she had seen him last, in the prison corridor, lifeless, covered in blood. It seemed utterly wrong to use the word dead to the vibrant, living man before her.

"I know, Ma'am," he said gently. "We all are, here."

She smiled. "Of course."

He gestured to the swing doors. "Care to go in, Ma'am? You know the way."

She smiled again. "Of course I do. See you later, Viv."

She passed through the swing door and down the familiar maze of corridors. Past the office which Keats had formerly infested. Past the office which had once been Mac's. Past the interview rooms. Hesitantly, she pushed the swing door open and walked into CID. They were all there, at their desks or rummaging through filing cabinets. Everything was just as it had been. She paused for a moment, feasting her eyes on the sight before her and mustering up the courage to go into Gene's office.

Ray looked up. "Well, look who's here!"

"Ma'am!" Shaz jumped up and ran to her. Ray reached her at the same time, and he and Shaz hugged her from either side. Chris, just behind Shaz, reached out to grasp Alex's hand. She noticed that he and Shaz wore identical wedding rings. Some things had worked out during her absence, then. The others crowded around, engulfing her with kisses, embraces and cries of welcome. Alex felt overwhelmed.

"Oh, Shaz - Ray - Chris - Terry - Poirot - Jimmy - it's so good to see all of you again, I just can't tell you..."

"Good to see you too, an' all, Ma'am." Ray hugged her again. "Been some changes while you 'aven't been 'ere." He looked over his shoulder. Alex followed his gaze, and saw Louise Gardiner sitting at a desk in a corner. She looked up and smiled shyly.

"Got 'er back along with Viv, when we broke Keats's power," Ray explained. "Nothing but trouble, that one. Still, I'm taking 'er to Luigi's for dinner later, so it's not all bad."

"So Luigi didn't go home?"

"Not here 'e didn't, no. Too many thirsty coppers to serve."

"But, Ray, where's - "

The door to Gene's office flew open with a crash, and the crowd around Alex fell back. There he stood, framed in the doorway, his hands on his hips, his face twisted into a scowl that would sour a dairy. Her heart hammered like a forge.

"What the bloody 'ell is this place, CID or Twickenham? Break up the scrum an' get back to your desks, now!"

"But, Guv, the Boss is back - " Chris began timidly.

"So I see, Christopher." Gene nodded slightly. "So. My team is complete again. You bloody took your time, Drake."

She could barely speak. "B - but, Guv, I couldn't come any sooner…"

"Drake. My office. Now. The rest of you, back to work." He turned on his heel and swept back into his office. The others returned to their desks, casting sympathetic glances at her.

Alex's heart sank with disappointment. Was this to be the end, after the long years of waiting to see him again? Had she returned to him, only to find that he felt nothing for her but anger and contempt? Her legs wobbled so much beneath her, that she could barely walk the few paces to his office.

She closed the door behind her and pulled the blind down. Whatever he was going to say to her now, there was no reason for the others to witness it. He stood with his back to her, pouring out two glasses of whisky. The awkward set of his shoulders, the need to turn away from her until he could conceal what he felt, everything in his body language screamed to the psychologist in her. Maybe it was going to be all right after all.

He turned to face her, cradling one glass in his hand and holding the other out to her. She could not move. If she so much as touched his fingers now, she might ignite.

"Guv, I know that this is going to sound like a stupid question - "

"Well, that is a surprise."

"How long have I been away?"

He drained his glass, set it down, and looked her straight in the eye. "You've been away for precisely as long as you were needed to be, Alex. An' you knew that without me telling you."

"Yes," she said softly. "Yes, I did."

Without taking his eyes from hers, he set her glass down and held his hand out to her. "Come 'ere."

Then she knew that she was forgiven and had always been forgiven. She had been a fool, ever to doubt that he would pardon her. It was the last time she would doubt him. She held out her hand. Their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of pleasure through her, then interlaced firmly for a moment before he pulled her into his strong embrace, where she was meant to be, and their lips met in the kiss that Keats had denied them so long ago. A cheer went up outside, and they broke apart to see the whole of CID, almost standing on top of one another to peer in around the edges of the door blind.

"OY!" Gene shook his fist at them. Alex only laughed.

"Gene." She reached up and touched his face. "It doesn't matter. We're together again. That's all that matters."

"Yeah. For ever." He kissed her again, oblivious to the cheers and applause outside, and this time it seemed as though their kiss would never end. He broke it to murmur in her ear, "Any chance of finishin' that dance in your flat tonight, after work?"

She laughed softly. "Yes, Gene, indeed there is. We have unfinished business."

"Bra opens at the front or back, Bolly?"

"Well, Guv, this time you just might find out."

"Upstairs outside?"

"Get your coat. You've pulled."

You're here, there's nothing I fear
And I know that my heart will go on
We'll stay forever this way
You are safe in my heart
And my heart will go on and on

THE END