Promise

Disclaimer: I'm only using characters from the BBC's Ashes to Ashes for fun. I don't own them and didn't invent them.

Author's note: This is a short fic about a possible resolution to the events at the end of the second series. Thanks to Louella for doing an excellent beta job and for providing many useful comments and suggestions. Any remaining mistakes that you come across are all my own fault.

Chapter One

Alex's heart pounded as she walked down the driveway. What would she find? Who would she find? Her hand trembling, she steeled herself.

"Knock, you half-wit," she muttered and then rapped smartly on the door.

She was just about to knock again when there was a shuffling noise and the door opened. He stood there, still tall but not as straight, fine hair receded and silver. His eyes widened at the sight of her. "Jesus..."

"No, not even close." The high, nervous voice didn't sound like hers.

But he didn't even seem to hear her. "Alex?" He brought a shaking hand up to cover his mouth and grasped the doorframe with the other.

Alex had intended to tell him everything, to explain all the madness, all the half-truths, all the anger but her courage failed. It vanished as soon as she set eyes on him and all she wanted to do was talk, to hear his voice and the lie was out of her mouth before she knew it. "No, my name's Molly. Alex Drake was my mother. Mr Hunt... I'm sorry to drop in on you like this without calling beforehand. I was worried you wouldn't see me. I just... I had to... I... had to see you."

Gene swallowed fiercely, willing himself to keep it together in front of this young woman. "Molly. Of course, er, come in." He stood back an ushered her into a cool sitting room. "Have a seat." He gestured to one of the armchairs and Alex gratefully sat down, her legs trembling beneath her.

It was Gene; older, sadder, but it was him. She had missed him dreadfully, had longed for him from the moment she realised she was back in 2008. When she asked Evan about her parents' deaths, and discovered that Gene Hunt had been real, Alex had cried for what seemed like the entire weekend. When she was stronger, Evan had helped her to find him, even if he was baffled by her request.

However, Gene had retired a Chief Superintendent and didn't want to be found. There was no one to help her either as the entire squad from Fenchurch East had vanished; abroad, dead or nowhere to be found. There was no trace of a file belonging to Alex Drake in the records either – it was as if she had vanished. There were mutters about "an inquiry" but all attempts to find that material were stonewalled until they finally came clean. The inquiry records had been destroyed in a fire in 1990. As determined as ever, Alex refused to give up and she had tracked Gene down to a small modern villa in Portbou, in Northern Spain.

Now, here she was, sitting on an armchair, four foot away from him. He was 73 years old, the once powerful Gene Hunt was now an old, careworn man.

"What can I do for you, Ms Drake?" asked Gene, sitting down on the opposite armchair, face twisting in pain as his hip protested. Stupid lying doctor bastards. A hip replacement was supposed to give him a new lease of life. The hell it did - three months did not qualify as "a new lease of life". After that brief respite, the nagging pain returned and it had been annoying the fuck out of him every damn day since.

"Molly, please," said Alex softly. At least it was close to Bolly.

Gene nodded in acquiescence.

"Mr Hunt -"

"Gene," he interpreted curtly, a familiar note of exasperation in his voice.

"Gene, I wanted to speak to you about my mother. She left, er, her diaries on tape and I recently listened to them." The lie got easier as she spoke. There were no tapes, no evidence that she had ever even existed in 1981 or 1982, but Alex figured they would provide a good cover story. In fact, she was rather pleased that she could think of something plausible so quickly.

Gene gave a harsh bark of laughter. "Tapes! Yes, I know all about her tapes."

Alex gave him a grim smile. "There were quite a few. They were, eh, locked up in a family bank vault. I couldn't bring myself to go through them until quite recently where I discovered that every day, right up until she... left, she recorded something. Quite a lot of the tapes were about you." Alex found her voice faltering.

"I know that too," he muttered. "I didn't know the tapes had been returned to her family."

Alex's throat ached. "I just... I wanted you to know that she loved you. She loved you very much. In case, um, in case you never heard those tapes."

His eyes seemed to bore right through her.

Oh God, Gene, you must know it's me. You always knew it when I lied to you... except when it mattered.

"I didn't listen to them but thanks for telling me that... Molly." He looked away from her and stared out the window to the sea beyond. Alex had loved him. Finally, the words had been spoken and he didn't know whether it made things easier or harder to bear. He had wanted to listen to her tapes but the inquiry team took them away. Thanks to mislaid evidence, nobody ever got to hear her tapes and he would never forgive those responsible for that - not even on his death bed. They had taken the last remnants of Alex's voice away from him or... maybe not. Maybe she'll give me a copy. Alex had loved him and he wanted to hear her voice say it, even if he couldn't say it back.

"You're welcome," she gulped, seeing the desolate look in his eyes.

"Anything else I can do for you?" He wanted to be alone, to digest what he'd just been told.

Alex didn't know what to say. How to ask? How to say goodbye? "Er, no, not really. I just wanted you to know what she thought because, as I understand it, the two of you parted on bad terms but I'm sure she would've wanted a chance to put things right."

Gene snorted derisively at her choice of words. "Yeah, well… we never got the chance to 'put things right'. It was a terrible accident and one we've both had to live with."

Alex blinked, completely stunned but she managed to conceal it well. Accident? What accident? Now came the second reason for her visit. "Could you tell me what actually happened? All I rem-know is that you had a dreadful row about Operation Rose. Her last tape was all about you and your argument and how she was sure you would come around." It's all I can remember about that time, Gene. Please tell me what happened.

"How can you not know what happened?" asked Gene, puzzled as well as suspicious. "There was an inquiry - it went on for weeks."

Alex thought quickly. "My family thought it best to shelter me back then."

"I see." He still held her gaze with a steady, thoughtful look, a dangerous glimmer just about evident.

Alex knew that look well; it was his 'I'll play along but eventually I'll get the truth out of you, lying scum' look. She almost smiled and pressed on. "So, I knew pretty much nothing about the whole incident. But now… well, now things are different and I would rather hear about what happened directly from you."

Whatever he believed, or thought he knew, Gene relented. If she wanted to know then he'd tell her. So he did, with perfect recollection of the events that ended Alex's life in 1982. When it came to the most difficult part, he heard his voice cracking and hoped he'd get through his tale without breaking down. "I don't know why she did it, I had the situation covered, but she struggled with Jenette, who fired at me. When I..." Gene coughed. "When I ducked, I stumbled and I accidentally fired my gun but yo-your mother had been pushed into my line of fire and... and..." He rubbed his forehead in anguish.

Alex was gob-smacked; Gene had accidentally shot her and that's how it all ended? A stupid accident had separated them? "You shot m-her?"

Gene's silence spoke volumes and Alex didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry I took your mother away from you," he said eventually, his voice flat and empty.

"It, er, it was an accident," she finished lamely. "Not your fault."

"Except it was," he added and got to his feet. Shuffling to a sideboard, he poured himself a whisky. "You want one?"

"Please," she replied and her heart ached at the familiar gesture when he held out a glass to her.

He knocked his glass against hers. "To Alex."

She nodded mutely and smiled at him before knocking the drink back. When he retook his seat she rummaged in her bag and handed him a one-litre bottle of Claymore whisky. "I brought this for you."

He gave a small laugh when he saw his old favourite. "Thanks, love. Appreciate it."

"Gene... what happened to you afterwards?"

"To me?" he asked incredulously. "I just told you I shot your mother."

"It was an accident. You were trying to rescue her. Surely nobody believed you shot her on purpose?"

He shook his head. "Plenty of people did but in the end, when they found the bullet from Jennet's gun in a pillar behind where I'd been standing, my version of events was, eventually, accepted. So, what happened to me? Nothing. I shot and killed a fellow officer and they did nothing. Christ, after a few years, they promoted me as if I was some sort of tragic, noble hero. What a shitting mess, eh?"

"It was an accident. It was a tragic one but... she'd be sad to think you still blamed yourself. She wouldn't have wanted that."

Gene looked away for a brief moment. Stupid thing to say. How could my Alex have wanted anything? She died, for fuck's sake. "Look, I know this sounds bloody selfish but I'd rather not talk about this any more. I can't..."

"No. I mean, it's fine. I understand. I should... go."

He nodded. "Do you? Understand?"

Alex swallowed painfully and nodded, a false brightness on her face as she got to her feet. "Of course I do."

He struggled to his feet. "Thanks for stopping by, B-Molly, and for coming all this way to see me. Goodbye." He held out a hand to her.

As soon as she touched him, Alex thought her heart would break; his hands felt the same, his touch as assured as ever. "Thanks for talking with me. Goodbye, Gene."

He squeezed her hand gently and she felt tears threatening to escape. How could she let him go? It was agony to think that he would never know she was here with him.

His thumb stroked over her knuckles. "I know it's you, Bolly," he whispered.

Alex's tear-filled eyes met his and she shook her head, trying to pull her hand from his.

He wouldn't let go. "You think I'm senile? You think that I wouldn't know you instantly?"

"My name's Molly," said Alex brokenly.

"Bollocks," he scoffed. "I know it's you, Alex but if you think I'm just a crazy old fart then thanks for the message about your 'mother', love. However, if you don't want to play this bloody stupid little game then, please, stop lying and tell me what the hell is going on here."

She couldn't lie to him any longer so she reached out and caressed his cheek. "Gene..." she whispered.

"Jesus... Bolls. Oh, my Bolly," he whispered, gathering her close with a strangled sob. "I knew it. Am I dying? Have you come for me?"

Alex sobbed into his shoulder. "No, no you're not dying. It's like I told you all those years ago. I'm from the future. I'm from now. I didn't lie to you then, Gene and I can't lie to you now. All of it was true." Holding him tightly it all poured out - everything from the time Arthur Layton shot her on a rubbish barge in 2008 until now. The whole mad, insane story flowed out of her and he listened without interruption. "I've been miserable without you," she finished, "and back then, I was miserable without Molly. I relied on you and needed you far more than you'll ever know and I can't… I can't believe it that this is it for us… This is how it ends?"

"Ending or not, this is fucking insane," he growled, still holding her. "Christ, Bolly... how...?"

"I don't know how," she said, a note of tearful desperation in her voice. "I don't know. All I do know is that it happened. Somehow, I ended up with you in the early 1980's. Gene, please believe me. I know it's mad but I have no other way of-"

He pulled back for her a little bit and placed a finger on her lips. "How you do go on, woman," he said with a sad smile. "But if what you're saying is correct, then a hell of a lot a things make sense. Including that thing you knew about Charles, Di and Camilla. I mean, Jesus! I nearly choked on me omelette when I heard that. The future King of England wanted to be a tampon. Jesus." He rubbed his face in disgust and shuddered. "But you knew about it. You knew about a lot of mad things and... and... well..."

"Well, what?" she breathed, seeing more pieces of the puzzle click into place for him.

"Well, it must be true then, mustn't it?"

"It is true, Gene. Everything. I promise you it is even though I know it's insane."

He stepped forward again and framed her face in his hands. "Oh, Bolly. How I've missed you and your insanity but do you know what?"

"What?" she replied, her eyes filling with tears as she saw his acceptance.

"Your type of insanity kept me going. I lived for it," he whispered, eyes tracing over every inch of her beloved face. "Christ, you're so young. It's just over 27 years since I last saw you and you haven't aged a day." He tenderly brushed the tears from her cheeks.

Alex couldn't speak because she couldn't say the same thing about him. Her Gene was old and careworn.

"I know, love. Years with a broken heart and fucked hip will do this to a bloke."

"Don't," she whispered, her throat aching with sadness.

"I can't image what it must be like for you," he continued, determined to seize the chance he'd prayed for over all these years. "A right wrinkly old bastard telling you he loves you. But I do, Alex. I always did, you daft tart."

"Gene, please-"

"All I ever wanted was a few more seconds with you, Bolls. Just to tell you that I love you. 'Course, I'd have much preferred it if you never went and died on me in the first place but you did. And you have no idea how often I've wished I had that time with you again."

She hugged him close. "I dream about you all the time."

Her whispered confession pierced his soul. "Nah - you dream about the old me. Shit, the younger me, I mean. Lucky bastard - 46 years old, a beautiful woman at his side and too much of a gutless wonder to do anything about it. I never took a chance, Bolly. Instead, I always assumed I'd have the perfect moment to ask you out properly – that we'd get a chance to be together. So much wasted time… stupid, stupid, bastard. "

Alex cried, her heart fit to break. She thought meeting him would help her to move on but it was quite the opposite. He was still Gene and it was torture to think he'd lived all these years in lonely regret and sadness.

Her let her go and limped to a bookcase on her right, hip protesting with every step, where he took out an old and ratty looking London Metropolitan Police file; apparently, her file wasn't missing after all. Rifling through the pages, knowing exactly what was written on every single one of them, he withdrew an envelope.

"Here, Bolls," he said, putting it into her hands. "You keep it."

She looked at the front of it. His handwriting had scrawled her name on it. "What is it?"

"Something I never should've taken in the first place."

Alex opened the envelope, shook it, and her old warrant card fell out with a post-it attached.

She flipped it over and sure enough, it was her card but with CANCELLED stamped repeatedly across her photo and name. It was worn and battered but she could just about make out her blue off-the-shoulder top. "How did you... they usually..."

"Yeah, usually warrant cards from deceased officers are destroyed but I had my ways and means. I wanted to give it back to you, to tell you I was wrong to take it. I kept it with me every day on the job. Kept it with mine... kept you with me," his hands closed over hers, "I didn't want to let you go... I'm so sorry, Bolly. Hope you'll forgive me - for all of it." He sniffed and pressed his lips firmly.

"Oh, Gene... of course I forgive you," she said forlornly and hugged him tightly again. "Of course I do. It was an accident - a stupid bloody accident and I can't bear to think that they thought you shot me deliberately. Not you..."

He kept his arms around her and spoke softly, "You once wrote me a letter in case you didn't get a chance to say goodbye properly but you an' me are going to say goodbye properly, Bolly. No letter can do the job."

"I can't," she gasped, a wheezing sob choking her.

"'Course you can," he said with confidence and took her hands. "Goodbye, my darling Bolly. I have loved you for years - loved you way back then, love you now. You were an infuriating posh tart and I would never have changed a thing about you. Leave me now and know that you've given me the one thing I wished for - a few more seconds with you. You've given me something else too, something I'd no right to expect. Forgiveness."

"There's so much more I want to tell you-" she began but he placed a gentle finger on her lips again.

"You came back to me and granted wishes, like the psycho fairy that you are. But like all psycho fairies, you can't explain everything and you won't stay for long. I won't see you again. Can't. It's too... much."

She knew he wanted her to say goodbye, to give him the one thing he had longed for. Reaching up again, she cupped his cheek and stroked her thumb along his jaw. "Goodbye, my Gene Genie. If you ever want me, you know where I am. Right here," she placed a hand on his heart. "I love you."

He covered her hand with his and squeezed it, kissing her palm before letting her go and stepping away from her.

"I love you too, Alex. And just in case, there's something you should know..." He leaned forward and whispered into her ear.

She smiled at him, whispered that she'd never forget, and with their first and last gentle kiss, she let herself out of the flat and walked away, her warrant card tucked safely into the back pocket of her jeans.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

She never knew where she got the strength to walk away from him. But she kept going, one foot doggedly in front of the other, until she rejoined Molly and Evan at the small hotel. She was too sad to cry - seeing him had completely shattered her heart.

"Alex, is everything okay?" Even asked her after dinner. Molly was busy perusing the dessert trolley and Evan seized the opportunity to ask. Since she had walked into the lobby that afternoon he had known that something was wrong. Molly hadn't suspected a thing, thinking Alex had gone to the spa for a morning's relaxation to help with her headaches.

Alex nodded and stared at the napkin scrunched in her hands. She wanted him to be quiet, to leave her in peace. After all, she had answered all his questions about Gene earlier; yes, he remembered her. Yes, he was still the same. Yes, it had been nice to meet him. Yes, yes, fucking yes. Now, shut up! Her mind screamed in impotent anger.

"Talk to me, Alex, please?" Evan pleaded. "What happened today?"

"Nothing happened, Evan, for fuck's sake," she snarled at him, her temper barely in check. She held a hand up in apologies - another side effect of her medication. Mood swings. They were the hardest to deal with, especially when everything irritated her. Noise in particular; magpies, children playing football on the street, Molly typing too hard on the keyboard, the hum of the fridge, neighbour's music, Evan's cough, Bryan's overly loud laugh. She twisted the napkin tighter. Gene hadn't even noticed she was blind in her right eye.

Making her excuses, Alex took herself off for an early night, complete with a long bath but it didn't work as Gene filled her dreams. Old Gene merging to younger Gene and snippets of conversations, arguments, laughter, glimpses of his eyes. She woke crying.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

Three months later, she happened across his obituary in the paper. He had died from cancer the previous month. Illness bravely borne and is deeply regretted by his many friends. Well done, good and faithful servant.

And Alex had to carry on alone.

He was gone from her and the loneliness she had experienced before was nothing compared to the utter desolation she felt now. If she could only have seen him one more time, just once. She knew he had said his goodbyes to her but that didn't mean she couldn't have gone to see him. She would've stayed out of sight - anything just to be near him. Distraught, she crumpled the flight reservation to Spain in her hands and watched it burn in the fireplace, poking it until every last shred of it was gone. Gene was dead and nothing could have prepared her for the grief she now felt.

She grieved for him as keenly as if they had been husband and wife and she couldn't share it with anyone. For months, her world was grey and empty and the only person she tried for was Molly. It was hard, terribly hard, but she was determined to keep her agonising grief to herself in front of her daughter. She didn't give a damn what anyone else thought or said as long as Molly was happy.

In the long run, making an effort for Molly helped her. It took her a while but gradually she began to remember the good times she had shared with Gene. It could've been so much more, and yes, it was cut short but that didn't mean that she couldn't laugh when she thought about their time together. For example, she remembered their whispered set-up and how she couldn't even look at him in the Quattro on the return journey to the station. Ray never looked the same way at a battered sausage again after that. Gene had relished that one - laughing over it at one of their last lunches together until he damn near cried.

Soon, she found that the light that she thought had been extinguished refused to die completely and she cherished the tiny glimmer that she would never let go. Meeting in the present was not an option any more but maybe they would meet again someday, some time. He wouldn't want her to be miserable all the time so she did the best she could. Tried to be the mother Molly deserved, tried to do her job, tried, tried, tried so hard but she hated being a trier. She had always been a winner; quick, sharp, intelligent and happy. Now, it took her a day to do even simple things at work. She couldn't write for long, couldn't do anything much at all. Her balance wasn't good and was getting worse, as were her headaches. She was always pale now, unable to sleep at nights as pain managed to torment her in one way or another. The next person that gave her the "You're so brave" speech was going to get a smack. In the chops.

She waved goodbye to Molly, who had happily bounded into her grandparents home. Bryan and Marjorie were only too happy to have her to stay and were also keen to help out their daughter-in-law. Alex's tiredness and obvious pain had affected them too and they had encouraged Peter to come back from Canada and start helping more with Molly. He had been back a month and was beginning to see how badly Molly needed him. How badly Alex needed him. She tolerated his guilty concern but she still couldn't stand to be in the same room with him for longer than half an hour. At least he looked after Molly, took her out to do fun things, helped to get all her new things that she needed for the upcoming school year. It was just as well as Alex had staggered up the stairs when they had left for a day of shopping. Exhausted, she collapsed into bed and willed herself to sleep. Even an hour would help.

Sleep well, Bolls.

It was Peter who found her, curled up in her bed, looking like she was asleep but the deathly pallor of her skin gave her away. The only comfort they all drew from Alex's sudden death was that is was sudden. The massive brain haemorrhage struck while she was asleep and she never felt a thing. However, it didn't make the shock of her death any easier to handle for Molly. With her family around her, she gradually came to see that that her Mum had done everything she could to stay with her. She had tried so very hard but even Molly knew that her Mum wasn't a trier. She was a fighter and winner. A bullet to the head had changed that, had slowly killed her Mum, for nearly 13 months. But Molly loved her for trying anyway.

x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x

"Evan?"

"Yes, Scrap?"

"We're going now. Please say you'll come with us."

"Of course I will," he replied and took Molly's hand.

"Who's this?" Molly pointed to the neat grave.

"This, Molls, is a man who looked after your Mum when she was a little girl. I cannot believe they've ended up in the same place again," said Evan, tapping the headstone with what seemed like affection. "You look after her, Hunt."

"How did he know my Mum?" asked Molly.

"He carried your Mum away from the car bomb that killed her Mum and Dad. She wouldn't let him go, not until he brought her into the police station to wait for me. Helped me to get custody of her too."

"He must've been a brave man." Molly was reading the headstone and saw all the commendations Gene had received.

"He was. Kind too although he'd sooner eat glass than have anyone acknowledge that fact."

"I like it that she's here," smiled Molly sadly. "That she's with all these other brave police men and women. That she's with him again. It's nice."

"It is," agreed Evan, his heart aching. "Let's go, Scrappy."

Molly didn't budge.

"Molls?"

"It's the badge," she croaked.

He knew what she was talking about instantly. When they had tidied Alex's room they found an old, Metropolitan Police warrant card tucked into the back of a picture frame. Nobody could make out what was underneath the "Cancelled" stamps but something very odd was written on a post-it inside it. I'll always keep you with me. Love, Gene. It seemed disrespectful to just heap it into a drawer as Alex had obviously treasured it.

"Can't be-"

"It must be," persisted Molly. "He must've given it to her, maybe years and years ago. We don't know any Genes today but she knew this one a long time ago."

Not wanting to squash Molly's romantic notions, he smiled at her. "You could be right, Scrap." Maybe Hunt had given it to her when they met last year but it still didn't make sense to Evan. He had already made the link, thought about the possibility that note could've been from Gene Hunt but... no. Ridiculous notion.

Molly may have been 13 but she knew when she was being humoured - Evan wasn't as clever as he liked to think. However, today was not the day for her to pick a point with him. With one last lingering look at her mother's grave, Molly and Evan made their way to the waiting car as the mourners left the Metropolitan grave plot to its bravest and finest. Weeks later, after Alex's headstone had been erected, Molly came back on her own with the warrant card in one hand and flowers in the other.

"I know it was from him, Mum, and that it meant a lot to you. So... here... you keep the badge." She carefully separated the badge from its backing and pushed it into the soil at the foot of the headstone. Then she went over to Gene's grave, removed the dead leaves, placed the flowers on it and touched his name with her fingers. "Please, look after my Mummy, Mr Hunt. Don't let her go."

.oOo.