I apologise for the slew of oneshots I've been writing, but after finishing We're too Far Gone for Happy Endings, I'm trying to find my muse once more. (I can't go without writing. It drives me mad...) So until my muse decides to come back, oneshots it is... This is inspired by the film/story, "The Lovely Bones." I know its not out in the UK yet, but it's amazing! Thanks to Rolephant as always :D

My name is Alex Drake. Alex is short for Alexandra. I was thirty-three years old when I was murdered by the man I loved.

I had been murdered once before. I had been murdered in a life before I had met the man I loved. In that life I had a daughter. I loved her a lot, but then I was taken hostage. The man, a man named Arthur Layton, shot me. But when the bullet pierced my skull, and I woke up here, in the 1980's, I realised that I was more alive than ever. Therefore, I don't count that as a murder. Arthur Layton did me a favour. He sent me back to the man I loved.

I struggled for a while, believing that I needed to be back with my little girl, a girl named Molly. She had long mousy brown hair and beautiful blue eyes. In my first life, she was the only thing that meant anything to me. But then, after spending time here, I realised that I was where I belonged. For the first time since I was young I had friends. I had work mates, and I had the man I loved. I didn't want it to end. But then I got the message over the telly. It was my surgeon. The one that was trying to save me in my former life. I was overcome with the need to see my Molly again.

That led to an argument between me and the man I loved. We were working on a case, trying to stop a blag that the man I loved was certain would happen. We found out later that it was Operation Rose, an Operation that our Superintendant, SuperMac, was going on about when he died. The blag turned out to be a bullion job.

Alas, that is where the man I loved and I fell out. I was desperate to get home. I was acting differently around the station, off on my own more and more. I should have seen the way the man I loved watched me more and more as I went on about needing to get home, but I was distracted by my desperation.

A woman weaselled her way in. Jenette, she was called. She planted seeds of doubt in the head of the man I loved. She told him I was corrupt, and with the way I was acting, he started to believe her. He asked me for the truth, about whether or not I was corrupt. I told him the truth. I told him about my former life, about the man who had shot me, and about the man who had come before.

He did not believe me. In twelve hours our relationship had gone from close, almost lovers, to two people that hated each other with all their hearts. We as humans feel too much, and that night, with the man I love yelling at me, all my emotions fell on the floor. As I slapped him, I felt nothing. I was free of any emotion except anger. His face was a mask as I stormed out. He had suspended me, he didn't trust me. He told me he would kill me.

That day, the day I died, started with a grim sense of determination. I had to get the man who was keeping me here, a man I believed was the infection that was preventing me from getting home. I was going against the orders of the man I loved. I didn't care. All I wanted was to see my Molly again. I followed the man who was keeping me here into a courtyard. He cocked his gun and was ready to shoot, until the man I loved entered the courtyard. He told the man not to shoot, otherwise he would shoot. The man just laughed and started to pull his finger back.

There was a shot. The man who was keeping me here was on the ground, dying. The man I loved ran over, to hold him as he died, like he did for everyone that was dying in front of him. Well, almost everyone. After the man who was keeping me here died, I thought I was free to go home. I could not understand why I was still with the man I loved. Then an arm grabbed me from behind. It was the woman, the weasel. She threatened to kill me. The man I loved told her to let me go.

It was then that I heard the message of the surgeon. The final dose of the drug they had been giving me to fight off an infection I had gotten in my former life had been administered. Either I could live, or I could die, but I had to get back to my former life to live. I elbowed the weasel in the stomach, and she doubled over, but slipped, and pulled the trigger of her gun. It flew towards the man I loved, who fired back at her.

I felt the pain in my lower abdomen. Then I felt nothing. The man I loved recovered, looking up. He said my name, the special nickname he had given me.

"Bolly," he had said. I thought I heard concern in his voice, but sounds were slipping away. I felt myself falling, leaving him, and also from my former life. I saw the anguish in his eyes as he stared at me. I was slipping away. That's what it felt like. Life was leaving me. But I wasn't afraid. I was going where I needed to be. I was never meant to be in the eighties. An act of fate had sent me there, just like it sent the man before me. He was never meant to be in the world of the man I loved either. So he died as well.

The rest of the team joined the man I loved and stared at me as well. I felt my breathing growing shallower; it was harder to fill my lungs. Eventually, I could no longer summon the will to breathe. The world around the man I loved turned white, and finally, my eyes closed.

After the bullet entered my side, it took him seven seconds to say Bolly. It was thirty-seven seconds until I stopped breathing and fifty-six seconds until I closed my eyes. Exactly seventy-eight seconds after his bullet was fired, intended for the weasel, twenty-two seconds after my eyes closed, I died.

~(*)~

My name is Gene Hunt. Better known as "Guv" or "the Guv." I was forty-six years old when I murdered the woman I loved.

The day she walked into my life was the day I was changed forever. My best mate, a man named Sam Tyler had died the year previously, leaving me with nothing. I lived solely for the job. Then the woman I loved walked into my life.

She was completely mad; I called her a fruitcake more than once. Somehow though, it grew on me. It was something I looked forward to day after day. What sort of nonsense would she spout out?

She was always on about the future. Ever since the day she arrived, she would predict major events that would happen. She also predicted a bunch of bollocks things too, such as the prince of England wanting to become a tampon.

Sometimes though, she would become serious, completely focussed on the case that we were currently working on. I loved to see her sat at her desk, flipping through a file, her lip caught in her teeth and her brow furrowed in concentration. I think her lack of focus on the last case we ever worked on together that caused me to distrust her.

She was constantly off on her own, talking about things that didn't make any sense, as usual. However, this time I didn't want to hear it. I wanted results on the case we were working on, and I wanted her focussed on that.

She finally started looking into the case with me, but then I got the cassette on my desk. She attacked me, said she hated me, said she hated Fenchurch. I was hurt. I had to hide that though. She came into my office to give me an update. I questioned her about the cassette. She avoided me. I asked again, and she said she'd tell me the truth, and started speaking.

She told me a complete lie. I had gone out on a limb, revealed exactly what I was feeling to her, and she pissed in my face. It made me angry. I told her to get out of the office, and called back in the woman I was working with on the case. I should have sensed that woman was a rat all along.

I took her to Luigi's, and she led me to doubt the woman I loved even more. The rat told me that the woman I loved was corrupt. I couldn't believe it, not after all we had done together. And yet, after listening to the tape, I could.

That led to our argument later that night. I suspended her. I only did it out of anger. If I had stopped and thought about it, I would have known that there was no way that she was corrupt. But I didn't, I thought with my emotions. I insulted her, and she slapped me. She had every right to slap me.

That night, I waited in the station, hoping that she would show up. She never did. The rat turned up however, and it was then that I realised that something was going on.

The next morning dawned bright and cold. I hoped the woman I loved would stay away. I gave the team orders to arrest her. Then the blag started. It was going without a hitch. Then I saw her following someone, her gun in the air.

I entered the courtyard to find her at gunpoint. I warned the man, but he just moved his finger closer to the trigger. I had no choice. My gun sounded, and then he was on the ground. I asked her who he was, and she just told me he was a bent copper, but I knew she knew him.

He died in my arms.

It was then that the woman I loved started muttering to the air. I ignored her, and started looking for identification on the man. I turned when the sound of a gunshot rang in the air, and she screamed. The woman I loved was being held by the rat, with a gun to her head. I pointed my gun at the rat. I told the rat to let her go. The rat just pulled her closer, jamming the gun into her head. The woman I loved looked at me in desperation, and then suddenly elbowed the rat in the stomach. The rat fired her gun, and out of reflex I fired mine back.

I heard the woman I loved scream in pain. Then I heard nothing. I looked up, and she was doubled over, blood flowing out of her side. The rat was nowhere.

I called out to her in concern, called her the nickname I had given to her the first day she had shown up.

"Bolly," I had said. She just looked at me in shock and pain, and started falling. She was on the ground, and looked up at me. She focussed on me, staring. I couldn't look away to help. I was overcome with the guilt. I hadn't meant to shoot her. I meant that shot for the rat. She got in the way!

The team started approaching behind me. I could feel the stares they gave me, but I couldn't look at them. I could only look at the woman I loved. Slowly, her breaths faded away, and then her eyes closed.

After I heard her cry out, it took me seven seconds to say her nickname. Thirty seconds later, she stopped breathing, and twenty-six seconds after that, she closed her eyes. Exactly seventy-eight seconds after my bullet fired, she died. And I didn't even hold her.

~(*)~

My name is Alex Drake.

My name is Gene Hunt.

Alex is short for Alexandra.

Better known as "Guv" or "the Guv."

I was thirty-three years old when I was murdered on 12 November, 1982, by the man I loved, because of a misunderstanding.

I was forty-six years old when I murdered the woman I loved, on 12 November, 1982, because of an accident.

My time in that life was too short.

My time in this life is too long.

And the only thing I regret is that the man I loved never held me as I died, like he did for everyone else.

And I regret everything.

Thanks for reading. Reviews are always appreciated.