After the fluff of Christmas, I felt it suitable to follow up with this. (Actually, I wrote this a week before my Christmas fic, and thought it out about two weeks before that. So nevermind with that statement then.) But for those of you that actually read the headers it is a two shot little thing. I do love to drag things out. Also I hope you all had a Merry Christmas, and for those of you wishing for a naked Philip under your tree (I can't understand that. Phil? Really? Eh, not my cup of tea. I prefer the skinny blokes with fabulous hair)that you got him. And if you didn't, I hope you got something else that made you just as happy, or somewhere near that range of happiness. (See what I mean about dragging things out? This a/n is a story in itself!)

Alex stared out the window at the gently falling snow and took a sip of champagne. Technically, she wasn't allowed to drink it, but she had swiped a glass when the nurse's back was turned and then disappeared into her room. There was too much happiness out there, and she wanted to be alone to brood. It was the end of the year, the most tumultuous year of her life, even including the year her parents died.

An ache started on the left side of her head and she knew that if she did not receive pain medication soon, it would turn into a full blown migraine. Migraines were just one of the many side effects that the bullet had left. After waking up, she had had to relearn how to walk and talk, and was blind in her left eye. One of her skull fragments had severed the nerve leading from her eye. It still was disconcerting, especially since she had little depth perception now. She knew that when she was released from the rehab facility, she would not be able to drive. Not that it really mattered in a city like London.

Her head started to throb and she sighed. Alex hid the glass of champagne behind a curtain and turned her wheelchair around. She still wasn't allowed to walk without nurse assistance, as the right side of her body was still too weak. She still had trouble even moving her legs to walk the wheelchair along, and her right arm was not strong enough yet to push her. She struggled down the hallway, where the staff and patients were all laughing around the television. Many had champagne, or for those who weren't allowed, sparkling apple juice. They were all eagerly awaiting the New Year, making the best of their situations.

Alex tapped a nurse in the middle of the back, the only place she could reach, and arranged her features into the appropriate look of pain. The nurse turned and looked at Alex, her face one of concern. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Migraine," Alex whispered, still unable to form a fully coherent sentence, something which frustrated her to no end. She had been shot in July, for God's sake. She should be recovered enough to speak in a normal sentence by now!

"You're getting one? Or you've already got one?" the nurse asked.

Alex held up two fingers and then held her head. She knew she had to make a show out of this, otherwise, someone would inevitably turn up at five til midnight to wheel her down to ring in the New Year. The nurse looked at her sympathetically before going to grab the medication. She came back just moments later with a cup of pills and a glass of water. Alex swallowed the tablets and then looked at the nurse.

"Bed," Alex said wearingly and pleadingly.

The nurse nodded and smiled. "Sleep well, Alex."

Alex gave the tiniest of smiles and returned to her room, removing the champagne from its hiding spot and returning to look out the window.

Three years. She had spent three years in the eighties, fighting and wishing to get home. She had only been back six months, and she was already severely wishing that Layton's bullet had killed her. She was weak now, powerless. She couldn't stand on her own and she had to call someone anytime she needed to use the loo. She had had to learn how to eat with her left hand, and she still couldn't write. She felt like a young child, and she hated it.

The worst part was that Molly had been taken from her. Pete, who had never cared about his daughter before, developed a sudden interest. The courts had agreed that Alex was unfit to care for Molly, and had ruled in his favour instead of letting Molly stay with her godfather. And Alex hadn't been allowed to say goodbye. She wasn't even informed that Molly was leaving, as it was deemed it would stress her out too much. She had wept bitterly when she found out and refused to do anything for nearly a week until she realised that doing absolutely nothing would not help her win back Molly any sooner. But by losing Molly, she had lost the only thing that she had to fight for, and was now prone to severe doubts of depression. The antidepressants prescribed lifted her mood slightly, but they were the reason she was now sneaking the champagne.

She had told no one of the eighties. How could she tell them? No one would believe her, not even a psychologist. She knew that much from Sam. She hadn't believed Sam until she had experienced Gene Hunt for herself. And she hadn't been able to understand why Sam wanted to go back so bad until she herself had returned to the 'real world'.

The world was too grey here. She missed her clothes, she missed her mates, and most of all, she missed Gene. That combination of things provided the colour she had been missing in her life. And she hadn't even realised the colour it had provided until she returned. The constant fights with Gene had given her fuel, the cases had kept her distracted. Here she had nothing to focus on except trying to get her damn leg to work.

She sighed, staring out the window and watching the snow covered path. She saw a man walking along the path outside, as if to come to the clinic. He was tall, and his head was bent against the cold, his collar turned up. Alex ignored him. It was too late for visitors, and even if it wasn't, she never had visitors anyway. Ever since Molly had been whisked away by Peter, she had been alone. Evan stopped by occasionally, but his work kept him too busy.

Alex sighed, moving herself into bed fully clothed. With her weak arm and leg, she couldn't change herself without a nurse's help and didn't want to call them in at the moment. She rolled onto her side, blocking her eyes against the light she had forgotten to turn off. The migraine was getting worse. In fact, it was the worst that she had ever had since she had woken up from her coma. Right now, her head was throbbing painfully, bad enough to bring tears to her eyes. She started to drift into sleep as she heard the patients and nurses singing out in the corridor.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And auld lang syne!

If she had not been in bed, she would have raised the champagne flute, remembering the friends from so long ago. The friends she would never see again. She felt a burning in her eyes. Alex blinked away the tears, trying to banish away the memories of Chris and Shaz, of Ray and of Gene. However, they continued to come, the memories of Christmas' and New Year's Days long forgotten rising to the surface.

She drifted to sleep, still swamped in memories, listening to the group outside singing horribly.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Alex sat straight up, startled. She thought that the nurses wouldn't bother her, since she had a migraine. They usually left her well enough alone when she had one. Why were they disturbing her now?

"Come," she called. A nurse entered the room, her face inscrutable.

"Alex, you have a visitor."

Alex frowned. "Now?"

"He says it's his only night in town and he begged to come see you."

Alex was puzzled. She had no idea who this person would be. Finally, she nodded her head and the nurse ushered in a tall blonde man in his mid to late thirties. For a moment her heart leapt at the sight, but she knew that it was impossible. The nurse left the room, and the man moved more into her sightline. He was wearing a dark coat that had been unbuttoned to reveal a jumper and jeans. The man was slim, but not overly so. However, what drew Alex in was his eyes. They were the bright silver blue that she remembered seeing on Gene so many years ago.

The man smiled. "I should introduce myself. I'm Matt."

Alex smiled cautiously. "Alex."

"I know," Matt breathed. "I can't believe it's really you!"

Alex frowned. Matt seemed to sense her unease and reigned in his excitement.

"I'm sorry. I just...This must all seem so awkward."

Alex nodded. How would this man know her?

"You must be wondering how I know you. Well, of you. I'll start at the beginning. I was born up in Manchester in 1974. In 1980, my mum and dad divorced and Dad moved down to London after his best friend died. In 1983, I went down to visit my Dad. I noticed that he seemed different. He didn't seem as cheerful to see me and his CID was more depressed than his Manchester one had been. I asked him what happened, and he told me that his DI had gone missing. He showed me her picture, a DI Alex Drake, and told me all these wonderful stories about the woman. I became a one boy fan club of the woman. From that point on, every time I visited Dad, I'd make him tell me stories of Alex Drake.

"And then, in July, I was watching the news. Dad wasn't doing well; he was pretty much on his deathbed. The main story that night was of a Met detective who had gone missing and been found hours later on an abandoned boat, shot in the head. They didn't know if she would survive.

"I was listening half-heartedly until I heard them mention the name. 'DI Alex Drake,' the woman said. I looked at the television, and saw your photo. It was a bit different than your eighties photos, but I knew it was you. And so did Dad. He looked at the screen, turned to me and spoke for the first time in days. 'That's her,' he said. 'That's Bolly. How the hell did she get here?'

"A few days later, he died, but not before he gave me a message to give you. I spent the past several months trying to track you down, which I guarantee you was no easy task. But now I'm here, and I have Dad's note for you."

Alex was reeling. Gene's world was real? She had actually gone to the past?

Matt handed Alex the note and she opened it, holding it in both hands.

That was her first inclination that something was wrong.

There was no way she was able to use both hands to hold the letter, never mind open it. Also, she was still relearning how to read, and she was able to decipher words easily on the letter.

"This is all a dream," she whispered, confirming her suspicions with the ability to speak a coherent sentence.

Matt smiled at her. "He wanted you back by his side until the very end, Alex. Sometimes I think he died, just waiting for you to return. He never forgot you. And you can't forget him." Suddenly Matt started singing.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And auld lang syne!

Alex closed her eyes remembering Gene, wishing that he was there. Matt continued singing, but his voice grew distant as finally, the dream ended and she drifted away into happy silence.

~(*)~

The nurse walked down the silent corridor. The patients had gone to bed soon after ringing in the New Year, leaving the halls quiet. It was dark, save for one light that shone in the corridor through the crack under a door. The nurse looked at the room, confused. Alex had said that she had a migraine and went to bed over an hour ago. Her light should be off and she should be sound asleep. The nurse rapped lightly on the door but there was no response. She pushed the door open.

"Alex?" the nurse called. The nurse saw Alex lying fully clothed on her bed, arm covering her eyes. The woman in the bed did not stir. The nurse went to Alex's side and shook her gently. "Alex, let's get into your pyjamas."

Alex still did not move. Frustrated and growing concerned, the nurse rolled Alex over and gasped. A bluish-tinged smile crept eerily across the woman's snow white face.

Happy New Year!