Epilogue

Slowly his dream let him go and Keats opened his eyes. It took a few attempts, just as it had the day before and the day before that. Since he'd woken up he'd been struggling not just physically but emotionally and mentally. Every day he awoke and the first thing to happen was the onset of memories and emotions, not dissimilar to the experience Kim had while under his control. It would take him a moment to push them away usually accompanied by an angry growl that the doctors mistook for needing more pain relief.

"So you do wake up sometimes then."

Fuck. The voice made Keats freeze up. It was the last thing he had been expecting. He swallowed and tried to work on fighting the dreaded morning memories that were pushing their way into his skull but he was too distracted when he knew who was sitting by his side.

Very slowly he turned around. There he was, the owner of the voice; a voice which had been one of several plaguing Keats's thoughts in recent days.

"Simon," he shivered in horror as he realised how breathy his voice sounded. Shit, pull yourself together. Keats straightened his face and stared at him. "I don't suppose you had the decency to bring me grapes?"

"I did as it happens," Simon told him quietly. He pointed to a blue and white striped bag on the cabinet beside him and Keats's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. He couldn't remember a time anyone had brought him a gift. Not one that wasn't poisoned, anyway.

"I should bloody think so too," he muttered, "number of times I've brought them for other people."

"Yeah," Simon said quietly. He breathed out slowly. "I believe that was how we met, in fact."

Keats frowned. That was true enough, but the conversation wasn't making a lot of sense in other respects.

"I didn't expect you to want a trip down memory lane, Simon," he scowled.

"I'm not here for one," Simon sighed and got to his feet. In that second Keats began to panic and before he could stop himself he cried,

"Where are you going?"

Simon stopped mid-turn, half-facing the door. He looked back at Keats,

"I just wanted to make sure you were OK," he said, "and you are."

"So you're just going to walk away?"

Simon hesitated and swallowed as the hairs on the back of his neck started to stand on end. This didn't sound like Keats. No - correction, it did sound like Keats, it sounded like a Keats he'd only ever seen one night; a broken Keats, devastated by Kim going back to the real world. A lost and lonely Keats, a Keats who seemed to have developed emotions. The Keats in front of Simon was starting to look somewhat familiar after all. He wasn't sure what to do for a moment, but finally he turned back and slipped into the chair again.

"What do you want?" he asked quietly.

Keats swallowed. He wasn't even sure.

"Stuck in here with no one to talk to all day," he said, his voice surprisingly quiet, "even you're better than nothing."

Simon opened his mouth to respond to Keats's insult but at the last minute he stopped himself. There was something else he wanted to say, a comparison that sprang to mind.

"Stuck by yourself. Like your young counterpart?" he asked, watching Keats's face drop instantly. For a moment his eyes seemed to gloss over, then he straightened his expression.

"How is he?"

"You should know," Simon pointed out.

"What if I need a bit of help with my memory?"

Simon closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Keats," he began, "he's doing fine. And he'll continue to do fine from now on," he swallowed, "without you."

Keats stared at Simon, waiting for his words to suddenly develop meaning but they didn't. Eventually he had to ask,

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Simon stared at Keats and for a moment he felt the slightest pang of guilt. He looked downward and clutched his hands together.

"That… that was the other reason I came," he admitted, "but you had enough to deal with. I couldn't..." He looked back at Keats. "After being confirmed as… as young James Keats's next of kin, Robin was awarded control of his care and has allowed me to sign him over to a long term rehabilitation facility where he'll have proper support, psychologically as well as physically." He swallowed, daunted by the cold eyes fixed upon him. "I'm sorry," Simon whispered, "I had to do it. It was the best thing for him," he hesitated, "for you."

Simon could see Keats twitching and trembling as he started, his gaze becoming ever more angry and unstable. His teeth were clenched and his fists followed suit. Simon wondered whether it would be safest to just get up and walk away, to escape whatever was coming next, but he didn't. He stayed where he was as Keats hissed,

"Bullshit."

"It's true," Simon protested, "It happened yesterday."

"I don't believe for one minute that –" Keats began, trying to get up but the pain in his stomach dragged him back to the bed. "Shit…"

"He's gone, Keats," Simon told him quietly, "I'd already made the arrangements, all it took was Robin's signature on the form. It's the full deal, extensive psychological rehabilitation and counselling to overcome everything he's gone through and everything he's going to face… nothing like the shitty rehabilitation you went through, getting the body stronger while leaving the mind to fend for itself," he swallowed, "I read all your files, you know. After you died. Over there."

"After you killed me, you mean," Keats spat.

"You tried to kill me!" Simon cried, "and Alex!"

"A minor detail, nitpicker."

Simon swallowed and shook his head.

"Maybe if you'd been given the same amount of attention for your mental state as you were for the physical one things could have turned out very differently for you," Simon told him, "maybe they will for him. Maybe he can actually have a life instead of an existence."

Keats eyed him, still trembling.

"And who," he began sarcastically, "is paying for this little emotional spa idea of yours?" he sneered.

Simon felt himself heat up all over.

"The insurance from his previous station will cough up for some of it from the insurance," he mumbled, "considering the circumstances."

"And the rest of it?" Keats waited but Simon seemed reluctant to answer. He frowned and felt a very strange bubbling sensation in his chest. "Not you?" As Simon hung his head in embarrassment Keats gave a raucous laugh. "Oh dear god, Simon, what do you think you're doing?"

"Saving you," Simon whispered.

"I don't need a knight in shining armour," Keats cried.

"But you did," Simon whispered, "all those years ago. When you were where he is now." He waited for Keats to react but he said nothing so Simon slowly got to his feet. "Well," he said quietly, "that's all I had to say. I'm glad you're recovering."

"But the tests," Keats cried as Simon took a step towards the door, "what about my DNA resemblance?"

"It wasn't a 'resemblance', it was identical!" Simon reminded him, "they didn't buy that. They thought you'd fixed it." He flinched, "I told them as much."

"Great. Well done. Thank you, Simon," Keats pouted and turned away. His anger was growing and Simon knew it was time to make a fast exit.

"Goodbye, Keats," he whispered and continued to walk towards the doorway when he heard Keats voice again. This time it was lower, quieter. It caught Simon by the heart.

"What about the baby?"

Simon visibly flinched. He turned around slowly, his lip wavering.

"Pardon?" he whispered.

"The other test," Keats stared at him, "Can't tell me results on that one aren't back yet."

Simon swallowed.

"Kim and Robin decided not to go ahead with the testing," he whispered, "they said the result wouldn't make them feel better either way."

"What?" Keats looked blank for a moment. He stared at Simon, waiting for further explanation, "she's just going to have it and never know if it's mine?" A trail of goosebumps covered his arms as he watched Simon hang his head and a big, icy boulder grew inside of him. He swallowed very hard and whispered, "She's lost it. Hasn't she?"

Simon tried desperately to keep a check on his emotions and hold them back as he drew in a deep breath and looked at Keats just for a second.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

The pause that followed was laden with sadness, shock and things that neither knew how to say or even whether to try. Simon braved a look at Keats. His face seemed frozen in time yet the rest of his body was shaking. His eyes were wide and his lips slightly parted as though words of distress were desperate to burst forth but he just wouldn't let them. To Simon's shock one tear travelled from Keats's eye and fell down his face. He didn't react to it. Perhaps he hadn't even noticed. Simon swallowed and shuffled on the spot, still at just as much of a loss to know what to say or do. Eventually he whispered, "I'm sorry," again but Keats still didn't respond

He'd run out of words. He had no idea what else to say. So he turned around and walked very slowly from the room, his heart heavy, both for Keats and for the loss his friends had been through. He couldn't begin to imagine the pain Kim and Robin were feeling but from the look on Keats's face they weren't the only ones.

When he reached the corridor he stopped and leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily, his eyes squeezed tightly closed. Everything about the week had been full of sadness and trauma and he felt as though it was all choking him. He tried to slow his breathing, to keep calm, and eventually he opened his eyes and prepared to walk away but there was an unusual sound coming from Keats's room and he stopped to listen. It took several moments for Simon to realise it was sobbing.

He peered cautiously around the door frame and found Keats with his head bowed and his hands to his face while his body shook and convulsed with angry tears. In all the time that they'd known one another all the times they'd clashed, all of the confrontations and the times that it has spilled over into something more Simon had never once seen Keats in a genuine flood of tears. Had he even seen one fall from his eye? He wasn't sure, but he'd certainly never seen anything like this. He didn't know what to do. It seemed Keats didn't either. His tears were streaming and his voice desperate as he cried again and again,

"Oh god… oh god, no –"

Simon swallowed. He started to tremble and felt surprisingly scared as he tiptoed back. He wasn't sure about what he was doing, not sure at all, but the mess of Keats in front of him made a compelling case.

Gently Simon sat down beside him on the edge of the bed and stretched an arm around him pulling Keats's head to his chest where he held him while he succumbed to the unfamiliar and very human act of crying. Simon didn't say a word; he didn't know what he could even say. So he simply held him silently until eventually, when almost half an hour had past, Keats was all cried out and fell asleep through sheer exhaustion. Simon sat still for some time, making sure that Keats wasn't going to wake up until he finally peeled him from his chest and laid him back against his pillows.

Simon stood up feeling just as drained emotionally, his own eyes full of unfallen tears. His shirt was sodden and he was hot and sweaty from the body-heat he'd been swamped by. He untucked his shirt and fanned it back and forth a little as though expecting instantaneous drying which wasn't going to happen, then he looked one last time at Keats, bowed his head and left the room.

When he tried to visit the next day Keats was gone, nowhere to be found.

Somehow Simon wasn't surprised.

~xXx~

"Gene! Have you already eaten tomorrow's chocolate?!"

Gene wiped the tell-tale brown residue from his lip and put on an innocent expression.

"Don't look at me, Bols."

"I am looking at you and you've just been chewing it."

Gene swallowed the remnants of the chocolate.

"It was a sprout," he lied.

"Oh bollocks it was," Alex cried in exasperation, "what's the point of having an advent calendar if you don't open the windows on the right days?"

"If I recall correctly a certain posh tart didn't even approve of me having an advent calendar," Gene commented much to Alex's annoyance.

"That was before you started sharing the chocolate," she said, one eyebrow raised.

"Anyway," Gene said as he tossed the calendar to one side, "I'll be glad to get tomorrow over with. Some bloody countdown. Twenty four days o' pain and misery."

Alex sighed but she couldn't disagree with that statement. December had been a difficult month for all of them. Now they'd reached the day before Christmas Eve and the team were blindly hoping for a merry Christmas to take away a little of the difficult times they'd been through.

"You're only saying that because you think I've got you a cyber-pet," she told him.

"They're called tamagotchis and if there's not one under the tree then you're not getting yer stocking stuffed," Gene warned.

Alex smiled as she got to her feet, supped the last of her wine and hauled Gene up from the couch.

"Come on, Santa," she said, "let's have an early night since you'll be up all night tomorrow."

Gene paused.

"I will, will I?" he asked, "How literally do you mean that?"

Alex smirked.

"You'll have to wait and see," she said.

As she led him to the bedroom both felt relieved that Christmas was almost upon them and they could perhaps put some of the difficult times behind them, just for a while. December had been a terrible month in many ways but they had all survived and emerged stronger than ever.

Soon 1998 would begin and with a new year would come a fresh start. Until then there were festivities to face. And despite all the evidence to the contrary Alex had a good feeling about the next few days.

It was going to be a merry Christmas.

The End

~xXx~

A/N: First of all I want to say a huge thank you to everyone who's been reading this story, it comes as a genuine surprise and thrill to see in my stats that so many of you are still joining me on this journey or have found it along the way. This whole world has become very special to me and has helped me through some really rough days, probably none moreso than while writing this story.

I wanted to just speak about that, and the sad theme surrounding the end of the story. I plan shockingly far in advance, I have everything planned for the next 2+ years to the end of the series, the timing of my own loss just as this story was starting seemed like a kick in the face. But it's ended up being extremely cathartic, it's helped me to pour pretty much all my emotions out. I often find it hard to talk to people about the most painful things that happen and I have used characters in stories to talk to one another about them instead. So in that way, the timing was perfect. I'm feeling much stronger now. Thank you for your support and patience.

Your reviews have been awesome and really help me to carry on writing - I love to read them! Jessie deserves a medal (and also for putting up with me shooting random messages about shipping people I'm not supposed to be shipping), Charlotte is the number 1 upcoming plot detective extraordinaire and Steph – you, missus have made me a very happy woman indeed :) which might explain the unexpected fluff ahead :-/ Huge thanks to everyone else who has reviewed; ashleighcheryl (Aaaah I love your reviews so much!), Sillivan (I am so impressed with you doing your homework through this story, seriously!) guest reviewers and people I've spoken to on Tumblr or by PM, thank you!

So, to the fluff :-/ I know, I know… Fluff. Hmm. Must be that Christmas spirit. In March but, whatever… The next, short fic is literally a break from all the doom and gloom, it's going to be fun, extremely shippy (seriously, practically everyone actually has good fortune in their love life for once) and fairly silly and surreal in places. Straight up, if you don't want to read shippy fluff you can skip the next story because the serious stuff continues with the next fic after that, you won't be missing any important plots!

I am hoping to post the first chapter tonight… we have now entered the fluff zone… wish me luck!