Disclaimer: I don't own Ashes to Ashes. If I did, Friday night would have been very different…

Like several of us, I've turned to fanfic as a coping strategy to deal with the devastating effect of the end of Series 3. It was the only thing that could stop me crying, and even while writing this I've been leaking tears into the keyboard. As always, reviews and feedback would be welcome - I'm not sure if this is any good, but I just had to write it.

Gene swilled the last of the whisky in his glass, drained it, set it down, and refilled it. He glanced out of the window at his new arrival. They'd managed to get the twonk calmed down at last and seated him at Ray's vacant desk, where he now sat, alternately wrapping his arms around himself and chattering on the phone about virgins. Just like Sam when he first came.

Sam.

It didn't look like this one was going to be a patch on Sam, but then Ray and Chris had been pretty rough material when they'd first arrived, and they'd both ended up by proving themselves. This new boy, Jason Collins he said his name was, would need intensive work from Gene if he was going to make the grade.

Gene relished the challenge. He had to. It was all that stood between him and a loneliness so great that he could not bear to contemplate it. He picked up the Mercedes-Benz 190D brochure and leafed through it again. He had not decided upon a colour. It was time for a change, a break with the past, but he hankered after another red car. The colour of the Quattro and of the dress Bolly had been wearing when they first met.

Bolly.

He allowed himself to think of her for one sweet, agonising moment, then pushed the thought away. He had said that he would see her around, but it would be better for them both if they never met again. He hated to concede anything to Keats, but he had to admit that the pencil-neck was right about one thing. He had forgotten too much. That was why he had weakened enough to allow himself to form ties. He had found a friend in Sam, and he had fallen in love with Bolly. Now they had both moved on and he was bereft. Keats had mocked him for being left alone, but from now on his loneliness would have to be his strength. It was the only way for such as him.

There was a commotion outside and as the swing door flew open, he heard Paul, the new Skip, saying, "Do you have an appointment, Madam?" Officious, form-filling twonk. He'll need some work from me too.

"I don't need one."

His head jerked up at the sound of a voice he had never expected to hear again, as a tall, graceful figure strode across CID, entered his office, and shut the door. He thought that he must be going mad.

"Guv!" She leaned against the closed door. "I've come back."

"Drake! What the bloody 'ell are you doing 'ere? I left you at the Railway Arms!"

"I know. I couldn't bear it there any longer." Her face was pale, he noticed, and she looked thin and unwell, just as she had after he had aroused her from her coma.

He forced himself to be strong. It would be better for her, even if it broke his heart. "But it's a pub! It's coppers' Heaven, you daft tart! Get back there. That's an order."

"Please listen to me, Guv. I've been so lonely there. Ray's off chasing every blonde in the place, Chris and Shaz don't have eyes for anyone but each other, and Sam and Annie are nice, but they're wrapped up in one another too. I just sit there in the saloon bar, all on my own, and I'm bored, bored, bored. I'm not even interested enough in my afterlife to get pissed."

"Everything comes to 'er who waits, Bols. Sit there a bit longer and someone'll come along."

She ignored him. "Nelson found me crying and asked what he could get me, and I told him that there are only two things in all the worlds I want, Molly and you, and I'm not being allowed either of them. That's not my idea of Heaven. He understood that. I don't want to have to wait until Molly dies to be happy again. So I asked him if I could apply to transfer back to my old job."

"You did what?"

"He said it was highly irregular, but he asked me to complete a transfer form and said he'd make a report to Authority upstairs. Just now he brought it back, countersigned." She produced a folded document from within her grey coat. "My case has been examined, and it's been found that I'd been sent there too early."

"Eh?"

She unfolded it, turned to the penultimate page, and placed it in front of him. "This is Authority's response to Nelson's report. See for yourself. I don't know exactly who wrote this and gave the approval, but you must realise that Nelson knows some very important people there."

Reluctantly, he picked it up and began to read.

Conclusion:

It has been found that DI Alexandra Drake's transfer from Fenchurch East to the Railway Arms was premature. Having only just learned of her death and of her separation from her daughter, she has not yet come to terms with her situation, and is in a state of shock and grief which has been intensified by her having been summarily dismissed by the only other person to whom she can relate.

Her over-hasty transfer is a grave error of judgement on the part of DCI Hunt. It is understood that it may have been caused by a desire on his part to avoid personal involvement. This is a challenge which he should not have rejected, but embraced wholeheartedly. From the accounts provided by DI Drake and by Nelson, it is apparent that DCI Hunt, having experienced the loss of his entire team, is in grave danger of emotional isolation.

Recommendations:

1. No reprimand to be issued to DCI Hunt on this occasion. However he must be reminded that persons in his care must not be transferred from Fenchurch East until they are in all respects ready to leave, whatever the inconvenience to himself.

2. The authorisation of DI Drake's transfer to Fenchurch East with immediate effect to form an unbreakable team with DCI Hunt. Duration of transfer: Open ended, to continue until such a time as DCI Hunt enters the Railway Arms with her.

Alex produced another folded document from within her coat. " Here's the transfer form." She cast it upon the desk in front of Gene as though she were throwing down a gauntlet. "I left straight away. So here I am, back on your team."

"I've got another DI now. Another daft twonk who's been sent to me from the future."

"So? You had two DIs after Ray was promoted, and that never bothered you."

"I can't let you do this. You're giving up Heaven for another dose of Purgatory, for God's sake."

"Look at it," she said quietly, pointing to the form.

He unfolded the first section, made out and signed by Alex. Then the second fold, with Nelson's signature. Then the third fold, with the countersignature, written in letters of such bright, deathless gold that he had to avert his face and throw up an arm to shield his eyes. Alex, he saw, had no such difficulty. She had been beyond the door, and had seen things he had not. She turned the report to the last page, and he saw the same dazzling signature.

"Blimey," he muttered. "Him."

Alex refolded both documents. "So you see, someone very senior thinks that I should be here with you, rather than there."

He shook his head in bewilderment. "But, but, but - why?"

She sat on the edge of the desk. "You see, Gene, I've found out that Heaven isn't just a place. It's being with the people we love. Being with you is Heaven to me, even when we're quarrelling, because I lo- "

"Don't say it," he said roughly. "You don't. You should bugger off back to the Railway Arms and wait for Molly."

"Gene." There was fear in her eyes. "Please, don't send me away."

"Haven't got much choice, have I?" He gestured impatiently to the folded documents on the desk between them.

"Don't you want me here?" she pleaded.

His eyes told her all she needed to know, and she relaxed. "Did you 'ave to ask me that?"

"Well, I did think I might be useful here. So does He. There will always be criminal scum to catch. You and I can lick New Boy into shape together."

"It'll be harder for us, you know, now I remember everything. An' with two of you from the future, you'll 'ave your work cut out not giving yourself away to 'im, every time you open your mouth about psychiatry."

"Psychology."

"Whatever. Unless you want to tell 'im you're from the future too."

She shook her head. "No. But if Keats tries to come back, we can be ready for him."

"I'll forget about Keats again, and everything he did. So will you."

"I know," she said sadly. "Just as I've forgotten so much about Molly. Summers warned me that that would happen. But maybe two memories will be better than one, for us to guard against Keats and his like. Stop them preying on our new boy, just as Keats preyed on Ray, Shaz and Chris, and Morgan preyed on Sam."

"But how can you want me, now you know everything about me, you demented besom?"

She reached across the desk and touched his face. "That doesn't matter now. You are who you are. The same good, kind, decent, infuriating, insufferable, opinionated, difficult, stubborn, obnoxious, misogynistic and reckless man I love and will always love. I'm incomplete without you. We were always meant to be together. You're Gene Hunt. You're my Guv. We're a team. Even He says we're unbreakable."

"Bolly?" His eyes seemed to drink her in. "Are - are you sure about this?"

"As sure as I've ever been about anything, in any of the worlds."

"You really think we can make this work, Mrs Fruitcake?"

She nodded, hope and joy dawning in the lovely, pale face. "I can't have Heaven without you."

He swallowed hard. "Same 'ere. Welcome on board, Inspector."

"Besides, I've only just discovered that you're a great kisser, and once isn't enough." She came around the desk, sat on his lap, wound her arms around his neck, twined her fingers in his hair, and kissed him, slowly, gently, lingeringly, as though she were savouring a rare wine. He pulled her closer and snogged her face off with over three and a half years' worth of built up passion. Having her here with him, by her own choice and with His blessing, was more of Heaven than he could ever have hoped for. He leaned his head in the crook of her shoulder and neck, as though he were a child whom she cradled. It was where he had always been meant to be.

She freed one hand and picked up the brochure from the desk. "Mercedes-Benz this time? Good choice. Have you ordered it?"

"Not yet. Still deciding the colour. Any ideas?"

"I used to have a silver car, in 2008."

"Silver it is. I'll go to the showroom this lunchtime."

"Is my flat still available? I know Luigi was going home."

"The restaurant's still a trattoria. Called Alexander's now. Grub's not so good as it was, but at least there's no steak an' chips pizza. House rubbish tastes as bad as it always did. The new owner's still letting the flats." He looked at the ground. "I've been livin' in yours since you went, an' we'll 'ave to give Wonderboy the one above it. Nowhere to stay, just like you when you first came."

She looked mischievous. "Could you give me house room, please, Guv?"

He looked her in the eye. "Flat's only got one bedroom."

She smiled and kissed him again. "I know."

"I mean, er, I could always take the sofa - "

"Don't you dare. We have unfinished business. I hope you haven't thrown away my Spandau Ballet tape." She stopped his mouth with another kiss, and his arms tightened around her.

"Good heavens! I can't believe how lax your rules are here!" The youthful voice outside rang out in self-righteous indignation.

"Why, what's up?" They recognised Terry's voice replying as they broke the kiss.

"The DCI has his mistress in his office!"

"Right." Gene stood up so suddenly that he nearly spilled Alex onto the floor. "Time to earn your keep, Bolly Kecks. Lickin' into shape time starts now." She nodded, and they emerged from the office together.

"COLLINS!"

"Yes?" The youngster was scared, wary, truculent. Might be a good officer when he wasn't frightened out of his wits. At least he wasn't calling them imaginary constructs.

"This is your colleague, DI Drake."

DI Collins cleared his throat. "Pleased to meet you, DI Drake. Jason Collins." He looked at her oddly. "Excuse me, but haven't we met before?"

Oh, no.

A look of recognition crossed her face for a moment, followed by studied blankness. "Possibly, but I can't think when."

"I remember! Conference on psychology in the modern police force, Bognor Regis, April 2007. You gave an excellent powerpoint presentation on psychological profiling, using Kevin Hawkins, the minicab rapist, as a case study." He frowned. "But the Alex Drake I met was killed on duty two years ago, in 2008."

"Jason, this is 1984," she said gently.

He shook his head in bewilderment. "People keep telling me that. I'm dreaming, and now I'm imagining a dead colleague in my dream. I shouldn't be here. I know I'm going to wake up in a minute."

"Really?" She moved away from Gene, put her arm around the boy's shoulders, and walked him out towards the kitchen. Gene could hear her saying, "It's strange, this place has that effect upon people. When I first came here, I felt the same, but now it's home. Let's get you a cup of coffee, then we'll find a nice WPC to show you to your flat…"

"Oy! Drake!" he shouted after them. "Don't dare take 'im to the flat yourself!"

She flashed him a flirtatious glance over her shoulder which made his boots smoke. "The very idea, Guv. I'll send Susie."

Terry's phone rang. He answered it and put his hand over the mouthpiece. "Guv. Blag in Archer Lane. Shots fired."

"Lovely!" Gene rubbed his hands. "DRAKE! Put that soppy DI down! Fire up the – oh, bugger, we'll 'ave to take a pool car. Collins, Terry, Poirot, come on!"

They streamed out of the station and into the venerable Cortina parked outside, with Collins protesting every step of the way. He ended up wedged between Poirot and Terry in the back, with Alex sitting in the front beside Gene. Just like old times. Almost.

"The sooner I get my new car, the better," he snarled, as the Cortina shuddered into life. "No 'andbrake on this."

Alex clung to the dashboard. "Fire up the Merc won't have quite the same ring to it, will it, Guv?"

"Good point, Drake. Better make it another Quattro."

"Keep it under seventy, Guv!" Collins gasped from the back. He was white with terror. "And radio in for uniform!"

"I don't need Plod in the way!" Gene yelled, taking a corner.

"It's procedure!" Collins screamed. "We aren't above the law!"

"What you on about, Collins? I AM the law! Take that seatbelt off, you're a police officer, not a bloody vicar!"

"Is it always like this here?" Collins whimpered. Poirot and Terry exchanged a We've-got-a-right-one-here glance over his bowed head.

Alex looked over her shoulder at him. "Just you wait, Jason. Now, you regard this as dystopia, but sooner or later, it'll become your Utopia. Just as it's become mine."

She squeezed Gene's leg surreptitiously, and the Cortina went from 80 to 120 in ten seconds.

THE BEGINNING