Ok peeps, this is a follow on from our story,"We'll meet again". Basically it will be a collection of one shots that follows Alex and Jim through out series 3. Total Jalex again and rated M. Of course as ever we own nothing...except filthy minds :-) Enjoy! Jeepters & Scully xxx

Alex was struck by the relief she felt; never before had Fenchurch East felt so much like home. Stood in the kitchen making herself tea, she wondered if it had all been real: Russia...Levkov...Jim. She remembered the days when she was sure this place was a fake, that everyone she encountered were mere constructs; but now being back, it seemed more real than ever. She had to resist the urge to cling to Gene, to ask him never to let her out of his sight for fear she might disappear again if he did.

Gene had wanted her in on the interview with David Blond right away, never once giving her a moment to compose herself. The momentum of events upon her return served to make 1952 seem even more surreal. Had there really been a Russian scientist and a double agent working with him? God, it all sounded so ridiculous, like something out of a James Bond film, she scoffed to herself. Then she remembered the evening that she and Jim had shared together only hours (years?) before. That had felt real, oh so wonderfully, amazingly real. She felt a pang of disappointment, the sort you get after you've awakened from a brilliant dream and realized that's all it was.

"Bolly!" Gene's rough bellow shook her from her thoughts. "I apologise for my DI, Mr Blond; I was hoping a knock to the 'ed might have knocked some sense into 'er. 'owever, this does not seem to be the case!" he scolded, throwing her an annoyed sideways glance.

Walking back into the office, Alex, still less than steady on her feet, noticed a tall, familiar looking figure in Gene's office. "Ah, the rubber heelers!" Gene's booming voice practically faded to nothing in Alex's mind as the realisation crept over her. Utterly conflicted, her mind told her to run while her body told her to fling her arms around him as he turned around. However, all she could do was remain bolted in place, slackjawed, as he strode into CID as though he owned it. "Hi, DCI Jim Keats, Discipline and Complaints. Wanna take a walk, mate?"

Sat in Luigis, the familiar haunt where she so often sought sanctuary after a hard day, Alex was now opposite Jim across the table. She struggled to hold her tongue as he tried to convince Gene that he was on his side. "Now, I know DCI Hunt didn't mean to kill you in the Douglas Lane robbery; the chemistry between you-it's obvious," he smirked, his eyes lingering knowingly on Alex. Taking a breath, she bit her lip. He was doing such a good job of acting as though he had never met her before. Once again, he was effortlessly charming, so warm. This was the man who had held a gun to her temple and shot her only hours earlier, and here he was holding his hand out to Gene, promising to work with him. Gene excused himself and left them alone. Jim looked straight at her and breathed a sigh of relief, rolling his eyes in Gene's direction. How dare he? Rage built within her at that flippant and friendly gesture. Leaning in so his lackies wouldn't hear her, she whispered fiercely. "You BASTARD," she spat at him, wide-eyed. Jim's brow creased in confusion. "Excuse me, DI Drake?" Not willing to give him time to spin her a line, she slammed the flat of her hand on the table. "Oh, don't you "DI Drake" me, James. You know exactly what I'm talking about; how could you do that to me after-" Her voice faltered slightly. "...after everything?" Her eyes scrutinised every detail of his face, looking for acknowledgement. Keats let out a short, nervous chuckle. "I understand you've been through a lot, Alex-massive trauma. You seem unwell; maybe you should go home, get some rest." His demeanour was open and sensitive; if she didn't know better, she would have believed he didn't remember her. Her stomach sank at the prospect. Unwilling to show her uncertainty, she stared back at him with steely resolve. "Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you? You failed MISERABLY back there in that car. In trying to rid yourself of me, you only sent me forward. I know you; I know every last line on your face, every contour of your body, every detail of your impressive, sickening deception. I'm watching you. Every moment of every day, I'm going to be in here-" Alex pointed to his head. "Living, breathing, speaking. A cancer growing within, infecting, dissolving you into a necrotic mass cell by cell. I won't let you get away with murder; not again." In one fluid movement, she was up and striding her way to the door, leaving a very agitated James Keats in her wake.

Curling up small on her old, zebra-print sofa, her head was a swarm of images; all ragged pieces of a jigsaw, yet none of the pieces seemed to fit together. Why wouldn't Jim remember her? He was definitely, defiantly the same man; she would know him anywhere. The deep eyes that looked straight through her; the arrogant swagger that said he's at least one step ahead.

The next day saw Gene back in the office despite his suspension and dragging her to see a severely brain-damaged burn victim. As if that weren't enough, they were met at the hospital by Keats. She found herself defending Gene's actions, knowing how bad this would look in a D&C report. Just as she was walking away, Jim made a glib comment about his two A-Levels, again playing the innocent down to a tee. How could he really not remember her? She looked back at him briefly; there was no hint of recognition there at all. She was hot on Gene's heels, stalking back down the corridor when Jim called back to her: "I said I could help you, Alex...I can."