Chapter Text
"I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then." - Alice in Wonderland
Eleven year old Molly Drake frowned as she glanced round the room. She knew she must be dreaming, but none of her dreams had ever felt so real before. She'd woken in a small office with a glass door and half glass walls, leading out to a larger office with checkered ceiling tiles and several desks littered about. Everything looked old, outdated, as though whoever owned the place hadn't gotten round to making renovations yet. The desks didn't even have computers, and she was sure she'd seen a typewriter of all things on one desk. Inside her dream's office was rather messy, she noted with a roll of her eyes, as though the usual occupant just dumped things wherever there was space for it without looking for any kind of order, or thinking about tidying up once in a while. Paperwork stacked on top of a used coffee cup, papers littering the lone computer's keyboard. She couldn't even see a mouse attached to the ancient looking contraption. A dartboard sat on the wall to her right, all the darts centred on a cartoonish drawing of a suited man with devil horns and a scowl pinned to the board. To her left lay some filing cabinets and a pinboard above them littered in newspaper clippings and a few photographs. Several bottles of what she thought might be whisky or brandy sat atop a wooden cabinet in the far right corner near the outside windows, a couple of tumblers beside them. All in all, a very strange location for a dream, she mused, uncrossing her legs and letting them dangle towards the floor as she stretched out of her curled up position.
She knew it must be a dream. Yet, it didn't feel like a dream.
"You alright there, love?"
She startled at the gruff, deep voice behind her, her mousy hair flying out as she twisted to locate whoever had just appeared in her rather strange dream. A sandy haired man strode into the office, glaring outside at the assembled people working, before slamming the office door shut and offering her what looked like an attempt at a polite smile. Tall, with piercing blue eyes and a grey suit, he portrayed authority and security without even trying, and Molly felt herself relax slightly even as she eyed him warily. Dream or not, she wouldn't let her guard down yet. Her mum taught her that from a young age, and it was the one thing she usually listened to. To her surprise, the man let out a low chuckle at her distrustful stare, lowering himself into the chair opposite her.
"Who are you?" She motioned around with one hand. "Where am I?"
"Police station." He answered her second question first, leaning forward and picking up a packet of cigarettes from the table. Molly frowned as he plucked one from the packet, bringing it to his lips before sighing and putting it back in the packet. What on earth was going on? She felt like she'd gone through Alice's looking glass. Nothing made sense, absolutely nothing. The man cleared his throat slightly. "And my name is DCI Gene Hunt."
"Oh." Molly only then noticed the half hidden name plate at the front of the desk. The etched lettering on a gold plate reading 'DCI Gene Hunt, CID' with someone's writing in permanent marker beneath reading 'the manc lion'. She offered him a small, unsure smile. "I'm Molly Drake."
Gene nodded solemnly, as though he'd been expecting her. Her frown deepened. She'd never met him before, that much she knew, so how did he know her? Who was to say he really was a policeman? He could be anyone for all she knew.
A black wallet appeared before her eyes just as the panic worked itself up inside her. Startled, she followed the hand and arm holding the wallet to find Gene watching her carefully, almost kindly. Hesitantly, she took the wallet and opened it, finding the familiar police emblem on the left hand side, one she recognised from the times she'd stolen her mum's to play pretend. On the right lay the details, and a younger looking photo of the man in front of her. She didn't recognise the format, but she did believe it was real. She glanced up to him. "So, you are Gene Hunt?" He nodded as she folded the warrant card back up and handed it back to him. "So, DCI Hunt, what's going on? What am I doing here? Where is here?"
"Gene is fine, DCI Hunt is for the scum and lowlife out there." He motioned to the general world around them with a mock scowl, eliciting a tiny smile from her. "As for what's going on, that's a long story." He seemed to age before her eyes, the weight of the world settling firmly on his shoulders as he slumped into his chair.
Molly glanced around, noting the way those outside the office gave them a wide berth, none daring to come within five steps of the office door, even though the blind was open. Then again, they also seemed to avoid the desk nearest the door, as though it was sacred ground or something. Strange. She turned back to Gene, finding him playing with the edge of a file with downcast eyes. She didn't know what was going on, but, much like Alice, her curiosity would always get the better of her. "I've got time apparently. But not forever. It's my birthday tomorrow and mum's promised me my favourite cake. Evan even said he'd get me a BlackBerry finally."
"What about your dad?"
She shrugged. "He's still in Canada with Judy I think. Don't think he'll even remember." She had her mum and Evan, what did she need her dad for? He'd made it clear time and time again that he barely remembered he had a daughter, let alone start actually caring about her. Her mum told her over and over that her dad would step up whenever he needed to, but Molly doubted it. He couldn't even bother with her birthday, so what were the chances of him showing up for anything serious? To her surprise, Gene looked a mixture of horrified and thunderous at her blasé response, like he wanted to drag her dad back himself and force him to care.
"He should remember," he growled, before forcing himself to calm a little, offering her a sheepish look. "Sorry. Can't stand parents who wouldn't move the world for their kids. Sounds like yer mum would though."
She nodded immediately, with a roll of her eyes. "Oh she hovers like mad for the littlest thing, but yeah, she does everything. And when she can't, she gets Evan to help out."
"Evan?"
"My godfather. He's mum's godfather too. She says she doesn't know what she'd have done without him after her mum and dad died." Molly shrugged again.
"This is… it's about yer mum." Gene shifted uncomfortably in his seat, scrabbling under the masses of papers until he found something, handing it to Molly after a slight hesitation.
She stared openmouthed at the faded photograph, blinking rapidly as though it would change if she did it enough times. It didn't change. The photograph was set in the outer office behind her, a whole group assembled in front of the glass door. On the left side stood a grumpy looking man with a moustache and perm, the turtleneck and leather jacket combination giving him the look of someone who'd just walked out of the eighties. On the right side stood a young dark haired woman in an old fashioned policewoman's uniform, minus the hat, leant into the side of a taller man with bright blonde highlighted hair and an acid washed looking denim jacket. They were both smiling, seemingly half at the camera and half at each other. That wasn't, however, what had the girl staring in shock at the faded photo.
In the very centre of the photo stood Gene, looking a lot lighter than the man currently sat before her. He had the same grey suit on, but had a red tie instead of the purple one, tugged down below the open top button of his black shirt. He stood a little removed from the blonde haired man, but his arm was wrapped around the waist of the woman to his side. Red heels led up to black leggings with a red stripe up the sides, a black and red striped jumper and oversized boxy blazer completing the ensemble. Bright red lips and smoky eyes, and a short straight hairstyle with a large back combed quiff. Dark eyes grinned up at Gene, carefree and lighter than she'd ever seen. She glanced up at the man for confirmation, her eyes darting right back down to the captured memory at his sharp nod.
Her mum.
That was her mum stood there, in clothes she'd thought she'd never see her mum in, ever. Her mum didn't wear heels much, and practically lived in baggy pantsuits. The hair was similar, though not pulled back into the functional ponytail or bun she always saw her in. There were so many reasons that the woman in the photo just couldn't be her mum. It was unbelievable. And yet, she believed it. She traced the outline of the woman with a featherlight touch.
That was her mum. Alex.
She glanced back up again at Gene. "Is this…?" She trailed off, knowing instinctively that he'd understand her unspoken question.
He nodded softly. "Yeah, that's your mum, Molls. Alex Drake." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. She blinked in a mixture of surprise and relief. Only her mum and Evan called her Molls. He'd have to know one of those two in order to use that nickname for her. Molly frowned at his unkempt appearance. When was the last time he slept? Surely her mum, who mothered anyone she could, wouldn't allow him to not take better care of himself. Where was she? He seemed to read the thoughts off her face as he shook his head wearily. "She's not here anymore."
"She's at home, probably staying up to a stupid time to set things up for my birthday." She felt stupid saying the words, as though she needed to question just where her mum was even though she knew she'd been in the living room on her laptop when she'd gone to bed that night. It had been a gift from work, of sorts, to help her write up a new book on police officers who'd gone through traumatic or unusual experiences. She'd already written up a couple, she'd told her that evening, finishing up with the experiences of an Annie Cartwright, a WPC from Manchester, just before she'd sent Molly to bed. All she remembered was her mum telling her that the next one was an interesting case, one who'd actually made tapes of his experiences and sent them directly to her before he'd died.
Gene nodded again, making no move to take back the photograph she was still clutching tightly. "She is. That," he motioned to the photo in her hands, "is something that's yet to happen. Or has happened, depending how you look at it."
"What?" She didn't like riddles, never had. Was this how Alice felt talking to the Cheshire Cat? All riddles no answers?
Gene waved round at the office around them. "This place, this whole place, is full of coppers. All of them have their issues, and they're sent to me to get them sorted and move on." He picked up a paper and held it out to her so she could read it easily. "Yesterday's paper."
Molly blinked in shock. "That's… that's 1983! No, you're messing with me aren't you? I'm going to wake up and it will all have been a weird dream! Mum told me having ice cream so close to bedtime was a bad idea."
"I'm not messing with you, Molls." He placed the paper back on his desk and leant back slightly. "But yeah, you'll wake up eventually and it'll be your birthday. You'll be twelve."
"… I never told you how old I am."
"No." He agreed easily. "Yer mum did. Almost as soon as I'd met her. All she wanted was to get back to you, see you again.
"This is 1983. Alex Drake first appeared as a pain in my backside in 1981. She used her psychiatry-"
"It's psychology."
He smirked at the interruption. "-rubbish to get on my last nerve, but she's a bloody good copper. A bloody good person, but don't you ever tell her I said that. Got a reputation to keep."
Molly's eyes narrowed thoughtfully at him as a thought dawned on her. He was gruff, and blunt, almost prickly. But when he mentioned her mum, he became softer almost, more respectful at the very least. She could be wrong, she knew, but she had a feeling she was right. "How long have you loved my mum for?" If he could be blunt, so could she.
Gene blinked in surprise, though whether it was at her question or how she'd asked it, she didn't know. He shrugged slightly, seeming to deflate a little. "Longer than I'd care to think about, Little Molls. She walked in, head full of brains and the gob of a drunk sailor when she got mad, and she gave as good a fight as she got. Daft mare, but loyal to a fault. More than I deserve at any rate."
"Maybe, but mum always says it's not about what you think you deserve, but what the other person wants." She shrugged. Her mum had told her that after her last boyfriend left six months earlier, after Molly had yelled that Alex deserved better than being put through everything she had.
"This is purgatory, Little Molls." He told her bluntly, rounding the desk to sit in the vacant one beside her, resting his arms on his thighs and clasping his hands together. "Hurt coppers here to sort through their issues. And you're right; I did love Alex. Still do. Thought I'd been in love before, you see, with the former Mrs Hunt, but that was nowt when I think back now. But that's the point, or so I'm told.
"Someone way higher up than me, let me do this. Because I love yer mum enough to let her go, to be happy without me."
"Where is she?"
"I sent her through the pub. It's where you go when you move on from here." He bowed his head slightly. "It was part of the deal I made. I sent her away so I could speak to you. I made the choice so she didn't have to. To live with me, here, or have the chance to stay with you, never have to come here at all."
"You… you set this up?" She motioned around her. "Why?"
"Because I need your help." His piercing blue eyes locked with hers, almost pleading with her. "Molly, I need you to stop your mum tomorrow. She's going to get hurt." He visibly fought with himself for a moment, clearly debating on how much to tell her. "She's going to die. Shot in the head by a drug dealer scumbag who helped kill your grandparents. Alex's parents."
The tears flowed freely down her face as she silently cried for the outcome he'd told her of. No, she couldn't lose her mum. She just couldn't. "I can't lose my mum."
"I know, Molls, I know." Warm arms wrapped round her as she sobbed softly into his shirt, clutching at it with the hand not holding the photograph for dear life. She snuggled further in as she cried, somehow feeling safe in his arms. "Ssh."
Eventually, she pulled away again, just enough to look up at him. "Gene? What do I need to do?"
"Stop her." He smoothed her hair down softly. "Stop her getting out of the car, facing him. So long as you get her away from him in time you should be fine."
"How will I know? I can't stop her when I'm at school, can I?"
"All you need to remember is a name. Remember the name and you'll know it's time."
"What name?"
"Sam Tyler."
Molly awoke to the sound of her mum yelling up the stairs, blinking for a few moments to shake the cobwebs of sleep away. She'd had the strangest dream, that she'd been in the eighties, and some random policeman wanted her to save her mum from a fictional bad guy. She was definitely not eating ice cream right before bed again, that was for sure.
Slowly, she washed and dressed for school, as her mum wouldn't let her have the day off even if it was her birthday, heading downstairs and smiling widely at her mum, who was sat at the breakfast table waiting for her, idly glancing at her phone whilst the radio hummed out the news in the background. Ignoring the pancakes she knew her mum made specially for her birthday, she instead all but threw herself into her mum's arms, hugging her as tightly as she could. No matter what else that dream had been, she couldn't shake the terror that washed over her at the thought of losing her. She silently vowed to hug her as much as she could, for as long as she could. Maybe that was what her dream was about, wanting her to seize life with both hands and take nothing for granted. Still, she decided, as she finally pulled away from the embrace and offered her mum an embarrassed smile, it was an awfully strange dream to have, no matter the message.
"Happy birthday, Molls," Alex greeted her with a warm smile, pulling her short brunette hair back into a loose bun as Molly dug into her pancakes with a mumbled thanks. Surreptitiously, the newly twelve year old watched her mum over the top of her food, silently cataloguing the woman she knew and loved sat before her. Baggy grey pantsuit, with a similar white shirt, and flat, practical black boots on her feet. Hair dragged back in a functional bun. Hardly any makeup on at all. Yes, she decided with no little relief. Her mum was nothing like the woman from her dream. She hadn't fallen through the looking glass after all.
"Molls?" She glanced up from finishing her breakfast as her mum placed a couple of small parcels before her. "You have a little time before I need to get you to school. Why don't you open these, from me and Evan, whilst I pack my stuff up?"
Molly nodded, having noticed the file pages still littering the sofa along with the laptop she'd been working on the night before. She'd been right; her mum had spent far too long looking through whatever interesting file she'd found. She hadn't been running around the past whilst she'd been asleep. Swiftly, she opened the one from Evan, grinning widely as she found the promised BlackBerry nestled in its box. She couldn't wait to sort it out later, put some songs on it and text her friends. They were going to be so jealous. The package from her mum was smaller, and didn't really rattle when she shook it experimentally. Opening it, she found a small navy jewellery box, velvety to the touch. Inside lay a small silver pendant necklace, an intricately crafted rose on a thin chain. She smiled softly, more touched than she'd ever let on. Despite it not being the expensive jeans she'd asked for over and over again, her mum had clearly put a lot of thought into the gift. Her eyes widened as she took the rose from its box, finding that the chain was long enough she could wear the necklace below her school shirt. Her mum always pushed her to follow the school rules, which included no visible jewellery beyond one set of stud earrings, but she'd obviously chosen a necklace that would help Molly get around the rules.
Tiny tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she hurried to put it on before her mum noticed, tucking the pendant under her shirt and tie where it sat neatly hidden. Her new phone she placed on the kitchen counter, knowing she didn't have the time to be messing with it that morning, but could once she was home that afternoon. Evan had really pulled through for her that year, even if he'd been more stressed than usual recently. He pretended he was fine, but Molly knew both she and her mum had noticed his secretive phone calls and worried demeanour. Maybe he'd finally relax once they got on holiday that year, her mum organising a week away for all three of them during the summer holidays. She'd promised that it was going to be a great holiday, but the twelve year old was more amazed her mum had actually managed to book the time off work. It seemed lately that all she did was work.
"Mum?" Molly stood up and grabbed her school bag from where she'd left it near the doorway the night before, walking slowly over to where her mum was shoving the final pieces of the file back into place. "You ready to go? Only the radio said there was bad traffic near the Tate Modern, and I don't want to be late."
Her mum nodded, shoving her laptop into the messenger bag she got with it and handing the file hurriedly to her daughter. "Sure, Molls. Could you just carry that to the car, please? I've got my hands full here." She motioned to her hands, one of which was juggling both the house and car keys, whilst the other held both her usual work bag and the laptop bag.
Molly shrugged but nodded, following her mum out of the front door and waiting patiently as the alarm was set and the door locked, then checked. She'd never understood the paranoia behind it, but her mum always said her dad had instilled the need to check twice, something about him and his parents having been burgled when he was a bit older than Molly herself. Her mum didn't know all the details, and she'd never thought to ask her dad about it.
Climbing into the car, she deposited her bag at her feet in the passenger footwell, only realising as she put her seatbelt on that she was still holding the paper file. "Is this your interesting case, mum?" She asked, waving the file as they pulled out of the driveway in the direction of her school.
"Yes. He actually left tapes behind, and I need to listen to the originals. They don't understand when I tell them the transcripts lack the emotional context." Molly laughed as her mum rolled her eyes. It wasn't the first argument she'd had for her work, and wouldn't be the last. The mousy haired girl had heard many times how psychology could be used to a greater effect if the emotion could be heard behind the words, the meaning drawn out in the context of the situation. She rolled her eyes. How did her bosses expect Alex to write a book on the psychology behind these strange experiences if they wouldn't allow her to actually do her job?
"Who's the lucky one today then?" Molly laughed, opening the file and ignoring her mum's admonition that it was a confidential document. She'd read far more police files than she probably should have, and she knew her mum's protests were mostly for show. "My name is Sam Tyler."
Molly's blood ran cold, ice trickling down her spine as dread instantly crept in. She stared down at the transcript in disbelief. Sam Tyler. No, no, it couldn't be. Hurriedly, she carried on reading aloud, nearly choking over her words as she read that he'd ended up back in the seventies. So, that meant it was real, that she really had gone through Alice's looking glass. She knew she'd never heard the name before last night, and she'd been told by Gene that that was the name she needed to remember. Gene was even mentioned in the transcript, she saw, as Sam mentioned running into a gruff, hardened DCI the moment he'd entered the police station back then. It was all real, every last bit of her dream, just like he'd said it was. She glanced over at her mum, terror welling up at the reminder of what would happen if she failed. She needed to do as Gene had asked, and even though it would hurt him, he'd wanted her to stay there, with Molly. She quickly blinked back the tears at the fair haired man's sacrifice. She wouldn't let that go; she'd save her mum.
"Is he going in The Book?" She forced herself to sound amused, though it didn't last long as a call came through on the police radio and she was forced to abandon the file in the backseat in favour of placing the portable siren on the roof. She held on tight as her mum sped through the streets, barely waiting to brake as she turned corners with a practiced ease, finally pulling up outside the Tate Modern.
"Stay put, sweetheart."
"Mum, don't go!" Molly called out in fear, even as she was told to stay in the car. No, her mum was the one who needed to stay in the car. What was it Gene had told her? Hadn't he said not to leave her alone, because that's when the man would get her?
She climbed out of the car, not bothering with her bag as she approached the crowds, ducking between the adults easily until she reached the front of the tape. She could only watch in horror as her mum attempted to approach a long haired, unkempt looking man in sunglasses, holding a woman hostage.
"Discuss what? I'll kill her, yeah, and I'll kill you! Do you understand?!"
Her eyes widened, watching in horror as he pushed the hostage away and aimed the gun at her mum, his jerky behaviour and words not helping the terror she felt. Was this the man she'd been warned about? Surely it could've been any number of people.
"I knew you when you were a little girl. You've got your mother's eyes, Alex." Molly felt the blood run away from her face. Oh no. It couldn't be. It had to be. He was the one who hurt her mum, who… she couldn't even think it. What was she going to do? "I'm… happy… hope you're… happy too. Yeah? I'm happy, hope you're happy too." He cocked the gun, making a noise that sounded like an imitation of an explosion.
She didn't know what she was thinking, moving before she'd even registered she'd ducked the police tape. "Mum!" She had to get her mum out of there. So long as she got her away, then she'd be safe. What she hadn't thought about was the man there, yelping involuntarily as he reached out and grabbed her before she could reach her mum. Just about hearing the screaming over the rush of blood in her ears, she watched her mum's dark eyes wild with fear lock onto hers whilst the man yanked her backwards away from her. A small part of her was glad, as terrible as it sounded. So long as he was focused on her, her mum was safe. Of course, that was largely drowned out by the crippling terror of him pointing the gun at her own head as he shoved her towards the stone steps down to the bank of the Thames.
"Down them steps. Get down! Them steps!"
He shoved her roughly down to the sandy bank, pulling her under the walkway where they couldn't be seen by any of the snipers. Only then did he let go of her blazer, shoving her back from him with a dark glare that morphed into a sick grin.
"Oh, you think you did it, don't you? You think you've saved her." He leaned in, voice barely above a whisper as he gloated. "You know, if you and Gene didn't love her so much, this wouldn't be happening."
"What?" Molly's eyes widened in confusion. How did he know Gene? What was he talking about? The man pushed her roughly again back in the direction of the bank and the steps. "Who are you?"
"Tell Evan, in the end, he lost."
She forced herself to rush forward as soon as she heard the gunshot behind her, stumbling out of the dark just as her mum tore round the base of the steps frantically, engulfing her tightly in her arms as she held her back, wishing she never had to let go. She glanced behind her, seeing no trace of the sunglasses man whatsoever. Relaxing, she snuggled further into her mum's suit jacket. She clutched tightly to her hand, refusing to let go even as she was led away from the scene, where her mum arranged for Evan to pick her up. Her mum smiled softly at her, promising to be there for her, and Molly believed it. She'd be home in time to blow the candles out with her.
It was over; she'd done it. She'd have to thank Gene, if she ever saw him again.