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Back in her time, where she belonged, Alex had listened to Sam Tyler's reports on life in 1973, 1974 and wondered - even though he woke up - how he could ever have stopped fighting. Assimilated into the flow of life. Psychologically, she understood - the things a mind will do to stay sane - but as someone who had claimed he had been fighting tooth and nail to get back to his time it made no sense.
Now, trapped in a delusion of her own, populated by many of the figments Sam Tyler had created, she understood. 1981 felt so real - as real to her now as it had been when she'd lived it as a child. It was so easy to sink into the flow of life here. Solving cases, dinner and drinks at Luigi's, putting up with her co-workers: skeezy, neanderthal, or naive as they were.
She even got used to the way Ray or Chris would see her walk in on a morning and say “good to see you, boss” and try not to look as if part of them was lying. Like they weren't expecting to be populating another person's delusion again and greeting the man who'd come before. Gene, of course, never said it was good to see her, just implied it was about time she showed up and got straight to work.
Alex never gave up on fighting to get back to Molly, not for a single second. But she didn't keep fighting against the delusion. She was here, she had a purpose, life went on.
So, naturally, it was only fitting that her brain threw her a curve ball.
It was about half past ten in the morning. Her head was starting to hurt from looking through the files on the dead end case Gene insisted they were close to blowing wide open - insisted in his predictably tactless manner, of course. And she had just closed her eyes. Only for a few moments. Long enough for the letters before her to stop swimming around.
“It's good to see you.”
Ray's voice. Tight. Lying through his teeth. The same voice he had when he had to agree to a psychological profile Alex presented when he thought she was full of it.
Alex kept her eyes closed. Entertaining new figments of her delusions could wait.
Ray's greeting was met with a chuckle. Genuinely amused with an undercurrent of fond indulgence. Like he knew Ray was lying harder than most suspects in interrogation and found it endearing rather than annoying.
“You never think it's good to see me, Ray,” the man replied cheerfully, Alex's brain misfiring. “Not when I walk in on official business. Not that I am. Just here to see him. If he's in?”
“Depends,” Ray replied warily. “You sure you aren't here hunting scalps?”
A patient sigh. “If I were here on official business, I'd give him a warning. You know that.”
Ray grumbled, the sound mostly for show. There was no hostility in it at all. “Of course he's in.”
Alex forced her eyes open, the situation too weird to process by hearing alone.
The man before her was a ghost. Long gone from her time. Never mentioned here in this one. Black leather jacket, boots that never left the 1970s, plain button up and dark pants. No image of him she'd ever seen, nor even heard of.
“DI Tyler?!”
Alex shook her head, like it could shake this delusion like a magic eight ball and give her a clear answer. Like it could make this make sense.
“DCI Tyler,” Sam corrected with an easy smile. “But Sam is fine, DI Drake.”
“Oi! Gladys!”
Sam rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, muttering: “Or that, apparently.” Despite his exasperation, his smile was warm when he turned. “Yes, Guv?”
Chris chose this moment to scamper in with an arm full of files, flashing a beaming smile at Sam. Completely clueless to the way Gene was standing silhouetted in his office doorway. “Hi, Boss!”
Sam - Sam Tyler, who Gene had snapped none of your bloody business when she'd asked about him - smiled and waved at the DS. “Hi, Chris.” As if Alex's brain wasn't going haywire (the bullet? A cocktail of drugs? A stroke?), Sam turned back to Gene. “To answer your unspoken 'what the bloody hell am I doing here?’, Guv,” Sam raised a bag she hadn't even noticed he had. “It's a madhouse at the Yard. Sanctuary so I can do my paperwork?”
Alex expected Gene to glare. To scowl and tell him to sod off and leave them to their real policing. She didn't expect Gene to smile. At least she thought he did; it was there and gone, but it lit up his face for a flash of a second.
Gene muttered something in a too-fond grumble (clear and gone from the irritation Alex and her suggestions usually met with). Something like bloody A10 paperwork, but he stood aside.
“Shut up, Tyler, and get in here,” Gene said, nodding at his desk. Another chair was already pulled up, like he'd been waiting for him. “Stop distracting my team. We've got real policework to do.”
Sam's eyes rolled towards the ceiling again. “I do real police work too, Gene.”
“Tyler.” Gene's you're getting on my last nerve voice.
Sam grinned, walking into Gene's office like everything was right in his universe.
Of course. Of course her delusion would give her an ally in this time - a man who had been and gone (and come back) - and make him certifiably insane. Of course.
Still, there was something happy in the corners of Gene's eyes when he barked at them to stop gawking and find him some bloody leads! And something even happier when he came out two hours later, Sam in tow, and announced he and Gladys were going for lunch and no, Bollyknickers, you are not invited.
Something that told her that while Gene might never lie and say it was good to see her, he probably never told the truth and told Sam it was good to see him.
Alex watched them go, bickering (like an old married couple, and she'd tell Gene that too next time he was annoying), she let herself smile. She planned on cornering Sam soon. Picking his brains to find out what he was doing in her delusion, and if he could help her get home.
For now, it was enough that he was here. That she had hope of getting home to Molly. And, if she was lucky, that she finally had someone to help impress modern standards of policing on Gene Hunt and his merry band of outlaws.