Hi guys! So, I know I'm writing a lot of one-shots right now, but what can I say? The mood has taken me!

This is my first ever songfic, the song is "Roll To Me" by Del Amitri, all lyrics copyright to them.

Please R&R and enjoy!

Alex flipped between radio stations as she drove across the city. Her police radio was at home, the files that usually covered the back seat were stacked neatly – at least for now – in the back foot-well. The familiar opening bars of a song floated from the speakers and she paused her manic changing.

Look around your world pretty baby
Is it everything you hoped it'd be
The wrong guy, the wrong situation
The right time to roll to me
Roll to me

She hummed along absentmindedly, her fingers drumming the steering wheel. Winding the window down as she pulled up outside Molly's school – for once fifteen minutes early instead of thirty minutes late – she let the memories wash over her, pulling her under.

1995. The year of Molly's conception. She still remembered how Pete's hands felt on her face, her skin, her spine.

How his lips moved with hers, so perfectly in-sync, a year into what had seemed a match made in heaven.

How back then, he still talked to her like she was a human being, valuing her opinion.

How it had felt being with him in the stuffy hotel room, and she had opened her mouth to shout and he had silenced her with kisses, plied her with sweet words and showed her how much he loved her.

How she'd felt when she found out she was pregnant, this song playing on the radio, and she realised what a mistake she'd made.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

She wasn't supposed to get pregnant yet.

She wasn't supposed to ruin her career, throw away all those opportunities, by having a child. It was the wrong situation.

Look into your heart pretty baby,
Is it aching with some nameless need.
Is there something wrong and you can't put your finger on it
Right then, roll to me

She needed so much more than what Pete could offer her, needed so much more support than he could give.

It wasn't supposed to be with Pete. He was the wrong guy. She'd always known that, always had that niggling doubt that there was something wrong about him. But she'd been a fool, blinded by love, blinded by adoration. It wasn't what she hoped it to be.

And now what did she have? Who did she have to turn to?


She blinked, startled, awakening herself from her trance. Molly was running towards her, eleven years old, happy, carefree. Through Molly she could live out all the things she had never done with her own mother, things that had been cruelly denied to her after the bomb that claimed both her parents, all those years ago.

And I don't think I have ever seen a soul so in despair
So if you want to talk the night through
Guess who will be there?

She forced a smile onto her face, determined to forget, or at the very least cast a shadow over those memories that so hurt her. She would, as ever, turn to Molly, her one confidant, her rock. The person to talk to whenever, whatever.

The person she could go to in the middle of the night, the person who, in watching her sleep, could calm Alex's racing pulse and frantic breathing, soothe her troubled mind.

As the little girl climbed into the car and wrapped her arms around Alex's neck, so full of joy that her mummy was here, picking her up, so about the here and the now that Alex managed for a split second to forget everything else. She kissed Molly's forehead, mumbled a response and pulled away, changing radio stations and casting the song from her mind.

So don't try to deny it pretty baby,
You've been down so long you can hardly see
When the engine's stalled and it won't stop raining
It's the right time to roll to me
Roll to me, roll to me

Alex sat on the sofa, passive, eyes staring straight ahead. The kitchen radio played, that same song that linked every major event in her life, the thread that held strong. Sometimes a glimmering, gleaming silver, like when she first held Molly in her arms in that hospital room, the music piped in over tinny hospital speakers. Sometimes a deep, midnight black, like the day that Pete had walked out, and as she sat and cried and cried, and the music video had played over the television, a reminder of all the pain and hurt she felt.

And now, the darkest of days, emitting a blackness that cast a pall over her very soul, as she wondered what she had done.

She had sent Molly away.

She had sent Molly – her rock, her baby – to be with Pete. The man who abandoned her. The man who hurt her.

She had taken leave from work. Something she hadn't done in years, something she shouldn't – couldn't – afford to do right now.

"Depression," her therapist had called it. She had scoffed. She was a psychologist, she was the one that offered diagnoses, told people what their problems were. And yet she had seen a therapist.

She didn't like to think of it as depression. She preferred to call it what Molly had, stood at the airport, bravely smiling through her tears: "down in the dumps." She had lost sight of what really mattered, blinded by her thoughts of him.

And I don't think I have ever seen a soul so in despair
So if you want to talk the night through
Guess who will be there?

It cast a shadow over her day, his face haunting her dreams, his voice resonating in her head. Gene Hunt.

Calling her home – or his approximation of home. Where he thought she should be.

Calling her that name, the one she missed, the name that the absence of seemed to leave a gaping wound in her chest. "Bolly." The thing that linked her to him, the thing that made her his.

Calling her back to him. Calling her back to claim her. Back to where she would be endlessly tormented by him, totally oblivious to her efforts. Where she tried to tell him, over and over, what she felt for him, and over and over he remained oblivious.

And now she had no-one. Her confidant was gone. The one person she trusted, who kept her calm, who kept her sane, was gone, thousands of miles of ocean and an entire country between them.

So look around your world pretty baby
Is it everything you hoped it'd be

It wasn't what she'd hoped, being home. The loneliness, the depression, the deep, aching sense of loss. No-one here understood her like he did, no-one here had that unbreakable connection that she knew her and Gene had. His words echoed through her head: "I thought we were the ones. We had a connection."

But the connection was broken. Her constant, her Gene Hunt, had hurt her, had driven her home. Not deliberately, but still, even in this place that she once regarded as a sanctuary, he was getting to her.

The radio crackled. "BOLLY!"



She jumped, shaking her head, pummelling the sides of her head with her fists in a desperate attempt to block out the sound of his voice but it was everywhere, right inside her brain.

The wrong guy, the wrong situation
The right time to roll to me
The right time to roll to me
The right time to roll to me

It was wrong being here.

It was wrong talking to Evan, the wrong Evan, not the young, rash solicitor she knew back in the eighties.

It was wrong not being with Molly.

It was wrong not being with Gene.

It was wrong however she looked at it.