He can't decide whether the ghost is trying to pressure him, but either way, it's not enough to get him to move. He doesn't need to get closer to see what's happening, but he is confused as to the point. This is what he always does. He really doesn't need reminding.

The two coppers say something, and the woman steps away - and then turns back, and gives him a hug. He watches the awkward expression on his own face, though it's quickly replaced with...gratitude, he thinks. And affection.

And then they're on their way. He doesn't watch himself through this bit, but keeps his gaze on them. Nelson greets them with a cheerful grin, and holds the door open. Gene can clearly see the flash of light as they step inside - taking them somewhere else, or just folding them into the warmth of the saloon bar? He doesn't want to know.

'There,' he says, decisively, and with some relief. 'Done.'

But Nelson is still there. And now the ghost's hand feels heavy, as though it wants him to walk. He resists, as Nelson comes towards the lone figure in the road; resists as his future self looks down at the ground, with shoulders falling. He only moves when the hand on him forces him to - but still, only a few steps. Just close enough to see that his own face looks exactly the same as it does now, despite this clearly being years down the road. Just enough to hear what Nelson says.


'You coming in, DCI Hunt?'

His own face looks confused when he glances up. He feels confused now, standing here. This isn't how it's supposed to go. Nelson looks like he was expecting that, and isn't fazed, though most of the smile has been replaced with concern. 'Wouldn't want your beer to get too warm.'

'It's your beer. It's always too warm.' There's a huff of amusement from both of them, and future-Gene looks away. When he speaks, it's quiet and resigned, though it carries well enough in the night. 'Not just yet.'

'Been a long time, Mr Hunt. Too long, maybe.'

'That your opinion, or have you been told to retire me?'

Nelson shrugs. 'Does it matter?'

'Yeah, it does.'

'...maybe it does. I'm just sayin', that's all. You've earned a drink.'

Gene looks at him for a long, silent, moment. Then he pulls a packet of cigarellos from his pocket, and takes his time lighting it. 'It's not what it used to be, I'll give it that.'

'Then why not-'

'No.' He's firm, though he looks sad. And tired, and old, despite the unchanged face. 'No. Not just yet.'

Nelson looks sad too, though maybe he understands. Maybe he just feels sorry for him. He reaches out, and puts a hand on his shoulder. For a second, the Gene watching imagines he can feel it - but no, that's just the ghost.

'As long as it's sometime, mon brave. No one said you had to do this forever.'

'Best man for the job, that's all.'

A chuckle, then. 'No dispute here.'

Gene smiles dryly and, after a moment's hesitation, offers his hand. 'You're a good bloke, Nelson.

...maybe just one more, yeah?'

Nelson smiles, and shakes his hand. 'It's up to you, Detective Chief Inspector. I'm just sayin', that's all. You've got a lot of people waiting on you.'

'Yeah, well,' both Genes look a touch embarrassed at that - he's glad to see he hasn't lost his discomfort with girly talk, 'you tell 'em to get the beers in, all right?'

Nelson laughs properly, and releases his hand. 'Oh, I think you've got enough lined up to keep you happy 'til Judgement Day, brother.' He backs away, grinning. 'You take care now, Mr Hunt.'

'You an' all, Nelson.'


He never usually stays to watch the pub disappear. As far as he knows, it goes as soon as he turns his back. He doesn't look now, either. He watches himself, smoking quietly in the street, totally alone. And knows that this is what he has to get back to.

But he's not sure he can do it forever.

His future self smokes the small cigar all the way to the end, then tosses it to the road. He turns his back on the pub, and mutters, audibly, 'this is Judgement Day,' before starting to walk.

Behind him, the pub shimmers, and disappears. The man is the only thing left, moving on to repeat the same story. Gene watches his own back until it disappears into the night, then looks down at the ground.

It's a long time before he says anything. Not that he's expecting a reply.

'I never asked for it.'

He might have managed to make the best of a bad situation, but it's still never what he asked for. At least consciously.