Title: Guilt.

Author: Miss Peg

Rating: T

Characters: Naomi/Emily, (with a side order of the Cookie Monster)

Summary: "Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death."

Disclaimer: Christmas is but a month away...you know you want to! ;D But no, currently, not mine.

Warning: Blood, guts and heartache.

Notes: This story was written for the Skins Big Bang (on Livejournal). There is an accompaning fanmix which is available by clicking on the link in my profile. Thank you to Lucy my artist for creating it. Also a huge thank you to tromana, my beta, my cheerleader, my support in writing this (and her cat Zara who insisted on helping too), she also created some graphics which can be found on my profile too.

Guilt.

"Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death."

Coco Chanel

Prologue

A loud bang rang through the house, it was over, it was finally over. Emily looked at Naomi with confusion as she dragged her out of the bedroom, up the stairs to the attic and into a tiny corner. She tugged an old piece of carpet over their heads and hid them, a make-shift fort made mostly of cardboard boxes. She felt like a child again, hiding from her grandmother when she broke a vase her mother gave her. Naomi's heart thumped along and the closer they sat the harder Emily's heart beat into her. She knew she was confused, she was confusing her, making her worry about something that shouldn't have affected her life. But it was; she was letting it happen.

'What the fuck is going on?' Emily gasped until Naomi's hand covered her mouth and her eyes stared up at her wildly, she was scared now, petrified not only of the situation, but of Naomi. She knew she could make it easier, could explain everything with a few short sentences, but vocalising what she'd done would make it real. She'd already spent months ridding herself of the thoughts, removing the constant nightmares that plagued her sleep and sometimes her wakefulness too.

'Shh,' she told her, removing her fingers from Emily's face. She didn't look happier, or comforted, not even when she rubbed her back. She used to love it when she rubbed her back and said it always made her feel like someone was looking after her.

'But,' she tried to whisper, but Naomi shook her head and she stayed silent. There was nothing else to do but wait as the banging continued, getting louder. One final smash and the front door was broken down. People were moving all over the house. She couldn't see them, but she knew they were there. Searching, searching for her, for proof of the crime she was too scared to admit. She didn't notice the strength of her fingers around Emily's hand until she pulled her hand away and it was bleeding, her fingernails drawing blood across her palm. She wanted to cry for the pain she'd caused, would cause, but she couldn't make any noise.

The hatch to the room opened, light filling the spaces between the boxes and her heart leapt into her throat. That was it; her life was about to end in a way she never thought possible. She had always dreamt of going to university, getting a job and becoming an adult with responsibilities. Ever since meeting Emily she'd dreamt of it all being with her. Now all she could see was her new fate, without Emily, without anyone, just a small, empty room.

'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'Stay here.'

She was more confused now than she ever was before and that scared her, she wasn't just confused by life, but by Naomi, by her actions and existence. She wanted to explain in great detail, but the pain in Emily's face made her heart break into pieces. She started to cry, kissed her cheek and slid out of their hiding place. She prayed that she couldn't hear the words being spoken, but she knew she could.

I

Her phone rang, buzzing inside her jacket in that incessant way phones did. She ignored it, tried to focus on building passion as she slid her tongue into her girlfriend's mouth. Emily responded with every touch, every movement. Neither of them wanted the disruption, not now, not after all those months apart. The reunion meant more to them than either could put into words, beyond the cushy little speech Naomi couldn't even believe she'd made. She wasn't soppy or romantic and certainly wasn't one for putting her heart on the line so much. They needed the actions, their lips sharing the same space, their lungs breathing in the same air and their hands gliding across bodies they both still knew blindfolded. Not that they'd ever tried to do it blindfolded, yet.

'Ignore it,' Emily whispered the only real break in their passionate dance. Naomi's lips curled at the edges, lifting up to the sky with a level of happiness that hours ago she doubted she would ever get back.

The phone continued to aggravate them, Naomi's jacket long since discarded on the floor beside their semi-naked bodies. Nothing was going to ruin their night. Anything else could wait, even if it meant putting off bad news. They kissed through the continuous droning until Naomi could hear nothing else but the soft sound of Emily's moans in her ear.

By two in the morning they were laying side-by-side, arms wrapped protectively around each other; desperate to hold onto what they both feared losing again. Nothing changed the past, Naomi knew that. But things had changed and she would fight as hard as she could to maintain the relationship she didn't ever want to ruin again. She'd made mistakes, fought too hard against them and paid the ultimate price. In the long run, all that really mattered was her love for Emily.

'I think it's time for some Garibaldi's,' Emily grinned, cheekily. Naomi raised her eyebrows in question, only to be silenced by a finger to her lips and Emily sliding out from under the bedcovers beside her. She felt cold and alone, Emily's absence was thought consuming.

Naomi was forced back into the real world by her phone's continuous ringing. Without Emily begging her to maintain their little bubble, she found her jacket and answered what appeared to be the eighth phone call from Cook. A huge smile on her face ready to share with him news of her evening's activity, she started to tell him about the things she knew would make him rush over there demanding more than friendship. A laugh lingered on her sentences until she went silent, heavy breathing and crying evident on the other end of the phone.

'Cook?'

No answer. The only sounds were that of panic, worry and sobbing. Cook's actions quickly filtered into Naomi's voice and she begged for him to answer her.

'James?'

There wasn't a lot she could do but listen and wait, expecting to hear his bouncy, repulsing voice fill every crevice. She waited and nothing came but further sobs. She whispered his name again, pleaded with him to say something so that she knew he was okay. Only, when the words came, she wished she could turn back the clock and let his silence continue.

'I've done something, something bad, I need you.'

Doubts infiltrated Naomi's conscious. She didn't want to go, through fear of what would happen. But what other option did she have? He was her friend, her best friend. He had looked out for her, taken the heat on Sophia's death. Without Cook, she would be sitting in a prison cell. She owed him, she owed him everything. He told her where he was, pleaded with her to come to him and hung up the phone quickly.

'Cook? Cook?'

The line went dead and all Naomi could do was listen to the murmur. She contemplated all of the possibilities; Cook stealing and crashing a car, taking drugs, punching someone into the next millennium. He wasn't one for doing anything by halves, he usually only needed a little help to fix things. Emily's hands came down around her shoulders, pulling her mind from the troubles hovering on the surface. She tried to smile up into Emily's beautiful brown eyes but trying and doing were two very different things.

'What's wrong?'

Even with months apart, Emily still knew her better than she could disguise. Emily held her chin, forced their eyes to join. In Emily's arms she failed to be deceitful. Ever since things with Sophia she made herself and Emily a promise that they would never lie again. Even about the small things. What was the point?

'Cook's upset; I need to go to him.'

'But this is our first night together, properly,' Emily whispered, disappointment lacing her words. It also lingered in her eyes to which Naomi's heart melted in sorrow. She didn't want to do it, couldn't bear the thought of pulling herself away from Emily's company.

'I know; I'm sorry. But he really needs me.'

'I need you.'

'You've had me; you've got me, for the rest of our lives.'

One tender kiss was all that was needed to release her from Emily's sorrowful expression, to be freed from the guilt of leaving Emily in her bed again. There were many days in their future where they could be together, many nights where they didn't need to go to sleep and could hold each other for hours on end. There was only one night where Cook needed her in a way she'd never seen him need anyone before.

'I'll be back as soon as I can.'

She spoke the truth, words she knew she would do everything to make happen. As she left her beautiful red head, curled under the bedcovers, nibbling on a Garibaldi, a sense of foreboding hit Naomi with force. She didn't know where the feeling came from, but something in the night air, in the full moon on the horizon, left her wondering what would come of the night; the night when her world was righted and about to be changed once more.

II

Shadows travelled across the darkened walls created by the gusty winds blowing trees outside. Naomi searched for Cook; and nearly walked out again before she spotted him huddled up in a corner.

'What the fuck are you doing here?' she gasped, the situation bizarre on so many levels. She stepped closer; and kept an eye on the floor as she shuffled along. Until her feet collided with something hard, something dark and hidden by the late night absence of light. That was when the smell hit her.

'Whose house is this Cook?'

There was no time for answers, no need as a stream of light glistened over a bloody face. Doctor Foster. Dead. He had to be dead; his eyes were open, staring at her with pleas and sorrow. What had he done? What had Cook done?

'What, this? Cook he's dead. What the fuck happened?'

Dead. He was dead. Cook had killed him with his bare hands. What other option was there? Naomi couldn't quite process the situation, how could anyone? The man was laid on the floor, his body battered and bruised; blood coated the stone tiles like icing on a cake. This wasn't an accident; this wasn't even Cook being angry. It was murder, cold blooded murder.

'Why?' she cried out, her voice shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. She couldn't vocalise everything inside her head, her thought processes hadn't had time to function fully. She just knew there were things she should have said.

The question lay unanswered; Cook sat on the floor, his body rocking stereotypically. There was nothing typical about the colour drained from his already pale cheeks, or the distant look of his eyes so lost. Whatever happened, Cook couldn't have been entirely to blame. He didn't apologise, he didn't take shit from idiots. He stood up for what he believed in and he wasn't afraid of criminal activity. Until now. He looked petrified.

'Don't let them take me,' he cried, a voice usually strong now barely a whisper. His personality destroyed.

She'd talked to him, really shared her soul with the only person in the world who understood her. Even better than Emily. They were equals and their relationship had always reflected that. It tried to get complicated; Cook would have done anything to fuck her. But they weren't like that; they were closer, like brother and sister.

'I can't do it to Paddy,' Cook sobbed, falling into Naomi's outstretched arms. She held him, rocked with him and kissed his forehead. Brushed back his hair stroked away his tears and tried to sooth him with gentle words. Nothing worked. He wasn't Cook; he was someone she barely recognised.

'What happened?' she tried, kneeling in front of him, ignoring the blood soaking into her clothes. His hands were clammy, shaking violently. She attempted to hold them steady, failing instantly. The skin across his knuckles was displaced, bloody with twisted skin; bones on one hand awkwardly angled. So she reached out to his face, forced his eyes to lock with her own and she watched the tears fall.

'How did this happen Cook?'

'I don't know, I don't,' he shook his head against her hands, his tears strolling across her fingers. They tickled her skin, an irritating itch that she couldn't scratch.

'You do know, Cook. James, your knuckles are bleeding, your hands are fucked up. That doesn't happen on its own. Effy's counsellor is dead. He's fucking dead Cook.'

The stability that somehow kept her level headed crumbled as her eyes began to well up. The situation was worse than she could ever comprehend. She couldn't grasp the concept

'You fucking killed him Cook, you killed him.'

'I know,' Cook cried, sobs escaping tenfold until his cries disappeared with the strain of his voice. And then he found his voice again and everything changed.

'He killed him, he killed Freddie.'

'We need to call the police,' Naomi mumbled, sensibility returning, forcing her to act. When Sophia died she wanted to run away, to hide from her part in the death. But Cook kept her strong, told her what to do and when. She leaned on him for support, until he took the wrap and paid for her crime. The guilt she felt had never gone away.

'No,' Cook cried out, kneeling up and clinging to her clothes. 'I can't go to prison, I can't. Paddy, who'll protect Paddy?'

His desperate plea played on her heartstrings. He needed her; he was begging her to help him. What other choice did she have?

'But it was self-defence. I'll tell them I was here; I'll tell them what you told me. That he killed Freddie. It's going to be okay.'

Her words sounded even, spoken with confidence. Underneath she was shaking too.

'They won't believe me,' he whispered. 'Why would some poncy doctor kill a kid? Things like that don't happen, not 'ere. They'll think it were me. I 'ated him.'

'You loved him.'

'They won't think that. They'll think I killed him.'

The reality of Cook's words left her shaking harder. He was right. Cook had problems; he was already on the run from police. Why would they believe him?

'I don't know what else we can do,' Naomi croaked. In all honesty, she did. It didn't have to end with Cook and the police. She'd seen it on television, those pathetic soap operas where if someone ended up dead the person involved would call up their friend and the two of them covered up the crime. She'd watched and complained to Emily, who agreed that things like that don't happen in real life. That you'd go to the police and justice would be done. She felt sick; the smell of blood and death invading every bit of fresh air. She looked over, gagging at the sight of his open eyes and mangled face. He looked beaten. There was no way they could pretend he'd fallen down the stairs or a shelf had fallen on him.

'I know what we can do.'

Her mind ticked along at lightning speed, rushing ahead of her words. They would take his car, put his body in the boot and take him to the lake. No one went there, it was overgrown. She'd considered taking Emily, a plan for when they got back together, if they got back together. Now they were it was one of her first plans. She visited a few weeks ago, wanted to make sure it was still beautiful. It was. But now, now they wouldn't go back. They'd find new places to explore together, to make their own.

It took longer than she expected to get Cook to move, to push him into action, she needed him though. She wasn't strong enough to move the body. Even the mere thought of Emily knowing petrified her. But that didn't stop her considering Emily as a perfect candidate to help move the corpse. Her upper body strength astounded her, that first time she'd taken a dominant role in the bedroom, Naomi had laughed at Emily's actions only to find she was surprised by how well it worked.

III

Silence frightened Naomi more than it used to, ever since those painful months where Emily stopped talking to her. The house had become a temporary prison designed to suffocate her. Now she was back together with Emily she assumed silence would return to its old, happy self. When her mother filled the house with strangers she longed for five minutes of peace, solace in the noisy hell that had become her home. Instead the silence screamed with regret, guilt, all of the feelings she thought had gone the moment Emily forgave her. She dreamed of the summer months when, despite the Fitch family dramas and Sophia's death, life was a beautiful cacophony of love filled hours and moments dedicated to the two of them. Dreams were sweet, waking was even sweeter and those chocolates brown eyes a symbol of everything she wanted and needed in her life.

Now she was surrounded by a darkness so deafening that it raped her old feelings of loneliness and beat them into submission. Her clothes were laden with blood, soaked deep into the material and beyond. She stripped off in the garden, a release from the bloody prison holding her back from Emily's bedside. But the blood covered her skin, patches of dark red seeped into her pores. There was no other option but to shower. The harsh jet of water landed on her shoulders and she scrubbed away desperately at her thighs, hoping the memories of that night would fade.

But they couldn't. They never would.

Blood would wash away; send tinted water spinning down the drain until every last bit of John Foster was removed from her body. Only he was still there, the image of his eyes staring back at her, her arms burning with every step they took carrying his heavy body. She couldn't escape the memory, could never escape the smell of death that hung in her perimeter like the smoke from her cigarettes. Fuck did she need a cigarette. She dried off, brushed the droplets of water off her body with such vigour, providing little relief from the desire to scrub her skin clean off her bones. She crept back along the corridor towards the stairs, hoping to whoever may be above that she still had a packet of cigarettes in the kitchen drawer. And then she heard a whisper so quiet that she wished she didn't hear it at all.

'Naoms? Is that you?'

'It's me,' she croaked, her voice sounding alien under the strain of the evening. She gripped the edges of her towel, silently begging for a cigarette to stop herself from shaking.

'Come to bed,' Emily called, her voice an angelic comfort after the dramatic turn of events. Her eyes stung with the onset of tears, an internal battle to maintain composure whilst wanting to curl up in a ball and cry.

'I'll be there in a few minutes.'

'No, now.'

Emily's forcefulness only came around once in a blue moon and Naomi was weak to her prowess. Her desperate need for a cigarette far outweighed everything in life, except Emily's tiny voice and then she spoke again and there was nothing else Naomi could do but follow instructions.

'I've waited long enough. Time for you to make up for disappearing all night.'

AN: I've been working on this story since August. I've invested months of my time thinking up and creating this story. Please take just a moment out of your lives to review. I'll be forever grateful!