He's home alone. His mum's out working in the shop, God only knows where Gog's fucked off to. And Dennis is home alone, left to his own devices. His own thoughts. All he really wants to do is wrap his mum's old scarf around his neck and hang himself from the lampshade, because he knows he can't live with the guilt of it. Here he is, alive and well, while that baby's dead and that firefighter's fighting for his life in a hospital, when he should be out fighting fires.
Dennis is home alone and he doesn't know what to do with himself. He can't watch TV because he can't concentrate when all the thoughts are swirling round in his head. He can't eat because he can barely keep food down. He can't sleep because that's when the nightmares start.
And then comes the knocking. He tries to ignore it at first, convinced it's Gog come to find him and talk him into setting another fire, committing another murder. But the knocking keeps going and then he hears the letterbox being pushed open.
"Dennis? Den, you in there?"
He's on his feet in seconds and is at the door before he knows what he's doing. When he opens it, he can barely believe his eyes. There she is, standing in front of him. Her hair is plastered to her forehead, and her clothes are soaked right through. She's shivering like you wouldn't believe but she's there.
"What are you doing here?" he asks. He doesn't mean to. He wants to tell her everything, to tell her that he's sorry.
She shrugs. "I couldn't take it there anymore," she mumbles. "We're staying at my aunt's house, and it's torture, Den. Mum won't stop crying and Dad's drinking all the time. Everyone's in shock and I just couldn't bear it. I needed to get out of there."
He takes her wrist and pulls her in, poking his head out to make sure no one's seen here. Especially not Gog. He knows what he'd do. Satisfied, he closes the door and puts the bolt across. "It's mental out there, what were you thinking? Just think of the cold you'll catch," he tells her.
She chuckles, standing awkwardly in the hallway as the rain drips off of her and onto the carpet, forming a wet patch around her feet. "You can't catch a cold from being out in the rain. It's an old wives' tale. Colds are viruses."
"Let's get you into something dry. Come on." He leads her through to his bedroom and starts pulling out clothes. An old hoodie. A pair of jogging bottoms. "Take those clothes off and put these on." He hands them to her and leaves the room, giving her privacy.
She emerges minutes later, looking considerably better. Her wet clothes are bundled up in her hands. "What do I do with these?" she asks. He takes them from her and lays them over the radiator in the hallway.
"D'you want anything? Tea? Coffee?"
"You got a time machine stored in here at all?"
"God, I wish I did, Kit."
She shuffles into the front room and slumps down on the sofa. He follows her, just watching at she buries her face in her hands. "I should've gone back for her. I shouldn't have just left her there. I just panicked! I ran straight to Mum and Dad, but I could've taken her with me!"
He sits beside her and grabs her hands, forcing them away from her face, forcing her to look him in the eye. "It was not your fault," he tells her fiercely. "You were scared."
"That's not an excuse! I could've saved her, Den!" she cries exasperatedly.
"Hindsight is perfect," he mutters. "You did all you could."
"I could have done better."
He brushes her wet hair from her face. "We all could have done better." He doesn't get the chance to explain what he means, because her lips are connecting with his almost instantly. His hands make their way down to her waist and he lifts up slightly, pulling her into his lap.
"Den, please," she mumbles, breaking her mouth away from his, "I just want to forget. Just for a little while. Please."
He nods, his hands fumbling to pull the hoodie over her head. They shed their clothes quickly and for the first time in a week he forgets about his guilt and gets lost in the moment. It's clumsy and rushed and full of need. The need to escape reality. After they come down, they lay there on the sofa, listening to rain pounding against the window and the sound of their heavy breathing.
She presses her lips to his jaw, before whispering, "Thank you."
He swallows hard and wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close. He kisses the top of her head. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. He finally feels the familiar pull of sleep and lets himself succumb to it.
When he wakes up in the morning, Kit is gone. The rain has stopped. The birds are chirping and he is alone once again. The only proof that he didn't dream it all is the neat pile of his clothes laid on his bed and the faint scent of her perfume which lingers on them. Dennis smiles as he thinks of her and the lightbulb in his head shines brightly as he realises how he is going to correct his mistake … He's going to become a firefighter.
So, basically, this is a oneshot for The Smoke, which is a really good British TV show which aired on Sky 1 and was only one season long. I had this idea for, "What if the baby from the beginning had an older sister who was Asbo's age and a friend of his?" I did want to write a full-blown fanfiction from this, but I don't think it would have turned out as well. And I love Taron Egerton's character, he is amazingly portrayed and so wonderfully written and he was just so amazing! If you ever get the chance to give The Smoke a try, I'd recommend that you do.
Beth xxx