Hello, there, fellow Fleshers! It's me again with an angsty Siren one-shot, hot off the press!

Now this takes place at the end of S2E5 (so spoilers, people!), and is basically AU of what would have happened if Simon had come home from the city to find Kieren waiting for him (or at least the angsty but eventually fluffy version of what I hope would have happened!), so let's see what happens!

WARNING: Contains mentions of past drug use (Simon's), the disturbing stuff that happened to him at the treatment centre (my poor baby...), and implied smut towards the end- only implied as I'm still not sure where I stand on the whole can-male-zombies-shag issue. This is just my vague interpretation of what intimate zombie times might be (exactly how far they went with it- well, I'll leave that up to you to decide! Fit it to your favourite headcanon :D) It is only described in the vaguely and mostly from an emotional POV so I didn't exactly think it was worth an M-rating!

Well, hope you enjoy! (sorry if it's super emotional and/or OOC, I had a lot of feels...)

DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all it's characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC3, I write this purely out of love :3

Sense Memory

Kieren sat alone, the silence only broken by the scratching of his pencil against paper as he shaded the sketchy portrait. He didn't know why he was drawing him again- he already had another sketch just like it hanging lopsidedly on his wall, standing out in stark contrast to the colourful painting of Amy Dyer that rested nearby, brightening the room with her smile just like her walking, talking counterpart.

Kieren glanced out into the hallway, wondering when anyone would be back. He sat cross-legged on the floor of Simon's room, as he had been for the last two hours, willing the disciple to come home before anyone came looking for him. He needed to see him one last time before they sent him away, he needed to warn him to leave before he was sent away too. He had so many questions he wanted to ask him while he still had the chance. His eyes flickered to his hoodie, discarded on the floor beside him, the bottle of Blue Oblivion still rattling ominously in the pocket. God, he hoped there was a bloody good explanation for that one.

He averted his eyes from the abandoned garment and looked instead at the familiar ugliness of the patterned wool hanging limply from his wrist. He didn't know what had possessed him to storm Simon's room, pull on one of his shapeless jumpers and start sketching away in a somewhat frantic manner, but it had seemed like a comforting thing to do at the time. He had absolutely no idea how he'd explain it to anyone who walked in. He got cold? Just the fact that his hoodie was lying right next to him was enough to make that sound stupid even if you didn't consider the fact that he had no sense of temperature anymore. Excuses really weren't his strong point.

He sighed heavily, turning his thoughts back to the scratchy portrait in front of him. Of course it had turned into Simon- considering how much the man was on his mind these days it seemed there was really no avoiding it. He chewed his lip and continued, carefully shading the disciple's eyes as he contemplated the gloomy possibility that this might be the closest he comes to seeing Simon's face again before he was dragged away, possibly for good this time. Locked away in a treatment centre for the rest of his unlife. In Norfolk. Fucking Norfolk.

His careful shading had turned to furious scribbling, the rapidly waning pencil scraping loudly across the rough paper. It felt like this entire day had happened with the express purpose of pissing him off, and if that was the case it had succeeded spectacularly. His mind buzzed with anger at all the people who'd pushed him around, accused him, betrayed him, treated him like a child or a monster (both, in many cases), screaming at the injustice of it all.

"It's. Just. So. Un. FAIR!" he snapped, swiping viciously at the paper with each syllable.

"Kieren?"

The quiet voice broke through the haze, and Kieren's head snapped up.

"…Simon?"

Simon had been expecting the various Redeemed asleep in his living room- his most devoted followers, all holing up as close to the action as possible. He hardly acknowledged their presence, barely breaking his stride as he stepped around their sleeping forms and forged towards his room at the back of the bungalow, the leather pouch in his pocket seeming to grow heavier with every step. He kept his jaw set and his eyes ahead, his fists clenching at his sides as the words of the Undead Prophet echoed in his head.

You must sacrifice the First Risen.

Sacrifice the First Risen.

Sacrifice.

He felt his dead heart ache as images of the First Risen assaulted him- smiles and kisses and beautiful, honest eyes.

Why did it have to be you?

It doesn't matter who it is. You have a job to do.

He blinked away the dry prickling in his eyes, grateful to his desiccated tear ducts for not giving away his inner turmoil. Not that there was anyone around to see, of course- the other undead were all sleeping like… well, the dead, and Amy was nowhere to be seen. Maybe that was for the best- until his task was done and his mission complete it would probably be best to avoid other people, especially-

"Kieren?"

He stopped short, the name passing through his lips like a gasping prayer.

Kieren's blond head snapped up, his lens-less eyes wide and startled- although why he was startled to see Simon in his own bedroom was anyone's guess. His mouth flopped open for a second before he could speak.

"…Simon?"

If any of Simon's resolve had remained, it crumbled when he heard the boy's voice. So many different emotions all in one word- pain, anger, sadness, betrayal. He didn't know what had been going on in his absence but whatever it was had shaken Kieren to the core.

"What happened?" Simon asked, wasting no time in getting to the heart of the matter, his hands dropping to his sides as the bundle in his pocket was forgotten. He took a step closer, looking down to where Kieren sat on the floor, curled in on himself, surrounded by a blizzard of sketches- each one torn from the rapidly thinning sketchbook at his side and tossed away as they were finished.

Kieren shrugged, and Simon noticed for the first time that he was wearing one of his jumpers. It was one of his baggier ones, so on Kieren it was practically a poncho. Normally the sight would have made him laugh but today all it did was inspire a familiar sense of protectiveness- a feeling he knew he couldn't afford to hold onto, but for now he pushed those thoughts aside.

Kieren laughed bitterly as he started to sweep the sketches together. "What do you think happened? Roarton," he said shaking his head. "I hate to admit it, Simon, but when you're right, you're right. This place…"

He sighed, angrily shoving the papers aside and turning his eyes to the floor. "They're sending me back. To the treatment centre."

Simon felt like the ground had fallen away beneath his feet. He staggered forward, his hand reaching out towards Kieren before he knew what he was doing. "What?"

"They want to send you back, too," Kieren continued, glancing up to Simon's horrified face with sadness in his eyes. "I'm not even supposed to be here, technically I'm under house arrest, but…" he shrugged again. "I couldn't leave without telling you."

Simon felt his throat close up as the weight of the words hit him, and knew in his heart that Kieren was comparing himself to someone else who'd left without saying a word a long time ago. But now wasn't the time to dredge up the past.

"You're not going back," he said firmly, closing the distance and crouching in front of the younger man, their eyes meeting over the carpet of sketches. "Neither of us are."

Kieren met his gaze levelly. "I don't think we have a choice."

"I don't care," Simon said honestly. There was no way he'd go back to that place, and the thought of Kieren going there was just as unacceptable. Kieren insisted that the doctors weren't so bad, but he wouldn't be saying that if he was sent back as a non-compliant, that was for sure. Unwelcome images of Kieren's smooth skin torn and marred with scars like the one on his back made his stomach turn. He raised his hand and rested it softly against Kieren's neck, holding his gaze. "We can leave. Pack a bag and get out of town tonight- easy enough, eh?"

Kieren smiled, but he didn't look convinced. "Where would we go?"

"Hey, we could go anywhere," he said, sliding his hand down to rub Kieren's shoulder. "World is our oyster."

"They'd find us," he said, raising his hand to cover Simon's. "Besides, everyone hates me enough as it is- even Dad. If I ran away they'd never trust me again…"

"So?" Simon asked, hating himself for snapping but unable to deny how angry it made him to see Kieren still trying so hard to fit into everyone else's standards.

Kieren pulled Simon's hand away from his shoulder and held it between them. "If I run away, it's just proving them right. About me, about… us," he said, squeezing Simon's hand for emphasis on the 'us'. "If I leave at the first sign of conflict I'm just confirming everything they think they know about us- that we go out looking for trouble and refuse to face the consequences that come back to us. If they accuse me of something I didn't do and then I run away… I'm just giving them what they want."

He twined his fingers with Simon's, looking back into his eyes. "If I'm going to get caught, it's not going to be because I didn't run fast enough."

Simon felt his useless heart skip. He smiled, shaking his head and pressing Kieren's hand to his lips. "You know something, Kieren Walker?" he said, kissing his palm and holding it to his chest. "You're too bloody incredible for your own good sometimes."

For a moment, Kieren allowed himself to relax. He forgot about everything- the treatment centre, the Blue Oblivion, his parents- and just leaned in until his head was resting against Simon's chest, just above their clasped hands. He took a deep, unnecessary but calming breath inwards, then exhaled slowly, imagining a weight lifting from his chest, swept away by the rush of air from his parched lungs. He felt the pressure of Simon's fingers against the back of his head, probably combing through his hair, it was hard to tell. He could never fully trust his own feelings anymore- his corroded nerve endings weren't the most reliable source of information.

"I miss being alive," he said truthfully against Simon's chest. "This kind of stuff felt much more…"

He didn't know how to complete the sentence, but he heard a rustle as Simon nodded against his hair. "I know. You take it for granted," he said, his voice rough and his arm tightening around Kieren's shoulders. "Tell you what, though- if I'd have known you back then I might have thought twice about destroying it with the contents of a chemistry lab," he said with a quiet laugh. Kieren laughed too, and his free arm wrapped snugly around Simon's waist. He thought about telling Simon how glad he was that he hadn't stayed dead, but at the moment all he wanted to do was sit still and breathe him in.

They stayed there, frozen in time, their quiet breaths the only sound to be heard. Eventually Kieren had to pull away, pointedly ignoring the sense of loss as Simon's fingers slipped from his hair.

"You should go," he said, looking at the floor. "I might still be able to convince them to listen to me, if they see you they'll pack you off without a second glance-"

"You're staying, I'm staying," Simon said firmly, cutting Kieren off mid-reasoning.

Kieren shook his head, dropping Simon's hand. "Simon, you don't understand- you didn't show up to the trial, they won't even give you a fair hearing, now. As soon as they see you they'll-"

"Have a fucking hard time trying to get me to go somewhere I don't want to," he completed, smirking. "Trust me."

Kieren wanted to. He really did. His eyes flickered over to the hoodie, lingering on the bulge in the pocket. Could he?

"You don't always tell me everything," he said, turning back to Simon and meeting his unflinching gaze.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, unexpectedly candid.

Kieren was taken aback. Just for tonight, was he letting the mask fall? He didn't want to push his luck- maybe the Blue Oblivion wasn't a topic for tonight. Besides, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the answer. Instead he searched his face and asked a question that had been preying on his mind since that morning at the GP's surgery.

"What did you mean? About the treatment centre?" he asked carefully. "Why do you hate it so much there?"

He could see the cogs turning in the older man's head, like he couldn't decide whether to tell the truth or just simplify matters with a little white lie. Kieren was about to take it back when Simon sighed and turned around, sitting down again with his back to Kieren, shaking off his coat. He began unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging his shoulders out of it and letting it fall to the floor. Kieren's lifeless blood ran cold.

The scar. He'd never seen anything like it. Raw, black, angry, at least a foot long and gaping open between the staples that bound his curling flesh together. He felt sick as he saw a glimpse of bone at the lowest point, hanging exposed in the frigid air.

"Simon…" he choked, reaching out a hand tentatively but stopping short before he made contact. He glanced up and Simon nodded his head almost imperceptibly. Kieren reached over the last few inches and lightly pressed his fingers to the side of the scar, silently hoping it wasn't as bad as it looked and promptly realising it was even more so. His fingertips traced the edges of the ragged skin around the gaping maw, halting as he reached the bottom stretch and the widest gap. He found himself thanking his dead body for having no gag reflex as his hand hovered near the knot of white that he now knew without a doubt to be Simon's spine, stark against the slick black bile that lined the scar. "Why…"

Simon's eyes turned to the floor, his pale shoulders hunching. "I was the first one they treated- well, successfully at least," he said, closing his eyes against the memory of those first days and shivering. "They told me they were trying to find a cure, and they asked for my help. I said I'd do it. Anything so my family wouldn't have to see me…" he swallowed, his throat turning rough like sandpaper. "So they kept experimenting. Sticking things in my head, electric currents, chemicals I couldn't name-and believe me, that's saying something- and lastly that little nick you see before you," he laughed bitterly, not an ounce of humour in his tone. "They said they'd fix me. They said-"

He stopped abruptly, catching his breath and opening his eyes. He smiled grimly and picked up his shirt, pushing his arms into the sleeves and once again obscuring the angry wound. Kieren stared at him, his dry eyes desperately itching to cry. Simon looked back at him.

"S'all in the past, now, of course," he said, although Kieren was sure it was for his benefit. "Nothing to be done, no point in picking at scabs, so to speak."

He stood up, not bothering to button the shirt or pick up his coat. He looked down at Kieren's face, still frozen in shock and dismay. He smiled gently. "When was the last time you slept?"

Kieren shrugged, trying to force down the rage rising in his throat that threatened to replace his sadness and disgust. "Tough couple of days."

Simon laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. "Better get some shut-eye. They'll be looking for us soon enough- with a bit of luck no one'll check on you 'til morning."

Kieren shook his head. "I don't want to sleep."

"Yeah," Simon said with a smile. "Me neither."

He paused for a moment, considering something. Then he walked, carefully picking his way through the sketches on the floor until he reached Kieren's side, noticing how his back was pressed against the side of the bed. Simon prodded him with his toe. "Budge forward a bit."

Confused, Kieren scooted forward, shoving some papers aside as he did so. Simon edged into the space left behind him and sat, wrapping his arms around the blond man and pulling his back against his chest, his legs stretching out on either side of him. Kieren leaned back without resistance, his head resting against the dark-haired man's shoulder as he settled himself into the embrace. Kieren closed his eyes, enjoying the way it felt to have their bodies pressed so close even with the numbness of his skin. He sighed as he felt Simon's face nuzzle against his neck, leaning back into the contact. He remembered when he was alive it was the kind of contact that would have set his nerves on fire and his pulse racing. Even now, numb and distant as it felt, he drew comfort from it.

For once, he felt at ease. There was still so much he didn't know about Simon- things he wanted to know, along with some things he probably didn't. But tonight, no matter how briefly, the secretive man had shown his cards. That scar, horrific though it was, was personal. It was a chink in his armour, a link to his past, and he'd shown it willingly. Kieren held onto it, even though he'd love more than anything to blot the horrifying mutilation from his memory. It was a piece of Simon, a piece that he didn't share with people. That he'd share it with Kieren…

For the first time in months, he felt hope flutter in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, they really could come out of this in one piece…

"Hey," Simon said softly. Kieren turned his head slightly towards him. "Since I answered your question, mind answering mine?"

Kieren smiled. "Sure."

Simon lifted his head slightly and smiled. "Why are you wearing my jumper?"

Shit.

"I was cold," he said a little too quickly, mentally kicking himself.

Simon raised his eyebrow. "Really?"

Kieren shrugged, smiling nervously. "Well, you know. Sense memory."

Simon chuckled. "So, still cold?"

"Not as much…" Kieren said, slightly wary of the way Simon was playing along with his ridiculous excuse.

"Hmmm," Simon mumbled, moving his hands to the back hem of the jumper. "How about now?"

Before Kieren could ask what he was doing he lifted the baggy edge of the wool and dipped his head under it, pulling it down over his back until his head popped out of the neck hole beside Kieren's. As the wool encased them both he rested his head on Kieren's shoulder and wrapped his arms around his torso, now only separated by the thin layer of Kieren's t-shirt. He smiled a smile that Kieren had never seen on him before- somewhere between goofy and seductive- and bumped his nose lightly against Kieren's cheek. "Better?"

Kieren considered multiple possible answers to the question. Answers ranging from; "Get out, you'll stretch this ridiculous thing even more out of shape" to, "Has Amy been making you eat sheep's brains again?"

But in the end, with the arms around his chest feeling closer than ever without the intrusive layer of wool between them and the curious, almost warm feeling he got from being wrapped so tightly against him, he found a one-word answer was all he needed.

"Much."

Simon was adrift. Helplessly floating, his mind and body a million miles away, lost in the bliss that was Kieren Walker.

As he sat with his arms wrapped around the younger man's thin chest he could swear he felt the phantom warmth of their past lives permeate his body, filling him up and dispelling the icy chill that had long settled over his waxen skin.

As they both decided that the deformed jumper and the shirts beneath were too many layers, he felt the memory of desire coiling in the pit of his stomach, burning for the pale, perfect form before him.

As they lay together, hands roaming over exposed skin and mouths exploring each other, carefully at first but then growing in confidence and urgency, he felt the familiar electric spark in his mind. Every touch of numb skin started to feel like a jolt of static to his decrepit heart, a burst of fire in his veins. Though his cold flesh and dead nerves told him he couldn't feel, the spark in his mind as he looked up at the flawless, open face above him begged to differ. Perhaps it really was nothing more than sense memory, a trick of the mind brought on by passion, but that didn't make every touch and the longing he felt for more feel any less real.

Simon had always believed that love and addiction often went hand in hand, and never had he believed it more. He loved Kieren Walker for what he was, and he craved him for what he did. Looking into his eyes, free of lenses and cover up as they coiled together, his hair in disarray and his face broken by a breathless smile, was nothing short of looking into the face of God.

The sun was beginning to rise as Simon rose from the bed, his eyes lingering on the delicate face of the sleeping man as he pulled on his clothes. His dishevelled hair gleamed in the rosy light trickling through the windows, his pale face and fluttering eyelids illuminated by the glow. Simon held the image in his mind as he shrugged on his coat, pulling up the hood as he took to the streets, for once not wanting to be recognised.

He walked on, his mind racing over the events of the last night, his hands sliding into his pockets and his fingers brushing a familiar leather package. New images assaulted him, glimpses of the disciples who'd welcomed him like family, of the Prophet who'd promised him salvation. All dearly beloved to him, his friends, his brethren.

Now another face joined the mix. A young face, open and sweet with eyes tinged with sadness beyond his years. A mouth that spent so long set in a permanent frown and yet every smile that broke across it glowed like warm sunlight. A sweet nature and a snarky attitude, eyes that had been rolled at him too many times to count.

He stopped, his hand reaching out and brushing the wall that separated him from the rushing water beneath the bridge. His fingers traced lightly across the stone as his other hand reached into his pocket.

The package rested lightly in his hand, now surprisingly effortless to hold despite the weight. He'd already opened it once at the hotel- knives of varying shapes and lethalness, all carefully laid out for his choosing. The sight of them sickened him, though he'd carried them with purpose and determination to carry out the mission his entire second life so far had been in aid of.

He stared at the brown leather, so small and unassuming considering what was inside. Sacred instruments, passed down to him for the express purpose of sacrificing the First Risen. The blades that would bring about the Second Rising, the blades that would change history.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, extending the arm with the package over the wall.

He let them fall.

He opened his eyes as he heard the distant splash of the heavy package breaking the water's surface, and turned his eyes downwards to see it sinking into the depths, swept away by the current.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, for a moment almost convinced that he could feel the rising sun on his face.

Forgive me, Father, he offered a silent prayer heavenwards, his arms falling to his sides and his eyes opening to observe the sunrise. For I cannot follow your will if the cost is an angel's breath.

Yaaaaayyyy! Now let's hope he actually does this 'cause if he doesn't side with Ren... *eye twitches*

I love both of these characters to pieces and I will protect them to my dying breath so they better start by looking after each other, y'hear?!

*ahem* Anyway, hope you liked! R&R if the mood strikes you! ;)

Laters, Fleshers! :D