It's me again, and here it is- the Pushing Daisies AU!
Now for those of you who're wondering this is basically PD episode 1, re-written with ITF characters. There's the odd story change (for instance I kept Kieren's cause of death so no murder plot) and a Hell of a lot of dialogue from the show because Bryan Fuller is magnificent and I could never ever in my life write such fantastically witty stuff. So yeah, in many ways it's kind of an edited transcript, hope that's not too annoying- I just wanted to put the ITF characters in the situation 'cause I thought it'd be adorable! (Also sorry there's not much Amy- Olive doesn't get the biggest part in the pilot episode. Plenty of Jem, though!)
Well, hope you enjoy! Warning for suicide mentions- nothing graphic but it is a plot point.
The facts were these:
At this very moment in a small village in Roarton Valley, young Simon was 10 years, 27 weeks, 6 days and 3 minutes old. He ran in pursuit of his cat, Morrissey, who at this very moment was 3 years, 2 weeks, 6 days, 5 hours and 9 minutes old.
And not a minute older.
As the car, so loud and sudden in the silence raced across the solitary country road, Morrissey's already lifeless body was sent hurtling into the air. Were it not for the shock and the immediate connotations, the graceful arc would have been quite beautiful.
Simon had had very few encounters with death in his young life, but even he could tell from a distance that Morrissey was undoubtedly a dead cat. But that didn't stop him from advancing, step by tremulous step to the motionless body of his former companion. As he dropped to his knees at his loyal friend's side, he reached out to stroke his fur one last time.
As Morrissey's green eyes sprang open and he leapt to his feet with a happy mewl, Simon could do nothing but stare as he ran back the way they'd come.
This was the moment young Simon realized he wasn't like the other children: nor was he like anyone else, for that matter.
Simon could touch dead things and bring them back to life.
This touch was a gift given to him, but not by anyone in particular. There was no box, no instructions, no manufacturer's warranty: it just was. The terms of use weren't immediately clear, nor were they of immediate concern:
Young Simon was in love.
His name was Kieren, known better to others as Kier, although Simon refused to adopt the nickname- he saw no reason to change something that was already perfect. At this very moment, he was 9 years, 42 weeks, 3 hours and 2 minutes old, and he lived across the road. Often the young Irish boy would look out of his window to see strawberry blonde hair, and dark eyes that reminded him of his favourite chocolate at Halloween. Simon did not think of him as being born or hatched or conceived in any way: Kieren came ready-made from the Play-Doh Fun Factory of Life.
But young Simon was not the only one enchanted by the boy next door.
Rick Macy was Simon's physical and chronological elder- a tall boy of approximately eleven and a half. There was no love lost between Simon and the boy who had inadvertently become his rival, but Simon never raised his voice or said a harsh word- for as long as Kieren considered Rick his best friend, so would Simon treat him as such.
In their imaginations, young Simon and a boy named Kieren conquered the world. Plasticine people would take on a life of their own at their feet, and the glee with which Simon and Kieren would rampage through paper towns of their own creation would light up the bleak Roarton streets.
Long after their playdate was over, young Simon remained under Kieren's spell.
Until a blood vessel in his mother's brain burst, killing her instantly.
Obviously, young Simon did what any boy with a dead mother and a talent for reviving the dead would do. He gently touched his mother's cheek, watching her blink slowly back to life and get up to take the pie out of the oven like nothing had happened. As far as she or anyone else but Simon was concerned, nothing had.
This was how young Simon discovered that his random gift-that-was came with a caveat or two.
As he looked out once again across the road, watching Kieren and Rick playing together in the remains of their makeshift city, he realised it was a gift that not only gave…
It took.
As Rick slumped lifelessly to the ground, young Simon discovered he could only bring the dead back to life for one minute without consequence;
Any longer, and someone else had to die.
In the grand universal scheme of things, young Simon had traded his mother's life for that of Kieren's best friend. As he looked out of his window that night and saw Kieren, crying softly on the porch steps, Simon felt cold, harsh guilt twist like a knife in his stomach.
But there was one more thing about touching dead things that young Simon didn't know, and that night as his mother tucked him in, pressing her typical goodnight kiss to his forehead, he learned it in the most unfortunate way …
As he looked down at his mother's once again motionless body, fingers helplessly poking and prodding at her face and arms, he found out the final condition.
First touch: life.
Second touch: dead again.
Forever.
After a brief mourning period, young Simon's father would hustle him off to boarding school, never to be seen again.
Kieren would remain friendless with his parents, Sue and Steve: they shared matching evasive attitudes towards discussing difficult topics, as well as an inability to handle Kieren's difficult younger sister.
At the respective funerals of their mother and friend, dizzy with grief, curiosity and hormones, young Simon and a boy named Kieren had their first and only kiss.
After his mother's death, Simon avoided social attachments, fearing what he'd do if someone else he loved died.
And, like his mother before him, he became obsessed with pies.
It's 15 years, 34 weeks, 1 day and 59 minutes later, heretofore known as 'Now.' Young Simon has become The Pie Maker. And this, the Pie Hole, is where he makes his pies: the peaches never brown, the dead fruit in his hands becomes ripe with everlasting flavour …
As long as he only touches it once.
"Every day I come in, I pick a pie, I concentrate all my love on that pie- 'cause if I love it, someone else is gonna love it, and y'know what? By the end of the day, I've sold more of those pies than any other pie in the bakery!"
The woman with red and brown hair smiled sarcastically at her energetic server. "Oh, yeah? What pie d'you love today?"
The cheerful waitress with the red flower in her locks smiled brightly, triumphantly. "Rhubarb."
The smile fell from her face as her customer flatly stated: "I'll stick with Three Plum. Á la mode."
The waitress swept away moodily in a tidal wave of billowing skirts, leaving her stern customer with a clear view to the kitchen. The dark-haired owner met her gaze, and nodded in greeting.
Emilia Cod was the sole keeper of The Pie Maker's secret.
She nodded back, picking up her fork as the miffed waitress plopped a plate down in front of her.
And this is how she came to be the sole keeper of The Pie Maker's secret:
A private investigator, Miss Cod met the Pie Maker when his Pie Hole was on the verge of financial ruin. She was hot-footing it across the rooftops, hot on the trail of a crook she'd been chasing for close to three months. Unfortunately, the felon's footwork was less than adequate for the tricky climb.
The fall from the rooftops to the edge of the skip broke his neck, stopping his heart in an instant. And it would have stayed stopped, if it weren't for a sudden brush with a surprised Pie Maker as he hauled out the waste from another unprofitable day.
Needless to say, tapping the retreating rapscallion on the shoulder once more did nothing more than further pique Emilia Cod's insatiable curiosity. Caught red handed, the Pie Maker had no choice but to come clean.
Miss Cod proposed a partnership: murders are much easier to solve when you can ask the victim who killed them. The Pie Maker reluctantly agreed. It was that night, discussing their new business over a delicious slice of triple-berry pie that Emilia Cod partook in one of the strangest conversations of her life.
"I asked you not to use the word 'zombie', it's disrespectful- stumbling around squawking for brains, that's not what they do," Simon grumbled. "And 'undead', nobody wants to be un- anything. Why begin a statement with the negative? It's like saying 'I don't disagree': just say you agree."
"Are you comfortable with 'living dead'?" Emilia suggested with a long-suffering roll of her eyes.
"You're either living or you're dead! When you're living, you're alive, when you're dead that's what you are, but when you're dead and then you're not you're alive again," Simon rambled, looking up at her with a timid smile. "Can't we say 'alive again? Doesn't that sound nice?"
"You sound like a narcoleptic," Emilia said dryly, receiving a confused frown in return.
"I suffer from sudden and uncontrollable attacks of deep sleep?"
"…What's the other one?"
"Necrophiliac."
"Words that sound alike get mixed up in my head," Emilia mumbled, batting away her embarrassment with a shrug and a generous spoonful of strawberry ice cream.
"Me too!"
They looked up to find Amy, face bright and skirts swaying as she wiped down the last table. "I used to think masturbation meant chewing your food!"
They stared. Her face fell. "…I don't think that anymore."
"Can you lock the door behind you?" Simon asked, gently but pointedly. To his relief, the waitress reluctantly stalked away. To his disappointment, Emilia immediately rounded on him.
"So you want in on this opportunity or not?" she smirked knowingly. She had one more bargaining chip up her sleeve. "A dog is involved."
Simon glanced down to Morrissey where he dozed on the floor, cursing under his breath. Animals. Barely a day in each other's acquaintance and already she knew his weakness.
"What kind of dog?"
The facts were these: one Kenneth Burton, 58 years, 42 weeks, 5 days, 3 hours and 26 minutes old, was found mauled to death in his back garden. His dog, Maggie, was the sole witness and only suspect in the murder. Convinced of her innocence, the Burton family offered a significant reward to find the real killer.
It was this case that led Simon to the morgue, standing over a body while Emilia stepped outside for some air- and possibly to wash out her eyes. With a deep breath and a sense of foreboding, the Pie Maker set his watch and touched the victim's arm.
"Hello," Kenneth greeted brightly, sitting up awkwardly on his stainless steel trolley.
Simon gulped, checking his watch and catching his breath. "Sorry to disturb you Mr. Burton- actually, do you prefer Kenneth, or…?"
"Ken!" the surprisingly chipper alive-again man supplied.
"Ken, um, your current condition…" He said, gesturing vaguely to Ken Burton's cheek. Or rather, the gaping hole where his cheek used to be.
Ken frowned, following the gesture with his own finger. "Do I have something right here?"
"…No. There's nothing right there."
"Bloody dog," Ken cursed.
"Maggie?"
"No, no, Maggie's docile as a kitten," Ken waved him off. "It's that Rottweiler; my neighbour, she set her dog on me! She's been upset since that bloody hedge incident last year. Y'know, it's a funny story-"
Unfortunately, he did not have time to finish his no doubt amusing anecdote. A swift touch from Simon had him slumping back to the slab, and Simon slouching back to his associate, their first case wrapped up in record time.
Her good name cleared and her execution stayed, Maggie was freed, and the neighbour and her Rottweiler were hauled to justice.
Months later, in the time period commonly referred to as 'the present', Amy Dyer, loyal friend and long-suffering employee to the Pie Maker, sat watching the news with Morrissey sprawled across her lap while her employer was across town on another case (although as far as she was aware they were at a pastry convention).
Amy Dyer enjoyed her time with Morrissey: he was a surrogate for the human connection she wanted with The Pie Maker. Her desperate attempts to connect to someone so disconnected terrified him.
A quiet knock on the door sounded through the apartment. Amy's face lit up.
But that didn't stop her from trying.
In two swift bounds she was at the door, and in a single tug the Pie Maker's perpetually nervous features were revealed. Her beam widened.
"Soooo," she grinned, ushering him in. "How was the convention?"
"Conventional," Simon answered simply, sloping past without looking her in the eye. He had to lie to Amy, but that didn't mean he had to like it. "How was Morrissey?"
Hasty subject changes were one thing Amy was used to. She held in a scowl. "Neurotic. He's a very needy cat," she said, prodding Simon's side reproachfully. "Do you even pet him? Maybe if you pet him once in a while he wouldn't be so neurotic!"
Simon flinched away from the touch, practically hopping across the room. "I pet him," he protested. "Well, I'm allergic, so I can't actually touch him, but I pet him."
"With a stick?" she asked with an incredulous frown. "How d'you pet him?"
"A stick is involved," he conceded, backing further away and tripping over the low coffee table as he did so- it was only quick reflexes that carried him over without collapsing to the floor. "But it's a handle to a, uh, petting… device."
The coffee table didn't even slow down Amy, instead providing a nifty extra step to match her height to that of the gangly Pie Maker. "A cat needs to be touched," she said. Her lips quirked into a flirtatious smile, her hands went to Simon's shoulders, and she made her cheerful northern voice as sensual as she possibly could. "We all need to be touched…"
"You touch him, other people touch him," Simon defended, leaning back imperceptibly as her head drifted closer.
"He's your dog. Do you…" she leaned closer, batting her eyelashes. "Touch anything?"
"Touch lots of things," he said vaguely, body stiffening under her hands.
"With affection," she clarified, hands sliding down his arms. "When was the last time someone touched you with affection?"
"I… get touched," Simon stammered, uncomfortable with her proximity. It wasn't that he didn't like Amy, or that he didn't appreciate everything she did for him, for Morrissey, and for the Pie Hole. But even if he had been that way inclined he still would have second guessed himself at the chance of starting a relationship with her. His few attempts at kindling romance over the years hadn't exactly been… romantic. The bear-skin rug incident…
He cleared his throat, backing away from her wandering hands. "Can you get Morrissey's carrier, now?"
With a sigh and a disappointed pout, the colourful cat-sitter hopped off the table and stalked away to the kitchen. Simon turned his attention back to Morrissey, and the cat stared up at him with baleful green eyes.
"You don't mind that I don't touch you, do you?" Simon asked regretfully.
The cat merely sneezed and returned to cleaning his paws.
And then came the event that changed everything…
The sound of overly-dramatic early evening news music buzzed from the TV, and Simon turned his head to the set. Disinterested inquisitiveness turned to rapt attention as the newscaster read out a story, vague and yet somehow riveting.
"The body of a young man was found in a cave, his name and the circumstances of his death are currently being withheld by request of his family-"
"Well, here's your cage," Amy muttered, thrusting the plastic box into his unresponsive arms. He didn't answer, didn't even look at her as he continued to stare, brow-furrowed and bewildered at the screen.
The Pie Maker listened intently to the news, unaware that he had stopped breathing. He was haunted by this nameless man who met his end in a tomb of earth and stone.
But he didn't know why…
Later that night, still mulling over the mysterious man's untimely demise, Simon found himself accompanied at the Pie Hole by Emilia Cod, who had yet another intriguing proposition.
"Been watching the news lately?" she asked nonchalantly.
"Yeah," Simon said with a nod. "Looks like not much going on in the world besides a dead boy in a cave."
"A lot going on with that dead boy."
"That so?"
"Yep- five thousand quid worth of 'that so'," she said, rapping her knuckles on the table. "You interested in a conversation?"
Very interested- what better way to scratch the intolerable itch of curiosity he felt whenever he contemplated the mysterious case of the dead boy? But he kept his face neutral and his voice level: best not to let Emilia think he had any personal connection to the case whatsoever. "I could be persuaded."
"Well, you'd better be persuaded quick," she said, tapping his forehead with the end of her spoon. "'Cause dead boy's about to go in the ground."
After a moment of mostly falsified consideration, the Pie Maker agreed. "Where are we going?"
"Roarton Valley. Ever been there?"
Simon's curiosity was rapidly growing into a hunch, and it wasn't a hunch he liked. "I grew up there. Sort of. This dead boy from Roarton Valley- he have a name?"
"Kieren Walker."
Images of a past life, a bygone era of fun and adventures with the boy next door danced behind the Pie Maker's eyes. In the end, all he could say was a single word:
"Kieren…"
The facts were these: Kieren Walker, 24 years, 25 weeks, 3 days, 11 hours and 51 minutes old, was found slumped against the wall in a cave in the forest, with multiple lacerations on his arms and a significant amount of blood drained. Reports suggested that he'd remained in the same position for a night and two days before his body was found.
On a bus approximately three miles out from the funeral home housing Kieren Walker's remains, the Pie Maker desperately tried to think of anything other than the fact that remains really were all that was left of the boy he'd once loved. Outside the bus window grey skies and muddy fields spread out as far as the eye could see, eerily familiar. The Pie Maker had never returned to Roarton Valley after being sent away to school.
But he thought of Kieren every day.
"So, you know this boy?" Emilia Cod asked, eyebrow raised in suspicion.
"I know of him," Simon replied evasively, staring straight ahead.
"Know of him in the biblical sense?"
"I haven't thought of him since I was ten," Simon glared, hoping to end the conversation.
But Emilia Cod hadn't got where she was today as a PI without a tenacious thirst for knowledge. "Think of him a lot when you were ten?"
Simon met her gaze, and did something he wasn't proud of.
"Don't remember anything when I was ten."
He lied.
He remembers everything.
The funeral director, always eager to supplement his income, was more than happy to grant the deceased an audience.
As the elderly Mr. Oddie shuffled away, counting the crisp notes clutched in his unscrupulous paws, the Pie Maker and the private investigator were left standing alone, their only company in the private room the closed casket at their side. Simon stilled her hand as Emilia reached out to lift the lid.
"Can I do this one alone?" He asked, patting the coffin lid restlessly. "On account of the whole… historical context."
She trotted out the suspicious squint that only a person well-versed in weeding out liars can pull off. "You got something personal you need to say?"
"No," he said, a little too quickly, unable to stop an involuntary eye-twitch. "Okay, maybe. But I have nothing to gain but a small amount of closure."
"What you got open that needs closing?" she pressed.
I'd feel guilty if I let him stay dead without at least trying to confess to him about accidentally killing his best friend when we were kids. "Just want to say I'm sorry for something," he said vaguely. "You know, one of those stupid things kids do, that they don't know they're doing."
Emilia nodded slowly, wary squint still in place. "Okay, well… you ask how he died first."
"Of course."
"You've only got a minute."
"I know."
"Sixty seconds!"
It took several more assurances before the private investigator reluctantly vacated the room. Suddenly the reality of what he was about to do, and who he was about to see really hit him. It was with shaking hands that the Pie Maker gently lifted the coffin lid, breath held as a face came into view.
Different, older, but still achingly familiar. Red-blond hair parting in gentle waves over his pale forehead and long lashes, smooth lips slightly parted, perfectly still, locked in eternal sleep. He couldn't see his eyes behind closed lids, but knew in his heart that they were as rich as they were the day he lost him.
Only Prince Charming could know how The Pie Maker felt upon looking at him.
Great thought was taken as to where to touch him. The lips, too forward. The cheek… the cheek.
His trembling hand came to rest, his finger pressed lightly against the pale skin of his cheek. With a gasp of breath, one more than he was ever supposed to take, Kieren Walker once again sprang to life.
And the first act of his new life was to grab a hold of the tie belonging to a strange man he assumed to be an assailant, yank it down, and dash said assailant's head against the coffin lid.
"Ow!" Simon yelped, staggering back and rubbing his aching forehead as the surprisingly nimble ex-corpse leapt from the casket and grabbed the nearest chair. "Ow- wait, Kieren, wait!"
"Who are you?" Kieren demanded, raising the chair defensively. Nice to see his fighting spirit remained intact.
"Do you remember a little boy who lived next to you when Rick died?" he said quickly, cursing his lack of tact as well as his lack of time. A minute on the clock and possibly a crack in his skull, he only had a limited time to get this ball rolling and he'd already wasted five seconds stumbling.
Kieren blinked, his eyes widened and the chair lowered. "Simon?"
Simon beamed, nodding enthusiastically. So he remembered, too.
"Si!" Kieren grinned, dropping the chair and stepping closer, arms open for a hug. "Oh, my God, hi! How are you?"
Simon leapt back, away from the potential embrace. Not yet. There was still time. "Good, I'm good- you look great! Uh, listen, do you know what's happening right now?"
"I had the weirdest dream that I was bleeding out in a cave!"
"You were bleeding out in a cave," Simon said, wincing as he gestured towards the empty coffin. "I'm sorry, it's probably an odd thing to hear- I wasn't sure how to sugarcoat it…"
"Oh," Kieren murmured, eyes widening further as they landed on the casket. "Oh!"
"You only have a minute," Simon said sadly, shoulders hunching. "Less."
"Well, what can I do in less than a minute?" Kieren asked, bewildered.
"You could tell me who killed you," Simon suggested. "Y'know, so justice can be served."
"Um," Kieren said, shuffling his feet nervously as his fuzzy memories returned. "Well, that's really sweet, but… well, I don't think it'll help."
"Why not?" Simon asked, trying to ignore the adorable nervous motions of Kieren's hands.
Kieren cringed. "Because it was me. I did it."
The Pie Maker was stunned into silence, wide eyes roving to his childhood sweetheart's wrists, concealed by his suit jacket. Multiple lacerations, the news report said…
"But…" he stuttered, resisting the urge to stride forward and take his hands. "Why-?"
Kieren shrugged, tugging his sleeves further down. "I was just thinking about Rick and Jem and everything that's been going on, and as I was thinking 'well, this sucks'-"
As he was thinking 'well, this sucks', Kieren was putting a birthday present from his father, a shiny Swiss army knife, to fatal use.
"That's the last thing I remember," he murmured. "And then you touched my cheek…"
The sea of questions on the Pie Maker's lips were caught short by an impatient rap on the door.
"What's going on in there?" Emilia Cod demanded, voice muffled through the mahogany.
"Just a second!" Simon replied, panic once again surfacing. How long had it been? He checked his watch- forty five seconds.
Kieren glanced between him and the door, eyes downcast. "Is my time up?"
"I'm sorry," Simon said. What more could he possibly say?
"Well, thanks for calling me Kieren," the dead boy said, grateful smile on his lips. "No one round here calls me by my full name- well, no one I like. No one's called me Kieren since… well, you."
"I used to…" Simon began awkwardly, bashful in the face of his last chance to speak to the boy he'd thought about every day for the last fifteen years. "When I lived next door to you, I had a cru- I was in- uh, you… were my first kiss?"
"Yeah?" Kieren smiled, pleased by the revelation. "You were my first kiss, too."
The Pie Maker practically glowed, too happy to even step back as the boy next door slowly advanced closer.
"You could…" Kieren offered, shrugging shyly. "You could be my last kiss? First and last. Or is that weird?"
"It's not weird," Simon said, shaking his head as the distance between them closed. "It's magical."
Kieren's smile widened, and his beautiful eyes fluttered closed once more as he tilted his face upwards, waiting expectantly for the final kiss that would spell the end.
Kieren's minute of life was nearly over. The Pie Maker's lips went as far as they would go…
They froze perfectly, inches apart, eyes closed and breath bated.
He couldn't will them to go any further.
Elsewhere in the funeral home, hands full of stolen treasures from his lifeless charges, Mr. Oddie the funeral director retreated to his private office. He was just cramming his ill-gotten gains into his desk drawer when he felt a twinge in his chest.
And as a consequence, the funeral director would go no further.
Simon's eyes drifted slowly open. The minute was up. He'd taken too long. He considered leaning in and finishing what he started- Kieren would not want to live, knowing his life had cost someone else theirs. But…
"If you don't want to kiss me, that's okay," Kieren said shyly, pulling back. "I just thought it might be-"
"No, I do, I-", he leaned back too, away from the lips he so desperately wanted to kiss once more. "What if you didn't have to… be dead?"
The Pie Maker immediately realised the ludicrousness of asking a boy who'd died at his own hand if he'd rather be alive. He was just deciding never to open his mouth again, when-
"Well, that would be preferable."
Surprise.
"Really?" he asked, incredulous and overwhelmingly relieved.
"Yeah, I mean…" Kieren shrugged, eyes shifting to the floor. "Dying seemed like the only way out at the time but now I'm starting to think I might have… jumped the gun a bit. I guess it's too late now, but-"
The Pie Maker saw an opportunity, and seized it.
"No, it's not!" he blurted.
"It's not?" Kieren grinned, eyes alight.
"No," Simon said, although his smile faded as he glanced towards the door and lowered his voice. "But nobody can know, okay? Not right now…"
Kieren nodded, too set on taking the chance of a second shot to question his thinking. The questions started to form, however, when his childhood sweetheart took a place beside the coffin and said: "Hop in!"
"Uh, all right…" Kieren muttered, almost chuckling at the ridiculousness of the situation as he scrambled back into the padded casket. Simon hovered at his side as he settled into the soft lining, comfortably positioning himself with his arms crossed over his chest.
"I've got to think of a way to get you out of here," Simon murmured, glancing around the room at its doors and windows, and knowing there was one particular entryway he needed to clear before they could go any further. He turned to Kieren, smiling apologetically. "Can you lie really still until I get back?"
"Okay," Kieren said, watching the lid sink closer as Simon gently lowered it. "Don't take too long!"
"Promise," Simon said softly, catching Kieren's smile as his face disappeared from view. Reluctantly turning his back on the casket, Simon once again exited into the hall, coming face to face with an impatient Emilia Cod.
"Doesn't know- didn't know," he said, hastily correcting his tenses.
Emilia already looked doubtful. "So somebody just dragged him into the woods and slit his wrists and he doesn't-" she stopped, eyes narrowing. "Why're you sweating?"
"What?" Simon said, a little too quickly. "It's, uh, it's warm in there."
Her eyes narrowed further. "Your eye's twitching."
"My eye?" he asked innocently, silently cursing the nervous tick.
"Your eye is twitching," she said with more emphasis, jabbing him in the chest with her finger. "When people aren't being honest, their eye twitches. Right there! Like yours did just now."
"It's nerves," he blurted, wiping his forehead. "Aggravated by a stomach thing: it's like acid reflux, but in my eye- I think I'm gonna stay for the service," he rapidly changed the subject.
"Is that so?" she said, voice still dripping with suspicion.
"Just feeling nostalgic," he explained, gesturing to the door. "Do you remember how to get back to the station? It's down the, um, yeah… I'll catch a later bus!"
As Simon watched his business partner shuffle reluctantly away, he considered all the questions he needed to ask her- if the circumstances of Kieren's death were being withheld from the public, he could only assume that they already knew the damage was self-inflicted, which begged the question of where the five thousand was coming from, if it even existed. But for now, he had a more urgent matter on his hands.
He turned on his heel and strode back to the door, swinging it open in one push.
An empty room awaited him.
His heart plummeted in his chest, his feet carried him through the room to the back door and he barrelled out into the sunlight, just in time to see the hearse rolling away with the coffin, and the alive-again love of his life, in tow.
"Kieren!"
Lying in the dark, Kieren considered how he came to be lying in the dark. He considered the life that was with Sue and Steve.
His was a difficult childhood, suffering from a chemical imbalance of the brain commonly associated with clinical depression. Struggling with Kieren's own problems, as well as those of his volatile younger sister, his parents' anxieties had bloomed into incapacitating social phobias, which made it difficult for them to leave the house. Which, in turn, made it difficult for Kieren to leave them.
And so, to keep himself occupied, he served his community in the only way he knew how- through painting.
Portraits, panoramas, he painted them for himself and for others, taking joy from the way a few strokes could turn a blank canvas into something so much more. Unlike his sister, who had stormed out of their lives the second she was legally able, he never strayed far from home. He painted, he cooked, cleaned, and once he turned eighteen he got a job at the local pub. And he read. He read about people he could never be, on adventures he would never have.
Life was good enough.
Until one day, after another day of verbal abuse at the hands of the pub's rowdy patrons, it wasn't: Kieren wanted more.
He wanted adventure, he wanted his sister, he wanted his friends, a life of his own. He wanted more than what he had been left with.
Unfortunately, 'more' did not seem to be forthcoming…
Kieren was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of a familiar voice outside his casket, shouting something that sounded a little like 'I think somebody's truck is on fire!'. The exclamation was followed by the sound of two shovels hitting the ground, and two sets of feet sprinting away across… grass? When did they go outside?
A moment passed, and then a sliver of light appeared through the lid. It swung open, a familiar face hanging over him, smiling apologetically down from the edge of the open grave.
"Sorry I'm late," Simon smiled.
Kieren couldn't help smiling back.
Only Sleeping Beauty could know how he felt at this moment.
Later that night at the Pie Hole, Simon found himself with the disheartening task of explaining Kieren's terms of resurrection. The reception was less than positive.
"I can't even hug you? What if you need a hug? A hug can turn your day around."
Simon smiled at him across the counter, arms crossed on the surface. "I'm not a fan of the hug."
"Then you haven't been hugged properly," Kieren stated matter-of-factly, mirroring his pose. "A hug is like an emotional Heimlich: they put their arms around you, give you a squeeze and all your fear and anxiety goes shooting out of your mouth like a big, wet wad and you can breathe again!"
It was honestly so adorable that Simon wanted to hug him right there and then, but he had to stand his ground. "That's fine for someone else to do if I'm choking on something- other than emotion. But you can't touch me."
He wasn't quite prepared for the flirtatious smile he got in return. "So a kiss is out of the question?"
"I-" Simon stammered, smiling bashfully and ducking his head after a probably inappropriate amount of entranced staring. "I lost my train of thought."
Kieren smiled fondly at him, leaning his head on his hands. He raised an eyebrow. "How long have you been thinking about this?"
"Like thinking-thinking?" Simon babbled, rubbing the back of his head. "It wasn't premeditated, I wasn't lying in wait, more like I was musing on the idea, not dwelling, although there were times I did dwell on you- about you, a little- but I wasn't seriously considering 'til the exact moment I did it, or… didn't do it."
Kieren couldn't help smiling at his awkwardness. "I always wondered if you'd come back," he said quietly, happily. "I suppose you came back when I needed you most- well, that would've been before I… but this worked out."
Simon smiled, but his eyes were sad. He didn't want to be the one to tell him: "You understand you can't go back, right? You can't see your parents…"
Kieren frowned. "But I've got a second chance, now- make things right, all that! 'Sides, now Jem's gone they'll go off their rockers without me. You don't have to worry, they're shut-ins, it's not like they'll talk to anybody."
"People aren't used to this sort of thing: issues of morality, how come he's not dead anymore, it'd be a disaster," Simon said sadly, shaking his head. It was for his own good. For their own good.
Kieren seemed to consider for a moment, rationalising with himself. Eventually a little smile, small and slightly nervous, broke his blank expression.
"Well," he huffed, shrugging. "Suppose dying's as good an excuse as any to start living."
"This is Morrissey."
"Wasn't your old cat called Morrissey?" Kieren asked, scratching behind the feline's silky ears and receiving a deep purr in return.
"This is him."
Kieren's eyes widened, turning to look at Simon where he hovered in the doorway. "Did you-? And now he's-?"
"Yeah," Simon said softly, with a sheepish smile.
Kieren stood with his hands on his hips, cocking his head to the side. "You seem to do that a lot- why do you do that?"
"It's just the two of you," Simon murmured. Kieren smiled at him, and he felt his heart warm. It was a sensation he was entirely unused to, and sadly one he had no idea how to deal with. "I hate to be a bad host, but I'm sort of exhausted from chasing your coffin," he said, swiftly crossing over to the sofa across the room.
"Oh, yeah, of course," Kieren said, jumping up, the cat grumbling in protest as the petting stopped.
Simon flopped down onto the sofa, still fully clothed, a little too eager to go to sleep- he was scared that the more tired he got, the more likely he was to accidentally blurt out one of the many things Kieren didn't know that he'd rather break to him gently over a hot chocolate and a slice of apple pie.
"I'm gonna sleep here, you take the bed- no, I insist," he said, politely cutting off Kieren's protests as he rolled onto his back. "Better sleep, my eyes are just rolling into the back of my head," he said, clumsily apologetic. Fortunately, Kieren didn't look particularly angry at him. Instead he just smiled down at him with something in between amusement and affection. "I'm, uh, I'm laying down now," he said by way of awkward goodnight, offering one last smile before closing his eyes.
He didn't see the way Kieren backed out of the room, happy to just look at Simon's 'sleeping' face for as long as possible. He didn't see the way he watched him right up until the bedroom door, only looking away to turn the handle. And he didn't hear Kieren's whisper as he sent one last glance over his shoulder.
"I'd kiss you if it wouldn't kill me."
Despite how comfortable the bed was after an afternoon spent in a coffin, and despite the pleasant scent of pastry and syrup that lingered in the sheets from their previous occupant, Kieren Walker couldn't sleep. A question demanded his attention- tugging at his sleeve with all the insistence of a hyperactive child. As the clock rolled past one a.m., he decided he could no longer leave his curiosity unsated.
"Simon?" he said, crouching by the sofa, just as close as he could without risking Simon accidentally touching him should he awake suddenly.
Simon's sleepy eyes fluttered open, his hand rubbed his face. He barely had time to register who he was talking to before Kieren got to the point.
"Why did you wake me up?" Kieren asked.
"Hmm?" Simon mumbled, still half-asleep. He could ask him the same thing.
"And for that matter, how did you know I was dead in the first place?" Kieren insisted. "What were you hoping to get out of it?"
"Heard it through the grapevine- and nothing."
"Really? See, I was thinking about what you said about 'justice being served' and wondered what kind of justice you were hoping to find when it was pretty obvious that I offed myself."
"I didn't know that," Simon explained..
"Oh?"
"No. As far as I was aware foul play was involved- no one bothered to tell me otherwise," he said, slightly bitterly. Truth was this was bothering him, too- why would Emilia make up a murder case?
Kieren's eyebrow arched suspiciously. "And who made you aware of it in the first place?"
"I have a… business partner."
"Did this 'business partner' make you aware of anything else- a reward, for example?"
"Yes. No. Well, not a real one- I'm starting to think she made the whole thing up, haven't worked out why yet."
"How much was this so-called reward?"
"Five thousand."
"Five thousand?"
"Well, two and a half- she gets half of it."
"So, what is this business?"
Simon shifted uncomfortably, shrugging against the couch cushions. "Well, it's not really a business in the traditional sense…"
"You touch murder victims, you ask who killed them, you touch them again, they go back to being dead and you collect their reward?" Kieren summed up, lips twitching.
Simon winced. "That's it in a nutshell."
"Would I be alive right now if I had been murdered and knew who by?" Kieren asked quietly, meeting his gaze. He was searching for honesty, and he'd know if he found it.
"Of course, don't be silly," Simon said sincerely. He couldn't have done it. He should have known that from the start. Once awakened, he wouldn't have touched him again. Not when the alternative was to have him here, alive and well and in his life once more.
"So, were you after my reward?" Kieren pestered, face stern. "I'm not pissed off at you. I'll be pissed if you lie, though."
"I don't want your reward."
"I'm gonna be so mad if you're lying to me, you'll have me scratching at the drapes," Kieren threatened, pointing his finger challengingly at Simon's face.
"I'm not lying. Please don't attack the window treatments," Simon said in a small voice, hoping he believed him because he couldn't be any more honest if he tried.
Fortunately, Kieren seemed satisfied by his answer. "Okay. Go back to sleep," he smiled, standing up and striding right back to the bedroom without a second glance.
Simon watched him go, letting out a relieved sigh. Well, one difficult conversation down.
That night, curled up on his well-worn couch with his eyes open and his mind racing, the Pie Maker pressed his hand to the wall, pretending for a moment that he could reach out and take Kieren's hand through the plaster.
On the other side of the wall, lying awake in an unfamiliar bed, Kieren Walker was pretending, too.
Kieren woke up to sunlight shining through the blinds, a quiet house, and a scribbled note taped to the lampshade.
Gone to open shop.
Please stay in the flat!
S x
It was a sweet letter, filled with concern. It brought a smile to his face.
Sadly, there was no way he could obey it.
Up and dressed in the same clothes from yesterday- along with some sunglasses and a hat found in Simon's closet- Kieren made his way to the front door, plucking the spare key from the hook and letting himself out like he owned the place. He supposed it was his new home, of sorts.
He could slip out for a bit- the Pie Hole was only downstairs, after all. Just a quick elevator ride and then he could hide out in the kitchen all day, help Simon with the orders. No reason anyone else had to see him.
He locked the door, turned around, and immediately came face to face with a girl. Long hair, pretty dress, red flower on her head. She stared at him, hand still on the knob of the neighbouring apartment's door.
The silence lasted a very uncomfortable three seconds.
"…I'm a friend of Simon's," Kieren said by way of introduction.
She looked him up and down, her frown turned from cautious to curious.
"…Does he touch you?"
"So, how was the service?" Emilia Cod asked pointedly, taking a bite of her lemon meringue pie.
"Y'know, just paid my respects," Simon shrugged, looking down at his coffee mug instead of her face.
"You weren't looking to get paid?" she asked, voice oozing suspicion. "Might say a dead man speaking to you in confidence is an opportunity to make a whole lot of money by your lonesome, regardless of prior arrangements."
"There's no opportunity here," Simon said, looking up. "He killed himself."
She had nothing to say to that.
He, on the other hand, had a lot to ask. "Why did you say he was murdered? The authorities and his family wouldn't put out a reward for details of a suicide," now it was his turn to look suspicious. "What aren't you telling me?"
Before she could answer, change the subject or even make excuses, the bell above the door chimed and Amy strolled in, an all too familiar boy at her side.
Kieren dropped into the booth beside Emilia (who was rapidly adjusting the tilt of her hat and the collar of her shirt). "Are you the business partner?" he asked, nodding to Simon in greeting as he spoke directly to Cod.
"That'd be me," Emilia mumbled, face mostly hidden. Simon frowned. What was she up to?
"Found him upstairs," Amy chirped, leaning on the back of Kieren's seat and smiling at Simon. "Doesn't he look a lot like that dead boy?"
"He looks exactly like that dead boy," Emilia agreed loudly, glowering at Simon from beneath the brim of her hat.
Amy was beaming at Kieren, oblivious to Cod's pointed remark. "You should take that as a compliment: he was pretty."
"Pie time," Simon said quickly, subtly dismissing Amy with a jerk of his head towards the kitchen.
Amy's face fell, her eyes narrowed. "Pie time," she repeated flatly, stomping away to get the ovens fired up. The three who remained seated waited until she was out of earshot to continue.
"He's supposed to be in the ground," Emilia hissed at Simon, face still hidden.
"And I was supposed to have five thousand quid in the bank, life is full of twists and turns," Simon stated, watching Kieren's face curiously. He seemed intently focused on Emilia…
Kieren's uncertain recognition turned to sudden clarity, his brow furrowed. "You?!"
"What, you know her?" Simon asked, confused.
Before anyone else could move Kieren was lunging forward, yanking off Emilia's hat and sending her long brown-and-cherry hair flying loose. He dropped the hat on the table, staring at her exposed face incredulously.
"Jesus, Jem," he exclaimed. "So this is where you've been?"
Simon stared at her loose hair, her angry eyes, her guilty face, and realisation hit. "Jem Walker?!"
"Fuck," she muttered, snatching her hat and jamming it back onto her head.
"You didn't know it was her?" Kieren asked incredulously.
"Well, no- last time I saw her she was seven!" Simon cried defensively.
"Bloody Hell, Jem, what've you been doing for four years?" he demanded. "You haven't picked up the bloody phone once-what've you been up to?"
"Working," she said gruffly, standing up and shoving past him, beckoning Simon into the kitchen after her. "Simon, a word?"
He followed her with an apologetic smile at the gobsmacked Kieren, and an even more apologetic smile at Amy who once again had to vacate the room. The second they were alone Jem turned on him, grey eyes aflame.
"You didn't touch him again," she stated the obvious, jabbing him in the chest with her finger. "That was… just so shockingly stupid, I have a hard time believing you did it!"
"You're the one who sent me in there when you knew he wasn't murdered," Simon shot back, shoving her hand away. "And how come you never told me who you were, anyway-?"
"I just wanted to know why he did it, I didn't think you'd bring him back completely!" she snapped. "Are you in love with him? 'Cause it's that level of stupid."
"I'll admit to being confused, it's a very confusing time- childhood issues, digging in the dirt- It's all coming up," he muttered, shying away from her allegation.
"Y'know what, we all have childhood issues, okay?" she scoffed, crossing her arms. "Believe me, I got the full subscription. Horror stories!"
"I kinda killed his best friend when I was ten."
She fell silent. "…Okay, maybe not horror stories … wait, Rick, that was-?!"
"Long story. He doesn't know," he said ashamedly, wringing his hands. "But I wanted to make it better or different than what it was, because what it was was him dead and I didn't want that to be my fault, too."
Jem sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Well, who died instead?"
Simon pulled a newspaper from his apron pocket, dropping it into her hand and pointing at the obituaries. Funeral director Oddie's face looked up at her from the surface.
"It's a random proximity thing," he mumbled guiltily.
Jem glared at him, voice raised in anger. "Bitch, I was in proximity!"
"I wasn't thinking," he said sheepishly.
She shook her head, glancing back at the paper. "I wondered what happened to him…"
"He was a very, very bad man- he stole stuff off dead people and sold it on the internet. It's all in the obituary."
"Oh, that's nice," she said dryly, scowling at him. "The fact that he was a 'very, very bad man' makes you feel better about what you did?"
"Yes. Immensely," he said firmly. "I would've felt horrible if it was … you, for example."
A sharp smack upside the head with the newspaper had him flinching back. "I'm not proud!" he winced.
"Y'know what? I'm glad you did it," she said snippily, dropping the paper on the counter. "Makes the worst thing I ever did seem insignificant."
"Listen to you: all judgy-judge," Simon said petulantly, crossing his arms.
"'Judgy-judge'? Look: you don't know anything about Kier except he got himself killed," she said, prodding him in the chest again.
"Considering that's your brother alive and well in there you could be a little less judgemental," he muttered, rubbing the tender patch on his chest where her thin fingers kept jabbing him.
"Yeah, how'd you get him to agree to stay alive- from what I heard he didn't care for it the first time," she asked bitterly, glancing towards the main restaurant where Kieren was engaged in conversation with Amy.
"Well, he changed his mind."
"Changed his mind?!"
"Yeah, y'know how it is- something seems like a good idea at first and then you realise how stupid it was, same thing," he rationalised calmly, cringing a little. This was one topic he didn't much like talking about. The thought of Kieren doing…
"Bit beyond stupid, if you ask me," she groused.
"Well, he's back now and that's all that matters," he said resolutely, daring her to disagree.
"Yeah, until we get people asking us about the empty coffin and the dead funeral director and the kid in your flat who matches the photo in the obituaries," she hissed.
"No one's going to ask because no one's going to find out."
"Can't keep him hidden forever."
"Can't be that hard."
"Not a case of how hard it is- I know Kier, he won't let you do it."
"He trusts me."
"Why?"
"'Cause…" he trailed off, unable to think of a good answer.
She nodded her head smugly. "Exactly. You guys were friends fifteen years ago, since then you've both grown up, got your own lives and one of you died. You don't know the first thing about each other. You didn't even realise you were solving crimes with his sister!"
"You were seven!" he objected loudly.
"It's the principle, Simon!"
"Well, doesn't matter," Simon said, as confidently as he could. "He knows what a bad idea it'd be to tell people, he's on board."
The sound of a throat clearing made them both jump, spinning round to face the door.
Kieren watched them both, arms crossed over his chest. "Well," he said, nodding. "I agree in theory."
Simon and Jem's eyebrows arched, almost in perfect unison. "But?" Simon prompted.
"But I'm still worried about Mum and Dad," he said, turning to Jem before Simon could argue. "Don't suppose you could pay a visit and-?"
"No way," she said flatly, feet planted.
"Oh, come on, Jem, I can't exactly do it- I'm dead, for Christ's sake!" he complained, exasperated.
"Should'a thought about that before you offed yourself, shouldn't you?"
"Jem!" Kieren snapped, forehead creased in anger.
"Well, it's true! Didn't spare a damn thought for them, did you?"
"No, I had enough of that to do when I spent four years looking after them after you swanned off!"
"Swanned off-?!"
"ENOUGH!" Simon bellowed, surprising himself and the Walker siblings with his volume. He hastily corrected himself, clearing his throat and shooting a contrite smile towards Amy as she ushered in the first very shocked-looking customers of the day.
"Look," he said, sighing. "I'll do it."
Kieren immediately looked guilty. "Si, you don't have to…"
"No, it's fine," he said, smiling reassuringly. "Least I can do, considering I'm keeping you away from them."
Kieren grinned at him gratefully, eyes warm and shoulders relaxing. Jem looked between them once and huffed, slouching out of the kitchen and muttering under her breath. Simon didn't have time to worry about her right now.
Looked like he was going to be making a house call.
As Jem pulled the car to a stop across the street from the Walker family home, Simon turned around to look at Kieren where he sat with his face pressed to the window.
"You stay here," he said as Kieren's hand moved to the handle.
"I just want to look in the window," Kieren complained.
"You can't," Simon said remorsefully. "You can have your pie but you can't eat it, that's the way it works."
"You're making me hungry," Jem grumbled, killing the engine.
Kieren ignored her, staring at Simon with wide, imploring eyes. "I was supposed to keep them sane and I left, I'd just die if anything happened to them- I mean I'd die again."
Simon tried to reassure him as best he could with just his voice, wishing he could reach out and take his hand. "I'll make sure your parents are okay and I'll be right back. We'll make sure they're not alone."
Kieren still looked torn. Simon ducked his head and lowered his voice. "I wish I could give you an emotional Heimlich so you could cough up that wad of fear and anxiety, but I can't."
He looked up to Jem, smiling uneasily and nodding towards Kieren. "Give him a hug?" he asked hopefully.
Jem glowered at him, but sighed and leaned back over the seat, arms open. Kieren happily settled into them, arms around her waist and head on her shoulder, smiling at Simon over her.
"That was from me," Simon said shyly, keeping Kieren's relieved smile in mind as he slipped from the car and into the familiar street.
Simon took a deep, steadying breath at the door, pressing the doorbell and waiting for an answer.
"Who is it?" A slightly tremulous voice called from inside.
"Hi," he called back, trying not to stumble over his words. "My name is Simon, I lived next door fifteen years ago. I'm a- I was a friend of Kieren's," he really needed to work on keeping his past and present tenses in check around people.
On the other side of the door a bolt slid across, a chain was unfastened, and finally it opened, the muted yellow light of the entryway lamp illuminating Sue and Steve Walker.
Sue smiled at him, welcoming, if slightly nervous. "Please," she said, stepping aside and gesturing to the hall with a slightly unsteady hand. "Come in!"
Kieren waited a few minutes until he was gone, ushered into the house by his parents, before hopping out himself.
"Where're you off to?" Jem demanded, leaning out of the open door.
"Like I said: window," he muttered, glancing both ways to check for other cars and seeing none.
"He said to stay put," she said pointedly, wanting to suggest that it was the best plan without necessarily admitting that Simon was right.
Kieren just rolled his eyes, giving her a parting wave as he crossed the street and faded into the shadows.
He snuck past the living room window, catching a glimpse of Simon settling stiffly down on a couch as Sue fussed over him and Steve put the kettle on. He resisted the overwhelming temptation to just barrel right in and instead slipped into the back garden, finding the familiar tree- the one he could shimmy up that would take him to just outside Jem's old bedroom window. On the way he caught sight of the shed, his old easel propped against it, gathering moss and mould from the rain.
Kieren couldn't remember why he was so desperate to leave this life behind: he missed his parents, he missed his paintings, he missed everything he was.
He looked away, jaw set grimly as he began the familiar climb to the upper levels. He and Jem used to have an agreement about this little access point- if either of them used it in the middle of the night it was on a strictly don't ask, don't tell basis. She didn't mind him taking a shortcut through her room so long as he kept quiet and didn't mess up her stuff. In return, he wouldn't tell their parents about the handy escape route, or the nights he'd found her clambering up it at four in the morning.
He picked his way carefully through the dark, amazed that her room seemed as messy now as it did when she lived there. Anything frivolous- CDs, posters, videogames- had all been left behind when she'd moved.
When he slipped into his room he immediately dropped to the floor, rummaging around under his bed. Finally he found it, the shoebox full of memories. Play-Doh figures, letters, photos, mementos of all shapes and sizes.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs jolted him out of his trance. He slapped the lid back on the box and carried it under his arm, making his way swiftly back out the same way he'd come in. He thought he glimpsed Steve on the landing just as he dropped below the window's edge, but didn't have time to feel wistful as he was too busy negotiating his way back down the tree truck in the dark.
Kieren didn't want to be remembered as the boy who committed suicide.
When he hit the ground he once again peeked in the box, the letter catching his eye. The one from Rick on his ninth birthday, not long before he'd died. He didn't need to read it, he knew it by heart.
Happy birthday, Ren!
Sorry I couldn't give you a present- got you one but dad confiscated it. I'll make it up to you next year.
Rick
Kieren's eyes hardened, he looked up to the neighbouring house. The Macy house.
He wanted to be remembered as something sweeter.
It was idiotic, completely too risky and not to mention a fool's errand- most likely that present was long gone by now. But he wanted to find it. He wanted closure, to say a proper goodbye to Rick- and maybe to be able to stop thinking of himself as 'the boy who offed himself' in the process. Maybe all he needed was that last parting gift from his best friend- from the boy who had almost been more than his best friend.
He hopped across the fence separating their yards, tucking the shoebox into his backpack and searching for the spot, hoping it hadn't been taken down. But there it was, wooden latticework on the side of the house, set in place for the vines. In their childhood it had been the most practical ladder, the perfect way to sneak out and play even after both their parents had sent them to bed. Whether it would bear his weight now… well, only one way to find out.
"Kieren were a bossy one: always trying to get us out of the house," Steve said, nibbling on a cracker. "Threatened to bake anti-depressants into our food, got to the point I was scared to eat anything he cooked."
"He was a good cook, and a nice boy," Sue said wistfully, turning her head to Simon with a smile. "Do you like boys?"
"Uh," Simon stammered, taken aback. "Yes, ma'am."
"Always thought so, didn't want to assume," she chortled, patting his hand across the table. "Kieren was a nice boy..."
"With the exception of puberty," Steve pointed out loudly, Sue nodding. "Flipping 'eck, he kept us on our toes…"
As Simon continued to smile and nod along to the Walkers' anecdotes about Kieren's hormonal teenage years, the boy in question was scuffling in the dark of Rick Macy's old bedroom, considering how much easier his quest would be if he at least knew what he was looking for. But if it had been confiscated, he knew without a doubt that it was either in a dump, scattered to ashes, or buried somewhere in Bill Macy's study.
"Shit…" he muttered.
In the idling car, Jem fidgeted anxiously. It shouldn't take him this long to look in a window. Unless he'd decided to do something stupid…
"Idiot," she cursed quietly, tapping her nails on the wheel.
"Kieren always wanted to get away," Sue said quietly, eyes tearing up. "Got away further than any of us thought…"
Simon reached out and patted her hand awkwardly, deciding he was probably supposed to try and comfort her. Physical contact was never his forte.
Fortunately, he didn't have to keep it up for long. Within a couple of minutes Steve was back in the room, a very puzzled frown on his face.
"That's strange," he mumbled, scratching his head. "Can't find it."
"Can't find what?" Simon asked, glancing between them.
"That old box Kier kept under his bed- saw something in there with your name on it, saw him wrapping it up for your birthday before you went away. Could've sworn it was there not long ago…"
Simon stood up a little faster than necessary, startling Sue and Steve with his abruptness.
"Well, thanks for your hospitality but I'd best be off," he said, trying to squeeze some polite remorse into his tone on his way to the door. "I'll check round again soon, yeah? Take care!"
He was out the door before either of them could reply.
In a few swift bounds he was across the street, leaning in through the open car window and spooking an incredibly tense Jem. "Where's Kieren?" he demanded, without preamble.
"Said he was gonna look in the window," she frowned, concern creasing her features. "Isn't he with you?"
Simon raced back towards the garden without answering, hearing only the faint sound of cursing and an engine starting as Jem wisely prepared for a hasty retreat. He only hoped she wouldn't leave them behind. He slipped past the window and looked around for any sign of Kieren, finding nothing until he looked over the fence. He blanched. The vines outside the Macy house were torn, as if someone had scrambled up them. Someone perhaps a little too old to be climbing vines…
"Kieren…" he whispered, aghast. Kieren was in Bill Macy's house, after dark, breaking and entering, when he was supposed to be dead…
He cursed under his breath, sprinting for the back door. No way was he trying the vines- he was already heavier than Kieren, and he didn't fancy testing them if they were already weakened. He thought back to the days they used to play together in the fields behind the houses, all three of them, the way they had to sneak into Rick's house from the back to avoid his dad. He reached for the flowerpot, scarcely daring to hope…
The key. It was still there. He had to stop himself from laughing out loud with relief. Instead he unlocked the door as quickly and quietly as he could, not daring to shut it behind him- they were going to need to make a quick getaway.
The house was silent but for the quiet creaking of the old pipes. Simon barely dared to breathe, eyes wide and senses heightened. Find Kieren and get out, that was his goal. Why Kieren even thought this would be a good idea in the first place…
He took the stairs, automatically avoiding the second and fifth steps, knowing that their squeaks and groans would wake the whole house. Kieren must be in Rick's room, probably feeling sentimental.
He carefully set foot on the landing, glancing both ways. On the right, the door to Bill's study. On the left, Rick's room. And halfway down the hall to Rick's room…
He tiptoed as quietly as possible past the bedroom door, holding his breath, sheer cold terror simmering in his veins, heart hammering like a hummingbird's wings. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea…
He was nearly there, right on the threshold of Rick's old door. He let his breath out a little, his hand reached for the handle…
That was when he felt the hands fly out and grasp his neck.
He choked past them, feeling his feet practically lift off the ground as strong arms pulled harder. He smacked at them with his hands, tried to pry them away but it was no use. He felt the last of his oxygen rushing from his lungs, his airways too obstructed to pull in more. The dark house began to grow even darker around him…
There was a shout, a thud, and a grunt, and suddenly he was free. He fell to the floor, coughing and wheezing for breath, glancing over his shoulder blearily.
Bill Macy lay crumpled on the floor, breathing but unconscious. Above him stood Kieren, heavy book raised in his hands, panting for breath. He stared at Simon with wide eyes, frantically gesturing to the window.
"Go!" he hissed, tucking the book under his arm. "Go to the window- I'll take the door. Get out!"
Simon couldn't speak, only nodding. He charged through Rick's room to the window, barely stopping to consider whether the vines would hold him. He'd just jump if it came down to it. As he lowered himself down past the windowsill he caught sight of Kieren, still hovering over Bill Macy's unconscious form.
A rush of warmth washed over The Pie Maker.
Finally the alive-again boy moved- but not before aiming a swift, grudge-fuelled kick at Bill's leg. He shot Simon a flustered smile before disappearing down the stairs.
He would later describe this feeling as delight.
As he toppled gracelessly to the ground, Kieren darted out of the door. The red-haired boy grinned at him, and if they could touch it would have been the moment where they ran away, hand in hand, laughing and breathless and high on adrenaline.
But even though their hands couldn't touch as they made their escape, Simon almost felt like he could fly.
The boy whom he rescued from the death had returned the favour.
With Jem on her way home, Kieren's treasure from his life-that-was acquired and his secret still thankfully intact, the reunited sweethearts found themselves sitting on the bench outside the Pie Hole, eyes turned to the stars.
In his lap Kieren held the shoebox full of memories, along with his last gift from Rick- a heavy book full of Van Gogh paintings and trivia, interspersed with pictures of the two of them from when they were kids, haphazardly glued in. Well, he'd only been eleven- unlikely he'd felt much need to respect books at the time. But Kieren didn't care, hugging it tightly to his chest and feeling a little part of him that had been dormant for years slowly come back to life.
"Was this really an act of kindness?" he asked, his positive mood only sparking his curiosity. "Me, here? Were you really trying to do something good for no other reason than to help me?"
Simon shook his head sadly, guiltily. "I was being selfish. I'd love to tell myself I was being unselfish, but I know deep down in my primal sweet spot I was being unselfish for selfish reasons."
Kieren nodded slowly, sighing quietly.
But Simon wasn't finished. He ducked his head, wringing his hands. "I just thought… my world would be a better place if you were in it."
Kieren looked at him fondly, smiling at his 'unselfish selfishness'. So very Simon. "Is there anything else I should know?"
The Pie Maker wanted to tell Kieren about that fateful afternoon when he inadvertently killed his best friend, but instead he said:
"No."
Kieren smiled, lifting the lid off the shoebox. He dug past the letters and postcards, searching for something.
"Well, I reckoned no one else would need this so I could keep it. And seeing as I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you …"
His fingers closed around something- a small package, wrapped scruffily in blue paper. He proudly presented it to Simon, beaming.
"Happy birthday, fifteen years ago!"
Simon grinned, taking the package and unwrapping it. Inside he found a CD, a drawing on the cover (not bad for an eight year-old, but then it was Kieren, after all) and a scribbled track list on the back. His eyes widened. He'd only ever seen Kieren make mix CDs for…
"You made this for me?" he asked softly, holding it like it was made of glass.
Kieren smiled, handing him something else- one of their plasticine figurines, the ones they used to play with in the garden. He'd saved their two favourites. "Thanks for bringing me back to life," he murmured, sweeping his hair out of his face.
Simon felt like his happiness could lift him off the ground. "You're welcome…"
Their eyes met over the short distance, the foot apart feeling like a mile. How they both longed to reach out, to brush their fingers against each other, to kiss for the second time after it was so long overdue.
As if they could read each other's minds, the hands holding the figurines moved closer together. Shortly before their hands could come into contact, the figures completed the chain for them.
Anyone who walked past them at that moment would have had to stop and stare at the sight of two men, eyes locked with all the warmth of an embrace, not touching each other or speaking, moving only their hands as the two crude models came into contact, clay lips brushing again and again.
But the men wouldn't have paid them any attention, too lost in each other's eyes and their by-proxy plasticine kiss to care for the rest of the world.
After the night of the Macy home invasion, Emilia Cod, known now to her friend and colleague as Jem Walker, made reluctant contact with her grieving parents. Having regained a daughter and gained a new friend in Simon the Pie Maker, Mr and Mrs Walker had a new interest in the world on the other side of their fence. They retreated from their retreat, and took the plunge.
Amy Dyer continued bustling around, picking up slack from the scatter-brained Pie Maker, as she had always done, only now with the knowledge that the curious kid with the brown eyes and boyish charm was here to stay. But her smile stayed in place and her lovesick little heart forged on, confident that one day the man she loved would see that what he was looking for had been there all along.
Bill Macy would forever be left wondering why, on the night of what appeared to be a two-man armed robbery, the only item stolen was an old Van Gogh book that he didn't even remember buying.
Jem stood outside the door, sighing heavily as she braced herself. Another day, another case. She pushed open the door.
Jem (or Emilia, as she still preferred to be called in a professional standing) was plunged into something else altogether.
Simon smiled at her, already in place by the covered autopsy table. And as he waved in greeting, so did Kieren.
A three-way split.
"Y'know, this whole thing is sort of like reincarnation but more immediate," Kieren said brightly, ruffling Jem's hair and dragging a frustrated groan from his little sister.
"Yeah, sort of," Simon agreed, smiling adoringly at his alive-again boyfriend.
"Where d'you stand on reincarnation, sis? You think it's possible?" Kieren asked, beaming.
"Fuck, no," she huffed, shaking her head. "The planet's falling apart. Right now, it's the children's problem- we reincarnate, it's our problem."
Kieren rolled his eyes, falling into step as Simon lead the way to the body that awaited them on the slab, pulling back the blanket for him so he wouldn't have to touch the corpse until he was ready. Back to business.
The facts were these: one Julian Flanagan, 37 years, 6 hours and 45 minutes old, was found stabbed to death in a local parking lot.
Simon set the timer on his watch, took a deep breath, and tapped the cadaver's shoulder. The stiff body sprang to life, the bewildered man sitting up and glancing around at the morgue and its three unlikely occupants.
But before Mr. Flanagan could get into the specifics of his demise, Kieren thought it would be nice to ask:
"Do you have any last words or thoughts or requests?" Kieren asked quickly, leaning towards the man on the slab.
Jem made an irritated noise behind them, and Simon stared at him with a look of barely disguised wonder. Kieren caught his look and frowned. "What?"
Simon shook his head slightly, a somewhat awed smile dancing across his lips. "It's just… something I never thought to ask."
Simon looked down at Kieren, the wonderful man he'd saved from death, and thought his heart had never felt so full.
As he stared at him, Simon reached around and held his own hand, pretending he was holding Kieren's.
Kieren smiled back, face warm, happiness glowing in his eyes, Jem and the temporarily alive-again man forgotten, just for the time being.
And at that very moment, Kieren was pretending to be holding his.
The End
Well, there you have it!
Hope that was fun- sorry it was so wordy :/
I'm gonna go ahead and leave this marked as a one shot, but if anyone has request for PD episodes they reeeeaaaaaallly wanna see adapted leave me a comment or something! No guarantees that I'll get around to them but if I ever do write more I definitely won't manage the entire series xD (I'd also have to think of some plots since we don't have the Lily scandal or Cod's daughter anymore)
Thanks for reading, hope you had fun! X