A/N: I wrote this because I wanted to show how Cook was (not) dealing with losing his best friend, and Effy, still being mentally unstable, was (not) dealing with losing the love of her life. It hurt me to write it. And yes, there is a bit of intentional underlying Frook. You can ignore it if you so desire.
Another repost.
A Lack of Color
He's a useless piece of shit, but he's not a coward.
That's what he tells himself as he cracks Foster's head against the floor and watches it bleed red. He's Cook and he's nothing but he's also not afraid.
When he runs from the house, it's only because there's nowhere else for him to go. There's no reason to stay here, covered in the blood of the man who killed Freddie. No point waiting to be put away for something that he wouldn't blink to change.
He's Cook and he runs because he has to. Because there's nothing left for him here. He doesn't plan on looking back because he knows better than anyone that there's no point in wanting what will never be. He's learned from his mistakes and he knows that feeling only fucks you up. And so he takes shots, bums drugs and fucks women because it's what he knows, what he's always known, and no no, he's not afraid.
Four months later when he cracks open the door to the shed, its only because he's got nowhere left to go. He doesn't give a fuck about anything but it's been months since he's gotten a good nights sleep and he thinks it must be from the lack of a familiar bed (and not at all the vision of Fred's clothes covered with so much blood). He goes to the shed because he knows the door is always open and even Cook needs somewhere to rest his head.
"Hello, Cook."
He freezes, blinking as he peers into the darkness. He knows that voice, knows it better than his own, but she doesn't belong here now and so he just blinks.
"I didn't mean to come here. I never mean to. I was just taking a walk - trying to clear my head. But I kept ending up here."
"Fuck Effy." He whispers because he doesn't know what else to say. His eyes are slowly adjusting to the blackness and he can make out her silhouette curled up in the arm chair. Freds chair.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" He can hear a smile in her voice, the Effy smile. He doesn't move.
"Yah... yah I guess so." He can feel her watching him as she unfolds her legs and stands up slowly. She takes four careful strides toward him and reaches out. Her fingers graze the corner of his mouth and he closes his eyes because it's just been so damn long since he's felt anything. The silence is deafening.
"You miss him terribly."
His eyes flutter open instantly and he takes a quick, sudden step backward.
"What're you on about, Eff?" He swallows and shakes his head because he's just so tired and no, fuck no, he doesn't feel anymore.
"I used to miss him, too." She closes her eyes and her features soften into the smile. The Freddie smile. "But not anymore."
He wants nothing more than to run, to get away from her and the past and the pressure in his chest, but he look on her face glues him to the floor.
"He's here, Cook. He's here with me." She lifts her chin, her eyelids pressed together lightly. "He's always here when I need him. He always knows what to say."
"Yah..." He finds himself whispering. And even though he knows it can't be true, he wants to believe it so much it kills him. "Yah, that's Freds for you."
"He's talking to me, Cook."
He's not afraid.
"What's he saying, then?"
"He says he fucking loves you... he fucking loves you to bits."