Title: Come Pick Me Up.
Pairing: Kelly and Ryan. Sort of.
Summary: Because he's sick. Because the drugs don't help. Because she's the one thing he can't quit. And because he can't do this alone anymore.
Authors note: This is my first Office fan fiction. This is only a one shot; I was going to continue but I like it where it is. Currently working on another Ryan fic; he's my current project. Feedback would be really nice.
The night gets cold and my skin is prickling underneath my shirt. I lost my sports jacket at the club. It's April and New York is still cold as shit, the ground covered with dirty ice. My right hand is shaking while the left holds a warm cigarette, fingers trembling also. I manage to force my feet to the front of my apartment building, my head falling back as my eyes land on the window I know to be mine. Or at least I think it is. But I'm too fucked up to really know. My heart is pounding and my head reeling. I take one last drag of my smoke before dropping it onto the sidewalk, barely putting it out. I don't care if it starts a fire; at least it'll be warm.
My feet carry me to the elevator. It's empty and I'm falling against the wall, my eyes half closed. The mirror next to me shows someone with pale skin and a thin frame and I hate him. I swore I'd never be near him again. We always meet up in this elevator, at around this time. It's nothing new and that's what I hate. This is what I've become.
The doors open and my floor appears. I stumble into the hall, shoving my hand into my pocket and pulling out my keys. The numbers are blurred on the doors, dark and menacing. I shove the silver key into different locks before finding my own. The studio is dark but I don't bother with lights. My knees buckle and I collapse on my bed, the sheets cold underneath me. My mouth is dry and nothing feels right and I told myself it wouldn't be like this again. But it is so I pull my cell phone from my pocket, pressing her speed dial number because even after all these months, I never deleted it. I couldn't.
It rings and it sounds loud and painful in my ear. But when I hear her voice, it's ok. She was sleeping, her voice groggy. "K-Kel? Kelly, it's Ryan," I slur, my eyes falling shut. "Ryan?" she croaks and I all ready see her sitting up, her bangs falling over her face, wrapping her blanket around her. I've seen it so many times before. "Y-yuh. I need you. I need you to come over here. S-something happened, Kelly. Something's not right." I swallow hard, my throat dry and it hurts really badly. "I'm scared." I hear her fumbling around on the other line and I see her graceful movements in my minds eye.
"Ryan," she says, "it's 2 in the morning. I can't drive out to New York right now, I'm sorry. What happened?" I stutter because my tongue feels too big for my mouth and my fingers are shaking. I turn on my back, grabbing a cigarette from my nightstand and a lighter. "I don't know… I think I'm going to die," I ramble, falling against the backboard, inhaling. "What? Ryan, call 911!" Her voice is suddenly loud and I wince. "I… What did you do?" I let out a breath and some smoke. "I don't know," I say more firmly, "a lot of stuff. I don't even remember." My fingers shake as I lift the smoke up to my lips. "I need you."
"Dammit, Ryan," she breathes. "Just stay awake. I'll be there as soon as I can." And the line falls dead and I knew I could count on her because this has happened before she just didn't realize I was so fucked up. But tonight I let it slip. New York chewed me up and spat me out. I finish the cigarette, tossing the butt of it onto my glass ashtray. Stay awake… stay awake… I bury my head under the cool pillows, blocking out the humming noises and other sounds that have begun to go off in my head. They won't let me be.
I hear the front door open, quiet footsteps tapping against the wood floor. "Ry?" she breathes and I feel her cool hand on my neck. "Ryan, wake up. Please, wake up." I moan, but pull my head out from under the pillow, turning on my back and looking up into a face that I loved dearly but I wouldn't ever say it. "Kelly, you c-came," I stammer and I see her face soften a considerable amount. "Yeah… yeah, I'm here, Ryan." Her hands move down to my feet, untying my shoes and tossing them onto the floor. She presses a hand to my forehead. "You're sweating," she says, her hand moving to my chest, feeling my heart. "You don't remember what you took, then?" And I can hear the sadness and disappointment and it's killing me and I want her to stop, to stop loving me, to stop coming when I call her at two in the morning.
I shake my head because I can't talk because her eyes on me are enough to take away all my nerve. She stands and I hear her move to the kitchen, the sink turning on and cabinets opening and closing. She returns moments later with a glass of water and a wet cloth. "Here," she says, handing me the glass. My fingers wrap around the cool cup, pressing it to my lips and taking a long drink. She's taking the glass from me and placing a wash cloth on my forehead, her fingers moving away strands of hair. I shiver but am grateful; I didn't realize how hot I was. "Kelly," I say, swallowing, "I'm so sorry."
She just shakes her head, blinking really fast in the way that she does when she's speechless which is very rare. But when it happens, I've usually done something terrible. "Maybe you should go to sleep. Whatever it was… I think it's out of your system." She stands, looking down on me and she's turning away but I have to grab her hand because she can't leave me alone in this city, not tonight. "Please don't leave," I say, I beg, "please, please don't."
And she doesn't. She crawls onto the other side of the bed, slipping beneath the covers, turning her back to me. I let out a sigh, taking the wet wash cloth off my skin, placing it on the nightstand. I bury myself under blankets, facing her cold shoulder, wanting to touch her, kiss her, hold her hand but knowing I couldn't. But she was here. She came for me. And it was much more then I deserved.