Wake up, Cook.

There was a bittersweet, salty taste in his mouth as his eyelids slowly flickered open, waiting on the color to return to his world. Here he was, the great James Cook lying in his own blood on the floor of yet another swanky place that he didn't quite care to catch the name of. As the minutes passed, he tested his motor functions and found that they were working decently enough. He watched as his fingers and toes twitched, curling and uncurling them.

Once he was satisfied, a loud grunt of pain escaped his lips as he rolled himself on to his back, staring up at the ceiling that was freshly decorated with splotches of rich crimson and brain matter. If you thought this would catch him by surprise, you were dead wrong. A loud, obnoxious laugh fell from his parted lips, though it didn't last very long because his lungs were fucking aching from the force of his heaving chest. At least one thing was familiar: he still reeked of booze.

"The fuck happened?"

Turning his head to the other side, Cook's gaze fell on the fallen, unmoving form of an older man with dull, glazed over icy blues. There was a sick, sinister grin on his face, and Cook had half the mind to punch his teeth in to make it stop. The stupid wanker didn't have the right to look at him like that! He didn't have the right to look at anyone, ever again.

Then realization sunk in, his head pounding as he made the strenuous effort to sit up some, though he ended up regretting it as soon as he started seeing stars. If Dr. Foster was dead, that meant that he was still alive… yeah, he was alive, but Freddie wasn't.

Cook pulled his legs closer to him, wrapping his arms around them as he closed his eyes for a moment to gather his bearings and regain some sort of composure. He turned his head to spit out some blood that had been swirling around in his mouth, not sure whose it was. It didn't matter. Opening his eyes again, the avenger slowly moved towards Freddie's things that had been carefully and methodically wrapped up in plastic. It mocked him, how neat all this shit was, almost as if trying to make him believe that his best mate never even existed. A trick of the mind, like one of JJ's card tricks. Sick fuck.

His jumper had been folded up neatly, reminding Cook of when he took Effy to Freddie's place and saw that his bags were packed and stacked up by the door.

He'd told him not to leave. The answer back then had mostly been for Effy's sake, because they both knew how much she had a say in things after their friendship crumbled, but the truth was that Cook needed Freds. He needed his best mate, who always made sure that he didn't get himself too deep in shit. It was too late now though, wasn't it?

Cook didn't want to be a burden. He knew that it was too much to ask. They were the three musketeers, best mates for life, but they had reached an age where they needed to go off and do their own things. He just didn't think that Freds would be gone so soon…

JJ had stuck around longer, followed him around without too many questions about the lack of morality in the situations that Cook got them into. His whole world revolved around his two best friends, a bond which quickly disintegrated when Effy Stonem entered the equation. He always got the end of the rope, that kid. When Cook was at his worse, morphing into a completely different person because his anger overwhelmed him and shook him to the core, JJ was the one that took all the blows, both emotionally and physically.

All JJ wanted was to be loved, just like everyone else. He wanted acceptance.

Cook didn't care much for either, or so he made people believe. But he told Freddie that he loved him regularly, without a care about who was listening. See, people were able to get inside of Cook in different ways.

Clearly the women grabbing his balls got to see his lust and he was quite good at it too, no complaints there. Naomi was the closest he got to a best mate when it came to women. Sure, so he still made his passes at her every now and then, but it was all in good fun, right? He knew that she had a thing for Emilio man, who had confided in him once about feeling inferior. He told her about biting the bullet and she seemed to respect him more since then. Panda had learned about 'surf and turf' from him, which made him shit when it came to Tommo.

But sometimes he felt like that's all he had. For he'd never had Effy Stonem, not really. They were one of a kind, he knew. Maybe they were both kindred spirits in their ties to Freds. Both struggling to reach someone that was no longer with them, even if he would never leave them. Maybe they weren't as different as she thought. I mean, he must be fucking mental to follow some stupid bloke out here to this shithole, right?

He cast a glance around at the place, which was full of crime scene evidence and memoirs of a young life ended far too early. He took his best mate's shoes in his hands, tracing over the letters that composed the 'Fredster' on the sole as his lips parted into a smile. "Told you not to leave, mate. Asked you not to. Never asked for anything in my fucking life… never needed anything other than you and JJ… why didn't you listen to me, Freds?"

Cook grabbed the jumper then and shook it gently in his hands, feeling the blood trickling down his cheek from one of his many wounds. He didn't bother to count them. He just imagined grasping Freddie by the fucking shoulders and shaking him fiercely, trying to knock some sense into his head. Trying to stop him before all of this happened. Trying to save him.

"When I told you I fucking loved you, why did you stutter?"

The bag wrinkled loudly under his rough, white knuckled grasp, before setting it aside and peeling open the bag with the shoes. The smell of death leaked out from it immediately, mixing with the tainted air and leaving a trail of goosebumps on his skin in their aftermath. Cook kicked off his own shoes, setting them aside as he slipped his feet into Fredster's sneakers.

They were pretty beat up, since he liked to skateboard and prided himself on his scars, making Cookie wonder if he would proudly show off the ones he got now if he were still alive.

He'd felt it, the exact moment that Freddie slipped away from this world. He was convinced of it now. It was a subtle sickness that had started in his stomach and grasped his throat, making it impossible to breathe as his eyes had darted across the pages and pages of his best mate's confessions in that notebook. He loved her. Cook had been telling himself the exact same thing after every shag with Effy, convincing himself that it was her that he needed in his life, but Stonem only made a mess of things.

She pulled him in and then pushed him away. And Cook let her. He let himself be used and he'd do it all over again if he got another chance, even while knowing all the consequences and how unfair it all was, because in the end that's all he had…

Jagged little pieces and fragments of people that he would never have completely, just like they didn't have him.

He wondered for a moment what his little brother would think of him, if he knew that he'd killed a man in cold blood. The little bugger didn't know any better and would probably want to do the same thing. It hurt Cook to know that anyone would want to be like him. He was the way that he was for no other reason than the fact that he couldn't be someone else.

Sometimes he wanted to be someone worth Effy's time, or someone who could be a better friend to JJ, or someone who deserved to hear that he was loved too by Freddie… fucking loved to bits, you know?

You've got to go now, Cook.

His head snapped up as a faint voice rang out, the same one that he kept hearing all about him since he got that sick feeling in his stomach. "Freds? Freddie man, come out and tell me this is all a fucking joke! We'll have a good laugh and go get a couple drinks, yeah? …Fred?" Cook called out in the empty room, letting out a short-lived chuckle that died in his throat when he realized that he was losing it. There was no one there, he had to let him go.

Wearing his best mate's shoes, he stretched out a bit until he heard his bones pop and staggered over to the front door, peering outside to see those red and blue lights glaring from a distance. Cook knew that he was still a wanted man, so they must've finally found him. Motherfuckers, good for them! He stayed still in his spot, watching as the lights got brighter and brighter still, before the cars whizzed right down the street.

A little stunned, he walked back over to John Foster's body, leaning down to stare down the crooked bastard in the eye. "Guess you're nothing now, ehh mate?" he spat at the corpse with a disgrunted look that soon became that of an inner satisfaction, the closest thing he'd ever felt to peace, before reaching for the doorknob. He stopped when he spotted a hole that had been clearly patched up in the wall, leaning over to gingerly run his fingertips over it, before shuddering at the thought of Freddie's death. This was where it happened; he could feel it.

"It's alright, mate... she knows."

There was a sad smile on his lips as he spoke to himself, before heading back over to the window that he'd gotten in through, knowing that was his best escape. He wasn't sure how far he would get, but he would run until his voice was hoarse from singing about the Ace of Spades. He knew that he had to tell Effy about this, that it wouldn't be right for anyone else to be the one to tell her, not because Cook expected her to fall back into his arms…

But because Freddie McClair was his best mate for life, and even in death, it was his responsibility to look after him.

I fucking love you too, Cook.

A soft smile slowly curved his lips as Cook glanced over his shoulder, not seeing anyone or anything standing there, but he understood. Maybe Freddie would never leave him. Maybe he was looking after him too and he always would. Because even when people aren't around as much as they used to be, sometimes their presence lingers. In your memories, in your belongings, in a cheesy pop song routine that you danced at their birthday party because you had a feeling that they were still watching.

The dead never truly disappear. They leave a piece of themselves behind, but they steal a part of you that you can never recover in the process. Not that Cook would ever want to get it back.

Reaching over to flick off the light, the dark avenger gently muttered with a smirk, "Happy Birthday, Freddie."

The trip back to the shed was effortless, but you wouldn't expect anything less from someone who knew the path better than the back of his hand (or in between a girl's legs, if you want to get the facts straight from his mouth). It was still raining, but now it felt like less of a hassle and more of a way of cleansing himself. The blood that was hard to tell who it belonged to for certain, mixed in with the pure, clear water falling from the sky. It was tainted by the time it hit the floor, just like they had all changed by the time they graduated from Roundview.

They went in eager to learn about the world around them, wanting to get as much from life as they could. It was ironic that it had slowly killed each and every one of them. Not completely, just their spirits and an innocence that they thought they could keep.

Freddie didn't just die. He took everything with him. He took the friendship that Cook had depended on as his foundation, not knowing what to do now without solid ground underneath his feet. But he did know one thing: he had to tell Effy before the cops tore into that place that reeked of corruption, stained by the death of innocence and evil…

They say that evil never dies, but James Cook stared it right in the eye when he faced John Foster and he didn't back down once. It would be naïve to think that it would bring Freddie back, or that there weren't other people out there just like that bleeding wanker. But at least he could bring some sort of peace to the people that were still waiting for Freds. He knew that they would wait forever if he didn't tell them, and it might have been easier to just bugger off with that burden on his shoulders, but life was never easy. It was time to put other people first.

Effy had already seen this side of him when he handed over the notebook. He could have gotten rid of it and lied to her about Freddie's feelings, but it wasn't about Effy anymore. She wasn't the voice inside his head. She still had his heart beating in her hands, ready and willing to be broken and torn apart. In fact, Cook expected that from her…

But this was beyond love, or lust, or relationships. It was about friendship and a silent promise that he'd made to his best mate. It was what Freddie would have wanted.

As he opened the door and peeked inside, Cook couldn't help but grin at the sight before him. Everyone was so fucking pissed and passed out, stretched out on the couch or the floor, arms and hands draped over each other like they had never been perfect strangers.

Naomikins and Red were cuddled up on the couch, looking like they had never been apart. Panda had fallen asleep on Tommo's shoulder, and although their hands were resting a few inches away from each other on the floor, Panda's pinky finger had somehow managed to tangle itself with his. He had to refrain a chuckle from JJ's odd position on the floor, his arms crossed over his chest like he was fucking royalty or something.

Cook started to reach over to ruffle his hair, but he stopped as he remembered the looks JJ would give him when he did, so he pulled it back. Karen was looking as scrappy as ever lying just a few ways away from JJ, resting her head on his arm. And Effy, well…

Oi, where the fuck was Effy?

He froze as he felt his sixth sense kicking in, knowing that someone was damn well boring a hole into the back of his fucking head. Only one person was capable of doing that, for Cook was normally pretty astute. Turning around slowly, a half grin settled itself on his crooked lips as he met her crystal clear blue eyes that seered his soul. Her lips were neutral and straight as she tried to read his expression, noticing the blood on his clothes.

"Where'd you fuck off to?" she asked him casually with a lift of her chin and a slight tilt of her head in curiosity.

"Shouldn't have waited up for me, Eff," Cook responded with a shrug of his broad shoulders, his flinch catching her attention. Well, fuck me, I'm a bloody mess. "Got any spliffs left?" When she nodded, he gestured towards the door and took his exit without another word, looking out to see that the rain had stopped. The clouds were still covering most of the sky, but he could see that it wouldn't be long before the sunlight would show through.

He took one of the spliffs that Effy offered him, holding it between his lips as she lit it for him, before leaning back against the wall. "Made quite a mess of things in there," he said, referring to all the empty bottles and trash that would have to be cleaned up at some point from the afterparty.

"I was going to say the same about you," Effy muttered, exhaling a shaky breath, which Cook caught on to as their gazes locked. He knew that she was talking about the blood on his shirt. Effy Stonem never missed a single detail, always analyzing the people that came in and out of her life. Every meeting was like a first impression, even if she had known you for years. That's just how she worked and Cook knew not to expect anything less from her.

But this time, she had missed a very important detail: he was wearing Freddie's old sneakers.

He shifted a bit in his spot and it was almost as if Effy could read his fucking mind when her icy blues drifted down to his feet. "Where'd you get those?" she asked quickly, her usual resolve crumbling as she read 'Fredster' along the sole.

"Eff," Cook began with a bit of a sigh, taking in a long drag and holding it for as long as he could, before exhaling it from as deeply inside himself as he could muster. He half-wished that he could just exhale all of his secrets, let her know about what had happened without actually having to tell her the details. He knew that she wouldn't need all of them. She caught on quickly, that girl. She was good about filling in the missing pieces, all except the ones inside her head. Those were always jumbled.

"They're Freddie's…"

She knew that, she wasn't blind, and she could see just as clearly as anyone else that it was Freddie's nickname scribbled across those shoes. But for some reason, actually hearing Cook say those words made it feel all the more real to her. Her stoic expression finally betrayed her, those baby blues glistening as his lips continued moving in determination, but Effy couldn't hear any of the words leaving them after that point.

Maybe later she would regret it, not paying attention to him when she should have been. Later when the cops entered the lawn and arrested Cook, reading him his rights as he silently bowed his head, whispering the words of a song under his breath. Something or another about the Ace of Spades.

Effy knew that he could have hid forever. Hell, maybe she would have kidded herself for a bit and ran with him. But here was Cook, allowing himself to be trapped by his past, his eyes telling her everything that she needed to know:

He had loved Freddie, they all did.

A/N: This is for all the people that walk in and out of our lives, leaving their imprints behind in some way. Read between the lines however it best suits you. Perhaps I'll write more for Cook in the future. Read and review as you wish (: