It was only supposed to be a bit of fun. It was never supposed to end this way.
The monotonous tone of Liam's heart monitor rang out in the room, Killian's body cold and frozen to the spot in the doorway where he had been stopped by a nurse. His fingers gripped the doorframe, knuckles white, the whole room buzzing with activity but in slow motion. Liam's lifeless form was half covered, his leathers cut from his body like paper, discarded to the floor of the trauma bay at the feet of the people desperately trying to save his life. One doctor pounded a clenched fist against his chest and Killian flinched, unable to tear his eyes from the scene before him.
It was only supposed to be one race. It was never supposed to end this way.
The sound grew louder in Killian's ears, the shouting of the doctors and nurses fading out and replaced by the high pitched tone of the machine. It jolted a few times, coinciding with another punch to his brother's still chest, but it continued on, ringing in Killian's ears. His throat went dry and he managed to shift his gaze when Liam's arm fell off the edge of the gurney, limp and heavier than usual, his knuckles banging against the metal bed frame when they shocked his body. There was a pause, the whole room standing still, but nothing happened.
It was supposed to be for Liam's birthday. It wasn't supposed to end this way.
There was no blood. There hadn't been a single speck of the stuff, its presence as absent as Liam's heartbeat. They shocked him again, nurses raising their arms and standing away from the bed as the doctor placed the flat pedals of the defibrillator to Liam's bare chest and pulled the triggers. Liam's body went rigid, his back arching off the bed, and then they waited, all eyes on the monitor he had been hooked up to. The same one with the infernal beep that made Killian's eyes well with more tears.
It wasn't supposed to end this way.
He felt hot inside his leathers, panic prickling his skin and bile rising to the back of his throat. Time stood still, the lump in his throat dry and sticking to the back of his mouth like an unwanted parasite. Killian staggered a little, his chest heaving inside of his suit, constricted by the tightness of the groin to neck zipper, and he rubbed a shaking hand over his face.
"Call it," one of the doctors said solemnly over the tone of the monitor, and Killian's head snapped up at his words.
"No!" he shouted, rushing into the room. "Shock him again!"
"Mr. Jones-" the doctor began, flattening his palm to the leathers covering Killian's chest and stopping him in his tracks. Killian let out a desperate cry, looking down at the hand on his chest before looking up and meeting the doctors sorrowful eyes.
"Shock him again," Killian growled through clenched teeth, the single beep of the machine at Liam's bedside the only sound in the room. "Now."
"We've done all we can," the doctor said, looking back to Liam's naked body lying lifeless.
"Do more!" Killian roared, sniffing, his entire body shaking with anger.
"He's gone, Mr. Jones," another doctor said sadly, resting a hand on Killian's shoulder. He shook it off aggressively, another pained sob escaping his throat. "I'm sorry."
A nurse reached for the machine, flicking the switch and sending the room into a dull silence. It was deafening, every pair of eyes on Killian as the doctor looked at the clock and called time of death on the only family he had left.
"No!" Killian cried, shaking his head quickly. "No, no, no, no, no, no!" He screamed, crumpling to the floor and shaking. He buried his face in his hands, his body slumping against the doctor's legs, one hand clutching at the unknown man's calf like a child.
Nobody knew how quickly life could change more so than Killian. Racing was dangerous, it always would be. The very nature of a human sitting on top of such a powerful piece of engineering meant that as some stage, someone would die. But not Liam. Not like this. Not one week from his birthday. The sound of Killian's cries echoed down the halls, nurses stopping in their tracks and looking towards the sound filled with such anguish that some of them shed tears of their own.
The room emptied around him, Killian still clutching the leg of the doctor beside him who let him, holding a hand to the back of Killian's head and stroking his helmet flattened hair. Killian clutched the thin scrub material of the doctors pants, his leathers squeaking as he fell closer to the floor, his weight finally too much for the doctor who stepped sideways and let him fall. The doctor knelt down beside him, the older man offering him a comforting hand to his shoulder, unable to do much else.
"Is there anyone we can call for you?" he asked tentatively. "A wife? A friend?"
Elsa.
"Oh shit," Killian sighed suddenly, ignoring the doctor and lifting his head to look at his deceased brother once more. He scrambled to his feet, his shock riddled body moving clumsily towards the bed because of the restrictive leathers. He tripped on Liam's ruined leather suit, grabbing his brother's arm as he tumbled and tugging the body towards him. Liam's head rolled sideways and Killian was met with his cold, dead stare.
"Mr. Jones?" The doctor prodded, watching his odd behaviour.
"What am I supposed to tell Elsa?" Killian sobbed at his brother, ignoring the doctor behind him. He pawed at Liam's face, his cooling skin almost hard under his touch, and stroked his fingers through Liam's floppy brown hair so it wasn't near his eyes. It had fallen forward over his face and he knew his brother always hated that. "And Rosie? God, Liam, you utter bastard."
Killian's knees found the tiled floor beside the bed and he began crying again, the rush of overwhelming emotion surging to his tear ducts once more. His eyes searched Liam's but he found nothing there. No answer to his dilemma. No light behind the blue hues. Nothing. Liam was gone and he was to blame, and now he had to tell his wife that their only child would grow up without a father.
"You bastard," Killian whispered into Liam's chest, his skin still warm against the side of his cheek where he rested his head. It made Killian hurt more and he found Liam's arm hanging over the side of the bed, lifting it and holding his hand to his cheek. Any second he expected Liam's fingers to flex against his stubbled jaw, to tell him things would be okay, but instead he was met with no movement, only the cold sting of Liam's wedding ring reminding him of what he had to do.
"Will, it's Killian," he mumbled into the mouthpiece of the off white phone. The nurses station had been good enough to let him use it to call a family member, but Killian wasn't sure he could call Elsa. She had known him his entire life, so she deserved to know what had happened face to face.
"Alright, mate," Will chirped down the phone. Curse him for having a day off today too. "I'm glad you called actually," Will continued hurriedly. "I've been meaning to ask-"
"Will, stop," Killian huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
The line went silent. Will had known him for no time at all compared to Liam or Elsa, but he knew him well enough to recognise the tone of his voice meant something was wrong. Killian sighed into the phone, his fingers gripping the device as tightly as he could, the plastic squeaking under his fingertips. Static on the line crackled a little as he moved, throwing his head back in an attempt to swallow the painful lump in his throat, the ceiling lights burning into his retinas.
"Killian," Will prompted his team mate over the line, concern in his voice. "What's wrong?"
Killian sighed again, licking his bottom lips as a breath caught in his throat and he felt the sting of fresh tears pricking at his eyelids. "There's been an accident," he whimpered, gulping hard.
"An accident?" Will repeated. "What? Where? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Will," Killian lied. He wasn't fine. It felt like he never would be again.
"Then what the bloody hell is going on?" Will asked quickly, insisting on an answer from his team mate.
Killian froze, his tongue running over the ridges of his teeth in the back of his mouth, unable to form the words. Even the inside of his cheeks hurt, his saliva glands producing a sudden gush of spit, eager to soothe the coarse texture of his throat. Killian heard a noise behind him and turned to see two nurses covering Liam's body with a white sheet whilst another collected what was left of his leather suit from the floor. The tears wouldn't be stopped this time, and Killian coughed out a sob, a sorrowful wail echoing down the phone line.
"Mate," Will soothed, instantly knowing that something was wrong. "Is it Rosie?" He asked tentatively. Killian had no children of his own, and his niece meant the world to him. She was nearly nine, growing up into a perfect little girl by her mother's standards, except for the fact she liked to hang out in pit lanes with grown men and was more often than not, covered in grease.
Killian shook his head. "Gods, no," he breathed, almost relieved, but another wave of tears erupted from his eyes at the thought of having to tell his niece her father was gone.
"Then what is it?" Will urged him, panic in his own voice now. "I can't help you if-"
"It's Liam," Killian said bluntly, heaving a huge breath. "He's dead."
"What do you bloody mean, dead?" Will said gruffly, snorting a laugh at the end of his words. "I saw him his morning before he went to meet you." If Killian didn't know better he thought he might have heard a small break in the voice of his friend.
"I know." Killian gulped hard, letting Will process the new information.
"We were tinkering with the bike, and he told me "less gas" in that bloody god awful American way he does." Will was rambling and Killian knew it, but he let him, content to listen. "It's that wife of his, invading his Britishness with her American wiles I tell you. None of us are safe, Killian. American women might be dynamite in bed but let them into your life for long enough and you start talking like them, you will. Just like Liam."
"I know," Killian agreed softly, but he really hadn't heard a word his friend had said.
Another silence fell between them, neither knowing what to say. Killian listened to Will's breathing, increasing in pace and broken by the odd hitch here and there, a sure sign the younger rider was crying. They both knew, from losing friends before, that in their world, no one ever jokes about anyone else being dead. It was a reality they chose to live with every day, dicing with death everytime they got on a bike.
"You went to the track, didn't you?" Will finally said and Killian could tell it was through a clenched jaw.
"Aye," Killian nodded, his voice higher than normal.
"And he got on a bloody bike, didn't he?" Will surmised, Killian nodding as the words entered his ear. Will couldn't see him of course, but he knew the answer. Killian heard Will scream at the top of his lungs, obviously holding the phone away from his mouth because of the way the sound was muffled, almost distant.
It was unmistakable frustration, the only way Will knew how to release the feelings he had inside. Liam was more than his team mate's brother, and he was more than the team mechanic. To him, Liam was like a father figure, his own having been absent his entire life, and he had fallen into the Jones family as if he had always belonged. The only thing Will had ever been given by his own father was his surname, and he cared more about the Jones name than he liked to admit, but he didn't have to. Killian knew.
"Why?" Will screamed, making Killian pinch his eyes closed even harder. His head pounded from crying and he felt dehydrated, the hospital too warm for his brother to be so cold. "Why Liam? He has a daughter, and a wife, Killian."
"I know," Killian cried, his words almost not there. "How do I tell Elsa, Will? He promised to never race again."
"Who was he racing?" Will demanded, a little more accusation in his tone that Killian would have liked. "Because when I get my hands on them-"
"Me." Killian's words stopped Will dead, another silence. "He was racing me."
Will had no answer and Killian didn't need one. He felt guilty enough as it was, and his friend knew it. Will had the courtesy to hold his tongue at least, and Killian would be forever grateful for that.
"I thought, for his birthday," Killian began, but his words trailed off, his own mind berating him for such a foolish idea. "He hit the bump, you know the one on turn twelve, and he was braking, God, Liam, why were you braking!" Killian growled, slamming his hand into the desk he was leaning on. His lips pulled tight, the skin around them turning white with his anger. Nobody braked there, especially not on the blemished bump of tarmac that every rider knew to avoid. It always caused a crash, without a doubt, and Liam had been in front of Killian's bike when he saw the glow of red indicating his brother's late braking.
"Did he hit the wall?" Will asked. Under normal circumstances, a normal person would have been offended by such a question, but for a racer it was second nature. Their whole lives were about scrutinising accidents to make sure they didn't happen again. "I'm sorry," Will apologised quickly, realising the insensitive words.
"It's alright, mate," Killian assured him quietly. "The bike hit the wall," Killian told him, closing his eyes, the scene playing out behind his eyelids as if it had just happened.
Liam had hit the bump under braking, losing control of his bike at speed, which had slid out from under him. It had tumbled across the tarmac, sliding across the trap of gravel and coming to a stop as it hit the wall of tyres at the outer edge of the track. Under normal circumstances, a rider would lift his legs and ride the tarmac on his back, the built in suit protection of his leathers insuring his head was held aloft and away from the ground. Only, in this instance, it meant that Liam's head and neck were parallel to the ground when he skidded into the wreckage of his bike and severed his spinal cord instantly.
Killian didn't have to be a doctor to know what had happened to his brother. Neither did Will.
"Alright, mate, that's enough," Will said softly. He could sense Killian's reluctance to revisit anymore details of the accident, so stopped his friend mid story. He was met with a thankful sigh and the sound of more tears. "I'm coming to you now, alright?"
"I need to tell Elsa," Killian sobbed pathetically.
"We'll tell her," Will told him firmly. "Together. Liam was my family, too."
"You're a good man, Scarlet," Killian said, a small smile playing across his lips.
"Don't go telling everyone," Will scoffed, always falling on humour when he was upset, hurt, or distressed. Killian didn't laugh, instead blinking away yet more tears. "I'll be right there," Will promised and then the call ended, the click of a disconnected line and the dial tone ringing through Killian's ears.
Killian would never forget the look on Elsa's face when she pulled open the door and stared at his tear stained features. She knew. Killian didn't know how, but she knew, her hand clutching the fabric of her shirt right above her heart as she shook her head from side to side just as he had when the doctors had given up on his brother. He was at her side instantly, all of his worries about telling her disappearing as he caught her before she hit the hardwood floor.
Killian wrapped his arms around his sister-in-law, Will quickly stepping over the bundle of people in the doorway and heading to the lounge where he knew Hayden-Rose would be playing her games console, no doubt trying to beat her father's lap times on the computer game version of their life. Only, their life wasn't a game, and Liam had no extra lives to fall back on. He was gone, and somehow, Elsa knew.
"I can't breathe," she sobbed, clawing at her throat and Killian release his hold on her just long enough to pull back and look at her face. "I'm going to be sick," she gasped, jumping to her feet and rushing up the stairs. Killian watched her go, closing the front door quietly and looking down to his feet.
Will appeared, poking his head out of the lounge at the sound of Elsa's footsteps pounding the staircase. He gave Killian a look, and followed his gaze, the sound of Liam's wife retching into the toilet bowl echoing through the upstairs of the house. Killian licked his lips nervously, reaching for the railing as he took a step onto the stairs, knowing that what was about to transpire was worse than watching his brother die.
Elsa was sobbing into the toilet when he found her, face pressed to the cold, white plastic seat and her eyes tightly closed. Her whole body rocked with her crying, her knees tucked under herself at a strange angle that seemed almost impossible. She hugged the bowl, arms stretching around the porcelain like it would comfort her, and she didn't move when Killian approached. Her wails bounced off the white tiles, vibrating through his ears, breaking his already damaged heart into even more pieces.
"I'm sorry," he offered weakly, reaching out to put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"How?" Elsa demanded suddenly, her tone changing and taking him back. She was angry, he had never seen her like this before, and she pushed herself to her feet with a determination that frightened him. Killian rose with her, taking a step back, jaw slack with shock. "How?" she repeated on a growl.
"Elsa, I don't think-"
"Tell me," she insisted, advancing on him. Killian stumbled backwards, quickly shooting a glance behind his feet when he stepped back into the hallway. "Was he racing?" she sobbed, her tone changing instantly and her face erupting into sadness again. "Killian, tell me he wasn't on a damn bike."
She was begging him to tell her. She wanted - no needed - to know that her husband hadn't promised her his racing days were over only to get on a bike and kill himself. Killian looked at her, his bottom lip quivering over the look in her eyes, gulping down another lump in his throat. He tilted his head sideways, offering her a silent apology that he knew would never be enough.
"No," Elsa mumbled defiantly. Her hand found her face, fingers stretching over her furrowed brow and she began to pace back and forth in front of him. "It doesn't make sense," she frowned, her words catching in her cries. "He promised, Killian. He promised."
"I know," Killian said for the millionth time that afternoon, sick of his own pathetic response.
"Who was he racing?" Elsa demanded, back to angry. She dropped her hand to her side, stalling her pacing and turning to face him once more. "Was it Cassidy? That bastard." Elsa's anger was directed instantly, and for a second, Killian felt sorry for Neal, who had only ever been a rival on the track. He had played no part in Liam's death. That had all been on him.
"It was me," Killian croaked. His words hung in the back of his throat, catching in the dryness of his mouth. He coughed and she looked at him, narrowing her stare and another sob she was unable to stop tumbling from her mouth. "I thought, for his birthday-" Killian began, but his words were cut short by a cracking noise as Elsa's hand made contact with his face.
It stung, her palm flat and broad against the side of his cheek, but Killian deserved nothing less. He turned his head away with the slap, unable to look back at the woman he had widowed. Hot, pin like prickles spread over his face where he was sure Elsa had left a mark, but he simply closed his eyes and tried to drown out the rage filled crying of the woman in front of him. He understood her fury, like no one else, so when she screeched like an injured animal and slapped him again, he let her.
And again. And again. Until her hands balled into tight fists and her abuse turned into punches, raining down against the hard planes of his torso. He stood stoic, letting Elsa pound against his body, blow after blow weakening as she ran out of energy and slumped her body against his. Killian wrapped his arms around her, her crying turning to uncontrollable screaming that pierced his ears, her last remaining anger leaving her body as she pressed her face into his shirt and clutched the material in her hands.
All he could do was hold her. It was more than he felt he deserved in that moment, but it was strangely comforting, too. Killian's hand found Elsa's back and he let out a sigh, resting the side of his face to the softness of her white blonde hair, braided as always, the end of it tickling at his hands. Elsa sniffed, shaking her head, her forehead rubbing at Killian's shirt, but she didn't say anything more.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am," Killian cried, his own tears resurfacing and rolling down his cheeks.
"Then don't," Elsa mumbled into his shirt, taking a huge breath. "It's not real. This is a dream. Any minute I'll wake up," she sniveled.
"I wish that were true, lass," Killian wept with her.
He could tell her not to cry, and that things would be alright, but he would be lying. Their lives had changed forever. Elsa was a widow at thirty-two, with a daughter approaching nine years old who would never know of all the things Liam had planned for her. He wanted to watch her grow, become the first female MotoGP champion, and follow in the family tradition despite being a different gender. They were going to blow gender roles right out of the racing world, but not now. Now Hayden-Rose would only know the day her father left her to pursue her dreams alone.
"How am I supposed to tell Rosie?" Elsa sagged again, needing his embrace more than ever. Killian sighed, his grip around the woman in his arms tightening. He had no answer for her, but he was pretty sure, as he spied the blank expression of his niece over the shoulder of his sister-in-law, Hayden-Rose already knew.