Here it goes again, babes!
I know I normally update on Mondays, but I'm off out tomorrow and might not be online much so I figured I'd just post the update today since it's written already :) A lot of introspective Simon this chapter, hope you like!
Enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all its characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC Three, I write this purely out of love :3
Chapter Seven: Hope
Kieren may be a depressed nervous wreck, but let him lie down for five minutes and the kid could sleep like the dead. Simon envies him.
He traces his thumb across the sleeping man's ankle absentmindedly, his face turned up to the stars. He remembers years ago, before they'd moved to England for his dad's job, those trips they used to take. Pack up the car, start the engine, and just drive and drive until they left the crowded confines of Dublin behind them. He remembers that little B&B in the rolling Irish countryside like the back of his hand. Even then, unpolluted by lights and traffic, he'd gazed up at the stars and seen them for what they were- dimly glowing hunks of burning gas, already long dead by the time their feeble light reached his sceptical eyes.
But a little part of him had always hoped that somewhere out there, in a place he'd never been before, the stars had to be brighter. One day he'd look up at the stars and he'd see them with the eyes of a poet or an artist. One day he'd look up and Van Gogh's Starry Night would make sense.
So he'd travelled. He'd been up and down the country, sleeping rough and searching the skies. When he'd amassed the funds for a plane ticket he'd taken off to the States, his mind a whirl of Hollywood romance as he searched high and low for his own pocketful of stardust.
But it took mere weeks to realise there would be no crystallising moment. No artistic awakening, no electric romance. When after a year and a half he'd staggered off the plane and back onto British soil he'd turned out his pockets and found nothing but shrapnel.
So he'd given up. By the time he'd abandoned his dream of finding his purpose across the pond he'd been verging on twenty-three, and the only thing he had to show from his first two decades of life were a collection of track marks, a chain of one night stands and his entire life savings invested in a broken dream. The day he arrived home was the day he stopped planning ahead. No money from part time jobs (or occasionally more dishonest origins) went to anything other than immediate satisfaction. He saw no point in buying a nice house or good clothes because what do you care what the scenery looks like when you're too high to see straight? One night he'd barged back into the old family home, barely listening to his mother's pleas as he ransacked his old room for anything of value. The next day he'd walked away with money in his pocket and his guitar perched in the pawn shop window. He'd never looked back.
For the past four and a half years he'd lived life from shelter to shelter, never settling down and never making friends. He'd kept himself closed off from people around him- sure, occasionally he'd bought himself a bed for the night with sloppy kisses and drunken fucks, but snorting coke off some stoned twenty year-old's back hardly constituted a relationship.
But he'd never really thought about it like that. In all the years he'd been drowning his sorrows in chemicals the human body was never supposed to consume, he'd never really regretted any of it. What was the point in regret if life was meaningless?
He may not have been proud of who he was, but he'd never felt honest-to-God shame until seven days ago, when a brown-eyed boy had walked into his life and dragged his body from the icy waters at death's door.
He still has no idea who this man is. He feels like he's learning his life back to front, starting with his near death and working the rest out as he goes along. He has no idea who Kieren is- what makes him tick, what his hopes and dreams are (if he has any left), who his friends are or how he lives his life.
But what he does know is that, for some idiotic reason, Kieren trusts him.
"I don't believe you."
Kieren seems to think that he still has a chance. He doesn't think he's too far gone, a lost cause. Oddly optimistic for a suicidal kid.
Simon actually wishes he deserved that faith.
Kieren doesn't know what he is. He's learning about Simon in the exact way Simon's learning about him- back to front. He knows that he's an addict. He knows that he's suicidal, or at least has been. He knows that he's homeless and cynical. He doesn't know why.
Simon doesn't want to have to be the one to tell him that some people are just a lost cause from the day they're born.
The hand on Kieren's ankle is trembling. His system is still in shock- he hasn't been corrupting it in the manner to which it has become accustomed. He keeps himself sustained during the day when he and Kieren part ways. But when you've spent the last three years shooting heroin into your veins, cutting back to Class C's is quite the leap. It takes the edge off, but he still has a deep yearning for something stronger, something to fill his mind and numb the pain.
But Kieren has seen him at his worst once already. He doesn't want him to see it again. Ever.
He looks down at Kieren's sleeping form, and the leather jacket covering his narrow torso. The jacket that was the only thing from his past life he hadn't abandoned or sold- a gift from his father, before he'd given up on him. He could never sell that jacket, could hardly stand to take it off.
But for some reason he doesn't mind Kieren wearing it. It's three sizes too big and stinks of cigarette smoke, but it looks right on him.
He sees his phone poking out of the top pocket, green light still flickering. It's not going to stop for staring at it.
"Kieren?" he whispers. No response. Of course not, he's fast asleep and Simon had barely spoken. Maybe it's a good thing- he's not sure exactly what he wants to say. Maybe he should formulate a sentence first.
"Kieren," he says again louder, ignoring his own advice as he nudges the sleeping boy's foot.
Kieren awakes with a slight snort as his head jerks up. Simon immediately feels bad for waking him- most days he waits for him to wake in his own time. But he feels like if he doesn't speak now he will have lost the nerve by sunrise.
"Is that really what yeh think?" he says quietly, his grip on Kieren's ankle tightening in his anxiety.
Kieren's brow furrows and he blinks blearily in the face of the loaded question. "'Bout what?"
"What you said, when I told you I'd let yeh down," he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Oh," Kieren mutters, his eyes widening. "Oh. Um, well, yes?"
He doesn't sound all that certain. Simon looks at him as he sits up, the jacket over his chest sliding down to his lap. Their eyes meet across the bench. Simon sighs heavily, hand tangling in his greasy hair. He must look a mess. He'd never cared about that before.
"D'you really think…" he begins, cursing under his breath before trying again. "D'you really think people can change?"
Kieren meets his gaze and shrugs. "I dunno. I don't see why not."
Simon stares at him, and wonders if he dares to hope…
"I mean," Kieren says gently, turning his hazy eyes to the star-spangled sky. "Anything can happen, right? A week ago I was alone in a cave, with a knife in my wrist and nowhere to go, and now…" his brow furrows. "Well, okay, I still 'ave nowhere to go, but…"
He glances up at Simon and shrugs, smiling slightly. "Well, I'm not dead and I'm not alone. Gotta count for something, eh?"
Simon can't take his eyes off him, some strange inner strength shining forth from behind his sallow cheeks and shadowed eyes. There was something so extraordinary about this slender boy from the small town in the middle of nowhere. Some kind of impenetrable spirit beneath the doom and gloom, completely at odds with his wiry exterior and the tell-tale scar on his wrist.
"I've done some things I'm not proud of, Kieren," Simon says quietly, averting his eyes from the boy at his side. "Well, lots o' things. Stuff I'll never make up for…" he shakes his head, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward in the way he used to do when he was on the verge of a breakdown. "Maybe…" he screws his eyes shut. "Maybe some people're just lost causes."
It would be so easy to think like that. Get up and leave, get back to his cold, predictable life before this boy had strolled in and scattered it to the winds. Return to being that useless, layabout scumbag with more scars than hair on his head and more sex than sense. Return to his life of hollow pleasures, screaming at the void.
"I don't think so."
Simon looks back at him, and its only as he blinks back moisture in his eyes that he realises he's on the verge of tears.
Kieren watches him carefully. He's cold, shaky and nervous, his eyes are fearful and his body has never looked so breakable. But he meets Simon's gaze unflinchingly, honesty layering every syllable that rolls from his tongue.
"And even if they are…" he grimaces, shrugging as he gathers his hoodie tighter around his narrow chest. "Well, yeh never know 'til you try, right?"
For a moment Simon is assaulted by a new image. An image of himself, healthy and strong. Of his parents, happy and supportive. Of Kieren, bony frame filled out and dark eyes alight. Maybe…
He looks again at the green light, and sighs.
"I 'ave to go back, don't I?" he whispers, reaching out to slide the phone from its pocket and hold it between them.
"S'your choice," Kieren says, voice melancholy as he stares at the flickering phone. "But maybe you should take the chance while you've still got it."
He looks off into the distance, eyes focused on something far, far away. "They won't wait forever."
Simon stares at his face, feeling his wasted heart tug at the sorrow in his eyes. He says it without thinking, without doubting- every word feels right.
"Come with me."
Kieren turns those infinite eyes on him, and Simon thinks he can see something else stirring beneath the apprehension. Hope?
"I don't think I can do this alone," Simon says quietly, grip tightening on the battered phone.
It was a bad idea. Kieren wouldn't hang around forever. He'd go home, or he'd run away, or he'd finish what he started that lonely night in the countryside. The demons in his brain were still there, still going strong, and just as Simon knew that he himself would barely last a week before old habits lured him back into their deadly embrace, he knew that Kieren's monsters would catch up to him once more. Whatever they had now, it couldn't last. They were both too busy falling apart from the inside to keep their outsides intact.
But it felt so good to pretend.
When Kieren nodded, clinging tighter to the worn leather of Simon's jacket, the Irish man felt a fleeting hope that perhaps things really would get better.
Just this once.
Brightening up Dorothy Dyer's neglected flowerbeds was proving more arduous than expected. Obviously the parched soil had been left alone a little too long.
Of course, a more likely explanation was that her arms were growing so weak that even yanking weeds had become a task of Herculean strength, but Amy refuses to think like that. Plenty of time for dying later when this place looks a little brighter.
As she carefully plants a flowering chrysanthemum in the freshly turned soil, she wonders if she could keep this up. Maybe if she can keep convincing herself that she has too many important things to do, just decide day after day that this is no time for dying, maybe it'd be enough to fight it off. Sheer mind over matter- busy women like herself have no time for something as silly and time-consuming as kicking the bucket. She's going to have to meet her maker at some point, but she's happy to keep pushing the date back as long as possible.
She straightens her back, peeling off her muddy gardening gloves and swiping a hand across her perspiring forehead. She momentarily regrets not taking her Nan up on her offer of help, but she's determined to do this. She needs a constant supply of work to keep her going- if she takes a break she might just expire. Literally. Besides, her Nan was talented in many respects but colour coordination wasn't one of them.
She stretches her stiff neck, wincing as something clicks. She's just chastising her bones for giving in so easily when she catches sight of someone in the street, walking briskly towards the other side of town with a sad frown on her face.
Amy's eyes widen. "'Ey, Mrs. Walker!"
Sue pauses and turns to look at her, confusion evident in her features. "Yes?"
Amy brushes the specks of soil from her dress, stepping down to street level and smiling shyly at the bewildered woman. "Hi, there- saw yeh at the flower show yesterday. I'm Amy!"
A flicker of recognition registers in her face, and Sue nods politely. "Ah, yes- Amy Dyer, is it?"
Amy nods with a smile, trying not to dwell on the flash of pity in Sue's eyes- pretty much the whole town knew about her illness at this point, she shouldn't be surprised that that's the first thing the mind leaps to. "Yep, that's me. I meant to chat to yeh at the show, but yeh moved on pretty quickly…"
"Had a lot to sort out, I'm afraid," Sue says, shrugging slightly. "Family y'know how it is."
Amy nods politely, but she really doesn't- no siblings, no mother and a distant father doesn't make for the fullest family experience. Still, no point in distressing the poor woman further. "That's all right, I just wanted to…" she says, crossing her arms over her chest. The cold rushes right through her, now. "Well, I just wanted to wish yeh luck in finding yer son- it must be awful, not knowing where he's got off to. I'm sure 'e'll be back, but… well, just wanted to say I'm sorry is all."
Sue is maintaining a polite smile, but a shadow has fallen over her eyes. "Well, that's very nice of yeh, love. We're 'oping fer the best."
Amy nods again before she remembers what she really wanted to do. "Oh, I 'ave something for yeh- wait here a second!"
She darts back to the open front door, rummaging through the boxes of seeds and pots in the hall until she finds what she's looking for. She picks up the potted blooms with the utmost care, ignoring the feeble complaints of her weary joints as she springs back to where a bewildered Sue waits on the pavement. She holds the pot out to her, nodding at her to take it.
"What's this fer, love?" Sue asks, taking the pot and looking the slender white flowers up and down.
"Saw it at the show yesterday, thought of yer," Amy explains, shoving her hands in her cardigan pockets. "They're snowdrops. Obviously the meanings of the different flowers kind of depends on who yeh ask, but I've heard they symbolise hope," she shrugs, smiling slightly. "Seemed about right."
Sue's mouth is hanging open slightly, as if the tenderness of the gesture has her completely floored. She composes herself, smiling warmly at Amy and carefully tucking the pot into the crook of her arm. "It's lovely, Amy, thank you."
Amy smiles and nods, offering a little wave as she returns to the window boxes. She doesn't want to keep the poor woman any longer.
"Amy?"
She turns round, cocking her head slightly as Sue addresses her, a small but grateful smile on her face.
"Pop round for a cuppa sometime, yeah?" Sue suggests, nodding down the road. "Yer nan's got our address. Drop in if yer in the neighbourhood, if you like."
Amy feels a slow grin spread across her face, and she gives an enthusiastic thumbs up. "Will do, Mrs. Walker."
"Fuck," Simon whispers, his hand hovering an inch from the wood.
Kieren is watching him from a few feet away, Simon can feel his eyes on his back. Honestly, he'd feel better if Kieren would just stand a little closer, but he doesn't want to admit that. Besides, he has no idea how his parents are going to react to his presence, let alone that of the strange boy he'd found on the street. (Okay, other way round, but still.)
He glances back, and the reassuring nod he receives from Kieren is all he needs to take a deep breath and rap his knuckles against the peeling wood, three sharp taps ringing out in the quiet morning hum of the city.
It takes about ten seconds for the door to open- although it could have easily been ten years. A familiar face appears in the gap. A round, careworn face surrounded by a shock of curly black hair. Wide eyes go wider as they settle on him, and the door swings fully open.
He looks down at the shocked face, his hands burrowing deeper into his pockets. He can barely look her in the eye as he gulps down the nervous bile in his throat and speaks.
"Hi, Mum," he murmurs.
He sees someone else appear in the hall behind her- a tall figure, slender but intimidating. He knows that figure well. He braces himself for a shout, or a slap, or anything really. He deserves it.
What he isn't prepared for as his mother steps closer is her arms around his waist, her head pressed against his shoulder as she pulls him in tight.
Warmth creeps through his body from the contact, and after he recovers from the shock he drapes his own arms carefully over her shoulders, pressing his chin to the top of her head and his hands to her back. He can't remember the last time they were this close.
She sobs slightly against his chest.
And more surprisingly, so does he.
They stand together like that for a while, carefully supporting each other, trying to make up for almost ten years of lost contact in the space of a minute. His father stares at them for a moment, but makes no move to stop it happening. As Iain Monroe's shadowy figure disappears back into the house, Simon pulls gently away from his mother's embrace, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders.
Lana Monroe smiles up at him, tears in her blue eyes, hands resting on his face like she's not entirely sure that he's real. She smooths back his hair, like she used to do when he was just a boy on his way to school, hair rough from another sleepless night.
"You going to stay around a while this time, alanna?" She asks softly, a hopeful smile on her face.
Simon nods cautiously, but doesn't say a word. He doesn't want to get her hopes up.
Something catches her eye over his shoulder, and she frowns. "Who's this?"
He turns his head, and once again finds himself face to face with Kieren. The fair-haired man is shifting uneasily from foot to foot, fingers fiddling self-consciously with his blood-stained sleeve. He'd talked about taking it off, but Simon had insisted he leave it on- he'd catch his death in the harsh November chill, otherwise. Simon meets his nervous brown eyes and smiles reassuringly, turning back to his mother.
"That's Kieren," he says softly. He leans down, whispering into her ear. "He called the ambulance."
He doesn't need to elaborate, doesn't need to tell her when or where, she's knows what day he's talking about. She stares at the strange, nervous boy in the tattered clothes, glancing between the two of them like she's trying to work something out.
Then she walks past Simon, lightly pushing him towards the door on her way out. She approaches Kieren slowly, as if afraid he might bolt. It's a reasonable assumption- the boy has a wild look in his eyes these days. Simon glances back into the hallway, hoping that his father doesn't come storming out and demanding that they both leave.
Lana reaches out slowly and takes Kieren's wrists, tugging his hands from his pockets and holding them gently in her own. She smiles warmly, and gives him a gentle tug towards the door.
"Come on, laddie," she says warmly, ushering him into the house. "Let's get some food in yeh- you're all skin and bones!"
Simon watches Kieren's face, dazed and relieved as Lana gently ushers him into the shelter of the family home.
Despite his doubts and the ever lingering itch beneath his skin, he feels a smile tug at the corners of his lips.
Maybe Kieren was onto something.
There it is! :D
The original plan for this fic had these two literally getting together right at the very end, but I've tweaked that a little 'cause I actually wanna write a bit of relationship stuff with them. So don't worry, not long now! I want them to have a couple of chapters together before... stuff.
(Oh, and alanna- Irish form a leanbh- as far as I can work out is a term of endearment meaning 'my child', I'd love to put more things like that in but I'll probably keep it to a minimum as I know fuck all about the Irish language xD)
*ahem* Anyway, until next time! :D X
*dissolves into the shadows*
