A/N: Thank you Ruth for the awesome beta.

This was first posted on livejournal, in case you should find it familiar.

Note: All sixteen chapters have already been written, edited and betad. I'm not just done uploading yet :-)

Long Way Down, Long Way Home
Chapter Nine

by Steffi

After Tom had been working at the record store for some weeks he'd learned the following:

One: The meet up in the bar after work was a routine that happened on a daily basis. Depending on who'd worked shifts that day the cast of the meet-up altered. Sometimes it would only be Mikey and him, sometimes Lucy would join them. The only one who'd always be there, even if he hadn't worked shifts that day, was Tom. He would spend as little time as possible at his apartment, maybe because it still wouldn't feel like his apartment. He'd bought a cheap television, some more books, his own pillows and blankets, even towels, but it still seemed odd to him. It felt more like a temporary stay in a hotel, not like home. He was a visitor who'd stopped by for a short time and was always ready to move on. Had he always had such trouble settling down? Or was that new? Tom couldn't say.

Two: Whenever AC/DC were blaring from the speakers Tom would get goosebumps all over, as though someone's fingernails were scraping down a blackboard. He couldn't for the life of him understand why people would listen to that noise voluntarily, unless they were demented or mad. Or deaf.

So the fact that he seemed to know all the words to Led Zeppelin, Metallica and Motörhead by heart was a little freaky, especially since he couldn't remember ever hearing the songs before. Sometimes he'd catch himself humming or even quietly singing along to certain songs. One day, Chris had put on "Some Kind of Monster" and Tom had spontaneously burst into laughter, but when June asked him what was so funny Tom couldn't remember why he'd laughed. Two days later Tom was sorting records when he stumbled across various albums by Blue Oyster Cult, and suddenly that voice from his dream was back, calling his name. Images of the black Chevy Impala flared up, and the records Tom had been holding in his hands fell to the ground with a thud. His fingers reached towards the shelves for support because his legs shook violently and the unknown voice in his head yelled "You're such a geek."

Three: He began getting to know himself. Not the self he'd been – before – but the self he was now. Tom assumed it was mostly Mikey's and June's fault – both eccentrics who knew exactly what they were and where in life they stood. They urged Tom to consider things, and find out what he liked and what he didn't. In his endless discussions with June the question she asked most frequently was definitely "What do you think about it?" So Tom thought, and thought again, considered, pondered and wondered until he could offer an answer. It was a learning process, a learning process about that mystical person that stared back at Tom with puppy eyes when Tom glanced into the mirror every morning.

He'd found out he liked books, and he could spend hours in the nearby park just reading. He also seemed to have a weakness for TV shows like Judging Amy, Ally McBeal and Law & Order. June in particular made fun of him for that, which amused Tom more than it bothered him, because June had, at one point, admitted to him that she was rather fond of Gilmore Girls. June had been drunk that evening, and Tom still mocked her for it.

All things considered, maybe there was a perfectly normal explanation for the things on the List Of Things That Were Weird About Him after all. He seemed rather average, didn't he? Not creepy or insane. Maybe he wasn't even an arsonist? It seemed unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe he was normal, Tom thought. Perfectly ordinary, like everyone else.

A couple of weeks had passed when one evening, June brought her friend Alice to the bar. Alice was a college girl, or at least she seemed like one. She had that "hungry for knowledge" air about her and she was dressed with no sense of style whatsoever, as far as Tom could tell. Her brown hair was cut short, and it framed a quite ordinary face that was neither pretty nor ugly. Alice wasn't exactly tall, and Tom's first thought was that she ought to eat a little more, maybe she'd grow – in every direction.

"This is Alice." June said, glancing at her friends expectantly.

"From Wonderland?" Chris said, and shrugged when June glared at him furiously. June took a seat and Alice sat down next to her, both ignoring Chris' comment. Tom would have liked to say something but suddenly his throat seemed to have dried out, so he just looked at the unknown girl from his corner seat through his bottle of beer. Soon a discussion had emerged, which didn't surprise Tom at all, not when June was there – but he didn't actually listen. Although he definitely perceived voices, he didn't pay attention to the words and drifted into his own world of thoughts.

Bottles were funny. They were. How did they make them? How could it be that each and every bottle looked the same? It was fascinating. Brown bottles, green bottles, bottles of no color...

"Hm...", Tom said, then noticing it had grown rather quiet at the table, and that everyone was looking at him. "What?" he asked. He felt cheeks flushing, oh, perfect. He was like a chameleon with the way he constantly changed color.

"What was that?" June asked, her eyebrows twisted into a skeptical frown. Tom quickly shook his head, "Oh, nothing." Just my thoughts about the crafting of bottles. Weirdo. June nodded as if her expectations had fulfilled themselves, and returned to her discussion about the pollution of the Earth, or something else that made her sound like she had an opinion of her own. Tom granted her a half-hearted smile, and returned to his bottle. He tried to rip off the label, but he couldn't even manage that.

At that moment, he was quite certain he was the geekiest and most boring person in the world – well, maybe not the world, but the US at least. Definitely. He'd probably been so geeky before the accident his family had abandoned him. Like Steve Urkel's family. Tom wouldn't have blamed them. Also, he wasn't even a real arsonist, maybe he'd simply set the house on fire by accident. Now, there was a solid and likely theory.

He spent the rest of the evening hidden behind his bottle, which – considering his height – didn't work out too well. June tried to draw him into a conversation a couple of times, but all of Tom's replies were rather monosyllabic so eventually June just gave up. He left the bar early, claiming he wasn't feeling well, and decided to drop by the park.

Somewhere on the other side of town a church bell struck 11 O'clock as he entered the park. In the dark everything was different from how it had looked in daylight, spooky and scary, almost haunted. The trees stood out against the sky like black creatures, and as the wind stroked their leaves and branches the trees bowed slightly, as if they were talking to each other. The wind was their whispers as they exchanged secrets and rumours of days long lost. Whispered about Tom. He listened but couldn't make out the words.

He should have been nervous, all alone out here in the dark, but he wasn't. The town had fallen asleep already, streets empty, shops closed, the time of spirits and demons had begun. Tom smiled when the thought rushed through his mind – hell, he was one big Weirdo. With capital "W". He ambled by trees and bushes to finally sit down on one of the benches, where he stretched his legs. Out here, in the loneliness of the night he felt strangely safe and comfortable. Almost as if he'd grown up in the dark, and learned to fear the day.

The air was mild and silky, and wrapped Tom up like a cloak made of the finest fabric. The leaves of the trees rustled in the breeze, and as Tom closed his eyes for a moment he felt like he was at sea, and the leaves were the waves. The silence was like medicine, drowning out the deafening noises from the bar and the thoughts that kept spinning in Tom's head. He tried to clear his mind and relax.

Out here, everything fell into place, everything made sense. For a little while the Earth stood still, nothing moved, and all the questions did not clamor for their answers. His troubles disappeared into the distance until they seemed insignificant. This was peace. This was heaven.

Then something rustled in the bushes next to the bench.

Instantly Tom's right hand rushed into the bag he'd placed by his side and with disappointment encountered only emptiness. Tom frowned – what the hell was he looking for? Weapons was the word coming to his mind first, naturally or not so naturally at all. Another rustle made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, every muscle in his body tensed in preparation, as if he'd been conditioned to do so – like Pavlov's dog.

Tom jumped to his feet at the same moment that a man with a knife leaped forward from the bushes. Before the attacker knew what was happening to him, Tom had kicked the knife out of his hand. It fell to the ground, the blade shining in the moonlight. Tom grabbed the man's arm, and positioned himself so his back was facing the other man, bent forward and pulled the attacker over his shoulder. The man landed on the ground hard and a groan escaped him. There he remained there, coughing.

Tom stood over the man and tried to understand what had just happened. Everything had been over so fast. One moment he'd been sitting on that bench musing the meaning of life, and the next he – with help of martial arts skills that he didn't even know he possessed – had overpowered a criminal as if he'd done it a thousand times before. The man on the ground coughed once more but he didn't stir. Perhaps he thought Tom was a serial killer and was now waiting for his throat to be cut.

Tom, however, had no intention of cutting anyone's throat. Instead he stared at the figure on the ground for a few moments more – and then bolted. The trees, bushes, then the street, buildings, the closed shops rushed by and he didn't even notice it. He leaped up the staircase, fumbled for his keys and dropped them, picked them up, unlocked the door, entered, locked the door and stopped in the bathroom where he splashed cold water into his face. His body shivered violently, and a voice that wasn't the one from his flashbacks and dreams said "Take the element of surprise from them." The voice was more husky, deeper, older somehow and he couldn't say why but Tom was fairly certain it was his father's voice. Tom's heartbeat quickened, "I have a father," he thought and then "Why isn't he looking for me?"

Tom stumbled over to his bed, sat down, pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them. He shivered with the cold but he couldn't bring himself to get up and close the window. His teeth chattered, he tried to calm himself down, breathe in, breathe out. It wouldn't work. Who the hell was he? The more he learned about himself, the more he wished he wouldn't.

Conclusion: he knew martial arts and had overpowered a criminal like it was a piece of cake. Someone, possibly has father, had taught him how, so that "they" didn't have the element of surprise. Who the hell were "they"? People? Animals? Both?

He hated hard rock music yet knew the lyrics to more hard rock songs than he knew existed. He jerked every time he saw someone wearing a Metallica shirt. He was possibly insane. He had probably burned down a house. His family wouldn't see him. He didn't have any papers, ID cards, or even his name stitched to his pants.

Did that make any sense at all? Preferably a sense that didn't turn him into a lunatic criminal?

Tom couldn't think of one.

"Hey." June said, placing herself in front of the counter desk.

"Hey." Tom replied, not looking up. He scratched the back of his head while chewing on his pen, trying to figure out which CDs he would have to order for the store.

"You left early yesterday."

June tapped her fingers on the desk.

"Didn't feel well. Headache."

Tom ran the back of his hand over his eyes. Yesterday. And he'd tried so hard to erase that evening from his memory.

"Pity," June continued, and then added, "Alice asked me about you," when there still was no reaction from Tom. Tom stiffened a bit, and finally he looked up.

"She did what?"

"Asked about you." June waited a moment and sighed when it became obvious Tom still had no clue what she was on about. "You know, she wanted to know whether you have a girlfriend, and where you're from."

"Let me know if you find out," Tom mumbled.

"Very funny." June paused before she said: "I told her you've got this amnesia thing. She still seems to think you're cute."

"But..." Tom began, but June didn't let him finish:

"Oh, for the love of God, Tom, can you or will you not understand me? Don't be so thick. She's interested in you. She thinks you're cute. She wants to see you again."

The pen fell from Tom's lips and he had an expression on is face as if June had just told him that ghosts actually existed.

"She wants to see me again?"

"Hell yes, are you a parrot? Oh, don't look so shocked Tom. Do you want to see her again?"

"Uhm..." Tom said, "You think that's such a good idea? I mean, with my... situation?"

"She's determined, it all depends on you." June reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that she placed on the desk. "Here's her number. If you like her, give her a call. She's the sweetest girl. And even if it doesn't work out, you could still be friends. I mean, everyone needs friends, especially you."

She patted Tom's hand encouragingly, and went to the storage room. Tom picked up the piece of paper and studied it with a frown. In his head a mini movie with all kinds of scenarios was playing over and over again. From marriage to broken heart to him chopping Alice's head off everything seemed to be there. Maybe it would be wiser not to call her. She wouldn't like him anyway, especially not once she learned about his potential past.

But then, it was just a potential past, wasn't it? She wouldn't have to know, after all, this here was a new life, a new chance. If he wanted, he could leave his old life behind, just like that, with a snap. What did he have to lose after all?

He picked up the phone and dialed her number.

TBC