The Wedding Chronicles
Acepilot

AN - "In The End" continues. I hope you all enjoyed Phil's return in Chapter 1, now we're down to the nitty gritty. The Bachelor Party/Hens Night in one without the rambunctious rowdiness. Hopefully it works. The support that people have shown throughout the course of this fic has been fantastic. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. Oh, and I know that I've already used the song in this chapter before, but I just thought it worked well with the scene. Plus, it keeps up continuity.

Disclaimer - The characters from AGU are property of KlaskyCsupo. The song "Love Your Way" is by Powderfinger

Tommy

"That was Lil on the phone," I tell Kimmi, leaning on the doorjamb of the bathroom. "Phil got in fine, they took him to the hotel. He's getting some sleep now, and then we're all going to meet at the club."

She smiles at me in the mirror, fixing her earrings. But...I can tell something's wrong. She's hesitant. The smile doesn't reach her eyes. "That's great," she tells me anyway.

I shake my head. "No, it's not. What's up, sweetie?"

She sighs. "I don't know." Her hands drop into her lap and she frowns. I walk up behind her and start gently massaging her shoulders, and she rolls her head to allow me access to her neck. "Just, isn't it going to feel...weird?"

It's my turn to frown. "How do you mean, 'weird'?"

"Well...like it was when he left," she mutters, and I don't have to ask her to specify a 'he'.

"It wasn't that weird," I remind her. "Phil was going through some things then. He's had four years. He seemed fine when I spoke to him."

She glares at our reflection. "He seemed fine before he tried to kill himself, too."

"Kimmi!" I can't say I'm not shocked. She's never spoken that bluntly about Phil's suicide attempt before. Like she's...angry, almost.

"Well, it's true," she points out. "He didn't talk to anyone about anything, he kept quiet..."

"And this was seeming fine?" I shake my head quickly. "Alright, let's not get into this."

"Fine by me," she growls, and glares at the mirror again.

I furrow my brows. "Have you listened to any of the Novacaine Mutiny CDs?"

"No."

"Not one?" I ask. "You never wondered what Phil was doing over there?"

"I knew what Phil was doing over there," she tells me. "I didn't need to hear a bunch of wailing guitars."

"It's really deep stuff," I tell her. "He's quite a songwriter."

"Really? Good for him." She picks up a brush. "I've got to get ready."

I hold my hands up in surrender. "Look, sorry. I just thought you'd be thrilled to see him again. You were so depressed when he left."

"Yeah, well, it's been four years, like you said."

I hang my head. "I'm sorry."

"I'm past it," she tells me. "I'm past it."

"Okay," I agree. But I really don't think she's talking to me.

I know she still dreams about it. Something about it. The suicide? His midnight flight to London? Something. She wakes up trembling and sweating and clutching at her wrists. She always denies that it's about Phil, but she's lying. I don't mind that she lies about it. I mean, sure, it kinda hurts, but I can understand why.

I just wish that she'd talk about it. I just wish that she would tell me about what happened between her and Phil that left her the most devastated by his departure.

"I'm going to have a shower," I tell her.

She nods. "Okay." She finally turns to face me out of the mirror. "I'm sorry. I...don't know what came over me."

"It's okay," I tell her. "Phil hurt us all when he disappeared. I don't blame you."

"Don't blame him, either," she suggests. "Just...it was no-one's fault."

"Okay," I concede. "I'm going to go have that shower now."

"It was no-one's fault," she repeats quietly.

Phil

I take a deep breath and look at myself in the mirror critically. I look alright. Coat neatly cleaned, dark green top comfortable, black pants not creased.

I hang my head, staring into the basin. Why am I trying to impress these people?

They're my best friends. They're people I knew for the first twenty-three years of my life. Of course, I'm now twenty-seven. And the most contact I've kept in with them over the intermittent years are exchanged birthday presents, letters, phone calls. I've seen only one of them in the flesh, and that was Lil. Our birthday, last year. I bought her a ticket to Paris and we met there and I took her shopping. It was the most at home I'd felt in years. But then I went back to London. I couldn't come back to the states. Not with her still here.

But that time had to come sooner or later, didn't it?

I turn to face Chuckie. "So, whaddya think?"

He nods. "You look good. You sound weird."

I smile. "Yeah, I get that a lot. English accent."

"It was funniest when you and Lil were having a conversation at the airport. You so don't look like twins when you sound different." He pauses for a moment. "If you know what I mean."

I nod and clap him on the shoulder. "I know."

He gives me a soft smile. "Are you up for this? Up for facing her?"

I shake my head. "Not a hope in hell." I sling my jacket over my shoulder. "So let's go do it, I guess."

"We don't have to go, Phil. You don't have to. I could tell everyone you were too jet-lagged."

"Thanks," I tell him, "but no thanks. This was an inevitability, remember, Chuck? It had to happen some time?"

He sighs. "I know. Just..."

"If I don't go tonight, then I'm not going tomorrow," I tell him. "So let's do this."

He nods. "Alright. If you're sure."

We step back out into the living area and I smile. "Sis, you're a vision."

Lil grins sassily at me and I offer her my arm. Her scarlet dress is accentuated by a red bow in her hair. "Flatterer."

I grin back, for the first time since I arrived in this country feeling my body lose it's incredible tension. "Of course." I turn to the other female occupant of the room. "And Angelica..." I pause for dramatic effect, before finally offering, "what can I say?"

"Nothing, if you're smart," she tells me, and grabs Chuckie by the arm, dragging him out of the hotel room.

I go to lead Lil out as well, but she catches my arm. "Look, Phil, I don't want to see you get hurt - "

"No-one's going to hurt me," I assure her. "It's all in the past now. She's getting married tomorrow. I'm happy in London."

"I'm your sister, remember, Phil?" She smiles at me sadly, not quite with pity but close. "I was never in love with Tommy. I realized that. I stopped chasing that dream years ago. But you and Kimmi..." she sighs. "I'm sorry about that fight we had before you left. Before you - "

I nod. "I know. I'm sorry for it too. I was drunk, I was...I was in a bad place." To say the least.

"But what the fight was about..." she pats me on the arm. "You were right. What I felt for Tommy...wasn't anything like what you felt for Kimmi. What you and Kimmi shared. And - yeah, so she's getting married tomorrow. But does that change anything from when she was just getting married four years ago? Does it make it easier for you to deal with?" I go to answer, but she presses a finger to my lips and I'm cut off. "Don't answer that. Don't keep spouting the same positive crap. Just..." she sighs. "I don't know."

I nod slowly and take her hand, giving it a slight, reassuring squeeze. "I know. I know." I turn us back toward the door. "Now come on, we've got a party to go to."

Kimmi

We met outside eleven minutes ago. And in that time, he hasn't said a single word.

Not to me, anyway. Other than, 'Hello' or other small pleasantries. We hugged, but it was more for appearances than anything else. He talks with his sister and whenever he does it's with a surprisingly thick English accent. We're finally inside, in the bar, and he's sticking close to Lil, Chuckie and Angelica, and as far away from me as possible. I don't know if he's being polite or if he really hates me.

Four years. Four years does a lot to a person. Four years when a person who tells you they love you doesn't talk to you, doesn't contact you - goes out of his way to contact everyone but you, in fact - or anything of the sort. It hurts a bit. Like, where did this love go? Did he miss me at all? Did he yearn for me? Is it fair to ask these questions when I'm marrying Tommy? Maybe, maybe not. But...well...I guess every ego needs to be stroked sometimes.

Because, even if I didn't love him, I still thought of him. I was devastated when he left. I didn't leave the apartment for days. But he went and joined his band, and is living a good life in London. Did he once think of me? Sulk over me?

"Hi," Tommy greets the bartender. "I'll have three beers, a carafe of your finest red, uh...Angelica? Are you still drinking Rum and Diet Coke?" She nods vaguely to her cousin. "A rum and diet coke, and a scotch neat."

"Uh," Phil leans in. "Make it a coke."

"Alright, a scotch and coke," Tommy corrects himself to the bartender.

"No, just a coke," Phil tells us, kind of stepping back and looking almost abashed. "I...I gave up drinking."

That earned some raised eyebrows. "You gave up drinking?" Tommy asks in something resembling disbelief.

"Yeah," Phil says, his chest heaving. "I've been dry about eighteen months now."

I'm kind of aware of Tommy changing the order, but only vaguely. Eighteen months without drinking? Phil?

But of course, that meant he was still drinking for almost two and a half years...

We sit down at a table and I listen as conversations strike up. Suzie arrives late from recording and everything seems perfect. We're all together again. Phil is telling amusing anecdotes about London, about his band - but he's not really getting into them. Everything seems perfect. But it isn't, really. He's not looking at me if he can at all avoid it. He's not talking to me, even when he's telling stories to the group. This group night instead of bachelor and hen's nights seemed like a really good idea at the time. But now I really wish the boys would just go away and...well, in the case of Tommy, Dil and Chuckie at least, get pissed.

I'm trying not to look at him, either. I'm not exactly sure what I think it'll accomplish. Maybe it's some kind of survival instinct. Who knows.

"I've got to ask," Suzie finally pitches in. "I've been listening to Novacaine Mutiny CDs. How do you write that kind of stuff?"

Phil kind of smiles. But not really. "I don't know, really. It's just...it's just imagination, mostly."

He's lying. I don't even know what he's talking about, but I know he's lying.

"They're like the most horrifying music that can still be called love songs," Suzie insists.

"The early stuff, anyway. Since I've stopped drinking I've calmed down a bit," Phil points out.

"Granted, but..." Suzie sits back with a look of almost admiration on her face. "It's pretty stunning stuff. Very hard-core."

He shrugs. "We're a hardcore band."

He wrote love songs.

Violent, horrifying love songs.

This isn't my problem.

But, oh, it so is.

Phil

She's angry at me.

I'm tempted to explode at her, demand to know what right she has to be angry at me. Me, who she walked out on. Who she abandoned in a time of need. Who she never showed any kind of compassion for, unless you count a pity fuck as compassion.

And I personally don't.

I'll admit that some of the things I did in London - and some of the things I did before I left - were pretty unsavoury. I was drinking to excess, I was smoking, I was being...well, I was being a real shit of a person. I attempted suicide, and there's no justification for that. I just gave up and selfishly decided to end it all, with no care for what it did to anyone. How much it would hurt people.

But no matter what I did, she's got some gall still being angry with me after all this time.

Because I still love her.

And somehow, that's relevant.

I'm dragged out of my little reprieve by a tug on my shoulder. I look over at Dil, who points at the stage. Where Suzie is standing next to a guy with a microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give it up for The One Way Street's lead singer, our very own Suzie Carmichael!"

I grin. I'm not surprised that she still does this every time. Even with her own band, I couldn't picture her stopping.

"Thank you," Suzie says, accepting the mic. "But, while I'm up here, I'd like to get one of my friends on stage with me."

Oh no. Oh no. Not a chance in hell.

"People of all ages and genders, direct from the UK, the Novocaine Mutiny's guitarist, Mr. Phillip DeVille!"

I sink further down into my seat, and try not to be noticed. But everyone's looking in my direction. Dil is pointing me out to anyone who'll spare a glance, and Chuckie and Angelica are all but dancing around me.

I growl. "I find out who's idea this was, and they're dead meat," I announce to the table, but I rise and stomp up to the stage anyway.

There's a house acoustic waiting for me. I take a seat and Suzie leans over. "I didn't think you'd come up."

"I'm full of surprises," I tell her. "After all, I'm a professional musician. Now what are we playing?"

She shrugs. "Surprise me. If I don't know the lyrics, then I'll make some up."

I grin and start fiddling with the machine heads, trying to get the damn thing in tune. For the first time since I arrived back in this country, I feel at ease. This is what I do. No matter what crap is going on, music is something I can escape to. Holding a guitar in my hand is the most natural action I know these days.

Once I'm satisfied the instrument is in tune, I start thinking about what to play.

And then I see her.

Sitting at the table, next to Tommy, staring at me for the first time tonight. I don't think she's spared me a glance until now. Not really. But now she's staring at me and I don't know what I can make out in her eyes. Whether she's angry or happy or confused. But she's beautiful.

I bar the second fret and start to play. Suzie nods as I finish the intro and raises the mic to her lips.

(insert "Love Your Way" by Powderfinger over next several paragraphs)

As he aggressively strums the chorus our eyes lock. I don't know why he chose this song, but I know there's a reason for it. And I know the reason is me.

I blame him for so much of what happened four years ago. But then again, I always was a bit selfish like that.

I rise slowly from my chair and slink onto the dance floor, leaving the others at the table watching me with detached interest.

The morning after we slept together, and he was pleading on his knees in front of me, I couldn't help but remember the sight of him laying on his back on the living room floor, blood coming from his wrists. That hurt me. So much that I almost couldn't breathe. And I couldn't stand the thought of going through that again. So I ran, leaving him on his own. Leaving him without anyone to support him. And I made things worse.

I stand still in the middle of the dance floor. My eyes haven't left his once.

I watch her standing in the middle of the dance floor staring at me. I know why I chose this song. Or at least, I know that I did it because of her. Because I don't know why I love her. Not after everything we've been through. By rights, I should hate her. She deserves it, almost. But I can't. I just...well, love is for fools, isn't it?

I set the guitar down but Suzie keeps singing. I step down off the stage and walk across the dance floor to where she stands.

And we stand there, not moving, not speaking. A few others are on the dance floor around us, moving to music that isn't there anymore. Suzie's soulful voice is hitting new notes. The gang are sitting at the table watching us standing together amongst the moving masses.

I don't remember how it began. But the next moment she's in my arms.

The last kiss I shared with her was one that, I knew at the time, would be tinged with regret and finality. Never again would I get to be with her like I was then. But now, years later, I'm getting another chance. And there's no way I'm letting it slip by.

I press my lips to hers, running my tongue over her mouth, forcing her lips apart. I try to pull her closer but she's already as near to me as she can get.

I wrap my arms around his neck and stand on my toes to try and make up for the height deficiency, which he finally solves by hoisting me up so I can wrap my legs around his waist. It was never like this with Tommy. Never. This is...this is so much different. What I share with Tommy is safe and warm and loving and secure. But this is raw, and emotional, and hopeful but fearful and desperate but beautiful. This is the exact opposite of everything I always told myself I wanted.

He slides a hand under the hem of my shirt, reaching up and stroking the skin of my back. I moan against his mouth and arch my torso, trying to get more contact. I feel his hair under my chin as he nuzzles my throat before finally returning to kissing me. Something that I hadn't experienced enough to realize how much I would miss it.

I moan against her as she runs her hands up and down my back and I have to fight the urge to take her here and now. Never in my life have I experienced this kind of passion. This kind of beauty. I lean back slightly, and take in the sight of her, topless, eyes hooded and breathing heavily, powerfully.

"I love you," I tell her.

She nods, but doesn't respond.

So I thump out the verses on the ancient Gibson arch-top and watch her sitting at the table with the rest of the gang as Suzie delivers the lyrics with emotion like I've never heard. Our eyes haven't left each other's during the whole song. I wonder if Tommy's noticed.

Probably. Probably doesn't think it means anything.

But it means so much.

Lil

I watch the silent exchange between my brother and Kimi. And I just can't help but feel the dread settle in my stomach.

I wish they'd ended up together. Initially, I wished it for my own, selfish desires. It left Tommy for me. But now, I don't feel that way. Even if she did break it off with him, or the other way around, I don't think I could bring myself to chase after him. Because I never really did love him. All those years ago, Phil was right. I knew it even then, I just didn't want to face it. So it surprised me moreso than anyone else when a ticket to Paris and a very emotional letter arrived in my mailbox last March. We hit the town of Paris, he took me shopping, we had a great time.

I don't think he ever forgot what I said to him. But he forgave me.

And I just want him to be happy.

And I don't buy it for a minute that Kimmi doesn't feel something for him.

For a start, he wasn't here to see the aftermath of his sudden departure. He didn't see Kimmi walking around like her heart was ripped out. She probably thinks it was just because of the shitty way that she left things. But I don't think so. I think it was more than that.

But I think he did see what happened just now. Between him and her. That song wasn't an impulse. It was for her.

And they both know it.

I exchange a quick glance with Angelica. She knows it too.

So what happens next?

Phil returns to the table and I'm unsurprised to see that he's sweating, with an almost-convincing grin on his face. But I know better. Wouldn't be much of a twin if I didn't. "That was fun," he declares. But instead of sitting back down in his seat, he grabs his coat off the back of it. "But, sadly, I have to go. I'm still feeling a bit jet-lagged."

Tommy is the first to object. Of course. But Phil politely shakes his insistences off and just smiles at us all. But he doesn't meet Kimi's eyes. Not once.

I follow him out into the street and grab him by the arm. He spins around, fake grin still plastered to his face. But when he sees that I'm the only one there, he drops the facade, and frowns. I can see tears forming in the side of his eyes, and I step forward to embrace him.

"I wasn't ready," he whispers. "I'm not ready."

I nod slowly, patting him on the back. "I know," I tell him. I finally push him back to arms length, and watch him wipe the moisture from his eyes. "Will we still be seeing you at the wedding tomorrow?"

He shrugs. "We'll see, I guess."

I nod. That's all I was really expecting.

He nods back. And slips off into the night, without a word.

And I'm beginning to comprehend how different experiences of love he and I have had.

Kimmi

Epiphanies are interesting things.

I bring this up because I've just had one. I could have done without it, in a broader sense. If I hadn't had it, then these thoughts wouldn't be running through my head. If I hadn't had it, then I would be comfortable in the knowledge that I would be getting married to the man of my dreams tomorrow. That I would be with Tommy Pickles until the day I die, and never regret one second of what would be a comfortable and beautiful life.

But that's all gone now.

Because whatever I thought I was over concerning Phil DeVille is in no such way a closed book.

So I've gone from loathing him for running away from everything and leaving me to pick up the pieces; to hating myself, for blaming him for something that was my fault and - worse still - leaving him in his time of need. Even worse, for using him and then abandoning him, like dirt. Like garbage.

Like something he deserves so much more than.

I hate myself for settling for Tommy when I didn't know what I felt for Phil. I still don't know what I feel for Phil? Do I hate him? Do I want to hate him? Do I still have a friendship with him? Or did we cross a line long ago that can't be taken back? Is it too late now to undo what was done?

Am I responsible for the scars on his wrists? Am I responsible for his disappearance? For his four-year absence from his family, from his loved ones?

For an epiphany, this seems very open-ended.

"You okay?" Tommy asks, quietly, over the music which has picked up again over the PA.

I nod slowly. "Yeah, I'm alright," I lie.

I'm not alright.

Lil

I push open the bathroom door and step slowly through the sortie before entering the restrooms proper. I can hear her sobbing and I'm not entirely surprised.

"Hey, Kimmi, it's me," I announce, cautiously, waiting for a reaction from one of the stalls.

We're alone, I note, as she pushes open one of the doors.

"Hey," she says, wiping at her eyes.

I nod. "How are you?"

She shakes her head. "I don't know."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask, doubtful. And worried.

"No," she tells me. Simple. To the point. "I...I think I've got to go."

I nod. I was more-or-less expecting it.

"Can you tell the guys for me?" she asks.

If you hurt my brother again, best friend or no I will kill you. I know you love him, and I know he loves you, and if you can work it out, then great. But it's not worth all this hurt. Because it's not just the two of you who'll be effected. It's everyone. It's Tommy, it's me, it's Chuckie and Angelica. And all we want to do is see you happy. But this isn't happiness, Kimmi. This is just pain and misery. "Yeah, I will."

She nods. "Okay."

Kimmi

I don't know how I end up here. But I do all the same.

I don't know why I came here.

Or so I'd like to tell myself.

I think from the moment he left the party I knew what was going to happen. I think from the moment I saw him tonight, I somehow knew it. I don't know how I knew it and I sure as hell wish it wasn't so. But I knew.

I raise my hand and slowly knock on the door. My stomach fills with dread and guilt, but I can't seem to stop myself.

And when it opens, and I see him standing there, I know he knows it too.

"Hi," I say.

He nods.

And then we're in each other's arms.

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