Acepilot
AN - Strider's been bugging me again, and the result is here! A second "unlikely songfic", again PK, but this time with just as much angst but perhaps a little more resolution. Kimmi's POV. Again Nick Cave, from the album "Henry's Dream". And I'd like to remind you that the Unlikely Songfic challenge is about the song more than the characters, which is why everyone is horribly OOC.
Disclaimer - All characters from AGU are property of KlaskyCsupo.
"A Jack and Coke, please."
The bartender gives me a nod and goes about fixing my drink, but I already know I won't be able to stay and finish it.
They know. They all know.
I don't know how they know, but they must. Everyone must. Everyone has to know about the things I'm trying to leave behind.
I'm a terrible, terrible person.
"Hang on, I'll fix it."
"No, wait - "
"No, it's no trouble mom. Just wait there."
"Phil!"
I sip idly at my drink, wondering where to go next, as the memories play out in my mind. Memories I wish I didn't have.
But memories that I'm responsible for having.
"Kim, did you check the water levels?"
"Yeah," I lied, struggling to come up with a single useful line. I'd been working on this for too long to take a break now.
"Phil!"
"My god..."
I hug my coat tighter around me as the door opens, the wind biting for a moment as the January weather tries to get in with whoever the bar's latest occupant is. There's an odd pause, no footsteps, before the newcomer finally starts walking toward the bar, taking a seat down the opposite end from me.
"What can I get you?" The barkeeper asks, in his friendly, easy-smiling voice. He didn't speak to me.
"My eyes!"
"Oh, I'm not fussed. Double scotch'll work, if you've got some."
"I'll see what I can do."
"Quick! Kimmi! Call an ambulance!"
I look down the bar at the stranger. He's a man who's seen better days. His brown hair is shot through with grey, but he doesn't really look that old. Maybe thirty at the most. His coat is long and black, but dusty and starting to show signs of age. And he's wearing a pair of sunglasses.
Sitting beside him is a cane.
"My eyes."
Christ.
I practically fall off my chair in a rush trying to stand, fishing for some money in my pocket, slamming it down on the bar.
"Miss?" The bartender yells to me, "Miss, your change!"
"Keep it!" I call back, rushing. I've got my coat off the hook by the door when -
"Stop!"
I pause, my brown jacket in hand, and wait, terrified.
He raises himself from his chair, scooping up his cane and working his way across the bar, feeling his way. I wince as he gets closer, and I begin to recognise things I thought I'd never see again. His jaw, his knitted brows, his hands.
But I can't see his eyes.
He reaches out to me. I could dance backwards, avoid him, run away. He'd never be able to follow me.
But I can't do that. Not now. Not after what I did to him.
And so his fingers trace my forehead, running down over my face. He cups one of my cheeks before taking my hand instead, running his cold fingers over the back of my palm, feeling my slight, bony hands, as if seeking confiramtion.
I know he is.
He drops my palm, and I am free again. Free to run. Free to flee from the dark stares that everyone was giving me.
Free to run from him. Again.
A tear is running down his cheek.
"I was beginning to think you were dead, you know."
"Maybe I should be," I whisper, but I know he hears. I realise that he's pushed us out into the abandoned street, away from the eyes of the other patrons.
He raises his head and...stares, at me. "I don't know whether I want to hit you or hold you."
I start to break down into tears. "It was a horrible thing that I did to you, I know."
He nods, somehow harshly. "Yes it was. It was a horrible thing to do. I'm not the only one who thinks so, either."
Everyone hates me. I knew it. "I'm...it was...I'm so sorry for it...it's my fault...your eyes..."
"My eyes?" He raises an eyebrow, over the bridge of his glasses. "What do you mean your sorry about my eyes?"
"It's my fault your blind!"
His jaw falls open a little. "That's not what I'm talking about!"
My lips are quivering. "What?" is all I can manage, and it's barely a gasp
"It was an accident, Kim," his voice is quieter now, and I'm thankful. I don't know if I'd live through him yelling at me. "I mean...yeah, it hurt. Hell it hurt. But I don't blame you. It was an accident - accidents happen."
"But..." I'm in awe. "But...it was MY -"
"Accidents happen," he repeated, cutting me off.
"Then..."
"Running away, Kim. Disappearing on everyone, not letting anyone know where you were..." he winced. "You left everyone - your family, your friends - in ruins. Chuckie still cries about it. And your mother hasn't been the same since."
I hadn't really ever thought about it. In my self-flagellation, I'd never stopped to consider the fact that people might not be happy to find me gone. What I'd done to Phil was so terrible I couldn't picture anyone wanting to speak to me again.
"And I..."
He can't finish the sentence, but I know how it ends. I left him alone - I ran away from him, leaving him no cluse on where I might be or if I was still alive - at the one time that he needed someone more than ever to help him through it.
"I didn't think you'd want to see me," I told him.
"I didn't," he admitted, quietly. "But I would have gotten over it, Kim. You know that."
I know.
"I loved you, Kim," he told me, stroking my cheek. He knows I'm crying now, if he hadn't picked up on it before, as his finger runs over the warm tracks of my tears. "I loved you, and I needed you. And you disappeared."
I've made a mess of things.
"I don't know whether I want to hit you or what."
"I don't deserve your love," I choke out. "I don't deserve you."
"I don't know what you deserve, but I love you anyway," he whispers against my cheek, and I feel the ghost of his lips there for a second. "Come home."
I nod. What else can I do?
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