Hey there, guys!

Wow, it has been ages! How long has it been- what, a month? *Nervous laughter* Wow, yeah, a month- yikes, sorry about that! Hey, look on the bright side, you still haven't been kept waiting nearly as long as my Sherlolly folks! I wouldn't blame them in the slightest if they just chose to forget that my fic ever existed xD

So, on with the story then! Not gonna lie, I don't think this is one of my strong chapters- I dunno, something bothers me about it. I'll try and do better next time (and hopefully not take as long, either). We're getting to the dramatic bit of the story so it'll pick up!

Well, enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: In The Flesh and all it's characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC3. Song lyrics belong to the lovely Gabrielle Aplin. Direct quotes taken from the show belong to the original writers, I make no profit from this story and write it purely out of love for the series! :3

"I am hollow

I am numb

I am staring down the barrel of this gun

I am always by myself

In a sea of self-infliction that I felt"

-'Take Me Away', Gabrielle Aplin

Kieren's leg jittered against the edge of the mattress, his clasped hands held up to his face. He waited, so restless with panic that he barely restrained himself from bounding to the window until he heard the thud of the front door closing. He watched Steve and Jem walk away, pausing to notify Dean on their way out (no doubt informing the RPS grunt of his current incarceration). As soon as they were out of his sightline he leapt towards the locked door, the sheet of paper fluttering in his hand. There was no time to waste- he might have wasted too much already.

He'd tried to leave last night, the sheaf of paper composing Amy's will still clenched in his hands. He'd barrelled down the stairs and towards the door, too panicked to even consider being sneaky. Dean could chase him all he wanted, he didn't care. He just needed to find Amy.

But in the end, he hadn't even made it as far as Dean's post. When he'd charged into the living room his father had moved to stand in the way of the door, demanding an explanation. Kieren's pleas and concerns for his best friend fell on deaf ears. Together, his parents had restrained him. He knew he could have overpowered them, but they'd shout out, they'd call for Dean, or maybe Jem- she wasn't exactly his biggest fan at the moment. He wandered if his bare face would make it easier for her to pull a gun on him, but he didn't want to find out.

He slid the paper under the door, silently praying that he wasn't too late. He didn't know what was going on with Amy, but it couldn't be good. What if it was something to do with the ULA, or the Blue Oblivion he'd found in her bungalow? What if…?

"Fuck," he hissed, picking up the wire from his desk and unspooling it. He couldn't think about it, about what could be happening to her. Whatever it was had shaken her to the core, and he may already be too late to stop it.

As he fed the wire through the keyhole, he tried his best to banish the panic and guilt from his head. Unfortunately, that left his mind open to be filled with something else, and that something happened to be anger. Anger at a certain terrorist organisation that may or may not be endangering his best friend's life. Anger at a certain disciple of said organisation for not being there when he needed him.

He had to grit his teeth and stop his hands shaking as he worked the wire through the lock. Simon. Simon fucking Monroe. He could have known about what was happening with Amy a lot earlier if he hadn't been so preoccupied sneaking around with that stupid sexy (no, don't think of him like that, you're pissed off, remember?) Irish bastard. Might have actually seen the signs earlier if he hadn't been so desperate to hide his own nervous ticks- God, he just had to go over to his house and snog him, didn't he? Couldn't let well enough alone. And now that prat was off somewhere without leaving so much as a note.

Well, fuck 'im, then.

He shoved all thoughts of Simon Monroe furiously aside- plenty of time for rage when he escaped his house arrest. There was no way he was coming home again once he broke out. He didn't know where he could go, but anything was better than waiting patiently to be shipped off to Norfolk.

He heard a satisfying thunk as he succeeded in pushing the key out of the lock and it tumbled down to the waiting flyer. Winding up the wire and tucking it into his pocket, he carefully tugged the sheet- key and all- back under the door. Obviously all those hours spent helping Jem with puzzles on her Nintendo DS had paid off. Thank you, Kyle Hyde.

He grabbed the key and slid it into the hole, twisting it sharply and hearing the click of the lock. Still on his knees, the door swung open, and for a moment he felt relief wash over him. Maybe he still had a chance…

"You goin' somewhere, Dry Rot?"

Kieren couldn't decide who he wanted to punch in the face most- Gary or Simon. Yeah, the obvious choice was the man who'd pinned him down, tied his hands, and was currently on the rampage in his bedroom. But he wouldn't even be searching his bedroom if he wasn't convinced that Simon was planning some kind of attack, so really the Irish man had to shoulder his fair share of the blame.

Simon fucking Monroe. Up to more cloak-and-dagger behind his back, no doubt. Jesus. Kieren was getting pretty fucking sick of his shit.

Another thing he was getting sick of was Gary shouting in his face, demanding knowledge Kieren didn't possess of the whereabouts of his kind-of, sort-of boyfriend.

What was more frustrating was knowing that even if he had the answers Gary was looking for, they would not be forthcoming.

Yes, he was really bloody pissed off at Simon round about now- clearly the bastard was up to even more mischief behind his back, and by rights Kieren should have felt justified in getting a little revenge. But he just didn't think he had it in in him to rat out Simon, even if he had the information to do so.

So he sat quietly simmering on the bed, arms bound tightly behind his back as Gary ransacked his room, and wondering exactly when he'd let Simon Monroe get under his skin. He managed to remain relatively quiet (a few snide remarks aside), letting Gary exhaust himself with his violent raid. That was until the thug yanked a certain charcoal drawing off the wall and viciously scrunched it, tossing the balled-up paper at Kieren's head. The crumpled sketch of Simon at his side was enough to really set him off.

"What is wrong with you?" he exclaimed, eyeing Gary and his trail of destruction with contempt. If he wasn't planning on skipping town anyway he'd be livid at the amount of tidying up his room would need after this. Still, he had been hoping to take that sketch along with several others with him, he didn't appreciate having it chucked at his head. "If Jem could see yeh now, my God- yer a mess! Coming apart at the seams…"

Gary didn't answer, dropping to his knees by the chest of drawers at Kieren's bedside. Kieren glanced down again at the crumpled drawing he'd been so protective of, and sighed exasperatedly at himself. He couldn't be worrying about Simon at a time like this, there were much more serious problems to face. Besides, by running away without a warning the stupid man had pretty much thrown him under the bus with people like Gary, so why should he care?

But he knew perfectly well why.

He couldn't let him go until he knew how much of it was a lie.

He quietly cursed himself as he thought hopelessly over their last night together, those words Simon had tried to say and their implications. Maybe his parents were right- maybe he was just some naïve kid who allowed himself to be strung along by any handsome man who gave him pretty words.

But try as he might to banish his thoughts and feelings for Simon Monroe from his head, even his deep-set cynicism couldn't shake the feeling that everything Simon had said (or nearly said) had been genuine.

This would be so much easier if he was just a pure and simple dickhead.

But no, as it was all he could do was quietly rage, gloomily resigned to the fact that Gary was most likely going to try to beat the information out of him. He wouldn't give it to him even if he had it. At least he couldn't feel pain anymore- but eternal broken limbs didn't sound fun, either. If he wound up with shattered legs from this Simon could bloody well push his wheelchair for the rest of his unlife- he owed him that much.

Gary had gone quiet. Kieren turned his head to look at him, forcing his mind away from Simon for a minute. He would have stopped breathing if he's been doing it in the first place.

Gary was holding the bottle. The tiny glass vial containing the Blue Oblivion he'd taken from Simon's room. The blue glass was instantly recognisable, even to Gary. He turned to Kieren with a look of angry triumph on his face.

"Blue Oblivion," He said quietly, realisation dawning. "It's you. It's been yeh all along!"

"Those aren't mine," Kieren said, but Gary had made up his mind already and he didn't expect to change it. Besides, he couldn't exactly say they were Simon's- he was trying (idiotically) to protect the bastard, after all. Fucking Hell, Simon owed him big for this.

"Hiding in plain sight! Where were yeh planning on taking 'em, eh?" Gary said, brandishing the bottle in Kieren's face. "Legion? Village Hall?"

Kieren rolled his eyes, fidgeting with the cable tie around his wrists. He didn't have time for this shit- Amy was still out there, he might already be too late-

"Fete?" Gary insisted, bending over to look Kieren challengingly in the eye. "Gonna go rabid in front of a bunch o' kiddies, are yeh? Sick bastard!"

Kieren involuntarily cringed in the onslaught- he'd had plenty of people like Gary shouting in his face over his life, and not just for being undead. A sea of jeering faces swam in his vision. For the first time all morning he temporarily forgot to be angry with Simon- frankly, he just wished he was here. He didn't need protecting, but he was running out of people to fight his corner. Gary was rolling the bottle between his fingers tauntingly, trying his best to drag a confession out of him, and Kieren steeled himself and met his frantic gaze.

"I'm already on my way back to the treatment centre," Kieren snapped, leaving out the fact that he had absolutely no intention of allowing them to take him. "You've nothing to threaten me with, Gary."

"Treatment centre?" Gary sneered, slipping the incriminating bottle into his pocket. "Deadhead 'oliday camp, more like. Nah, Not getting' off that easy, rotter!"

He grabbed Kieren by the front of his hoodie, yanking him upright. Kieren struggled against him, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself being propelled to the door with his hands tied. He felt panic rise in his throat, but he tried to keep his expression spiteful- he wouldn't give fucking Gary Kendal the satisfaction of seeing him break down.

"Yer wanna go rabid?" Gary asked mockingly, shoving Kieren roughly like he was nothing more than a ragdoll. It was probably as much revenge for the night in the pub as it was to get him moving. Whatever, no amount of pushing around would make Kieren regret sending him hurtling across the table. "All right- let's go rabid!"

As he dragged Kieren roughly towards the stairs, the fair-haired man caught one last glimpse of his bed. The will, lying open and scattered across the blankets. Simon's picture, balled up and torn at the edges. He really didn't have it in him to be angry at him anymore.

But if he could just fucking show up to help already, that'd be brilliant.

Kieren struggled all the way to the jeep, for once wishing Dean was there- even he wouldn't let Gary get away with this, would he? But his hands were tied and his slight frame was stiff, and there was nothing he could do to keep Gary from forcing him roughly into the backseat and slamming the door behind him. He tried to kick it back open, but the lock was stuck fast.

He fought back the fear rising in his throat as he realised he was once again stuck on his back in a confined space, face in the shadows and hands immobile. Instead of letting the fear drag him down he kicked at the door, struggled with the cuffs, anything to feel like he wasn't lying down passively while Gary manhandled him. He had no idea where he was being taken, but it couldn't be good. His stomach lurched as the engine started, and his body was jerked about in the violent trembling of the car on roads in need of re-surfacing.

With his head on the seat and no view of the window, he didn't see a tall, pale figure emerge from behind a wall at the end of the street.

He didn't see Simon Monroe hesitate, eyes on the rapidly retreating jeep and hand hovering at his pocket indecisively.

And he definitely didn't see the Irish man curse under his breath and drop his hands to his sides, taking off at a run in pursuit of the car and its unwilling passenger.

He cries out as Gary pins him to the ground, not from pain but from rage and fear, bursting from his lungs as he grapples for freedom. He twists and writhes, kicks and yells, but nothing he does can break the iron grip on his shoulders.

When he feels the powder trickling into the hole at his neck, he knows it's too late. The area around the gap is more sensitive than most of his body, and he knows from the intensity of the sensation that there's enough of the stuff in his system now. More than enough.

When Gary finally releases his shoulders and breaks the zip tie, he takes off at a run. There's no time to waste- he has mere minutes, at most. He's seen the stuff take effect after being swallowed, working almost instantly. How fast would it be pumped directly into his spinal column? He didn't want to find out.

He needed to do two things now. He needed to get away from Gary- he knew perfectly well that he'd shoot him in the head without a second thought the moment the bile started flowing.

And then he needed to stop himself.

The edges of his vision are fading, blurring and blackening. He shakes his head with a gasp, desperately attempting to disperse the cold fog settling in his head. Soon he won't be able to see for it.

He doesn't know whether he runs or shuffles- his dead limbs are too stiff to be swift at the best of times. Now, with his head throbbing and his vision wavering, it's a wonder he can even stay upright.

He runs until he's out of breath (which is really saying something for someone who doesn't have to breathe), and then he runs some more. He trips on stones, he swats scratching branches from his eyes. He doesn't know when he left the field and broke through the treeline, but he's there now and he still can't stop.

He hits a wall and clambers across it, finally getting his bearings in the unfamiliar landscape. He sees what he needs and runs- no time, no time, notimenotimenotime…

He fumbles in his pocket, finds the wire. He pricks his finger on the end in his haste, but there's no time to worry about that now.

The bars. The solid iron bars covering Vicar Oddie's grave. If anything has a chance of being strong enough…

He drops down beside them, clumsy fingers scrabbling to tie a knot in the stiff wire. It's probably cutting into his skin- he couldn't care less. The numbness is starting to creep into his fingertips, anyway. His body was already dead to many things but this was something else…

He tugs. It holds. He hopes it'll do the same when he's tearing at it with rabid strength.

It's back- the cold mist, burning his mind wherever it touches. Black spots dance in his vision, eating away like a cancer. No time…

He tries to wrap the wire round his leg. It's taking too long. He still has to tie the knot and-

The fog descends, and pain wracks his body from head to unfeeling toe. His back arches, his head falls back. Something thick and viscous clogs his throat, floods his lungs and has him choking for air he doesn't need. It explodes outwards, spluttering from his cold lips and coating his chin, his neck, sticking everywhere it can.

For one agonising, eternal second, there is just pain and cold, cloying fear as he clings desperately to the last glimmer of daylight in his eyes.

Then that second ends, and there is nothing.

"I am tortured by myself

I am haunted by the fear of someone else

I am fading, I'm a ghost

Disconnected from the things I love the most"

There ya have it!

(By the way Kyle Hyde is a reference to the 2007 puzzle game 'Hotel Dusk: Room 215' for Nintendo DS. It's a mystery/puzzle solving game, like a noir film you can play, kind of. I kinda figured Jem was too badass to say she liked Professor Layton xD Not to mention that wasn't released til like 2008 and that's cutting it a bit close to Kier's death, I think.)

I really hope this wasn't a disappointment after such a long wait- but I'm gonna try and be better and quicker with the next one!

Oh, and one of the reasons I've taken so long on this is because I've kind of been in the zone with that angsty Still Alive AU I was gonna write- in fact, I've uploaded five chapters in the last month! If you care to check it out it's called It's Only Life, and it's probably one of the darkest things I've ever written- or at least the first chapter is! (If you don't see it on here it's because I rated it M for graphic depictions/mentions of self harm, drug use/withdrawal etc. If you wanna risk it you'll have to change the filter to show M-rated fics.) So, if you decide to try it out any feedback is always appreciated!

Well, I guess I'll see ya soon! (and it WILL be sooner, this time!)

Until next time! :D x