Chapter Text
London, United Kingdom
Saturday, 28th November 2015
23:47
There are moments that make you reevaluate your life choices and change everything forever.
For Chris, there were a few big ones that he'd remember for the rest of his life; holding Alfie only moments after he was born or stepping inside the rehab clinic for the first time, for example.
And also the day that he had gotten that fateful call from Matt.
It had been a week since then. Just a week, but it already felt like a lifetime since Tom had poked him awake at the pool, telling him that his phone was ringing insistently with Matt’s face on display. Chris had instantly been annoyed; they’d already gone ahead and flown to Mexico while Matt and Dom had been in Italy, and the singer calling now could only mean that they would be delayed. But when he had finally picked up the call and heard Matt’s broken voice, he had known that it was far more serious than that. He’d been lucky to get the next flight back home to Kelly or otherwise he was sure he would have done something very stupid.
Everything still felt like a nightmare. Matt had been elusive ever since. They hadn't talked since that afternoon and Chris had been left to pick up the pieces back home. Going to Teignmouth alone was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his whole life. It was selfish, perhaps, but he hoped that he could forget the face of Dom’s mother when he had told her what had happened.
The uncertainty of the future, of how to move on, made every day a struggle. All of it made worse by the fact that they couldn't even make any arrangements nor grieve properly because the authorities hadn't released the body for a funeral yet. He wished he could have Matt by his side, so they could figure out their steps together and help each other cope; instead the suffering dragged on with each call or message from friends asking if there were any news.
He’d found out later that Matt had been sent back to London, but whether he was indeed in the city now, Chris couldn’t tell. Phone calls had been ignored and no matter how often Chris stood in front of his friends’ door, nobody would ever open. When he had entered with the help of his spare key, he’d found the house completely empty, devoid of any signs that anyone had returned at all. He hadn’t been surprised but secretly pleased to find out that even M was unable to reach the singer; but upon hearing that Matt had missed every single one of his sessions with the therapist another layer of worry was put on top of all the others already piling up.
He was scared shitless; he didn’t know what the singer was up to, if he was coping alright or not coping at all. Knowing him it was most likely the latter. He was devastated and it was easy to guess he’d do everything in his power to destroy himself.
Chris couldn’t lose another friend, not so soon, not ever.
It was with that thought in mind that he sat in the kitchen of his place just at the outskirts of London, his phone in hand and Matt’s phone number on the screen. For the last two hours he’d been staring at the device, contemplating calling again, but afraid of being met with the same result that he’d gotten every single day. It hurt. Every time he ended the call after just too many rings he felt another sting in his heart. And yet, no matter how often he was disappointed, his belief that Matt would pick up the next time never wavered.
Deciding that now was the time, Chris pressed the call button and held his breath.
It rang and he stood from his seat. He strode through the kitchen, taking circles around the table, and counted ring after ring before there was a click. His heart dropped.
“Matt? Are you there?”
At first, there was only silence on the other side and hundreds of different scenarios played in Chris’ head. Maybe it wasn’t Matt on the other end of the line. Or maybe it was, but he was hurt or dying or maybe-
But then there was some rustling and the sound of a throat being cleared.
“I’m here, yeah. Hey.”
Relief flooded him at once before all the questions he’d been holding onto came tumbling out.
“Matt, are you okay? Where are you?”
“Look, can this wait until later? ” the other man whispered as if he needed to be quiet wherever he was.
“I really need to talk to you, Matt.”
“I’m kinda busy right now.”
Chris raked a hand through his hair. He was angry. A week without any contact after these terrible things that had happened, and Matt brushed him off like that? It wasn’t fair. He had to try really hard not to make a scene on the phone.
As calmly as he could, but still strong and firm, he said, “Then make time. Now.”
He could hear Matt click his tongue and was ready to tell him off if he refused him now.
“Fine. Pick me up from St. James Road in 40 minutes. There’s a warehouse, one with red fences. Wait around the corner on the A2208. I’ll be there.”
Without giving Chris a chance to reply the call ended and Chris was left staring in disbelief at the surface of his fridge, where one of Buster’s drawings was taped next to the household schedule.
00:41
45 minutes later, he sat in his dark red Jaguar F-Type Coupé sports car just around the corner of the warehouse that Matt had specified, biting at his fingernails in nervousness. No one had been there when he’d arrived and although Chris knew him better, he feared that Matt had stood him up. In hindsight, bad timing or not, Matt had chosen to take his call after all this time, so it was a good sign. But it was possible that he’d changed his mind about seeing him...
He checked his watch and then looked into the wing mirror before he leaned against the window on his side to watch the raindrops fall. They should have been in sunny Mexico at this point, such a contrast to the pitiful London weather. He snorted at his own train of thought. The weather was his smallest problem. Instantly being reminded of the current situation, his heart felt heavy in his chest.
He longed to see his friends. Both of them. How long had it been since they’d all been together?
Matt had felt responsible for everything that had happened in the last month; there was no doubt that, in his head, he’d done this to Dom as well. But Chris knew that he and Dom had failed as well. First, they hadn’t taken their singer’s problems serious, then their poor decisions had almost cost his life. Chris should have trusted his instincts when they had told him that something bad was going to happen in Italy. He’d asked himself over and over again what they could have done differently, wondering if it could have changed anything had he travelled with them, asking himself if he could have prevented any of this from happening. He, too, felt the guilt on his shoulders.
He wouldn’t say it aloud, especially not to Kelly because she’d worry endlessly, but in these last couple of days he’d caught himself wishing for a bottle of alcohol more often than he’d like to admit. He checked his watch again and sighed. Matt wasn’t going to come.
His hand had already moved to the key in the engine when he heard something and he strained his ears.
Gunshots.
They came from behind him somewhere and his first instinct was to turn his head around to find the exact location. Just in that moment, the door on the passenger’s side was yanked open and Chris almost lashed out in panic before he realised it was Matt.
He was wearing all black, head to toe, with only his face visible until he pulled down the hood of his black sweater. The beard he was sporting made it even harder to recognise him on first glance.
“ Drive! ”
Completely dumbstruck Chris followed the order, the engine roaring and tires screeching when the Jaguar took off. Behind them, more gunshots could be heard and a single clink indicated that one of the bullets must have hit the car exterior. In the rearview mirror he could see people standing on the street, their arms raised, but they became smaller and smaller very quickly.
“Jesus Christ, Matt, what the fuck was that? What’s going on? Who are they?”
“Turn right,” Matt simply said, ignoring Chris’ questions. “And left here.”
“What’s going on?” Chris asked again while following the directions. “These guys were shooting at you!”
“Keep going until we get to Ilderton Road, it’s another left there.”
“ Matt. ”
“Not now. Let’s get to the hotel first.”
Chris accepted only reluctantly, but it wasn’t like he had any other choice. He should be happy that Matt had even accepted to meet with him. Still, he was dying to ask more questions. The singer had clearly been up to no good in that area, seeing how he was dressed and, well, there had been people fucking shooting at him.
The journey was taken in silence except for Matt occasionally telling Chris which route to take. They ended up in front of a somewhat dodgy looking hotel that Chris couldn’t decipher the name from and parked in the back of it. Marching through the foyer, the bassist couldn’t help but be confused. Matt had stayed in London after all, so why had he decided to take a temporary hideout in Peckham, which wasn’t only at the outskirts of London but also on the riskier side?
Instead of taking the lift they climbed the stairs just as quietly as their drive had been and stopped on the 4th floor to reach a door at the far end of the corridor. Matt pulled out a simple key and put it into the keyhole before he pushed his weight against the door the same moment he turned the knob. Once open, he entered without looking back at Chris. The bassist only hesitated a split second before he followed, but his steps soon slowed when he saw the room.
The floor was littered with rubbish, a stack with – hopefully empty – pizza cartons stood on the table next to Matt’s open laptop. Several bottles were also scattered around the room and Chris’ heart lurched when he spotted labels that were still all too familiar to him. The suitcase to the side was open - only a small pile of clothes was folded, the rest crumpled as if packed in a haste.
And suddenly, the realisation hit him that Matt probably didn’t want to go home because it was empty and cold, and his chest heaved with the effort to breathe through the sudden pain he felt as if he was hearing the news again for the first time.
Meanwhile, Matt had toed off his shoes and emptied his pockets. Alongside small papers and gadgets Chris couldn’t recognise, Matt set a gun on the table. Crouching down to get one of the half empty bottles from underneath, the singer took a big gulp from it. Chris only watched on in silence, noting that Matt’s free hand kept twitching at his side - a nervous tick, no doubt. Too stunned to react immediately, he could only think that he had been right in his worry for his best friend.
“You wanted to talk, so fucking talk,” Matt finally broke the silence with such a harshness that Chris couldn’t suppress a small gasp that softened Matt’s stony features immediately and he added a quiet, “Sorry.”
The bassist shook his head in appeasement and took a deep breath.
“Where have you been, Matt? You didn’t answer your phone and nobody heard anything from you.”
“I was busy.”
“Busy? With what?”
At that, Matt shrugged and looked to the left. Chris followed his gaze and furrowed his brow. There were papers and photos stuck to the wall. He took slow steps towards it and tried to see clearer. There were pictures from places Chris couldn’t ever remember having seen; landscapes, buildings and plazas. A picture of a single, purple flower was taped to the top right. Newspaper articles were scattered across, some pages looked like they had been ripped from a book. Some other scraps had clearly been written by Matt. He took one of those to read, but he couldn’t decipher the angry scrawl. It reminded him a lot of when they were in the studio and Matt noted down an important detail, just to be unable to read it later, thanks to his atrocious handwriting. But this was not about an album. None of it was, he realised. This was a murder board.
“Matt,” he gasped and turned to the singer, who had just taken another swig from his whiskey. “Matt, what are you doing ?”
“It’s better you don’t know anything,” the singer replied unemotionally. “What do you want, Chris?”
The man in question crossed his arms at the coldness he was met with. “I want to know how you’re doing. Because you disappeared. We were afraid that something happened to you and you were lying dead in some ditch.”
“I’m fine, you can leave and tell that to the others.”
“Have you been to your therapy?”
“You know already that I haven’t.” Matt narrowed his eyes at him. “So why are you even asking?”
“I’m worried about you, isn’t that obvious?” He took a few steps towards Matt, who halted him with a simple hand gesture. “You’re my best friend. I only have you left.”
“You have Kelly and your children. And Tom and the others. You’ll be fine.”
He didn’t know how to explain that he wanted Matt to be there for him and vice versa. It seemed like Matt couldn’t or, more likely, didn’t want to understand him.
“Please come home. You can stay at mine if you want,” he tried instead and only after a short pause he added, “I went to Teignmouth to talk to his mum like you asked, before the police showed up at her door.” He sighed. “We’ve been in touch. She wants to see you so much, Matt.”
That got a reaction out of the singer, albeit not the one Chris had expected. Matt was in front of him in an instant, almost nose to nose, and his eyes flashing with anger. He probably would have hit him had Chris been someone else.
“Because it’s my fault, is that it?” he snapped. “So she can hear it from me how badly I fucked it up?”
Chris shook his head furiously.
“No. No, Matt, that’s not it at all.” He wanted to touch his shoulder, but the other man had already turned around again and walked away, out of reach. “She wants to talk to you about what happened. About him. She needs closure. We all do. You’re… You’re the closest to him she still has.”
Silence followed that statement as Chris didn’t know what to say and Matt didn’t want to speak. It occurred to him that this was probably how it was going to be from now on. He wondered briefly if it would have been the same under different circumstances, like him and Dom missing Matt. They only worked as a team and with one element missing the balance just wasn’t there anymore. He remembered how often Matt and Dom had fought when he had been in rehab, it was probably the closest thing to their current situation. One day, maybe, he’d find the courage to ask Matt about it and find out what they’d gone through because of him.
But for now he turned his attention back to the makeshift murder board in search of a topic that might get Matt to talk to him. At this moment he craved nothing more than conversation with his friend, striving for any fragment of normality in the middle of the nightmare. He rubbed at his face harshly.
“So, what have you found so far?”
He heard Matt sigh in defeat. “Not much, I’m afraid.”
“What about the MI6? Any news from them?”
“The MI6?” A hollow laugh followed. “The MI6 is a bunch of pathetic bureaucrats who waste their time on useless shit and haven’t got a single clue yet.”
Chris had to bite his tongue at that. “And you have?”
“It’s none of your business, Chris. Trust me, you don’t want to know about this or get involved.”
“I do,” he insisted. “Let me help you. Please. We can do this together. I want them to pay as much as you do.”
But Matt only shook his head.
“Why did you pick up the call then? Why did you let me pick you up and bring you here?”
Matt remained quiet, which was all the answer Chris needed.
“You don’t want to be alone, do you?” he said calmly. “You want to keep us all safe, but you’re shit scared of being on your own. You don’t want to be the lone wolf on a vendetta.”
At that, Matt’s eyes seemed to become as cold as ice.
“Is there anything else you want to say? If not, you know where the door is.”
“Don’t be like that. I…” Chris swallowed. He could feel tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. “I need you, Matt. I really need you.”
Matt visibly deflated at that, the miserable state of his best friend not leaving him cold, after all.
“Please, Chris,” he almost whispered, his eyes again much softer. For the first time during their encounter his voice sounded vulnerable, the muscles around his left eye twitching while he blinked rapidly. “Please just go. I can’t… I can’t do that now. Please.”
“Matt…”
“For fuck’s sake, just go !”
Chris’ Adam’s apple bobbed. He wanted to say more, wanted to keep talking sense into Matt, but he knew there was no point. He backed off to the door slowly and only turned around to get another glance of his friend when he was already halfway through it. The singer was turned away from him.
“Please just let me know that everything is alright.”
The door clicked shut as Matt’s eyes flared and he flung the bottle with all the rage he could muster. It hit the door with a loud smash, the small rest of whiskey that had still been in it now painting the walls.
“How the fuck can you even think that anything is alright?! You fucking cunt!”
His body heaved with anger and suppressed feelings, the weight of everything coming back to him like a sledgehammer. Matt stumbled backwards slightly, onto the bed, and let himself fall back heavily, his gaze directed straight ahead at the ceiling.
He gulped once, twice, before he whispered much quieter, “Nothing is ever going to be alright again.”
One arm slung over his face, he tried to calm down, but all he could hear was carefree, warm laughter and all he could see was smiling grey eyes. Turning around to make a grab for the bottle of bourbon that lied under the nightstand, he wasn’t sure if that was going to last the rest of the night.