A/N: This fanfiction featuring Jackson Brodie takes place somewhere close after 'When will there be good news?' I've read both this book and seen the series, so it's kind of mixed verse, but for the train crash I stick to the book. I don't own these lovely characters, they belong to Kate Atkinson (and perhaps BBC, but really Kate Atkinson) - I'm just toying with them.
He could nearly feel the people staring at him. Or at least he would, if he wasn’t so busy feeling like crap. He had to move. Come on, feet. They wouldn’t, of course. Who would ever listen to him? He wouldn’t.
He was standing at the train station. King’s Cross, the same station where he had meant to arrive that one time, but when he never reached his destination. Not that he would ever have arrived in London on that train. Right now he was trying to get out. He didn’t even know where he would go. Perhaps he’d just get out at the next stop. He had to try. This whole thing made him feel weak, and he didn’t like feeling weak. He wasn’t week. He had been in the army, he had been a policeman, he had been a private detective. A train crash wasn’t going to crush him to bits. He’d been through worse.
The train would arrive in ten minutes. He didn’t even check where it was going. He didn’t care. He had nowhere to go. No-one. Perhaps he shouldn’t go anywhere at all. Perhaps no-one should. Perhaps it was time to let the coincidences take over. He had always said that coincidences were explanations waiting to happen. Well, perhaps they were, but what if the explanations never happened? What if they just got neglected, left on the doorstep, with nobody to care about them? They would simply stay coincidences. Some things in the world were inexplicable for human beings. Perhaps it was better that way. Perhaps it was better if the coincidences would just stay coincidences.
Five minutes. He would feel his breath grow tighter in his chest. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready by far. He had to get on the train. Not to get home this time. No, he didn’t have it.
He wasn’t even sure if he really missed it. It had been good, of course, but it hadn’t been real. How would you miss something that wasn’t real? Someone?
Four. It’s amazing how slow time can tick away when you’re miserable.
He could go to Louise.
Three.
Of course he couldn’t. That was ridiculous. He couldn’t even tell if they were just acting like they had been friends once, or if they actually had been. What was left of it now? They were both married. He had been married twice. She was still married, for that matter. Perfect little husband. Perfect life. Why should he interrupt? Why would he do that to her.
Simple words. Three simple words. You’ve spoken them before, why not speak them now.
Two. It was coming too close. He couldn’t stand it anymore. He wanted to leave. He wanted to run, except he didn’t feel physically up to it.
He didn’t miss her, he didn’t, really. But he missed a home. Having a home. Having some place to come back to. Some place to just lay down your head, and feel safe. Content, even. He hadn’t felt that good being somewhere for a long time, and now it was all gone, once and for all. Perhaps he’d never find it. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to. Not made for contentment.
One. The trick is breathing. Or something along the lines.
Perhaps he was just an idiot.
People were always trying to get home, even when there was no home to go to. Even when they were trying to escape, they were just looking for a different home. With someone else, somewhere else. He also knew how some people never found it.
I love you.
It felt as if his heart stopped. He had to sit himself down. There were so many people. There always were in London, of course, but he felt as if he’d never been so aware of it. Everyone, just trying to get home. People were getting out of the train and in of the train. He tried to force himself up, but he couldn’t. His vision blurred and he felt nauseous. This shouldn’t happen again. He had come so far.
The train was gone. He could feel the blood pumping through his head, the black spots disappearing. Some woman was staring at him disapprovingly, but right now he couldn’t care less.
He sat there. He watches train after train go by, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He got up and walked the stairs. Too fast. His head was going to explode if he took one more step, and he had to hold on to the wall in order to keep his balance.
“Are you alright?” a little voice asked. It could have been his daughter. Or Reggie. The blue eyes stared at him curiously.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied as he managed a smile. The girl seemed content and ran after her mother, who was obviously thinking he was some kind of pervert.
He took one last look before he walked out into the rain.
Not today.
