Fic! For the first time in a while.

[mushroom]

This feels like the first fic in ages that's been just for me. I've been rather occupied with Secret Santas and claims and drabbles and requests so to have this done feels quite fabulous, really, especially to have it completed before the New Year. Just. =D

Second part of the whole Tom is dead thing (remember that? =p the first one I wrote). And, to be honest, this is more of a way to tide me over until I work up the courage to write actual Randall & Hopkirk {deceased} slash!


Title: Jones & Fletcher {Deceased}
Rating: PG. Well, there's hardly going to be any touching, is there!
Pairing: FletchJones!
Summary: My body may die but my heart will keep loving you baby, oooh oh
A/N: I'm been working on this since August. Eeeb. Shamelessly ripped the idea off the divine Reeves & Mortimer (and the original series too, I suppose) XD
Dedications: fletchfluff & goldatamera. ♥!


The lightest breeze danced through the twilight air, ruffling over untrimmed grass and skirting around the ankles of a lone man, standing in front of a single grave with his arms wrapped tightly across his chest, hands clutching numbly on his shoulders. The wind skittered off through the rest of the cemetery, between silver-lit trees and over tarnished headstones, with the cold midnight chill left in its wake. A faint whistle echoed over the sunken earth, lost in an instant among the density of silence.

All Danny could see was the slab of marble before him. He barely saw the words so carefully etched across the surface, his eyes dry and unblinking in an uncomfortable effort to keep the tears back, his fingers digging so deeply into his own flesh that the pain had surpassed into unfeeling, a physical echo of his wavering mental state. He'd been there so often in the past four days, done everything from sobbing to screaming to silence, to quietly talking to an unresponsive mound of earth ('God this is stupid. I'm talking to grass.') to delicately laying another bunch of meaningless flowers on top of it instead, and watching them wilt.

It all meant nothing. Tom was dead and it felt like nothing would ever have a point to it again.

~

Danny stood at the far end of the shallow mound, one hand clasped over the opposite wrist and his head bowed. He had stopped crying two nights ago, now being left with the hollow ringing in his head that had kept him awake for nearly a week. He didn't think he had slept more than an hour in the past three days, working on autopilot to get himself through the daylight and then coming to the cemetery to pass by the nights, barely registering where he was anymore, because it no longer mattered.

A sudden noise flittered through the air, like the crackle of burning newspaper or static electricity, and when Danny glanced up sharply he found someone standing in front of him, leaning slightly against the pale headstone. Dressed completely in white and with slightly scruffy blonde hair, they were almost glowing ethereally in the moonlight – but from the trainers, loose trousers and short-sleeved t-shirt they were wearing, there seemed to be little angelic about them. Arms folded casually over their chest, they raised their head to look straight at Danny with a small smile on their lips and a familiar pair of soft brown eyes, catching his gaze with a comfortable ease.

"Tom!" Danny exclaimed, a long look of wide-eyed shock being replaced by one of sheer joy, illuminating his face. "You're not dead!"

"Of course I'm dead, you idiot. You only just buried me a few days ago!" Tom stood up straight, indignant, and frowned across at the brunette a few feet away.

"You know, this is really fucking cruel practical joke to play, faking your own death." He stepped forward with a half grin, half scowl, raising his hand ready to punch Tom on the arm a little harder than necessary. "I can't believe you'd... oh." And then he stopped, as his fist sunk straight through where solid flesh should have been and he found his wrist sunk into Tom's shoulder, moonlit skin and pure white cloth blending almost seamlessly. He gaped at the sight for a moment, before yanking his hand back to clutch it protectively to his chest while whipping his head up to stare at Tom's face in a new sense of fearful recognition.

"You're – you're a – you're a ghost!"

"Yes! That's what I was about to tell you!" He took a moment to wave his arms about in a rather patronising way. "I've been allowed to come back for one night!"

"But, Tom..." And Danny paused for a second, staring at him with a look of sheer confusion. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why? I just did! And I might, maybe, perhaps have some slightunfinishedbusiness to attend to," He glanced down at his shoes and mumbled for a few words, before looking back up and grinning at Danny, "but we can talk about that later. Let's go back to your house first, I hate hanging around in graveyards. Give me the creeps."

"This is insane. I'm talking to a dead man and he's talking back." Danny ran a hand roughly through his hair, leaving the front tresses sticking up at odd angles.

"Never mind that, can we go? I'd love a cup of tea right now but obviously, as I can't touch anything..." Tom sneered, folding his arms and looking off towards the entrance of the car park, the path almost silver in the moonlight and littered with the stray shadows of surrounding trees.

"But Tom, no, you're not here. You died two weeks ago, remember? The tour bus got hit and you went through the win- oh god Tom, you're not here! You can't be!" Danny was quickly edging towards hysteria now, clutching at his hair again and hopping around, seemingly unable to stay still for even a second.

"This isn't exactly easy for me either, you know! I'm the one that's dead!" He gestured wildly, as though to prove his point.

"I've gone insane. I've finally completely lost it..." He stilled, now staring at the floor wide-eyed, palms pressed to his temples and muttering to the grass above Tom's grave. "You're a hallucination, this is all a dream, when I wake up tomorrow morning I'm going straight to the doctor's and –"

"Danny, shut it. I'm here, alright? And I've only got the one night, and you're the only one who can see me (apart from psychics or whatever, but I always thought that was a load of bollocks), so don't bother telling anyone about me because they won't believe you. Right. Can we go?" He put his hands on his hips and jutted out his chin, expectantly.

Danny was silent as he ran that through his mind again, then glanced up and queried, "I'm the only one that can see you?"

"Yeah, because you're my chosen one. Don't go thinking you're special or anything though, I needed to choose one person only or I couldn't come down at all, Harry would be insufferable and I'd have to compete with all of Dougie's other imaginary friends for his attention, so yeah, I chose you. But don't get any big ideas, alright?" Tom finished with a haughty sneer, though there was still a hint of a grin behind it.

Danny chuckled quietly, smiling properly for the first time in two weeks. "Yeah, alright. So we'll leave now, yeah?"

"Yes! Finally, let's go!" Tom grinned and started off towards the car park with determination, while Danny trudged along behind him, staring with a slightly bemused expression at the sight of his apparently dead best friend moving so... solidly. A though occurred and he called out to Tom to stop, just as they neared Danny's car.

"Just one thing – I'm the only one who can see you?"

"Yeah, we've established that." Tom folded his arms, looking deliberately bored.

"So right now, if anyone saw us, it would look like I'm talking to myself?"

"Yes. And?"

"How do I know I haven't gone completely insane and you're just a figment of my imagination?"

"Danny, please just shut up and get in the car." He rolled his eyes and made to grab the door handle, scowling when his fingers slipped right through it and he had to step through the door instead; concentrating hard as he lowered himself down so he wouldn't slip through the seat.

"But-–" Danny tried to protest as he opened the door normally (Tom looked away in jealousy) and sat down in the drivers seat.

"Danny! Do you honestly think you, of all people, could have the imagination to come up with a whole walking, talking me? Do you have any idea how impossible that would be? I'm hardly all whispers in the night and wisps of white smoke, am I?" Danny looked him up and down; quirked his lips to one side and shook his head. "Exactly. No insane person would ever be able to conjure up anyone quite as fabulous as I am."

Danny snorted. "Well, that proves it. If you were a figment of my imagination, there's no way you'd still be as arrogant as you were before."

Tom shot him a sideways look, lips pouted in annoyance as he skipped over the friendly insult and continued his rant. "Plus, it's not my bloody fault you'll look crazy if you're stupid enough to talk to me when there's other people around, if I'd had the choice I'd make sure everyone could see me! God, I'm starting to wish I'd chosen Harry now, having no one to talk to except you is going to be a nightmare." Tom huffled out of habit, but it came out in an odd parody of the sound, an almost death rattle. It startled them both enough to look down sheepishly, then Danny let out the tiniest giggle and Tom smiled in spite of himself and everything felt briefly all right again.

"Start the car then, Dan. Would be nice to get back home sometime tonight."

"Oi! If it wasn't for me, we wouldn't be going anywhere!"

"You can barely drive! If I wasn't already dead there's no way I'd be letting you drive me anywhere!"

The blonde chuckled at his own joke, but Danny fell strangely silent at the remark and started the car without another word. The headlights flicked on to reveal the opposite trees in stark brightness and the wheels crunched over gravel as the car pulled away, heading towards the road with only the thrum of the engine and the odd midnight bird to keep them company.

~

They arrived at Danny's house in a short time, the roads almost all completely silent and only seeing the old pair of headlights pass by them swiftly. Danny pulled up next to the curb with practised ease and switched off the engine, the headlights suddenly vanishing and casting them and the outside world into soft darkness, penetrated only by the orange streetlamp halfway down the road. He turned to say something to Tom, something that would both be reassuring for the two of them and still convey how completely heartbroken he was over his death, an agonising monologue he had been practising in his head since they left the cemetery, but then something else caught his attention and whatever magnificent speech he had planned was forgotten in an instant.

"You're glowing." Danny stated, staring in almost resigned acceptance.

"Am I?" Tom held out a hand in front of him, and studied it in the darkness. The edges of his fingers did seem to have the faintest outline of light, but he could not tell whether it was a result of being so pale or if it was a general dead thing, so he shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Interesting. We going in then, or what?"

Danny shrugged and grabbed his keys out of the ignition, pushing the door open quickly and jumping out feet first. He was onto the pavement and halfway up the steps, treading carefully as the whole area was in shadow, before Tom realised he should be following instead of watching and so, with a grimace, he slipped through the car door once again, wincing slightly at the electric crackle it made.

He caught up with Danny just as he found the right key and managed to get his front door open, giving it a slight hip-barge as it, as usual, stuck at the bottom. He walked in first while Tom lingered on the doorstep for a moment, glancing up at the exposed brick exterior of the house with a small smile gracing his lips and a faint whisper of a wistful sigh. Danny, not sensing the blonde near him, turned around to see him standing completely still outside.

"Tom? I thought you were desperate to come in?"

"I was just thinking... what it would be like if I'd never had the chance to see this place again. I'm not sure how I'd ever cope with, you know, never being able to see you. Hang out with you." Tom never took his eyes off the wall as he spoke, never let Danny catch his gaze, but the endless note of sadness in his voice was enough for Danny to walk back over to him quietly and reach out a hand, one that went to touch Tom's arm but ended up hovering shakily an inch away as there would be nothing to touch, a jarring reminder that remained between them for an infinity until Danny squeezed his hand into a fist and brought it back down to his side, his shoulders trembling.

A long moment passed. Danny drew in a deep breath then let it out again slowly, visibly relaxing every tensed muscle, glancing up at the blonde with watery eyes. "Come in then, yeah? I'm not going anywhere." Tom pulled his gaze down from the wall and looked at Danny, and smiled.

"Yeah. Right. God, I'd die for a cup of tea right now." Tom grinned with sudden return of his enthusiastic sparkle, following Danny as he turned and started to walk through the hallway once again.

"Are you--" Danny stopped sharply, causing Tom to walk into the back of him and prickling his skin with a freezing shiver, then turning around and taking a step back so he could look at the ghost. "Shouldn't you be, you know, more careful about saying things like that?"

"I'm already dead Danny, there's not exactly much point worrying about the consequences of what I say anymore." Tom flicked his eyes upwards then fixed him with a sardonic glare as he made a move to walk past, towards the kitchen; Danny flattened himself against the wall as he passed, determined not to experience the sensation of chilled ectoplasm sinking through his flesh again.

"No, I mean... taking God's name in vain and all that." He said, taking a couple of steps to follow him and then leaning against the doorframe as Tom chose to perch on the kitchen table, a few feet away. Danny chose to ignore how Tom's body disappeared a few inches into the wood.

Tom stared at him for a moment, obviously flicking back to exactly what he'd said before and pinpointing the blasphemy. "Oh, that. Nah, I had a little chat with God, he's fine with it! Finds it rather funny when people get stuck-up about it, actually. Great sense of humour."

Blink. "You've – you talked to God?" Incredulous, insatiably curious.

Tom held his straight face for an impressive six and a half seconds before his chest heaved in a repressed snigger and suddenly he burst out, giggling, "Of course not, you twat! I'm not even sure he exists, after whatever the hell is happening here – I mean, well, I don't know. Death's hardly the be-all and end-all, is it, if I'm still here and talking to you? And some of the other ghosts you meet in limbo – bloody hell, more religions that I ever knew existed! Madness!' He beamed, obviously enjoying having a willing audience once again.

"So, what, everyone just holds their beliefs into the afterlife, no matter what they are?" Danny straightened up and crossed his arms, titling his head to one side as he watched Tom with a searching gaze.

"Pretty much, yeah. There's no definite answer, you know? If someone wants to believe God does or doesn't exist, there's nothing there to stop them. In fact, it all seems rather well thought out... a little too well thought out, if you get me. Perhaps it's--"

"Please, Tom, just no. It's getting way too late to start in some philo-... theo-... god-thing debate, and for the first time in two weeks I'm feeling so tired I think I might just lie down on the kitchen tiles right here and go to sleep. Can we continue this some other time? In the morning, yeah?" He ran a heavy hand across his face and then up into his hair as though to prove his point, looking more exhausted and worn out than Tom had ever seen him; and in a instant he realised it was his fault, it was his death that was making him look like this.

Still, that didn't stop him from wanting to have a conscious Danny all to himself for as long as possible. "Oh, come on! We haven't talked for two weeks! There's so much I still haven't told you about the afterlife, it's great! Well, not always that great. But it's amazing up there, really!" On any other, normal day, Tom's enthusiasm would have been infectious and there would be no question over staying up until dawn to chat about nothing – but they could barely remember what normal felt like anymore, and Danny cut him off with a strong tone of irritation.

"Tom, I'm tired! Can't you just let me go to sleep already? I'm being suffering from the worst bloody insomnia since you... you know." He sighed, then yawned, as he leaned heavily against the doorframe once again and let his eyes flutter shut for a moment.

"What, and now that I'm briefly back for one night you decide to be suddenly cured? You selfish bastard." Danny couldn't even see Tom but he knew what he was doing – standing upright, hands on both hips (always such a girl), that self-important expression with an added layer of how dare you? It was quite endearing, really.

"It's probably because you're back, you know?" He said it quietly, thoughtfully, with his eyes still closed and his arms wrapped tightly around him as though there was a chill in the room.

"So you got insomnia just because I died?" They both knew the answer, but Tom wanted to hear him say it and Danny needed to. He opened his eyes and chose to glance up at the clock for a moment as he answered, mentally ticking off the hours since he had last slept.

"Yes! No... maybe. Probably. I don't know, maybe it's survivor's guilt or some rubbish like that. Maybe I, you know, just missed you too much." He tried to shrug it off lightly, but a hint of a blush crept up his cheeks as he admitted this, determinedly avoiding Tom's eyes.

"You missed me?" That hopeful grin had returned now, closely followed by such a wolfish, predatory expression that Danny would have mostly likely recoiled if he had actually been looking at the ghost. Instead, however, his gaze was now drifting towards the window and looking out into the darkness, focusing on nothing as he answered,

"Yes." Tom smirked. Eyes wild and roguish and with his head jauntily tipped to one side, he jumped down from the tabletop and sidled up to Danny, peering intensely into his seemingly calm face.

"And you're feeling guilty because of my death?"

Danny looked down at his fingernails and casually nudged the cuticles with his thumb for a long moment. Then slowly, with a sigh, though still looking anywhere except the blonde's face, "Yeah."

"How guilty?" He suddenly snapped, leaning so close to Danny that he would have felt his breath on his cheek, if Tom had still been breathing.

"Tom!" Danny exclaimed, finally whipping his head around to stare at him defiantly. Tom drew back sharply then lowered his chin an inch or so; looking up with such wide innocent eyes Danny had the momentary urge to laugh – one that he fought well and glared down at him instead.

"'What?" The picture of naivety he could be, sometimes. Right now he just looked slightly affronted.

This time, Danny let himself quirk a smile, but the tone of annoyance lingered. "You never change, do you? Doesn't matter how bad someone else is feeling as long as it involves you somehow."

There was a slow pause as Tom glanced bashfully down at his feet and soundlessly scuffed the tip of his shoe against the cold tile, then he quietly mumbled an apology to the floor and looked up again to find Danny smiling warmly at him. Tom fought the urge to rush forward and smother him in a hug. Danny's grin wavered, then disappeared completely, as he raised a hand to touch his cheek and cover his mouth as he yawned widely, fatigue impossible to hide as the clock approached three am.

"Right," Danny announced, as though there was more than the two of them present, "I'm going to bed. I don't think – I can't think properly anymore, not about this, not about God and death and you."

"So you waste our only opportunity to talk! Danny, if you go to sleep now, I might not even be here when you wake up. What about all those questions you want answered? What about out final moments together? What about the fact that I'm only here for one reason, my unfinished business, as they like to call it, down here on earth and I need your help?" He barely raised his voice above normal, but his whole body tensed as though he had been shouting. He felt like shouting. Anything to make Danny realise they were running out of time, he was losing precious seconds every time the brunette paused to draw breath and if they didn't hurry the fuck up already then what? He would be forced to return to his grave and Danny would go on living and the last memory would be of them fighting. A fair summation of their relationship, but never one he wanted it to end on.

"If it's your unfinished business, what the hell do you need me for?" Danny sneered, with all the arrogance of the living and the lucky ignorance of whatever death was, no comprehension of finality and last last chances.

Tom would have given an angry snort if he knew it was still possible, but was a losing battle and he had learnt a long time ago when to give up. He shrugged, not answering Danny's question (not showing if this was on purpose or otherwise), and sighed, "Fine. Go to sleep. But I am going to jump on you before dawn so we can actually get something done, alright?"

They both grinned, Tom starting it, and suddenly it felt like all the times when he used to hug Danny from behind then tell him to stop being so skinny, because it isn't fair, dammit. Best friends acting in the only way they really knew how; serious jokes and smirking companionship in every moment they could steal.

~

They laid side by side on Danny's bed, so close (but not touching) that if Tom concentrated hard enough he could almost feel the heat radiating off Danny's body, and if Danny closed his eyes he could pretend he could hear Tom breathing. If he listened properly, he could barely hear his own. The silence felt so tangible, lightweight, that it took a combined effort to keep it blanketing over them, pretend that there was nothing left to be said for the moment as, oh yes, Danny needed his sleep and Tom needed to think about why he was here.

(Unfinished business can be a tricky subject, especially to a newly formed ghost with little understanding of it all and a half-remembered rhyme to get him through the night. Especially if it specifically involves their chosen one and yet the whole 'finishing' of the unfinished business relies entirely on the ghost in question. Especially if that ghost is Tom and that chosen one is Danny and all they've ever wanted to do is hang out and make music and have fun.)

"What's it like to die?"

Danny's quiet voice suddenly sprung up between them, chasing away the struggling stillness of the room and seeming like a bit of a shock to both of them, especially the brunette. His words were followed by a quick gasp and the slap of a hand being clamped against a mouth, a muffled apology halfway formed when there came the sound of giggling from Tom's side of the bed, the ghost's shoulders visibly shaking to anyone who dared to look.

"Dan, it's alright. I don't mind if you ask that... was kinda wondering how long it would take you to ask it, actually." They both turned their heads to face the other, gazes locking over the short gap and both feeling the familiar lurch in their stomachs. Tom smiled, pulling his lips to one side, and Danny returned the gesture as his fingers itched to reach over and touch his arm, desperate to complete the usual motion. It wasn't natural, to be so close to his best friend and be utterly unable to comfort him in the best way he knew how. They had always communicated in touches, however innocent they were.

"So," he ventured, cautiously, "What is it like?" Eyes wide, curious.

Tom didn't say anything for a while, just shifted again so he was lying flat on his back and looking straight up at the ceiling, though his eyes seemed to focus somewhere else. Danny waited patiently, for a while, until his nails became far too interesting to ignore and he waved his hands in front of his face – then shot them back down to his sides as Tom finally cleared his throat and spoke, beginning slowly.

"It's... it's not the easiest thing to remember. Like one of those moments when you remember the stupidest little details but then draw a complete blank over what actually happened. I can remember stuff like the smell of the tour bus before it toppled over and the streaks of light that shot past the window; the sound of all those cars outside screeching and sliding to a halt; the feel of tarmac pressing hard against my cheek and the taste of copper on my tongue – kinda like every sense was heightened for that split second, because it's the last time you'd ever use them, you know?

"Maybe that's just me. It's probably different for everyone – everyone remembers things differently, don't they? And I bet it depends on how you die as well, like if it's in your sleep it might be more all tunnels of light and singing angels, but with me it was just... one moment I was sprawled on the road, lights flashing around me and far away people screaming, and then I was all done up in white and standing peacefully in Limbo – though I didn't actually know it was Limbo, when I first got up there. Looked more like a very posh art-deco bar, but with no walls and a lot of weird screens hanging up. And there was this bloke who greeted me – looked so like Graham Chapman – told me where I was. Made sure I didn't start screaming, that sort of thing; told me about being allowed back down here for a night and all that... it seemed so normal, you know? Just talking to this guy, watching him smoke his pipe (it was imaginary, he said, just like everything up there), I almost forgot where I was."

Tom trailed off, still staring unblinkingly upwards as he tried to think of whatever else he needed to say. Danny remained silent. Eventually, Tom ended with a quiet afterthought, "The only really weird thing is having no physical sensations. Like, I feel nothing. I can't even tell if I'm lying right on the bed – I only look like I am 'cos I'm concentrating hard enough on it, eh." He sighed and folded his arms, while Danny leaned closer and scrutinised the complete lack of indent Tom was making on the mattress.

"I think you need to move down, just a bit." Tom complied, his expression hard as he focused. "No, wait, too far. Up a bit again – down a couple of inches – up an inch – down a little – up – no, down – up a bit –"

Tom, realising what Danny was doing, suddenly stopped the jarring floating about (an inch above the sheets, still) and turned to snap at the brunette instead. "Danny! Stop being an arse!"

"I was trying to help!" He exclaimed, feigning innocence.

"Yeah, right. Go to sleep, Danny. The sooner you do the sooner I can force you awake again in the morning." He had closed his eyes and folded his arms again as he spoke, determined not to glimpse the mock-pained look that Danny would undoubtedly be wearing. The brunette sighed heavily (Tom could picture perfectly how he would be rolling his eyes) but didn't reply, choosing instead to turn over onto his side so he had his back to Tom.

The silence fell heavily between them once again, an instantly smothering atmosphere. The long minutes crawled by, each feeling like a wasted eternity. Tom wanted to whisper something ('touch me'), a quiet declaration of help me please I need you, but he knew the answer and he didn't want to hear it, didn't want to hear anything called impossible when he was dead and he was lying here and Danny could still see him and fucking hell if life isn't fair, where does that leave death?

~

For the next few hours, Danny slept more restfully then he had for weeks and Tom hated him for every moment of it. He watched him, noting every sigh and flicker of his expression, every smile and frown and he wished he knew what he was dreaming about. Maybe it was about him. (Maybe it wasn't, but he needed something to keep him going.) Danny exhaled heavily and rolled over so he was facing Tom again, a slight flinch across his eyes hinting that he was on the verge of waking up and Tom jumped at the chance.

Lying on his front and turning his head to one side so they were facing each other, almost nose to nose, he pursed his lips and blew gently across, tickling his skin. He was more amazed than anyone when Danny actually responded, creasing up his face then relaxing and letting his eyelids flutter open lazily. After a long moment of dragging himself into consciousness, Danny grinned sleepily and muttered some kind of greeting, his eyes still half closed but peering across at Tom as though there was something not quite right with him being there. The blonde smiled back, and then after a considered pause, spoke.

"I love you."

They stared at each other. Danny blinked, slowly, twice, as his mind checked then doubled checked and a million thoughts and commands rushed by and someone must have forgotten to work on his expression as his face was curiously blank. Another fluttering of his eyelashes and a suitable reply was formed. "What?"

Tom seemed to disregard this, continuing as though the past fourteen or so seconds hadn't happened already and so turned to look up at the ceiling instead. "It seems silly now. All those years of angsting over 'should I say it? Is there a point to say it? Will he say it back?' and it turns out all I needed was the ultimatum, one night or I'd never be able to say it to you. Motivation is the key, ay? All it took was one silly little deadline and I realised none of those questions mattered, just the fact that I did. I love you, Danny, and as bad timing as this moment is, I have for years."

A pause. Neither said anything – then Tom glanced over at Danny, and somehow paled at the sight of tears streaking down his face. "You... you bastard. You absolute fucking bastard."

"Oh, god. Danny, I'm so sorry I didn't--" He almost leaned over to pull him close and apologise a thousand times over as he had obviously got it horribly wrong yet again, but then Danny stopped him with a watery pop of a bubble bursting as he parted his lips.

"You finally admit it just when there's no way I can reach over and grab you and kiss you and tell you I love you too, have done for years and god you complete arse why the hell did it take you so long?" Now he was sobbing and grinning and his voice was cracking and Tom felt himself going the same way, wanted so desperately to wrap his arms around him and kiss away every tear but couldn't, so he wrapped them around himself and they just laid there together, smiling and crying and not regretting a moment of it.

He never knew if ghosts could cry or not, but he didn't bother to think about it as Danny was lying next to him and the tears had dried to sticky trails down their cheeks, the sheets slightly damp on Danny's side as of course ectoplasm can't stain cotton. Danny could almost believe Tom was still alive. He didn't think he had ever seen him so... shiny, eyes glittering, cheeks flushed and damp, and a big stupid grin that he knew matched his own.

There was a moment as Danny put his hand flat on the covers between them, and Tom laid his on top, and both could have sworn they felt something.

~

It was nearly six in the morning and dawn felt uncomfortably close. They were still lying on the bed, barely a breath between them, talking quietly about hundreds of little things that stopped them from thinking about the big ones. 'One night' meant from dusk until dawn and in these winter months they had time, but never enough, not even with unfinished business completed in some form or another and when all there was left to do was talk and remember and make up for those millions of moments they wasted.

Tom could feel the sunlight begin to creep up the sky without even turning to look at the window. It was like a tingle at the back of his neck, pulling him away and off to his grave, away from Danny. One of his hands tried in vain to grasp at the bedclothes while the rest of his body remained utterly still, listening to Danny talking about the bus on the first tour and how small it was and the cramped-ness and the closeness and how he wished he had just --

"I've got to go." Tom cut in sharply, startling Danny out of his nostalgia. The brunette turned his head slowly, staring at him in the semi-darkness, his eyes skimming over that faint glow again. For a moment he'd blissfully forgotten everything and was almost on the verge of asking why, but he just nodded and held back the lump that had suddenly jumped to his throat.

A cloaking silence engulfed them as they got off the bed and made their way downstairs, unsure of what the proper way to do any of this was and quickly concluding there simply wasn't one. They reached the hallway and Danny stopped when he saw the door a few feet in front of him, looming and horrible and the only barrier between them and normality while Tom, two steps behind him, clenched his hands sharply into fists as he felt the desperate urge to reach out and place one reassuringly on Danny's shoulder. His arm twitched.

Heaving a dreadful sigh, Danny steeled himself and turned to give Tom a wry, watery smile before crossing the last few feet to the door and flicking the catch so it opened a few inches, a gentle breeze squeezing through the gap. Usually Tom let himself out, or was shown the door mock-gentlemanly by a wonderfully drunk Danny, both giggling as Danny bowed with all the grace of an inebriated northerner and Tom, without fail, tripped over the doorstep, half jumping and half tumbling down the rest of the stairs and landing with a shriek at the bottom.

The short corridor felt cold and silent. The tingle in the back of Tom's neck crawled up until it was ringing in his ears, a screaming chant that scratched and twisted with every second of hesitation. It drove him the extra couple of steps to stand in front of Danny and something in his chest twisted hard when he saw the barely restrained tears in his eyes, most probably mirroring his own. They shyly smiled at each other for a moment, then both glanced at the floor as a wave of nervous giggles swept through them and Danny could not remember ever having felt so awkward in his life.

When they looked back up, Tom reached out and let one hand hover next to Danny's cheek, so close he could feel the tingling chill. Smiling, slowly leaning forward, he let their lips brush for the briefest of moments and then a shiver ran down Danny's spine as he pulled away, a combination of cold and longing and sadness. He couldn't stop himself from crying anymore – fat tears rolling down his cheeks that Tom longed to wipe away, but instead he gave him one last trembling grin and reminded him he would love him forever, before drawing his hand back regretfully and stepping away, dissolving into the white smoky haze he had arrived in and vanishing out of the door.

~

Danny sat on his doorstep in silence, staring blankly at his car a few yards away and vaguely wondering if sleep deprivation could cause hallucinations. He watched the sun inch its way up through a backdrop of sleepy gold and crisp, clearing blue, birds twittering in the few nearby trees dotted along the street and everything felt just too fucking normal to be right any more. He wasn't exactly sure how long he had been perched there, but as the first few cars started passing by he found the energy to drag himself to his feet and stumble back inside, slamming the front door behind him.

The hallway was still a memory too raw to bear so he headed on straight for the kitchen with a mind for making himself a strong cup of tea, maybe with a shot of whiskey. He made it to the doorway and then he stopped, staring into the room, because there was someone leaning against his sink with their arms crossed and a wide grin illuminating their face.

"... Tom?"

"Hey, Danny."

"What..." He paused for a moment, trying to take in the sight of the dawn light shining down and drenching him in a soft glow, "The hell are you doing here. Still," he deadpanned. Far too early for this sort of thing, ghosts and goodbyes and reintroductions never being his strong points.

"Ah. Thought you might be wondering that." Danny managed to stop himself jumping on him, his limbs still too tired to really want to move with any speed. "The er... I was too late. My grave rejected me. I can't go back up there, not permanently."

"Your what did... what does that even mean?"

"It means, my dear Danny, that you're stuck with me. For life, in fact. Um." He stopped, trying to gauge the brunette's reaction before continuing. "Surprise?"

Danny stared at him a bit longer, his logic and rationally having finally given up. "You're not... I've got you for the rest of my life?"

"Yes," Tom nodded, grinning, as Danny started to comprehend. A smile crept across his face and he drawled,

"Tom?"

"What?" He replied slowly, regarding Danny's bright smirk with a hint of suspicion.

A beat, then Danny was racing across the kitchen and not even caring as his thigh slammed into the cupboards, chest-to-chest with Tom and almost screaming in his ear, an endless high note of 'ohmygodIloveyouImneverlosingyouagainIloveyousomuch!' while Tom grinned and whispered it all back, tears threatening to splash down his cheeks.

They stayed impossible close together for a while, Danny gripping the edge of the sideboard with both hands and Tom somehow leaning against it (getting better and better so quickly), talking about everything they could do and promising not to waste a moment of any of it. They decided not to tell the other two, for now, lest they decide to send Danny to a 'health farm' and besides, Danny wanted to keep Tom all to himself, for the rest of their lives.

Fin.