Title: Ashes to Asha
Author: puccafan
Characters/Pairing: Chris / Jal implied. Michelle, Jal, and an OC mentioned.
Spoilers: Everything up to Season 2, Episode 9. The whole, damn lot.
Summary: Set 10 years later, Jal returns home after a night out.
A/N: These last few episodes have been brilliant but depressing. And although I really do want to write some happy Chris / Jal fic, this came out first. Though I'd like to think it is quite happy. And hopeful. I hope someone likes and this was written in one evening and I have no beta, so I am responsible for all mistakes. And for any lapsing quality. Anyway, read away.

Asha Miles.

It was a nice name in the end. It had a ring to it.

Asha Miles.

It had been a thrill seeing it written on the birth certificate. There in black, printed letters. Not something insubstantial floating around in her mind - unformed and invalidated. It was something solid and of her creation.

Their creation.

It had also been one of the first few things to make Jal smile that year.

Not many people knew that the he was generally believed to be the person who held the largest number name "Asha" was an obscure tribute to the girl's father. Most people assumed Jal chose it because it was pretty. Truthfully Jal wasn't even sure that it was a real name, but she was just as certain that Chris wouldn't have cared.

Ashrita Furman. At the time of Chris's death of Guinness World Records. At the time when Chris had been alive he had been one of the boy's few heroes.

Jal felt no more needed to be said about Chris's character than that he worshipped a man who had climbed Mt. Fuji on a pogo stick.

" Was she alright?"

Jal nodded up the darkened staircase as she followed Michelle into her kitchen. In front her friend laughed quietly before turning around and smirking at Jal.

" Fine. She's better fucking behaved than you are."

Jal pushed Michelle lightly on the back, and together they stumbled giggling into Michelle's brightly lit, Ikea kitchen. Jal winced as the glare of the halogen light bulbs hit her. It was late and she had come straight from the dimly lit restaurant, into the car and onto Michelle's doorstep after all.

" Make yourself at home."

Michelle waved a hand around in a welcoming gesture, and Jal almost scoffed. Michelle loved to cook, but from the gleam of her countertops to the state of the arts electrical appliances, and fucking jars of seeds and bottles of balsamic vinegar … her kitchen looked like it had never been touched. Or had escaped from a showroom. Then again Michelle's mum was an interior designer. And Tony - for all the weekends he had to spend away - was hardly a struggling artiste.

" Dunno, 'chelle, I'm scared to leave finger prints. "

" Fuck off!" retorted Michelle merrily. Maybe a little too merrily judging by the flush in her cheeks noted Jal, as she sat herself down at the - carved oak - kitchen table.

Jal watched her friend as she sauntered about easily. She was dressed in for the evening, wearing loose fitting jeans, no footwear and a simple - but no doubt expensive - purple top decorated lightly with beads. And of course she looked bloody gorgeous. In fact Jal speculated, hand propping up her head as she leaned on the table, Michelle didn't look all that much different than 10 years ago. Of course she bloody didn't - Michelle had had the body of a 20 year old when she was 16. Still, Jal didn't feel too shabby tonight, dressed up in a skirt and heels and earrings. And as much she disliked dating, the look she could inspire when she really tried was still enough to recreate some of light headed giddiness Jal had felt - well, back when she first started to feel that way.

Jal continued to watch Michelle as she moved over to her fridge, pulled it open and withdrew two wine glasses. As she waved them at Jal Michelle waggled her eyebrows devilishly.

Jal simply sighed. Of course Michelle would keep her wine glasses in the fridge. Why not? She didn't have a 9 year old that might knock them over whilst searching for the last Frube.

Placing the glasses on the table Michelle turned to look round, in search of something else. For some unknown reason, as she did so Michelle distractedly rubbed her hands on her jeans. Unseen, Jal smiled at the thought of what her 16 year old friend had turned into; the quintessential housewife with a mortgage and the ability to operate a dry cleaner - but at the same time self-employed as a Spanish Tutor living on a salary which kept her happy in minivans and Nivea face creams. And only after 10 fucking years.

Jal lived in the almost-as-nice part of town and kept lodgers. Being a musical prodigy was hard work after all, and didn't pay nearly as much as it gratified. She certainly didn't have jars of seed and balsamic vinegar in her kitchen.

" So - " chirped Michelle, in a manner mildly reminiscent of that 16 year old girl. " How'd the date go?"

" Alright actually." conceded Jal, drumming her fingers on the table as she waited for Michelle's flurry to end.

" Roger's nice isn't he?" asked Michelle eagerly, throwing an expectant smile over her shoulder.

Jal rolled her eyes.

" He's fine and we're leaving it at that. "

Michelle crossed to the other side of the kitchen as she threw her hands in the air.

" I'm not asking you to extol his virtues - just show a little enthusiasm about something!"

Jal raised an eyebrow at Michelle and was met with a bark of laughter.

" Yeah, right - I forgot that that's physically impossible when it comes to you."

Laughing at her own joke Michelle finally alighted on what she had been searching for.

" Wine?"

" Can't. Driving."

Michelle strode over and placed the bottle between her and Jal as she took a seat at the table. Shrugging she pulled out the replaceable cork.

" Hm. Your loss."

Jal couldn't help asking softly.

" Always keep a bottle of red open do you 'chelle?"

" Stop it. "

" What?" replied Jal, defensive from the condemning look Michelle was shooting her.

Michelle laughed dryly and waved her hand, gesturing from the top to the bottom of Jal.

" Getting all - subtexty on me."

" I was just asking - "

" Pft, you know what you were doing. And relax - I'm fine. Start worrying when it's a bottle of Smirnoff."

"'chelle. "

" Jesus Jal I'm kidding. " The smile dropped off Michelle's face, and her expression settled into something more serious. " I'm fine Jal."

Jal pointed a finger at Michelle in mock warning.

" You better be."

" Ugh, fine." In an exaggerated gesture Michelle pushed the bottle over to Jal, who couldn't help smiling at her friend's antics. "C'mon my manly protector, you pour me a drink. Pour me a big one and you might even get lucky." Michelle added, winking.

Jal laughed, but also held her hand up in protest.

" No offence 'chelly - but I'm steering clear of that tonight. "

" That fucker." exclaimed Michelle with an open mouth. Narrowing her eyes she leaned in." Roger didn't try anything on did he?"

Jal shook her head.

" No, no - he was actually pretty sweet. Though he did take the trouble of informing me that he was wearing clean underwear in case the urge to ravish him came upon me. " Quietly, Jal laughed, then smiled to herself at the thought. " He reminded me a bit of Chris actually. "

In the silence that followed, Jal heard Michelle breath out quietly. Jal glanced up and found her brunette best friend watching her with pursed lips, and what looked like affectionate worry.

Jal shook her head laughing.

" I can't believe you!" Michelle flinched in surprise as Jal pointed at her for the second time." You're doing it now. "

A crease appeared in Michelle's brow.

" What?"

Jal smiled knowingly at Michelle's ineffective attempt at ignorance. Pointedly she raised an eyebrow at Michelle, chuckling lightly.

" The subtext. "

Still shaking her head, Jal glanced across the table. As she did so, she happened to catch sight of the bottle of wine, and after a moment's pause pulled it towards her. Yet instead of taking a drink Jal simply kept her hand curled around the neck of the bottle, and brought up her other to finger the label. Staring absently Jal spoke again.

" I know what you're thinking. And I'm not comparing Roger to him, I'm not."

Jal paused for a moment. Whether she expected Michelle to interrupt or not she didn't know, but her friend said nothing and Jal could feel her eyes on her; so instead of pulling away from her thoughts for the sake of company Jal kept talking, the way she did when no-one else was around, sinking deeper with a smile.

"I miss him at the weirdest times 'chelle. Like yesterday - I was waiting for the bus and this man next to me, he's listening to his Ipod and his head's bobbing along - and that reminded me of those bobble head dogs you know? The ones that sit in the back of people's cars? Chris didn't like dogs but he fucking loved those things. He said all that bobbly head action made them look wise. He -" Jal laughed as she peeled up the corner of the label with her thumb. " - he used to do this impression of them when he was stoned. And I said it made him look like the love child of Pete Doherty and a frog. "

There was a pause before Michelle quietly spoke.

" I didn't know you still thought about him."

The corners of Jal's mouth twitched upwards.

" I think about him every day. "

There was silence in the kitchen before Jal heard Michelle sniff quietly, and saw the corner of her wineglass and the fingers curled around it move slightly across the surface.

Jal breathed in heavily and let go of the wine bottle. Looking up she met Michelle's gaze and let out a bark of laughter at the wide eyed concern she saw there. Leaning across she affectionately patted Michelle on the knee.

" Ah! Don't worry, I'm not depressed! I'm not fucking living in the past. " Jal barely paused, and her voice hitched slightly." I know he's gone. "

Eyes quietly watering, Michelle closed her hand over Jal's with a brutally honest smile.

Returning the smile Jal's eyes shone.

" It's weird - he's not here. But - I still love him 'chelle. It feel's weird to say it but I do. 'Cos - god, fuck me this is a cliché but - " Jal bit her lip as she paused before speaking, more to herself than to Michelle. " - because I can remember him, because I just know what he would say or do … it's like he's not gone. "

Jal met Michelle's eyes and beamed.

" And I really fucking love him."

Jal Frazer lived a good life.

She went to music college in the end. With her talent and her Dad's money backing her she couldn't not go, and for a few years that came to back to bite her in the ass over and over. But she didn't see much of her Dad these days so it was okay.

He hadn't been the only one to fade out of touch. Anwar had disappeared - god knew what he was doing with himself - and from what she had heard from various people he had taken Kenneth with him. The last thing to pass through the grapevine had been that Kenneth and Anwar were planning to make the rounds at the Edinburgh Festival, with a unique blend of stand-up, hip hop and "street wisdom". She and Michelle had pissed themselves laughing when they heard, then later that evening when they were actually pissed, had wished them the best of luck.

Jal saw a lot of Michelle. For all the bitching Jal had done about her best friend in her teenage years, in the end Michelle really pulled through. Circumstances had called for it Jal supposed, but she couldn't remember a time after Chris's death which Michelle hadn't been a part of. She had been there at the funeral. There at the gynaecologists. There at the birth. There that Tuesday afternoon when the quiet had overwhelmed Jal and all she really wanted was a fucking cuddle.

As a result of her closeness with Michelle the Adult, Jal also saw a lot of Tony. It was funny the people that stuck, considering how little she had prized the boy for so many years. She had to give him credit though, he had turned out alright in the end. Outdoing Jal's expectations by miles, he had wound up sticking with Michelle for the long run.

The fact that her own faithful boyfriend had been ripped away, as Michelle and Tony came together, had never been an irony lost on Jal.

Maxxie had moved away a long time ago - to New York. But he still kept in contact, via email - sending her updates of his "conquests" and links to performance reviews of the shows he was in. Jal liked the idea of him over there, dancing his way across the Big Apple. And by the way he enthused over the wide array of "man-candy" Jal was never left in any doubt as to his happiness.

As for Cassie, she had ended up visiting Maxxie one summer and never coming home. For a while Sid had moped and moped till Tony told him to move the fuck on. So he did - across the Atlantic.

For the past year Jal had heard nothing from either of them, except for Maxxie's reassurances that neither of them were dead.

To be honest she didn't really care. Jal had bigger things to spend her time on.

Her pet nuisance for one.

Her daughter Asha was a silly, bawdy delight. As her mum, Jal might have been driven up the wall by half of things she did, if Asha didn't act as such a wonderful reminder of everything about her Dad.

And Asha liked Roger too.

She also liked Michael who came next.

And Omar.

But it wasn't till Callum came along that Jal stopped calling it "dating" and started calling it a relationship.

She never compared him to Chris. She never saw need to. Chris was the best kind of invisible friend; the man she thought of every day and who she talked to whenever she had a problem and it was just her, and him, there with her. Just thinking about his reaction to what Asha sometimes would say or do could leave Jal laughing so hard she'd gain weird stares from everyone else in the room and a perfectly raised eyebrow from her daughter, that was so reminiscent of herself it would make Jal laugh even harder.

And yeah she misses him. She fucking misses him. But now she does it without regret. His death has become an established event. A point at which her life had suddenly veered in a new direction, and sent her down a whole new path. And sure, she dreams about what that other path would have been like. She hates that she was never allowed to find out. She hates that she wasn't there when he died. She hates his Dad for being an arrogant, neglectful prick. She hates that Chris never met his daughter - oh how he would have loved her - and that Asha grew up without a Dad. But - and again with the fucking clichés - she's pretty proud to know that Chris would have liked what she has made of her life.

Because she did make music after all. She did raise their daughter. She even took a few pills at music college, though perhaps not under the best of circumstances.

And on Sunday mornings, when she crawls between the duvet covers with Asha and reads "The Very Hungry Caterpillar", Jal can't help but feel, very pucking happy indeed.