Hello, there, it's me again!

Coming at ya with a prompt fill! This prompt was from liliaeth on tumblr, and the request was 'a Siren fic where Simon and Kieren run into Simon's father'. ...Do I even need to mention that this may contain feels?

Anyway, sorry if it sucks! I'm open to more Siren suggestions/prompts, just bear in mind I sometimes take quite a while to fill them :) (also I wouldn't mind some fluff because I've been writing so much emotionally charged stuff recently, I'm a wreck!)

The title comes from the Oasis song of the same name, and I apologise if I got my guitar facts wrong (I don't know very much about them, this is based off something I think my brother told me a while back so hopefully it's not disgustingly misinformed!) I imagine this story takes place roughly 8-9 months after the last episode of series 2!

Disclaimer: In The Flesh and its characters belong to Dominic Mitchell and BBC Three, and song lyrics belong to Oasis. I write this out of love :3

Don't Look Back in Anger

"Come on, where are you taking me?" Kieren insisted, beaming as he bumped Simon's shoulder with his own playfully.

"You'll see," Simon replied with a small smile, shifting the weight of the guitar case on his shoulder.

They'd spent the better half of the day traipsing through the city streets, having leapt at the opportunity to escape the confines of Roarton for a few hours once the travel ban had been lifted. Kieren had happily tagged along to the metropolis Simon used to call home, the bustling pavements a nice change of pace from the almost deathly silence of the barren village roads. He'd smiled as Simon showed him around places he used to go, even the cafés and restaurants whose confections they would never taste again.

But his favourite by far had been the music shop. As soon as the little place had come into view the Irish man's face had lit up, his lens-less eyes brightening. Kieren had felt almost giddy as he saw Simon quicken his pace for the last few metres, inhaling a deep, unnecessary breath of the warm air the second he was over the threshold. Kieren wondered how often he used to come here, and when those times were. Was this musty little music shop his refuge, the place he went when he needed to escape like Kieren used to escape to the cave?

Unsurprisingly, Simon's attention had strayed almost immediately to the guitars. He'd browsed for hours, taking each instrument down carefully and strumming them, even tuning the ones that had been neglected.

Kieren had watched him the entire time, perfectly content to let him do his thing. It had been a few weeks since he'd finally convinced Simon to play a song for him for the first time, and since then the dark-haired man had barely put the guitar down. He seemed to come alive when he played, and Kieren could see the person he used to be rise to the surface, past the pain and loss that his death and second life had brought him. This must have been Simon on the good days- the days when his depression took a backseat, the days when he didn't drown his misery in the 'A to Z of the periodic table', as he would have put it. When he'd convinced Simon to let him listen to his music, he'd broken down another barrier, and he could see another weight lift from Simon's mind. It felt like every day they were together the real Simon climbed ever closer to the surface.

His love of music renewed and his spirits high, Simon had bought a new guitar- a classic Gibson Les Paul (he'd spent nearly an hour debating the pros and cons of Les Paul versus the much lighter-bodied SG, but in the end he'd opted for the less neck-heavy option. "More low-end," he'd said, and Kieren was happy to nod along like he knew what that meant. It wasn't like he never listened when Simon explained music theory, but… well, his voice was distracting), but he happily carried the hefty instrument like it weighed nothing. It hung over his shoulder, his hand holding the neck lovingly to keep it from bumping around too much. Kieren knew they'd have to catch the train home soon- the lines that ran through Roarton wouldn't run late- but right now he was happy to drift along beside Simon, their arms brushing gently but intimately as they strolled side by side.

"Look at us, out on day trips," he laughed, and his voice turned wistful. "Amy would've been proud…"

Simon turned his head slightly. He offered a reassuring smile and caught Kieren's hand, squeezing gently. "We'll visit her when we get back, yeah? Tell her all about it."

Kieren nodded, leaning his head on Simon's shoulder and letting their joined hands swing between them. He always made a point of visiting Amy's grave, often on his own, mostly to tell her about everything that was going on. He told her about the changes in the town, told her how Philip was doing, and brought her the 'hottest new gossip' from his relationship with Simon- occasionally begging her for advice. He liked to think that somewhere she was laughing at him, calling him 'dumb-dumb' and telling him to stop worrying his pretty little head about everything.

Simon's grip on his hand tightened. "I miss her too…"

"Mind reader," Kieren smiled, lifting his face from the Irish man's shoulder. He sighed, tilting his head back to look at the sky. "Things just aren't… right, without her. It doesn't make sense that she's gone. It's like I've lost an arm, and I keep looking down expecting to find it and then I don't and…"

He stopped mid-ramble, closing his eyes momentarily and lowering his head. When he opened them he saw Simon watching him, and he noticed the high metal fence drawing closer. "Simon, where are we going?"

Simon masked his concern with a small smile, tugging Kieren closer to the fence. "There's someone I want you to meet…"

"Hi, Mum…"

Simon stood in front of the headstone, his hand still clutching Kieren's tightly. He gazed at the smooth stone with a mixture of guilt and apprehension.

Kieren looked at him and squeezed his fingers reassuringly. Simon had told him what had happened. Kieren considered the guilt he'd felt about murdering Lisa in his untreated state and shuddered to think what Simon must be feeling. To know you caused the death of someone you loved so dearly… well, he'd had that enough times already, but nothing quite like this.

Simon shifted nervously from foot to foot, tugging Kieren forward. "How's things?" he asked, and immediately cringed. "Okay, stupid question," he huffed, his face burning. Kieren's eyes widened. He'd never seen the ex-disciple this nervous. For a moment he completely forgot they were talking to a grave marker, Simon's nervous energy making him feel like the new boyfriend being held out for the parents' inspection. He realised this must've been how Simon had felt coming to his house with cover-up and winced. He owed him big for that.

Simon cleared his throat, trying again. "Mum, there's someone I want you to meet," he said, tugging Kieren forward gently so they stood side by side. He seemed to draw more strength from their proximity, smiling at Kieren over his shoulder and then back down at the grave. "This is Kieren Walker," he said quietly, warmly. "He's the one who keeps me out of trouble."

Kieren grinned, squeezing his hand. "Hi, Mrs. Monroe," he said, addressing the headstone. "Nice to finally meet you- can't believe he's left it this long, can you?"

His attempts to put Simon at ease seemed to be working. The dark-haired man smirked, bumping his shoulder. "What can I say, the opportunity never presented itself. What with the pitchfork-wielding mobs, attempted ritual sacrifices, gunshots, all that."

Kieren raised his eyebrow. "You really want to talk about that right now?"

"God, no," Simon laughed. "Wouldn't want to worry her," he said, smiling down at the grave. He released Kieren's hand and took a few steps forward, resting his hand against the headstone. He smiled and bent over, pressing a light kiss to the cool surface. Kieren smiled, wrapping his arms around himself contentedly. Watching Simon reminded him of the times he used to see Amy gossiping with her aunt from her graveside, keeping the love alive even though they were both dead in their different ways. It was the same way he talked to her, and to Rick. Simon didn't often come with him to Amy's grave, but he didn't hold it against him. It was obvious that the Irish man still blamed himself for her death. Talking to her ghost from his place in the land of the living felt like an insult, no matter how many times Kieren tried to tell him she wouldn't have blamed him. But here he was now, reconciling in the only way he could with his mother, a wistful smile on his face and his hand on her headstone. He'd even agreed to come with him to see Amy later.

Kieren couldn't help a little grin spreading across his face as he considered that maybe, just maybe, Simon was finally starting to put the bad times behind him.

Simon looked back up at Kieren, his face serene.

The calm disappeared as his eyes fixed on something over Kieren's shoulder. Kieren saw the terror in his eyes and almost forgot to breathe (not that it would have made a difference).

"Simon?" he asked softly, torn between curiosity to see what had scared Simon so much and fear of what he might find if he turned around.

Simon crossed over to him and seized his wrist, pressing a finger to the confused man's lips and dragging him towards a tall stone tomb a few metres away. Kieren stumbled along with him, complaining as Simon hauled him into the shade behind the tomb and pushed him down, his back sliding against the stone as he dropped to the grass. Simon slid down beside him and looked fervently back to his mother's grave, Kieren hissing in his ear.

"What the fuck are we doing?" he whispered angrily, not to mention somewhat fearfully.

Simon pressed his back against the tomb and gulped. "Hiding."

Kieren rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I got that, but from what?"

The dark-haired man closed his eyes and took a deep, ragged breath.

"My dad."

"Christ, that's your dad?"

Simon nodded, still shell-shocked. Kieren, curiosity getting the better of him, stepped over the ex-disciple's long legs impatiently and peeked around the corner of the tomb, his eyes widening as he caught sight of the tall man approaching the grave they'd just fled. He had the look of a well-dressed man who'd given up making the effort- his unkempt hair flopped across his forehead limply and his chin was darkened by stubble, his tailored jacket was carelessly creased. Looking at him, Kieren found it hard to visualise the white-hot ball of rage that had thrown Simon out on the streets after he'd returned home. Then again, looks could be deceiving.

"Have you seen him since…?" Kieren asked, letting the question trail off. He already knew the answer.

Simon shook his head, drawing his knees up to his chest. "No. And I don't really want to change that now, so will you just get down?" he hissed, tugging the back of Kieren's hoodie insistently.

Kieren slid down beside him and met his gaze. "So, what, we just sit here in silence until he goes away, is that the plan?"

"That's about the size of it," Simon muttered, hugging his knees and turning his eyes to the ground.

Kieren stared at him, dumb-struck. He knew about the rocky history Simon had with his father, but he'd never considered just how debilitating his fear was- almost a year together and he'd never seen him look so vulnerable.

He stretched his arm over and took Simon's hand, gently tugging it away from its death grip on his knee and squeezing it. "Simon…" he whispered, glancing back to the grave. "Don't you think you should talk to him?"

Simon's head snapped up and he stared disbelievingly at Kieren's pale, expectant face. "What? No! I-!" he stopped short, cursing as he realised he'd raised his voice and clamping his mouth shut. Kieren glanced around the tomb, but Simon's dad hadn't heard them. The man was standing at the foot of his wife's grave, a bunch of flowers held tightly in his hand as he whispered something Kieren couldn't hear. He turned back to Simon, hugging his hand to his chest.

"I'm just saying…" Kieren continued in hushed tones, eyes never leaving Simon's face. "I know things are never going to be the same between you two, but you still have so many unresolved things, things you need to talk about-"

"I killed her, Kieren," Simon whispered. "That's all there is to it. I died, I came back, and now she's in the ground because I wouldn't stay there. There's nothing else to talk about."

Kieren shook his head, pressing a kiss to the back of Simon's hand. "That wasn't your fault…"

"Doesn't matter," Simon said. "It happened, and it was because of me. I don't even know why I went home, I hadn't been there for years- the PDS wasn't the first thing Dad kicked me out for," he said, glancing down at the track marks on his wrist.

"I can't tell you what to do, Simon," Kieren sighed, moving his lips down to each mark in turn, his eyes meeting Simon's over their clasped hands. "I just remember how abrupt it was when I… left, the first time around. All the unresolved feelings, unanswered questions, if I hadn't have come back…" he shook his head, eyes full of regret. "I just think, if you don't at least try to straighten things out with your dad, one of these days it's going to be too late and then you'll never know if…" he shrugs, turning his eyes down to their hands and Simon's unyielding grip. "If things could have been better."

Simon stared at him, and Kieren could see the cogs turning behind his milky eyes.

Then he groaned, leaning his head back against the tomb as his eyelids drifted closed.

"You've always got to be feckin' right, don't you?" he griped, pulling Kieren's hand to his chest and squeezing it.

Kieren laughed softly, leaning over to kiss Simon's cheek. He pulled back and met his gaze with a reassuring smile. "So, ready?"

Simon gulped and nodded, keeping a hold of Kieren's hand and letting the boy pull him to his feet. He edged towards the corner of the tomb, peeking around and cursing as he saw his dad still frozen at the foot of the grave. "Jesus. Right. Fuck, fuck, fuck…"

Kieren's brow furrowed in concern. He moved behind Simon and rested his hands on his shoulders. "You sure?"

Simon nodded again, but Kieren saw the fear in his eyes. He squeezed his shoulders encouragingly. "Hey," he whispered, resting his head against the dark-haired man's neck for a second. "I'll be right behind you, okay?"

Simon's lips tilted up slightly and he nodded once more, more confidently this time. "Okay."

He took a deep, steadying breath, and stepped out from behind the tomb.

"Simon?"

Simon felt his stomach drop. His father stared at him, the sadness in his eyes fading into something else. Shock? Fear? Anger? Yes, anger. Shit.

"What are you doing here?" Iain Monroe's face was livid, his clenched fist bending the delicate stalks of the flowers that hung forgotten at his side.

Simon's mouth dried up, paralysed by cold fear as his thoughts deserted him. He couldn't think. He couldn't talk. All he could do was shrivel in the glare, feeling his resolve crumble with every endless second.

"Dad, I…" he began, but his tongue was numb and his palms were sweating. No, they couldn't be, he couldn't sweat anymore. Just a reflex reaction, then. A phantom sensation, growing stronger by the second as his father's scowl burned against his skin. He couldn't say a word. Guilt at what he had done and fear of the man before him rendered him speechless. He wanted to turn round and run away, and keep running until he could run no more. Maybe with enough distance and enough time the angry wounds would heal by themselves. It was a forlorn hope, but with every second he remained silent he realised it might be his only option.

He heard the slight rustle of leaves crunching behind him. He felt something cold brush his hand, and slender fingers wrap around his palm. He broke eye contact with his furious father for a second, and felt like he could sob with relief as he saw Kieren's face at his shoulder. He squeezed his hand back, closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep, calming breath as he looked back up into the angry (and now slightly confused) face of Iain Monroe.

"Dad," he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and began again, growing more confident with every sentence as the guilt and resentment he'd carried on his scarred back for years poured from his mouth. "Dad, I can never change what I did."

His father tried to speak, but Simon powered on. If he didn't get it all out in one go he may never find the courage again.

"What happened with Mum… well, we can argue for years over whose fault it was, but that's not going to change the fact that it happened. It may have been my fault but I can tell you now that if I had had any choice in the matter…" he shook his head, and felt Kieren's grip on his hand tighten. "If there was any way I could have stopped it, I would have done it in a heartbeat."

He looked up into his father's eyes. "But I'm not here to excuse myself. Because nothing I ever say's gonna make what I did alright," he could tell Kieren wanted to protest, but kept on talking. He would never stop loving the boy for trying to ease his guilty conscience, but his father needed the truth. "I know that I can never fix it. I would have understood if you'd never even come to the treatment centre for me. But you did."

He shook his head, looking down to the ground. "You came back. You brought me home, took me in. You didn't have to, but you did. And for a while I felt like maybe… maybe it could work," he looked back up, and he tried to keep the bitterness from his voice. "It was never gonna work, was it?"

Iain didn't know how to respond. He stared at Simon, the anger in his eyes tempered and his expression guarded.

"I don't know why you brought me back in the first place," Simon said with a humourless laugh, his eyes turning to the gravestone. "Maybe you just thought that's what she would have wanted, maybe you were guilty about the stuff before the Rising, thought you had a second chance to…" he choked. He felt Kieren's other hand slide up his arm, gripping his elbow encouragingly. Simon couldn't look at his father, so instead looked down at the blond man's hand clasped in his own.

"Whatever your reasons," he said, closing his eyes. "I wish you could've… just done one thing or the other, y'know? You could have left me in that centre and I'd have known you didn't want anything more to do with me. You could have brought me home and followed through, could've let me stay there for at least the first night… but you didn't do either of those. You brought me back out of some sense of obligation to me or to Mum, and then you washed your hands of me when you couldn't take it anymore."

He opened his eyes and raised his head, meeting his father's gaze.

"You didn't even give me a chance to apologise. I tried to say something and you brushed it off like it was nothing, but it wasn't nothing…"

He took a deep breath, releasing Kieren's hand and taking a step forward. The younger man's fingers slipped from his arm and he hung back, but Simon could feel his gaze on his back. He was still there, standing firm. Simon took another step closer to his father.

"So, now we're here, and there's a good chance you'll never want to see me again after this, I'll just say it," he said, fighting past the dry feeling in his throat. "And I know it's not gonna change anything, but I hope you'll at least let me finish this time…"

He looked back at the grave, and as the words finally rushed from his mouth he couldn't tell whether he was saying it to his distraught father or his mother's ghost.

"I'm sorry."

Silence fell over the graveyard, the three men locked in some kind of three-way staring match. Kieren watched Iain's face carefully, poised to move if his rage returned and he made a move against Simon. Iain, in turn, kept his eyes fixed on his son, anger and respect warring on his features. Simon kept his eyes on the headstone, scared of what he might see if he met his father's gaze.

"Simon."

Simon looked up, a jolt of fear running through him at hearing his father's voice again. Iain stood perfectly still, glancing between his son's dead face and his wife's grave. There was still anger below the surface, and Simon knew that it would always be there. But for now, this second, his father's expression just looked… tired.

"Yeh didn't even bring her any flowers," Iain chastised, shaking his head slightly.

Simon flinched guiltily. He hadn't even thought of that.

His father stared at him a moment longer. Considering.

Then, the hand clutching the flowers at his side lifted slowly. He kept his feet planted, but his eyes lingered on Simon and he stretched his hand out, offering the crumpled bouquet to his son.

Slowly, as if afraid that he was being tricked, Simon reached out and wrapped his fingers around the stems, his cold fingers brushing his father's. Iain's grip loosened and Simon held the wilting blossoms in his hand tentatively, like they could explode at any second. He looked back up at his father's haggard, haunted face, and received the barest nod in return.

With a deep breath, Simon turned and crouched down beside the headstone, resting the flowers carefully over the hard-packed earth below his mother's name.

Sleep well, Mum…

As he straightened up, Iain was already walking. He didn't offer his hand, and Simon didn't expect him to. He just watched as his father began his lonely journey home, wondering if he would be heading back to a new place with new memories, or just walking the well-trodden path to that old house and all its ghosts.

Maybe now he'd at least have one less ghost to worry about.

Iain paused as he passed Kieren. He looked at him for a moment, and Kieren met his gaze steadily.

When Iain extended his hand, Kieren took it. A brisk shake, almost business-like. Iain nodded, and Kieren returned the gesture as they dropped their hands.

Iain Monroe glanced back at his son once before he walked away.

Simon Monroe watched his father leave, and silently bid him farewell for what he knew in his heart would be the last time.

As the train carved through the countryside, Simon's fingers picked aimlessly across the newly tuned strings of his guitar and his pale eyes surveyed the landscape. The cabin was deserted- it wasn't like any normal person had the reason or desire to go to Roarton, especially at this time of day. But as the sun set, illuminating the sky with rich orange and pink as it slowly disappeared below the distant horizon, even the bleak Lancastrian countryside sang with life. Kieren's sleeping head rested on his shoulder, his body being jostled by the gentle rocking of the carriage on steel rails. Simon looked down at him, marvelling at the way the warm sunset glow shone on his tousled blond hair and pale skin, illuminating his fluttering eyelashes and casting long shadows on his bare face.

Beautiful.

He thought of that face and the way stared fear straight in the eye. The amount of times he'd seen that gentle expression harden into an unwavering mask of determination in the face of adversity. He'd seen this strange, beautiful, remarkable boy stand in front of guns to protect his kind against injustice. He'd seen him fight off the all-consuming effects of Blue Oblivion with nothing but willpower and an innate, unshakable sense of right and wrong. Today, he'd seen him stand steadfastly at his side as he confronted his own fears, a united front against demons he thought for sure he'd never face. Wherever he went, Kieren Walker managed to make the impossible possible.

Incredible…

Simon had never known it could be possible to love someone so much. To love every part of them, inside and out, with every fibre of his being. There was nothing he would change about Kieren if he could. When he thought about the sacrifice he'd made in protecting the boy against the Undead Prophet's wishes, and the danger he'd brought on himself as a traitor, he realised there was no one and nothing in the world he would rather die all over again for.

Kieren stirred, his eyes flickering open and his hand clutching at the fabric of Simon's jacket. He blinked up at him. "You alright?"

Simon realised he was staring again and looked out the window (he'd lost count of the amount of times Kieren had told him off for his 'unsettling' stares). "Yeah," he said, smiling as he realised he really, really meant it. "I'm fine. Great, in fact."

Kieren frowned, confused. "Really? I thought you'd be…"

He trailed off, but Simon knew what he was thinking. He shook his head, kissing Kieren's forehead gently. "Yeah, I thought I would be, too," he murmured, shrugging. He'd played every second of his exchange with his father over and over again in his head, and been shocked when he didn't feel even remotely sad or angry. Not anymore. A weight had lifted from his shoulders, and for the first time in his second life he felt like he could really breathe again. He smiled, looking distractedly out over the rolling fields beyond the glass. "But I'm not," he looked back down at Kieren. "I've never been better."

Kieren smiled, wrapping his arm around Simon's waist and pulling him to his side. "You sure?"

Simon plucked the Gibson strings thoughtfully, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Absolutely," he leaned his head against Kieren's. "Thank you."

Kieren frowned. "For what?"

For what? Simon shook his head, smiling incredulously. This absurd boy really didn't know what he could do, did he? He had no bloody idea.

"For doing what you always do," Simon said, closing his eyes. "Making me do the right thing."

"You would have done it anyway," Kieren said, smiling sleepily. "I just gave you a push."

"Wouldn't have been able to do it without you," Simon said honestly, nuzzling Kieren's head slightly. He could tell Kieren was about to deny it so he kept talking. "And I know you're gonna tell me I should have more faith in myself or whatever, but it's true. I was fucking terrified. Only thing kept me standing there was knowing you were right behind me."

Kieren's grip around his waist tightened, and he bumped his nose softly against Simon's cheek, making his eyes spring open. "No need to thank me," he said quietly with a gentle smile. "I'll always be right behind you when you need me."

Simon felt light-headed. It had been months since Amy's funeral, and they'd been together all that time, but Simon hadn't wanted to get his hopes up too much. He knew that Kieren needed time and space, knew that he'd been unlucky in love before, and he felt no desire to rush him into anything. But those gentle words had sounded so much like a tentative confessionit made his dead heart skip. He smiled, nudging Kieren's knee gently with his own and feeling a rush of warmth as the younger man lifted his leg and slung it over his own, his boot-clad foot dangling in the air between them. Simon lifted one hand from his guitar temporarily to rest it on Kieren's thigh, eyes fluttering closed once more.

"Likewise," he murmured, the word coming from his mouth like a promise.

The fair-haired man smiled, burrowing into the crook of Simon's neck and watching his fingers on the Les Paul. "So," he said lightly, his eyes in danger of drifting closed again. "You gonna give us a song on that thing, or what?"

The ex-disciple chuckled, his hand lifting from Kieren's leg and his aimless chords arranging themselves into more of a melody. How could he refuse that little face?

"Slip inside the eye of your mind, don't you know you might find a better place to play..."

His voice was gruff from lack of use, but he sang quietly anyway, feeling Kieren relax against his side. He smiled as he got further into the tune, memories of his teenage years in the 90s flooding his mind. He may have had hard times and no future, but with Oasis along with several other old favourites on the scene he'd had a fantastic ten years of music. He thought of all the songs he would have sung at Kieren's window if he'd only known him. He had a lot of catching up to do.

As the song neared its end and Roarton came into view, Simon thought about the wonderful boy asleep on his shoulder, who he would happily give his second life to protect. Of his beautiful mother and his beautiful Amy, asleep in the ground forevermore. Of his weary father asleep on his own in a house haunted by ghosts of a life long gone. He found himself hoping that today had brought some kind of closure for him, as well. He and his father had had their differences, but while he had no desire to see him again he hoped his last years may at least be lived in some kind of peace.

"But don't look back in anger, don't look back in anger…"

He smiled as he felt Kieren shift beside him, getting ready to wake up.

"I heard you say."

They had someone they needed to visit, after all.

"At least not today…"

Until next time, my friends! :)