Chapter Text
Kiara can’t sleep, but she’s no stranger to late nights.
The rest of the Pogues are scattered across Cleo and Pope’s small living room, exhausted from tonight’s gathering, from the hours of reminiscing and remembrance. Bottles litter the small room, evidence of their communal attempt to numb the pain with alcohol, if only for a little while. Sarah and John B hired a sitter for the night, knowing long ago that they all needed to be together on JJ’s birthday.
Especially on this one, so soon after the anniversary of his death.
Kiara knew it would sting to see her friends coupled up and draped over each other tonight, knew it would be a sharp reminder of what she used to have and lost. And it did. Of course it did.
But something she’d learned the hard way over the past year is that the alternative hurt much worse. She had tried pushing her friends away, had tried keeping her distance and drowning her grief in alcohol and drugs, had stayed in an isolated haze for as long as she could until she crumbled under the weight of her own misery.
And when she’d fallen apart, the Pogues helped put her back together even as they struggled through their own grief. They’d healed together - slowly, painfully, and imperfectly, with pieces missing and out of place. Kiara wasn’t whole, maybe never would be again, but at least she was still standing. Still breathing. There was a time when she didn’t think that would be the case.
But that still doesn’t mean that’s she’s able to sleep. Kiara pushes herself up from the couch with a soft sigh, moving slowly to avoid waking Pope, who’s sprawled on the other end with his mouth open. The room still smells of stale beer and smoke, but Kiara already itches for something to take the edge off. Maybe it’s not healthy, but sometimes it helps her get through the day without breaking down. Especially a day like today.
She snatches a rolled joint from the messy coffee table and creeps towards the small covered porch connected to the room. Kiara sits in the still darkness, inhaling acrid air from the joint, trying and failing to keep her mind empty as she gazes out over the small yard and listens to the call of crickets. She leans forward for a peek at the night sky, hoping to distract herself by picking out familiar constellations.
“Bad luck if you can’t see the stars, you know.” JJ had one arm slung lazily across Kiara’s shoulders, and he pulled her closer despite the muggy summer air that enveloped them. He had been peering up at the night sky from the dock of their new house, the place they built together from the skeleton of the old Maybank house.
“Yeah? Where’d you learn that? Reddit?” Kiara nudged his side playfully, but JJ’s usually mischievous features looked uncommonly serious for once.
“Nah, it’s something Big John told me and John B when we were young. And I feel like if anyone knew about bad luck, it was that guy.” JJ tapped nervously on his beer bottle, avoiding her eyes. “Something bad must be coming.”
“Don’t say that Jayj, you’ll jinx us.” Kiara tried to joke, but she struggled to swallow down the fear that clogged her throat. “You worried about this? Me and you?” She knew it was a big change - living together, sharing a bed, even after over a decade of friendship. She knew how JJ could get, how he could panic.
“Never.” JJ turned and really looked at her then, his blue eyes tender and clear, and Kiara released a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
“The shop?”
“A little. I don’t know. It’s just a bad feeling.” Kiara nestled under JJ’s arm again, trying to comfort him with her warmth, her solidity.
“Hey, it’s going to be fine. As long as we’re all together, we can get through anything.”
“You really believe that?” JJ was shaking as he asked, just barely, and Kiara ached to soothe his worries, like she always did.
“Of course I do.” And she had believed it then with her whole heart, hadn’t known how wrong she was.
JJ had leaned over then and pressed his face into her hair, his lips lingering as he whispered delicate words in her ear. “I love you, Kie. You know that, right?”
“Obviously. I love you too, dummy. Please don’t worry.” And she felt him melt at her words, felt the way the tension left his body as he relaxed into her.
“If it were clear tonight, I could show you the star I named after you. It’s right next to the Big Dipper.” JJ’s voice was light again, his cheery demeanor back like it never left, and Kiara felt relief course through her body.
“You’re so full of shit.” And they had laughed together, the heaviness and worries dissipating as quickly as they came. How light everything had felt then, how manageable the world felt with him by her side.
Kiara blinks back tears at the memory and searches the night sky for the Big Dipper now, but it’s so cloudy that she can’t see a single star. Kiara sighs in frustration before taking another deep drag of the joint, trying to ignore the gnawing anxiety in the pit of her stomach. Not a single star tonight. An omen - something bad is coming. Hadn’t JJ been right about that last time?
To stop herself from giving into the anxiety, from spiraling out of control, Kiara focuses on the deep, familiar rage instead. The one that always sits just under her skin, ready to rise to the surface at a moment’s notice. She thinks about the fact that JJ would be 21 now, if his brutal murder hadn’t happened just a few weeks before his 20th birthday. The intertwining of the two dates is just another cruel reminder of the way JJ was ripped from the world too soon, before he was even out of his teens, before his life had even really begun. Kiara curls her hands into fists and tries to remember how to breathe.
There was a time when Kiara wished she could be sad instead of angry, that she could cry instead of wanting to slam her fist through the wall, to rip Groff limb from limb, or to finish what JJ started and burn Kildaire the ground. But eventually she accepted the constant anger as a new part of her, knowing if she didn’t make peace with it, it would scorch her from the inside out. So instead of fighting it, she started to channel her anger into one clear objective, one goal. One person.
When Kiara’s phone starts vibrating against her leg, her hands are shaking so badly that she almost drops it. She nearly ignores the call when she sees the contact name, but she decides to pick up just as it’s about to go to voicemail. He never calls, because he hates talking on the phone (unlike JJ, who would always FaceTime with no warning, something Kiara used to hate but now misses immensely). It must be important. Kiara accepts the call without a word, listening to the crackling silence on the other end as she waits for him to speak.
“Hey,” Rafe Cameron’s voice is deep and a little raspy, like he just woke up. They haven’t talked in over a month, but it’s a voice she knows well. A voice that reminds her of late nights, of smoke-filled rooms, of barely contained rage.
“I thought you were in London.” No greeting, no pleasantries. Kiara’s seen enough of Rafe in the past year to dull the sharp edges of her hostility, enough for her to begrudgingly agree to work with him and his considerable resources to find Groff when none of the Pogues thought it was a good idea to pursue him after Morocco. They share a common enemy but they’re not friends, so she doesn’t feel the need to be friendly to Rafe. Wouldn’t even know how to be anything more than civil, after everything.
“I was. I just got in.” Rafe’s voice is softer than she’s used to, almost hesitant. “I have something I think you should see.” Weird. Something she should see? She expected an update on Groff, maybe some new information on his whereabouts or latest illegal escapades. But something she should see? She’s caught off guard, almost enough to be interested. But still-
“It’s 3 in the morning, Rafe. Can it wait?”
A pause; a long one. He’s thinking, considering. Weighing his options - the wrath he could face now versus the wrath he could face if he waits to show her. “I think you’re going to want to see it now.”
Kiara sighs, the air pulled from deep in her chest, and runs a hand through her tangled hair. “Alright. I’ll head over. You better not be asleep once I get there.” She muddles her way through the last sentence, the weed fogging her mind and slowing her tongue. Rafe must notice, because he makes a small noise of dissent.
“Nah, you sound like you’ve been smoking. I’ll come.” And then he hangs up without waiting for a reply, without even asking where she is. Kiara hates that Rafe’s short stint in rehab and his dedication to being what he calls ‘Carolina sober’ (only weed and beer, no hard drugs or hard alcohol) make him feel confident enough to assess her, to pick her apart. She hates that he’s also right. She shouldn’t be driving.
20 minutes later, Kiara has smoked her joint down to the roach, and she watches with glassy eyes as Rafe pulls up in his obnoxious Range Rover. “Rich people,” she mutters to herself as she pads down the steps of Cleo and Pope’s place, throwing open the car door and plopping into the passenger seat without a word. As she buckles her seatbelt and stares ahead blankly, waiting for Rafe to put the car in drive, Kiara can feel his exacting eyes on her, judging her. She hates the feeling.
“God, you reek,” Rafe scoffs, pulling out of the driveway with a huff. “Gonna take forever to get the smell out of my car.”
“Shut up,” Kiara hisses. “I’m really not in the mood.” A pause. The silence just makes Kiara more angry. “And you don’t need to baby me. I would have been fine to drive.” She finally looks over at Rafe in the driver’s seat and watches with satisfaction as his body coils with tension. She can see it in the stiffness of his shoulders, in the way that his knuckles turn white on the steering wheel, in the sharp line of his clenched jaw. His hair is shorter than the last time she saw it, buzzed close to the skull, similar to the way it was in Morocco. Kiara grips the seat tightly to keep memories from that place at bay.
“If you don’t want to be treated like a baby, don’t act like one,” Rafe retorts, anger springing easily from his tense body like Kiara knew it would. Her mouth lifts slightly in triumph as he lashes out, but she’s disappointed when he takes a deep breath to calm himself, his eyes softening slightly as they flick in her direction. He must see something in her slumped figure, because his next question is unexpected, his voice gentler. “You good?”
“Like you care?” Kiara doesn’t want to hear the pity in his voice, would much rather hear anger or the icy disdain she’s accustomed to. Rafe’s hot temper is useful to her; the fire of his anger is able to spark her own, stoking the rage and keeping the sadness at bay. He’s not supposed to act nice. That’s not what they do.
“You can drop the tough guy act. I’m just trying to do you a solid. And I…I know what day it is, Kie.” Kiara feels bile rise quickly up her throat, threatening to choke her. She’s not going to talk about this, not now. Not with Rafe.
“You don’t know shit.” She crosses her arms over her chest, shutting the conversation down definitively.
“Alright, Kiara.” Rafe sighs in resignation. They sit in silence for the rest of the drive, as Kiara stares into the misty darkness out her window, willing herself not to cry.
———————————————————————
When they pull up to Tannyhill, Rafe stalks out of the car without waiting for Kiara. But she doesn’t hurry to catch up, just saunters up the wide steps of the extravagant house and through the open front door. Rafe stands against the doorframe that leads into the office down the hall, eyeing her warily, almost nervously. Rafe never looks nervous. What the hell is going on?
She must say the words out loud, because Rafe rolls his eyes and jerks his shoulder in the direction of the office. “Come and see. Hurry your ass up.” But his voice is lacking its usual bite, and Kiara eyes him skeptically as she dips into the office. He’s definitely acting weird in his own subtle way, but his angular face is cool and passive as ever, giving nothing away.
Every thought or question is wiped from her mind when she sees what’s sitting on the solid oak desk inside the room. A twist of muslin cloth that’s sickeningly familiar, the sight of which makes Kiara so viscerally nauseous that it sends her world spinning. But she inches closer despite wanting to run out of the room, drawn by her own morbid curiosity.
“Rafe…what the fuck? Is this what I think it is?” Kiara asks without looking away from the vaguely circular shape, her eye caught by a flash of deep blue peeking out from under the torn fabric. And then she sees the few drops of blood that stain the dirty fabric, blood she knows belongs to JJ. Kiara drops to her knees by the desk, emptying the contents of her stomach into a small trashcan as memories surge into her consciousness with such painful intensity that it feels like her chest is cracking open. The look on Groff’s face as he stabbed his own son. The feeling of JJ’s body going limp and cold in her arms as the life drained out of him. Kiara can’t think about anything else except the blood-stained memories, can’t feel anything except her unending pain. She can’t breathe. She senses without really seeing that Rafe is hovering behind her uncertainly, probably caught off guard by her reaction. Remember the anger, remember the rage, she tells herself to keep from falling apart on his floor. Remember who stole JJ’s life. Who ruined yours.
“Kie…fuck. Shit. I should have taken the fabric off, I just didn’t want to touch it before-“
“Shut up. I’m fine.” Kiara wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and stands up on unsteady legs. She avoids Rafe’s gaze as she stares down at the bundle in shock. “How did you get this?” Rafe hesitates a beat before answering, leaning over to grab a water bottle from a side table and handing it to Kiara. She takes it begrudgingly, if only to get the taste of her own stomach acid out of her mouth.
“Long story. Illegal elements to it. But I heard rumors that Groff was spotted in London, so that’s why I went. And my people had this waiting for me when I arrived.” Kiara doesn’t ask for any more details on his ‘people’ or how they found it, because she doesn’t really care. All she cares about is the person who had it last.
“And Groff?” Kiara grips the edge of the desk to ground herself.
“No sign of him, but if this thing isn’t in his grasp anymore…we can only hope that means he’s dead.” Rafe takes a step forward, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.
“You don’t mean that, though. You want to do it yourself.” Rafe’s silence is the only response she needs. “Why are you showing this to me? Don’t you have your own shit to wish for? Your $500,000 back, maybe? Isn’t that why you’re even tracking him down in the first place?” But even as she says it, Kiara knows that’s not really why Rafe is pursuing Groff. It’s not about the money now, and they both know it.
“Nah. All I really want is to make Groff pay for what he did. And I’m not letting some stupid crown take that satisfaction away from me. But before we try to sell it, I thought…” Kiara feels a lump form in her throat against her will. Rafe is giving her this opportunity, no matter how far-fetched it might be. Her of all people - not his sister, not one of his actual friends. He’s not using the Blue Crown to wish for his dad back, to fix things with his ex-girlfriend (ex-fiancée actually, if what Kiara heard is true), to undo any of his own mistakes. Even though she might not understand why, Kiara knows she should thank him, but the foreign words die on her tongue before she can spit them out. “I’ll give you a minute.” Rafe disappears around the corner before Kiara can react.
As she stands alone in the office, Kiara is just high enough to indulge the fantasy that this crown actually is magic, that JJ died in the pursuit of some mystical power that can actually change things. She grips a small stretch of exposed metal and pulls the crown out of the bundle, refusing to touch the cursed fabric. Kiara runs a tentative finger over the ancient crown, wondering if she can actually force herself to say the ludicrous words out loud. It feels so pointless, so embarrassing - but still. It’s here, and what if it actually works? Is she really willing to give up her one chance to make things right, even if it’s a long shot? And what else does she really have to lose?
Kiara takes a deep breath and steels herself to say the words, the words that have haunted her for more than a year now, the words that rattle around in her brain from the second she opens her eyes in the morning to the moment she closes them at night. “I wish that JJ never died. I wish I could undo it, make it so we’re living in a world where he’s still alive. If there’s any power in this thing, please. Bring him back.” Her words are barely above a whisper, but they carry enough in the still, echoey house for Rafe to hear them from where he’s perched on the stairs. His eyebrows draw together briefly and his fingers dig into the plush carpet of the steps, but he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move a muscle.
Kiara stares at the dull metal ring, almost laughing at herself as hot tears spring into her eyes. But the sound dies in her throat when the crown shifts slightly on the desk of its own accord. She gapes open-mouthed as it starts emitting a low hum. The blue jewels embedded in the metal glow with a warm, gorgeous light that seems to come from within, throwing shadows on the table below it. Holy shit. Kiara holds her breath, not quite believing what she’s seeing, but she’s filled with fragile hope nonetheless. The thing is moving. It’s glowing.
But then the light is gone as quick as it arrived, and the crown looks even duller than it did before. Lifeless. Cheap. And Kiara can feel in her bones that nothing has changed - JJ isn’t back. Her life is just as fucked up as ever. Her heartfelt, desperate wish didn’t do anything. If there is a God, Kiara would bet anything that they’re up there laughing at her. As the crown sits there like the very embodiment of false hope and broken promises, Kiara feels something collapse inside her chest, like she was clinging to that last shred of hope with enough pressure to hold herself together. A hope that the crown has now obliterated once and for all, sending everything crashing down.
Before she’s even conscious of the movement, Kiara tries to flip over the sturdy desk the crown is lying on, yelling in frustration when she can’t lift the solid wood. Instead, she picks up the useless relic and chucks it at the wall, sending a framed map tumbling to the ground with it. She scatters papers from the desk, smashes a glass within her reach, but it’s not enough. Sobs tear through her as she stalks around the room, trying to find something that will break the way she wants it to. Maybe she’ll have to break it all. Maybe that still won’t be enough. As she raises a closed fist to the nearest wall, planning to leave an indent similar to the one Rafe made ages ago in a fit of anger, she feels rough fingertips on her bicep, pulling her back. She tries to spin around, planning to hit him with her closed hand, but Rafe wraps his toned arms across her chest before she can, caging her in against his body.
“Jesus, Kie!” Rafe exclaims, but he doesn’t sound angry. His breath is loud in her ear, and his chest is warm through his shirt.
“Don’t touch me, Rafe! Get your fucking hands off me!” Kiara thrashes against Rafe’s tight hold like a wild animal, trying to get enough space between them so she can headbutt him. But Rafe holds firm, pulling her off the ground and into his chest even as she continues to struggle, carrying her out into the living room and away from the mess despite her protests. “Cut it out! What the fuck are you doing??”
“Trying to make sure you don’t kill yourself,” Rafe snaps, wrestling her down onto the couch without releasing her from his grip. Kiara flushes at the way she’s basically sitting in his lap like a toddler, and momentarily struggles harder to protest the indignity. When all she manages to do is grind even more firmly into his lap, Kiara finally stops struggling. “You done?” Rafe’s warm breath ghosts over her ear, and Kiara barely suppresses a shudder. She’s too warm everywhere, so she relents with a terse nod to get him to let go. He releases her from his vise grip and she scrambles to her feet, wheeling around to shoot him the dirtiest look she can muster.
“Take me home,” Kiara demands, barely even noticing the tears still cascading down her face. Rafe takes one look at her tear-streaked cheeks, at the manic gleam in her eyes, and shakes his head.
“No.” His voice is firm, final.
“What do you mean, no? You can’t fucking keep me here!” Kiara turns towards the door to illustrate her point, but she’s startled by Rafe’s sudden yell that pierces the stillness of the house. His voice reverberates against every wall in the big room, making her jump.
“KIARA!” Rafe grimaces at his own outburst, and he takes a deep breath before speaking again. His voice is calmer, more controlled, but Kiara can still hear the undercurrent of tension in it. “I’m exhausted, and you already tore up half the house. You’ll wake everyone up if you go back now. Just…rest. Please. I’ll take you home tomorrow, I promise.”
Kiara stares at him for several long seconds, considering. Part of her wants to argue with him, but a larger part is suddenly exhausted down to her bones, like a toddler after they throw a fit. She doesn’t even know if she could make it to the car like this. So she sits on the part of the couch farthest away from Rafe with a huff, folding her arms over her chest as the tears finally dry against her cheeks. Rafe mutters something to himself but doesn’t say anything else to Kiara. He just makes himself comfy in the far corner of the sectional without sparing a glance in her direction.
Right before she shuts her swollen eyes, there’s a flutter of movement in Kiara’s peripheral vision as Rafe tosses her a blanket without a word. She begrudgingly covers herself and nestles under it, succumbing to her aching exhaustion, trying not think about the fact that any relief from her pain will only last as long as she’s asleep. She listens as Rafe’s breathing evens out almost immediately, and it doesn’t take long for Kiara to follow. They fall asleep just as dawn creeps over the horizon, unaware that everything will be different the next time they open their eyes.