#2
“I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.” | Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”
Fili/Kili, T
Fast Car (formerly 'Dead Batteries') AU (Ao3 / Tumblr)
1,036 words
--
A/N: Direct follow up to Breaking Point, this time from Fili's POV.
Warnings for: poor decisions regarding operating a motor vehicle after consuming alcohol, ensuing accident (very minor injuries), swearing, mostly emotional whump/angst.
--
Fili glared down at the phone in his hand. His words replayed in his mind. Again. And again. His finger hovered over the “call back” button.
But…
His. Goddamn. Fucking. Words.
Why would Kili answer if Fili did call him back?
“Fucking Christ,” Fili swore. He grabbed his black canvas vest from a hook and kicked open the heavy metal door. He stepped out into the cold mountain air. He shrugged on the vest. The cold brought him back to himself just a little bit, sobered him up just enough to feel sick for another reason other than the amount of alcohol he had consumed that night. The door slammed. “What do you want, Kili.”
Kili’s voice was muffled. “I…” a shuddering breath, “I’m sorry, Fee. I fucked up. I—”
Fili’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. He could tell that Kili had been crying. Probably was still crying. Fili gritted his teeth. He had had his fair share of tears, not that Kili had asked. “When has ‘sorry’ ever fixed anything?” Fili snapped angrily before anything harsher could come to mind. Before he let Kili know how he had really been doing, before he treated Kili like the friends that they had been before anything else started, before he bared himself to Kili’s eyes.
Kili groaned. “Fili—”
“What.” Fili’s hands curled into fists. He was walking. Gravel and ice crunched beneath his black boots.
“I miss y—”
Fili hung up without even thinking.
The plastic creaked under the force of his grip. He kicked the gravel of the parking lot. Pulled back his arm to hurl his phone into the darkness. He didn’t. He clenched the phone tighter. He screamed into the darkness.
He exhaled heavily through his nose. Without thinking about it he stuffed his phone into his pocket; unclipped his keys from his belt loop, and started up the dirt bike. The same dirt bike he and Kili had spent so many hours fixing, and pretending to fix.
The familiar rumble of the bike between his legs settled his racing heart just a bit. He took a deep breath before pulling his helmet on and buckling it. The visor and the chin guard narrowed his world view to the width of the road and a bit more. The roar of the bike was muffled by the padding, replaced by his own heavy breathing. He fixed the visor roughly in place and kicked the bike into gear. He thought he heard someone call his name, but he did not look back.
Fili rode away from town. The roads got narrower and the curves got tighter as he headed deeper into the foothills of the Sierra. Fili pushed the bike harder each time his words came back to him, each time he felt a pang of regret at hanging up the phone, each time Kili’s face came into his mind.
He felt the back tire lose traction in a turn or two.
He knew he should slow down.
But then, “When has ‘sorry’ ever fixed anything?” spurred him higher and faster.
The yellow sign indicated a tight switchback with a cautionary 15 beneath it. Fili watched the speedometer needle move higher. The wind bit into his exposed skin. Eyes fixed on the solid yellow lines.
And then everything was spinning.
The lines were gone.
Everything slide past him sideways.
Impact knocked the air from Fili lungs.
Plastic screamed where it was gouged by the asphalt.
And then everything stopped.
There was the cold wind, Fili’s own breathing, and nothing else.
Fili’s breath shook. He pushed himself into a seated position. He was near the edge of the road, where the non-existent shoulder gave way to a steep drop down the mountain. Numb fingers unbuckled his helmet and traced the deep lines. The knowledge of what would have happened if he had not been wearing his helmet was there, but it did not touch him, not yet.
He moved slowly. He waited for something to hurt. His jeans were torn open on one side, his thigh embedded with dirt, asphalt, and ice. But nothing hurt.
Fili saw the flickering headlight of the bike below him in the trees. He could already see that there was going to be no fixing the bike.
The bike where Kili had pressed close to Fili’s back.
Where Kili had wrapped his arms around Fili’s waist and kissed his neck just beneath the ear.
Where once, after Fili revealed a fantasy that consisted of a blowjob on the bike, Kili had moved a hand down from Fili’s waist to fondle him through his jeans at a stop sign in the middle of nowhere. They had stayed like that until some SUV came up behind them and honked its horn. Flushed, excited, and embarrassed Fili stalled the bike and then chirped the tires before he got the bike moving forward again. Much to the consternation of the SUV driver. Kili laughed, his breath warm on Fili’s cheek.
That bike was gone now.
Fili pulled out his phone and he called Thorin. Thorin’s questions were brusque. He told Fili to stay where he was and that the police would be there soon.
Fili hung up.
Everything was going wrong. Had been going wrong since before graduation. Fili wiped his running nose. He opened his phone again.
This time he dialed Kili’s number.
Six rings.
And then an answering machine.
With an automated message.
Fili exhaled and stared at the screen with the seconds ticking by. Then he saw a glint of metal in the dirt just below the shoulder. Carefully he descended the slope to retrieve the key ring that had been ripped from his keys. It said “Kiera” on one side and San Francisco on the other with a depiction of the Golden Gate bridge. “Kiera” was the closest thing they could find to Kili’s name in the gift shops two summers back.
Fili returned to the road and sat on the edge of the white line. He sat there waiting for flashing red, blue, and yellow lights to find him. He ran his thumb over the keychain like it was a worry stone. His nose was running again, but not from the cold.
“Kili.”
9 notes
·
View notes
It has the same 7,993 cm³ (8 L; 487.8 in³) quad-turbocharged W16 engine as its predecessor the Veyron, but with output increased to 1,500 hp (1,479 hp; 1,103 kW) at 6,700 rpm and a maximum torque of 1,600 N m (1,180 lb ft) at 2,000-6,000 rpm, which, thanks to electronic control, allows it to go into action from 3,800 rpm. Its twin-scroll turbocharged engine with an electric actuator, a new exhaust system, electronic management and carbon fiber intake, is mated to a 7-speed "DSG" dual-clutch gearbox, which is very different. to that of a Volkswagen Polo.5 Accelerates from 0 to 100 km/h (62 mph) in 2.5 seconds, according to the manufacturer; 0 to 200 km/h (124 mph) in 6.5 seconds; and from 0 to 300 km/h (186 mph) in 13.6 seconds. Its maximum speed is 380 km/h (236 mph) in normal mode, although with a second key you can unlock the maximum speed mode ("top speed"), with which it reaches 420 km/h (261 mph)
0 notes
"DEAD WOMAN IS NOT IDENTIFIED," Hamilton Spectator. August 29, 1933. Page 7.
----
Died in Hospital Following Motor Accident
----
Thought to Have Been a Resident of Hamilton
----
Simcoe, Ont., Aug. 29. - (CP) - Coroner Dr. E. W. Zumstein, of Delhi, to-day had ordered an inquest into the death of the unidentified woman, thought to be a resident of Hamilton, who died in hospital here Sunday night from injuries suffered in a motor accident. Provincial police were trying to identify her.
The woman was offered a ride by Chester Beaumert and Kados Sigmond, both of Welland, when they noticed her walking beside the highway. Authorities have taken no action against the men who deny any knowledge of her identity. Sigmond suffered slight injuries when the car overturned near Vanessa, but Beaumert, driver of the car, escaped uninjured. The inquest will be held here Friday.
Not Known Here
The detective department of the Hamilton police force stated this morning that they had tried in vain to trace any relatives or friends of the woman who was thought to have come from Hamilton. Constable Metcalfe, of the provincial police, declined to make any statement when asked if he had had any success in tracing the woman and her domicile.
1 note
·
View note