Home, Chapter 5

[semaphore27.livejournal.com]

Author: Semaphore
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: PG-13, for a bit o' angst
Summary: The third volume of the trilogy (Part One: Lost and Part Two: Found can be read at Caraidean). Dom's parents return home. Dom and Billy have an unfortunate encounter at the Wellington Airport.
Feedback: Always loved and appreciated.
Disclaimer: As usual, none of this is real, and I make no profits.

I just realized it's been ages since I posted on this!



Home – Chapter 5

Dom’s on all the way to the airport—the bright smile, the flash of eyes, the sly humour, all as if he was heading for a on of his endless round of events or premieres. He has his mum laughing until tears come into her eyes and she’s dabbing frantically, trying to keep her mascara from turning into smudged black rings round her eyes.

It’s only after, when the cases have been unloaded from the boot of the car and Austin and Aureen walked to their gate, only after the hugs and well-wishes and goodbyes, the boarding call and one last flurry of embraces, the Monaghans heading downward along the passageway to their plane that the sparkle goes out of him, like a string of fairy lights suddenly unplugged from the wall, leaving something dull and dark instead.

He’s been acting all along, Billy realizes. Acting all this time, and he’s never realized. When has Dom, of all people, emotional Dom, transparent Dom, become so very good at this.

Dom moves to the glass, watching as the heavy door is closed, the plane safely sealed, watching as it begins its slow backward journey from the gate. It’s summer here, Billy realizes. He’s dressed in summer things, as if everyone around them, it’s only Dom who’s bundled into a thick grey wool jumper and still managing to look cold. “Well,” he says softly.

“Left to our own devices,” Billy answers. He’s not exactly certain how he feels about this—a bit ashamed, he supposes, that he’s so apprehensive. This is Dom, after all, and he’s so much better now. So much better…

It’s only that this is the first time he’s been on his own with Dom since the island (and see how he’d bollocksed up that one), the only time he’s been responsible, all by himself, no one to fall back on, no one to lean on.

Dom leans his forehead against the window, tugging impatiently at the sling that supports the weight of his heavy cast. “Thought they’d stay through Christmas, at least. Thought we’d have that together.”

Go to him. Go to him, y’numpty! Billy snaps at himself. This is Dom. He only needs you to feel all right again.

Only he can’t seem to move forward. It’s suddenly as if a terrible long distance separates them, or a thick wall of glass or ice, crystal clear yet impenetrable.

Billy begins instead, “D’you want me to…?” but leaves the phrase dangling. Dom’s in one of his moods, one of his brown studies, and it’s one of the times Billy’s least able to read his mind. If only he could see Dom’s mouth. Or his eyes—his eyes give him away, always.

“Nah. S’okay.” Dom gives the sling another tug before turning back to Billy. He’s smiling again—it’s just that Billy can’t tell if it’s a real smile, or if Dom’s acting again, but he suspects it might be the latter. “Time to get home, innit? To the house, anyway. Get out of this fucking…”

That phrase dangles too. Dom’s standing oddly, and his posture reminds Billy of one of the exercises he did at drama college

Make believe there’s a string that runs from the crown of your head all the way into the sky, holding you up like a marionette. How does the string change the way you stand? How does it change the way you move?

He remembers hanging at the end of his string, trapped by it, like a fish on a line. Don’t, he wants to say, Don’t let it catch you, Dommie.. But of course the idea is ridiculous, so he says nothing.

“Bill?” Dom says, patiently. Billy has the feeling Dom may have repeated his name several times, waiting for a response whilst he’s been wool-gathering.

If we truly had invisible strings, he thinks, Then no one could fall out of the sky. We’d all be safe. Suspended. At the most, we’d bounce a bit at the end, like Orli on one of his mad bungee jumps.

He gives Dom his best smile, and Dom smiles back, though there’s something odd in it, like biting down on the wedge of lime after the shot of tequila and the lick of salt. The burn and the tang and the sudden sourness so sharp it’s almost painful. Billy touches the tips of Dom’s fingers where they protrude from the cast, then, on a sudden impulse, leans forward to kiss them, tasting the tang of silver and the salt of Dom’s skin.

Dom says, very softly, “Ah, Bills,” sounding exactly like his real self. Billy straightens, gazing into Dom’s face, trying to read his eyes, but they’ve gone sapphire, hardest of all the colours to decipher. Still, his good hand goes to Billy’s cheek, Dom’s thumbnail scritching softly through Billy’s stubble. The edge of his jumper sleeve is scratchy against Billy’s cheek.

They move through the airport then. It seems vast, suddenly. Endless. Though of course it isn’t, as such things go. As such things go, it’s fairly small actually. Billy mean’s to go slowly, but Dom’s walking very fast indeed and his breath’s begun to whistle a little, so that Billy would like to tell him, Slow down, Dommie. Only slow down. There’s no point in running as if the place is on fire.

Only Dom’s stopped already. Dom’s stopped, and he’s swaying a little at the end of his invisible strong, and Billy realizes he needs to be sat down directly or he’ll be on his arse on the airport lino. He grabs Dom’s arm and steers him, stumbling, to a rank of black PVC seats, pushing him into one, kneeling in front to face him.

“You awright, daftie? Going to stay with me here?” Billy turns Dom’s hand over and sees that his fingernails have gone blue. His face is dead white, but his lips are blue too, a little, just at the edges. Dom’s head dips down toward his knees, but the cast is in the way, so Billy offers his shoulder instead, his lover collapsing against it bonelessly.

Dom’s pulse flutters rapidly against his skin, as if it’s his own pulse.

Suddenly he doesn’t care in the least for propriety, but folds Dom in his arms, rubbing his back gently. “That’s it, that’s it, ya great muppet. That’s it, just breathe. Is there anything you’re meant to take for this?”

Dom tries to get his hand into his pocket, only it’s shaking too badly, so Billy’s hand slips past instead, coming up with a slim silver tube that proves to contain a number of tiny white pills. Billy spills one into his hand and Dom takes it from him, eyes crossed with concentration as he deposits the pill beneath his tongue.

“That’s it. That’s it.” Billy holds him again, feeling the cold sweat come out through Dom’s shirt, feeling the vibration of Dom’s slight body against his own. “You’re all right now, céile. Safe as houses.”

After a moment or so, Dom pulls away. “Yeah, I’m all right. Sorry as hell, Bills.”

“Don’t mention it.” Billy sits back on his heels, watching Dom search his pockets for a tissue, then, when he doesn’t find one, wipe the wet from his face on the shoulder of his own shirt.

“There’ll be a time…” Dom begins. His right hand, the one not encased in plaster, trembles badly. “There will. When I’m not like this anymore. When I’m just…” He wipes his face again, using the whole of his sleeve this time. “Just Dom again.”

Billy runs his fingertips along Dom’s arm. The fabric of his shirt is sopping and Dom’s eyes look old, tired, as they follow the progress of Billy’s touch.

“So glad I have you, Bills. So glad you came back to me.”

“Aye.” Billy’s throat feels tight suddenly. “Feel up to making our way home yet?” He tries to make himself smile, yet the expression feels odd on his face, too tight, not at all the cheerful expression he’d meant to turn toward his lover.

“All you need is a good sleep, Dommie. You’ll be all right.” It’s a lie and they both know that—whatever Dom needs, it’s a great deal more than a bit of a kip and a healthy bit of something to eat. A sudden impulse rushes over Billy to race back to the gate they’ve just left, raising a ruckus until the departing plane’s brought back and Aureen’s there again to see to all these things, to make certain Dom’s staying calm and well-rested, that he’s getting stronger.

Despite the pages upon pages of written instructions Aureen’s left, he feels absolutely unequal to the task of seeing to Dom’s well being.

“Won’t be a burden, Bills,” Dom tells him softly. “No worries about that.” He slides down in the seat, looking undeniably weary, but amused nonetheless. “If you could see the look of blind terror on your face just now, you’d laugh your arse off.” Dom’s own laugh is forced, but only a little. “Honestly, Billy, it’s all right.”

“Aye, I know that.” Billy rubs Dom’s bony knee softly and is rewarded by a flicker of genuine smile. “Let’s not go all the way to Glasgow,” he says impulsively. “Let’s only fly as far as Hawaii and put you out in the sun until you’re brown and sweet again. Take it by easy stages. Glasgow isn’t going anywhere--least I don’t expect so.”

“Billy.” Dom strokes his cheek with the backs of his fingers, such a gentle touch, though Dom’s skin is dry and a little rough. His eyes are distant, still that deep sapphire, and it’s hard for Billy to believe that someday, somehow, he’ll look at Dom’s face and not be able to read so clearly the marks of weariness and pain. His palm cups Billy’s cheek and a new determination comes into his voice. “Love you, Bills. Love you. We’ll fly to Scotland if that’s what you need.”

He’s smiling again, that gentle, faraway smile that’s nothing Billy ever expected to see on Dom’s face, whose smiles generally speak of mischief, or of delights yet to come.

“It’s enough for now,” Billy answers, “To know that we can.”

“Is it?” Dom focuses a bit then. “I suppose it is. Just knowing the island isn’t everything that will ever be. Knowing there’s you and there’s me, but there’s still the world as well.”

“And the sheets with the hula dancers,” Billy says.

Dom laughs quietly, presses his hand flat to his chest, laughs again. “There is that.”

“Lizards will have overrun your house by now. You realize that, don’t you, y’ daft git.”

Dom only laughs again. “I’ll tell them they’re not allowed in the bedroom, shall I?”

“I’ll expect you to be stern with them. You’re far too lax.” Billy allows his face to flow into one of his silly expressions, half laughing, half stern, and it makes Dom grin, the way he knew it would. It’s proof of something—he’s not exactly certain what, though he knows it’s a good thing, a good sign, a precursor to more normal times to come.

“Love you, Bills,” Dom says, still grinning, then he stretches a bit, sighing, ”Mein Gott, I’m knackered. Couldn’t you just roll me home in a wheelbarrow?”

“Might manage a luggage trolley,” Billy answers, after consideration, grinning himself, knowing Dom’s dark moment has passed, that he’s found his footing again.

“Love you too, y’ wee muppet,” Billy says softly. “You know that, don’t you, Dom?”

There’s a rush of emotion into Dom’s eyes, the sapphire replaced by something that’s blue and brilliant. There’s a lovely way Dom’s eyes will crinkle underneath when he’s happy, and lines come out at the corners, so that whilst he’s smiling it doesn’t seem possible that Dom could do anything except smile. He tries to bend down, to give Billy a bit of a kiss, but the cast is too large and too much in the way, so Billy ends up rising on his knees instead. His hands go round the back of Dom’s head, holding him, just holding him, and his mouth brushes against Dom’s mouth, Dom’s lips parting beneath his, the little exhalation of Dom’s breath into him.

There’s so much he’d like to say, that he could say, but never will, because they’re both men, and men take the piss out of one another when what they really mean is, “I’ll love you forever. You mean more to me than my own life. My world would be entirely empty without you.”

This time, though, they’re silent. This time, once they’ve kissed, Dom’s good hand goes round the back of Billy’s head too. His nose brushes Billy’s and their foreheads press, one against the other. The world is very small in that moment. Very small and very safe and very warm. The world is Dom with his hurts and his inappropriate-for-the-season wooly jumper and the way he will do impossible, impossible things to keep Billy from harm. The way he would let go if Billy really asked him to, but Billy will never ask him to.

He thinks of Dom in the warm, salt water with the sharks and his fear and only a vague distant hope and determination to make him go on. He thinks of how he’d like to bundle Dom up, to make certain he’s secure, that he’ll never hurt again, that no one will ever hurt him.

That he will never hurt him.

“Dommie,” he says. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Dom’s long fingers are stroking back through Billy’s hair. There’s laughter and seriousness in his voice all at the same time. “Why? For getting a bit lost? No one ever needs to say sorry for getting lost, Bills. Don’t you know that?”

“I…” Billy considers. On the one hand, there’s a hard twisting feeling at the pit of his stomach, telling him he was weak, he failed, he let Dom down when Dom needed him most. Only maybe the time Dom needs him most is just now, and he’s here. Dom’s here. They’re here together.

There’s a noise behind them, a shuffle of trainers on lino breaking Billy’s concentration. He pulls away to see that Dom’s face has settled into a familiar expression, friendly and pleasant. His meet-the-public face. It’s at odds with his illness and his weariness and Billy can’t help but see the cracks beneath the mask, yet at the same time he knows it’s real, in its own way.

Billy turns. There’s a girl behind him, no different from a thousand girls he’s met: spectacles, slightly bushy hair, vaguely pretty in a bright-eyed, well-scrubbed way. She’ll speak to him, he knows, stammering a little. She’ll want them to sign something, give her a bit of a hug perhaps, pose for the snap her best chum will take on a tiny disposable camera. It’s little enough to ask, really, and little enough to give, and it will make her happy, make her glow with happiness, like a candle behind a glass.

And yet he suddenly doesn’t want a bit of it. He wants to bring Dom home, doesn’t want him troubled, doesn’t want him having to pose for snaps when he’s still so unwell. His voice, coming out of him, is something Billy can’t recognize: tight, it is, and hard, hard enough to cut glass. “Not just now, love. Show a bit of consideration.”

To Billy’s great surprise, she laughs. It’s not a sound he expected from her. It’s hard as his voice was hard, a little mad, full of something he can’t begin to identify.

“You’re those two, aren’t you. Those two.”

Dom’s looking at her, as if he’s already understood, by instinct, something Billy hasn’t twigged to yet. He’s caught off balance, knowing the situation isn’t what he’d thought, only not certain, yet, what it is

“Why?” she asks, in a tone that’s small and tight. It comes to Billy that the sound is filled with might be humour, but might just as well be rage.

Her voice rises, slicing through the air like an aria from a tragic opera, its grief palpable, too big to be contained inside one wee girl’s body. “Why are you alive? Why do you deserve to be alive when everyone else died? What makes you think you deserve to live?”

Billy’s lost. “Love, I…”

“No. You don’t get to talk. I want my mum back. I want my dad back. I don’t want…” Her breath hitches. She’s younger than Billy first thought, no more than fifteen, sixteen at the most. There’s an older woman in a drab, sensible frock and drab sensible shoes bustling up to her, as if she might somehow stop this, as if any of it can be stopped.

“I ask myself that every day,” Dom answers, and there’s a raw truthfulness on his face that Billy finds unnerving. “I’m frightened to sleep because I’ll be back there again, with the water pouring in and not enough time for anything and I know I didn’t fucking deserve to live but I did anyway though sometimes I don’t want to. Sometimes it seems easier to have gone down with the rest of them, y’know? Then they wouldn’t come to me, asking why, or what right a sorry git like meself has to be alive when they’re not. I keep dreaming I’m trying to save them, all of them, only I can’t.” Dom’s rubbing his chest again, thoughtlessly, absently, his face tight with pain. “That’s what you don’t fuckin’ get. The plane was going, it was going down and there wasn’t time for anything, not even time to think properly.” His chin tucks into his chest and his shoulders hunch. He’s shaking violently, his skin white as paper. “And I fucking know it’s wrong and it hurts but that’s the way it was. I’d be dead if that could bring your mum and dad back to you, but that’s not how things worked out, is it? Me being dead would just be…” He’s silent for a long time, but he gives the girl a look Billy hadn’t known was in him. “Me being dead,” he says softly. “If it wasn’t, I’d do it in a heartbeat. A heartbeat.” His hand’s spread out flat over his chest now and he looks suddenly very small, utterly defeated. “I would,” he murmurs.

“I’m sorry,” the older woman says, softly, to Billy—to both of them really. “My son… That’s what they told us—that there was no time. They couldn’t have got out. They said no one could have got out, no one could have survived. It was too…” Her voice trails away, and when she speaks again her voice is soft, and very gentle. “No one blames you, boys. No one blames you, really. It’s just chance we’re here, really.”

The girl’s gone silent. Standing there, without her angry words, she seems terribly young, her face nearly unformed with grief.

“Come along now, Anastasia-love,” the older woman says, taking the girl’s arm. “Come along with granny. Have a cup of tea and a good cry and you’ll feel better soon, my dear.”

“Sorry,” Dom mutters, into his own chest. “Sorry.” Billy can scarcely hear him. His hand screws up into a fist, pressing into the socket of his right eye, and he’s rocking a bit. Billy wonders if perhaps he needs a cup of tea and a good cry as well—or perhaps a hundred good cries, or a thousand, along with enough tea to float a battleship, in order to be right again.

"How does this happen?" Dom asks. "How did she find us?"

"Chance?" Billy answers, then, "Small world?" Billy sits in the PVC chair beside Dom’s and pulls him over, holding him close, holding him tight. “Come along, céile,” he says, unconsciously echoing the old woman's world. “Come along home with me, and rest. I’ll hold you long as you need to be held.”

“Forever, then?” Dom asks, his voice harsh and raw.

“Forever,” Billy answers firmly, “if that’s what you need.”