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monaboyd Oct. 1st, 2004 06:38 am)
semaphore27.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Oct. 1st, 2004 06:38 am)Author: Semaphore
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: more R-ish
Summary: The third volume of the trilogy (Part One: Lost and Part Two: Found, as well as the earlier parts of this story can be read at Caraidean thanks to the hard-working![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jesslotr). Umn... a general "I'm sorry" about yesterday's chapter. This one is somehwat fluffier, despite things medical. For the most part. Hope that makes up for #10.
Disclaimer: As usual, none of this is real, and I make no profits.
Home, Chapter 11
When Dom wakes, he’s somewhere entirely else—in fact, he thinks he’s in hospital, which makes him angry, even though he knows it’s most likely right that he’s here. He wants to be home, though, at their house in Kailua, in their own bedroom, on their own bed. He’s sick to death of hospitals, and even though his mind’s clear enough now that Dom knows he’s been completely off his head for most of the day, not to mention the night before, it doesn’t stop him wanting. Also, Billy’s not there, which makes him terribly, unreasonably sad. After all, he’s a grown man. Why should Billy have to sit with him every moment?
Again, knowing that doesn’t stop him wanting.
In a bit, Billy does come in, bearing a cup of tea that he keeps switching from hand to hand, because it must be very hot indeed. Dom’s sorry suddenly that Billy has to drink his tea from a paper cup, far too hot and made with a sodding teabag, instead of proper tea from a teapot, poured out into a mug, then far too much milk and sugar added, because Billy likes his tea very milky and very sweet.
The paper-cup tea smells revolting. Dom would like to ask Billy to take it away, only he won’t be that inconsiderate.
Billy startles madly, slopping tea over his hand. Dom can see the red splodges where it goes, and there a moment during which Billy mutters, “Ah, bloody shite!” and waves his hand about to cool off the hotness. He sets the tea on the bedside table then, coming close to put his hands on either side of Dom’s face—so gently, oh, so gently, and it’s lovely to be held like that, with such tenderness.
Dom can’t imagine how he’d thought, even for an instant, that he wasn’t in love with Billy, or that Billy wasn’t in love with him.
“God, Dom,” Billy’s saying. “Ah, Christ, Dommie, it’s good to see you awake. Had me worried, you did.”
Dom laughs a bit. “Did I tell you about the snakes?” It’s all coming back to him, and he thinks it’s possible than a great deal more time has passed than just a night and a day. He feels very tired now, but also very calm, and the knowledge that he’s safe, on the ground in Hawaii, washes over him. “We made it, Bills. We did. We’ll be able to go to Glasgow now, soon as you want, won’t we?”
Billy looks down at him, his eyes wet and shiny. “Not for a long while, love. Not for a long while. We’ve got to get you better first.”
“I’m better,” Dom protests. “Aren’t I better?” He tries to sit up, but he goes very shaky and very dizzy and has to wait until Billy’s pushed the button to raise the head of his bed. “Why were there dead mice inside my cast?” he asks.
Billy turns his face away. Dom can tell he’s laughing at the same time his eyes are wet and shiny. In fact, the laughter makes the wetness spill out of them, and Billy blots it up with the back of his hand. “No mice, daftie. Whatever made you think that?”
“Well, I could smell them, couldn’t I?” Dom takes a sip of water from the cup Billy offers him, then another. Water is lovely. It doesn’t make him go sick at all.
Carefully, Billy folds back a pale blue cloth that covers his arm. What he sees does send Dom a bit sick, because there are tubes stuck right into him, and the place where the scar ought to have been but wasn’t seems longer now, and deeper, and there are wads of gauze or cotton-wool or some such shite packed into the opening. He glances up at Billy’s face, to see if he’s interpreting all this correctly.
Billy appears more somber than usual. “You were in surgery for hours. They had to take out all the metal and start fresh, and you’ve a very bad infection, Dom. You came close to going into sepsis again, and your heart’s been dodgy at best. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here until you’re much better.
Dom thinks about this, feeling a bit on the somber side himself. He wants home, their own home, so badly it’s like a pain in his stomach, yet he doesn’t want to be a burden to Billy, who looks exhausted and pale, almost faded. He’s afraid, suddenly, of losing his arm after all and he’s afraid of Billy falling back into his own dark, dark time.
Dom finds himself turning his face away, so that he won’t have to see, and feels Billy folding the cloth back over him. “I’ll be well,” he says softly. “I’ll be well quite soon.”
“That’s my Dommie,” Billy tells him. His hand, soft and scratchy at the same time, strokes over Dom’s cheek. “That’s my brave lad.”
I’m not brave, Dom thinks. I’m not the least bit brave. If you weren’t here, Bills, I’d likely scream and cry and make a terrible row.
Only Billy is here. He’s here, and for that there’s just enough strength in him to find his courage after all. He covers Billy’s hand with his own good hand. “We’ll be home together soon,” he says softly.”
“Aye,” Billy answers. He bends down and kisses Dom’s temple, his lips lingering a long while against Dom’s skin. Dom feels the warmth of his breath, the nearness of Billy, the closeness and love of him, like nothing he truly expected to find in his entire life.
“Yeah, we’ll soon be home,” Dom says.
Billy’s been sitting in the little room too long. He’s looking even paler, strained again to the snapping point, and he’s tapping his fingers quite hard against the arm of his chair, which isn’t at all like Billy, because when Billy goes still he knows how to be very still, unlike Dom who’s always wriggling or fidgeting or biting on something, because he hasn’t the least amount of stillness inside him. He simply can’t do it, unless it’s for a part, and even then, once that bit’s over with, he’ll have to go out and have a run round the set, sometimes four or five times around before he can go back and be still again.
Dom wonders if it’s something that will come to him when he’s older, but then he realizes he’s been lying still for quite a long time. There’s a sadness that washes through him, because he wasn’t ready for that bit of his nature to go out of him yet, not whilst he’s still young, still in his twenties, even if he is twenty-eight now, not twenty-seven any longer, because he’s had his birthday, even if he’s not celebrated it.
“Bills,” Dom says, but Billy doesn’t hear him. He’s staring out the window, toward the sea and the white line of breakers Dom can just barely make out, with the distance and the windowshade. “Billy,” he tries again, “Did you want to be here?”
A shudder goes through Billy’s body. He’s got thinner too, Dom notices, and he wonders if more time has passed than he thought. He wonders if he’s missed Christmas altogether, and if Billy’s had a sad, lonely Christmas here beside him, waiting for him to wake.
“Billy, love,” he says, trying to wriggle round a bit, but Billy’s sat to the wrong side of him again and he can’t roll over or put the least pressure on his bad arm without wanting to scream. He tries, though, and a sort of muffled tea-kettle sound bursts out of him before he can catch it.
Billy seems to come awake then. “No, Dom, you can’t move. It’s very bad if you move.”
“Come round to the right side of me, then,” Dom answers.
It’s painful to watch Billy climb to his feet, so stiff, so worn out. He’s rumpled and untidy and doesn’t actually appear to have showered anytime recently, which is so unlike his Billy that it frightens Dom all over again. He’s accustomed to a Billy who’ll come out after a hard night’s drinking, when Dom himself is nearly paralytic with hangover, and be fresh and clean, smiling, with that sparkle in his eyes. In anyone else it would be annoying, but with Billy… it’s just charming, innit? Just part of Billy’s charm.
Dom runs his hand over Billy’s, then reaches up to touch Billy’s cheek. His skin is dry and bristly. Dom’s alarmed to see there’s the slightest bit of silver glinting now in Billy’s beard, and that Billy’s eyes are bloodshot, their lids swollen and red-rimmed. He turns his face into Dom’s hand, though, and kisses the palm. Dom would like to curl his fingers round that kiss and hold onto its warmth forever.
“Bills,” he says softly, “Did you need to go home?”
Billy blinks at him.
“Did you? Whether it’s the house here, or all the way to Glasgow, whatever you need, I want you to do, Bill. I can’t stand to see you like this, and I don’t want you to fall back into that bad place. I’m being looked after here—fuck, all I do is sleep anyway.” It seems as if Billy’s about to move away, so Dom catches hold of his wrist. “Honestly, Bills, whatever’s best for you, I want you to do.”
“Being near you is best for me,” Billy answers, but Dom hates to see him look so defeated.
“It’s only a little setback, right? I’m getting better again?”
“The doctors are still quite…”
“But I’m getting better. Even if it’s slow, it’s a little bit every day. How many days has it been, anyway?”
“Lost count.” Billy runs his hand back through his hair.
“Has it been Christmas?”
“Aye.” Billy looks down with a bit of a smile. “Nearly Hogmanay now.”
“You have to love a country that frowns on the…” Dom feels his smile go a bit wicked. “Frivolity of Christmas, yet fully supports a holiday that’s all about getting piss-drunk and running around in the streets annoying the neighbors. That is, if all the neighbors weren’t piss-drunk as well.”
Billy laughs outright then. “It’s a very special time for my countrymen and I.”
“Think there’s a reason why there aren’t any heartwarming television programmes to celebrate the season?”
“Feckin’ bigotry, that’s what it is.” Billy’s still smiling though, and since that’s been Dom’s goal all along, he can’t complain. “Feckin’ lapsed Catholic.”
“Have you know, I’ll go nicely to mass with my mum whenever we’re in the same country at Christmas.”
“Surprised you’re not struck by lightning, entering the cathedral.”
“Special dispensation, you know.” Dom grins.
“Oh, really?” Billy’s raised one eyebrow in that specially skeptical way he has.
“Yeah. It’s the ‘no getting struck by lightning when you’re with your mum’ clause.”
“S’pose that’s out for me, then,” Billy answers. His eyes get sad and far away again.
“Bills, I’m sorry…” Dom says softly, because what else can he say? He can’t help but feel a bit guilty at times that his own mum and dad are alive and healthy and in love still, after all this time. It’s something he takes for granted when he shouldn’t.
“No. No, it’s just that…” Billy’s rubbing quite hard at the side of his face and Dom would do anything, anything, to be able to sit up and take him in both his arms, holding onto him until the hurt’s drained out again. He tries even, but he’s just so weak and his head goes round and he feels so horrible, and besides his left arm won’t do anything he tells it and even if it did, he wouldn’t want the shite that’s draining out to get on Billy’s clothes. It smells vaguely, distantly appalling, and Dom hates that.
He does manage to keep himself sitting, however, and to wrap his good arm round Billy’s shoulders, whispering into his ear, “Whatever you need, Bills. Remember that. Whatever you need.”
“God, I’d never leave you here, don’t you know that by now, y’ numpty?”
“Go home to the house, then. Have a drink and cook some disgusting shite out of a tin and curl up on the sofa with a good book or a film. Sleep in our own bed, on our own sheets and keep my half warm for me. Tomorrow go for a long walk on the seashore and don’t come back here until you’re feeling rested, well and yourself again. Dr. Dom’s orders.”
“I’m quite suspicious of your credentials, Dr. Dom. What’s your speciality?”
“It’s quite a narrow field. I call it, ‘Billy.’ Love you so much, Bills.”
Billy’s arms go round him, carefully, tenderly, then he settles Dom back into his pillows. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Not until you’re well, Bills. Promise me.”
Billy touches his fingers to his mouth, then to Dom’s own lips. “Sacred promise,” he says.
“Yeah,” Dom answers with mock sternness. “Now clear out of here. G’wan with you.”
Billy pauses just a moment in the doorway, looking back to the bed. Dom thinks he can read Billy’s entire lifetime in his eyes, and maybe other lifetimes as well, and knows things could never be any way but how they are. He was made to love Billy. Without Billy there wouldn’t be any life, only existence.
After Billy’s gone, Dom lies in bed, wishing he might have gone along. He even goes so far as to build up a fantasy of staging a prison break, of cruising in an open car with Billy along the coastal road, with the ocean breeze on his face and in his hair, but then he thinks, No, you daft prat, how do you expect to get better if you do stupid shite like that? How do you expect Bills to get well if you keep putting him through this?
Then he imagines Billy coming back into the room, him catching hold of Billy’s hand, pulling him downward until their faces are quite close, until Billy’s kissing him, his tongue in Dom’s mouth, Dom’s tongue in Billy’s and it’s the loveliest thing in the world, stroking and being stroked like that, Billy’s breath going into him and the sweet pressure of Billy’s lips against his own. Billy’s hand soft over his hip, his thumb stroking Dom’s hipbone through the covers. Dom’s surprised then to find himself quite emphatically hard, so that he wishes Billy’s hand were real, that it would stray a few centimeters over, and fold back the bedclothes, stroking him until it’s brought him off and that lovely, dizzy, warm, melting sensation fills his whole body, sending him straight into sleep the way nothing else in the world can.
But then he remembers what happened last time they tried, and that thought’s so demoralizing Dom soon fades again. He pulls a face, but that doesn’t help, and the same old loneliness and sadness wash over him, tumbling him about like a bit of wood in the sea. Dom wishes then he hadn’t told Billy to go, even though he knows it’s best that he did.
After a time, for distraction, he switches on the television, flipping through channels until he finds a surfing competition. The waves form perfect curls and the competitors are perfect, too—young, fit and bronzed, every one of them, which makes Dom sad again, because he was like that once. He was. He remembers.
He can’t bear to watch anymore, and so he switches to another channel, where they’re speaking to that little girl who’d got her arm bitten off by sharks whilst surfing, only she still surfs and seems perfectly happy. Dom likes her attitude, her cheekiness. She makes him smile.
On another channel there’s that shite movie with Sean Connery in the Amazonian rainforest and Dom has to laugh a bit, remembering his thoughts when he was off his head, back in their bedroom room. “It’s the fuckin’ ants, you stupid wanker,” he tells Mr. Connery, but he leaves the film on anyway, mostly just to look at the trees, but also because he wants to practice the Sean Connery brogue, which is always present, whatever part he plays, yet always seems the slightest bit considered, slow and measured and deeply-pitched, as if the real Sean Connery had somehow decided, long ago, to play the part of a different, fictional Sean Connery, who is Scottish! and an Actor!
It’s nothing like Billy’s brogue, which is quick as lightning and perfectly natural, his words rising and falling in all the right places, with those lovely curly round vowels, as if he’s the only one in the world who says words correctly and everyone else has got them wrong.
Dom practices saying things like, “Miss Moneypenny, I should very much like to bugger you sideways,” until he’s quite confident he can glide into the voice any time he likes. He also knows Billy will be amused. He’ll call Dom a daft git, but he’ll be amused.
Dom drifts into a dream, in which Sean Connery is saying to him, quite gently, “Young Monaghan, we will now have to detach your left arm with this slightly blunt axe-head. I very much hope your tetanus injections are up-to-date, lad.” He has quite large hands, Mr. Connery, powerful hands, and he holds Dom down easily with a knee against his chest. No matter how hard he struggles, it seems impossible to escape and Dom finds himself crying out, “No, no, I’m sorry!”
It takes all his strength to jerk away, but Dom just manages, only to discover he’s not being held down by a crazed Scottish actor after all (albeit one with a deep, sonorous voice), it’s just the nurses pulling the packing out of his arm with forceps, depositing the small, disgusting rolls in the sort of tray one usually uses to be sick in.
“Oh,” Dom says. “Oh.” It hurts dreadfully. Just having his arm touched hurts dreadfully, but he forces himself to hold still, to be cooperative. He wouldn’t want anyone giving his mum a hard time, so he won’t give these nurses a hard time either.
He’s glad, though, when they’re done, and have the fresh rolls packed in again.
One of the nurses asks him if he’d like some Jello, which he translates into “jelly,” or a Popsicle, which he translates as “ice lolly. Dom answers, “Popsicle, please,” then adds, “Only not the banana kind.”
The other nurse grins at him. “You have the cutest accent, hon,” she says. She sounds as if she comes from Texas, or somewhere in the American south.
“Thanks,” Dom says, “So do you,” which makes her laugh. She’s still smiling when she returns with the lolly—an orange one. Dom isn’t really hungry, but the coolness feels wonderful on his tongue. He takes a bite and lets it melt there, slowly and sweetly.
After a bit, the phone rings. Dom finds he can turn just enough to answer it, and is glad he took the trouble, because Billy’s there at the other end. It’s so good to hear Billy’s voice, even after such a short while, that Dom nearly drops the receiver. “What’s that?”
“I said the house is overrun with lizards,” Billy tells him. “You’d be delighted.”
“Overrun?” Dom asks. That sounds interesting. He imagines lizards on every available surface, their bright black eyes winking up at him.
“I’ve seen at least three so far,” Billy answers solemnly, so much so that Dom can’t help but laugh at him. Billy is not a fan of things reptilian. Billy’s more the type to keep a nice sort of dog, teach it to be obedient, and take it for runs with him in the park. In fact, he has exactly such a dog, that stays with Margaret when they’re not in Glasgow. It’s a spaniel of some kind, with a winning smile and floppy ears, and Dom likes it quite well, though he’s never had the heart to tell Billy that he’s a bit allergic.
“It’s not that large a house,” Billy retorts. “There’s not room inside for you, me and three lizards.”
“What are they then, Komodo Dragons?” Dom laughs a bit more, but then he’s worn out. “Ah, Bills. I’ll see to them when I get home. Promise.”
“You sound tired, Dom.”
“All I do is sleep. Must’ve been very dull company for you, however many days it’s been.”
Dom can hear Billy’s footsteps, wandering from room to room. He must be on the mobile, then. Finally there’s the creak of the back door opening, the crackle of a chair as Billy sits.
“I’m not afraid anymore, Dom,” he says softly. “Of the sea, I mean. It’s lovely just now. So very blue, and I think I see porpoises out where the water’s still.”
There’s a silence, one that’s comfortable, yet a bit sad.
“What were you thinking, Dom, all the time you were swimming?” Billy asks, finally. They’ve never really spoken of this.
“How big it was. How I kept thinking I felt sharks down below us. How I mustn’t fall asleep and I mustn’t lose hold of you and that I wished so much that you’d wake, only when you did it was worse. You were entirely off your head, Bills, and I just wanted to be able to hold you and tell you over and over we were safe, only I couldn’t do that, could I? Then, later, when I first started seeing the island, I was so afraid it would all turn out to be a dream, only a dream and I would have swum, and fought, and saved you for nothing. That I’d let you down.”
“Only the island was real,” Billy said softly.
“That it was.”
“I always knew I loved you, I just never knew how very much.”
Dom doesn’t know what to answer, because the thing is, he’s always known. Always. Even in his dark time, when his body seemed determined to do small, sly things to trick him into letting it stop, loving Billy was the thing that kept him moving forward one day to the next, then onto another day, and another. When the woman who wasn’t really Fran came to him, it was that love that prevented him from leaving with her, because to do so would have been so easy. So terribly easy.
“Always were a bit slow on the uptake, Boyd,” Dom says at last.
“Christ, try to have a serious conversation! Wanker.”
“Git,” Dom responds. “You always tell me not to say I love you more than my own life, Bills, but it’s the truth. There’ve been times I couldn’t hold on for me, yet I could hold on for you.”
“You’ll be well soon,” Billy tells him.
“Absolutely,” Dom responds, though his voice trembles a little.
“If it…” Dom can hear Billy’s soft breath, out-in, out-in. “I do realize now. You know that, don’t you, Dom? That I realize?”
It’s strange to hear that uncertainty in Billy’s voice.
“Oh, knew it before you did, most likely,” Dom answers.
Billy laughs then. “Aye, most likely you did.” There’s a pause, in which it seems many things are being said. Dom shuts his eyes, hearing them all, understanding them all. “Sweet dreams, Dommie,” Billy tells him at last, softly. “Love you more than my own life.”
“Love you too, Bills. At least that much.”
When Billy rings off, Dom’s left feeling weak and shaken, so shaken that he is actually trembling. “Stop that,” he commands himself. “What’s wrong with you, you worthless git?”
“Who are you talking too, Dommie?”
Dom turns abruptly, so abruptly he makes himself dizzy and has to press his hand to his forehead until things go steady again.
It’s Evangeline—Evey--of course. Evey with her smile and her pretty hair, an armful of flowers and a carrier bag in her hand. She drops the bag onto the floor and the flowers into a chair without much ceremony, and in the next moment she’s at the bed, her arms around him gently, one of her beautiful hands stroking up and down the back of his hair, the back of his neck, over his shoulders. “Oh, sweetie,” she’s saying. “Oh, honey, I’m so happy. I’m so happy.”
Dom clings to her, positively clings to her. Her body’s very slender, but firm and strong and she smells to him of Hawaii and laughter and safety and comfort.
"We've--I've--been calling to see how you're doing every day. They wouldn't let anyone in before today."
At last she moves away a little, still holding fast to his hand, her other hand tracing the outlines of his face. “My God, baby. My God.”
“I’m much better,” Dom assures her. He just wishes he looked better. Not that he’s seen himself, but he expects the view isn’t pretty.
Evey traces her thumb over his lips. “Oh, hon, you look like death.”
“Don’t have me makeup, do I?”
Evey laughs. “Same old Dom, huh?” She perches next to him, on the edge of the bed. “We’re on for the full season, by the way. It’s definite. We start filming again right after the Christmas break.”
“You do,” Dom says.
“What’s that?”
“You do. I expect poor Charlie’s monster victim number seventeen, and I’m back in the unemployment queue.”
“Is that what you’ve been thinking? Honey, everyone loves Charlie. They love you. Charlie’s mysteriously disappeared for exactly two episodes, but the suits want you back as soon as you’re able, sweetie. You probably have no idea how huge the publicity’s been.”
Dom glances away, thinking of the reporters, the hurtful stories, the nurse who’d given those people access to him when he was so ill.
Evey touches his cheek, turning his face back toward her. “No, Dom. No, baby, don’t take it like that. I know…” She pulls in a deep, ragged breath. “I know it must have been horrible. I know it’s nothing like on the show, and I probably can’t even imagine how awful it was but, Dommie, you got through. You and Billy both. Do you know how amazing that is? They’ve showed maps on TV, you know? Of where the plane went down, and where the island they found you on was, and it just… I dunno. It made me feel kind of sick actually, looking at that. Seeing how far you had to go, with your poor arm and everything. That’s why everyone was saying you were dead, even after they didn’t find your bodies at the crash site, because it was too far, it was just too far for anyone…” There are tears slipping over her lower lids now, falling swiftly and wetly onto her white shirt. “I’m so damn proud of you,” she murmurs.
Dom would like to explain that he had Billy, so there wasn’t any other choice, but instead he smiles at her, a bit wistfully.
“And none of it seems like that to you at all, does it?” Evey dries her eyes, smiling down at him. “Now, what can I get you? What would you like?” She’s bustling about now, rearranging the flowers in their vase, finding a shelf to put them on where Dom can see them. They’re lovely: hibiscus and white ginger and birds-of-paradise, bright and fragrant and very much part of Hawaii.
Dom doesn’t say anything. He can’t think of a thing he wants, not food, not something to read, not video games. Mostly he’d like to lie quietly, to feel human arms around him, a warm body close to his, so that he can remind himself over and over that he’s safe. It won’t ever happen again. It won’t. It’s like lightning striking twice.
Perhaps Evey senses what he needs, because she curls up on the bed beside him, looking down into his face, gently stroking his chest and his stomach until Dom’s ready to purr like a kitten. If he wasn’t already so completely in love with Billy, he could love Evey, does love her really, as a sister, a friend. He still finds her incredibly attractive, because he may share his life and his bed with a bloke but that’s never meant he doesn’t have eyes. It’s good to have the pressure of Evey’s head resting on his shoulder and to let his own arm curl round her back, holding her tightly as he can, so that she can be his anchor.
It’s good to be in the world, and not alone.
Pairing: Dom/Billy
Rating: more R-ish
Summary: The third volume of the trilogy (Part One: Lost and Part Two: Found, as well as the earlier parts of this story can be read at Caraidean thanks to the hard-working
jesslotr). Umn... a general "I'm sorry" about yesterday's chapter. This one is somehwat fluffier, despite things medical. For the most part. Hope that makes up for #10. Disclaimer: As usual, none of this is real, and I make no profits.
Home, Chapter 11
When Dom wakes, he’s somewhere entirely else—in fact, he thinks he’s in hospital, which makes him angry, even though he knows it’s most likely right that he’s here. He wants to be home, though, at their house in Kailua, in their own bedroom, on their own bed. He’s sick to death of hospitals, and even though his mind’s clear enough now that Dom knows he’s been completely off his head for most of the day, not to mention the night before, it doesn’t stop him wanting. Also, Billy’s not there, which makes him terribly, unreasonably sad. After all, he’s a grown man. Why should Billy have to sit with him every moment?
Again, knowing that doesn’t stop him wanting.
In a bit, Billy does come in, bearing a cup of tea that he keeps switching from hand to hand, because it must be very hot indeed. Dom’s sorry suddenly that Billy has to drink his tea from a paper cup, far too hot and made with a sodding teabag, instead of proper tea from a teapot, poured out into a mug, then far too much milk and sugar added, because Billy likes his tea very milky and very sweet.
The paper-cup tea smells revolting. Dom would like to ask Billy to take it away, only he won’t be that inconsiderate.
Billy startles madly, slopping tea over his hand. Dom can see the red splodges where it goes, and there a moment during which Billy mutters, “Ah, bloody shite!” and waves his hand about to cool off the hotness. He sets the tea on the bedside table then, coming close to put his hands on either side of Dom’s face—so gently, oh, so gently, and it’s lovely to be held like that, with such tenderness.
Dom can’t imagine how he’d thought, even for an instant, that he wasn’t in love with Billy, or that Billy wasn’t in love with him.
“God, Dom,” Billy’s saying. “Ah, Christ, Dommie, it’s good to see you awake. Had me worried, you did.”
Dom laughs a bit. “Did I tell you about the snakes?” It’s all coming back to him, and he thinks it’s possible than a great deal more time has passed than just a night and a day. He feels very tired now, but also very calm, and the knowledge that he’s safe, on the ground in Hawaii, washes over him. “We made it, Bills. We did. We’ll be able to go to Glasgow now, soon as you want, won’t we?”
Billy looks down at him, his eyes wet and shiny. “Not for a long while, love. Not for a long while. We’ve got to get you better first.”
“I’m better,” Dom protests. “Aren’t I better?” He tries to sit up, but he goes very shaky and very dizzy and has to wait until Billy’s pushed the button to raise the head of his bed. “Why were there dead mice inside my cast?” he asks.
Billy turns his face away. Dom can tell he’s laughing at the same time his eyes are wet and shiny. In fact, the laughter makes the wetness spill out of them, and Billy blots it up with the back of his hand. “No mice, daftie. Whatever made you think that?”
“Well, I could smell them, couldn’t I?” Dom takes a sip of water from the cup Billy offers him, then another. Water is lovely. It doesn’t make him go sick at all.
Carefully, Billy folds back a pale blue cloth that covers his arm. What he sees does send Dom a bit sick, because there are tubes stuck right into him, and the place where the scar ought to have been but wasn’t seems longer now, and deeper, and there are wads of gauze or cotton-wool or some such shite packed into the opening. He glances up at Billy’s face, to see if he’s interpreting all this correctly.
Billy appears more somber than usual. “You were in surgery for hours. They had to take out all the metal and start fresh, and you’ve a very bad infection, Dom. You came close to going into sepsis again, and your heart’s been dodgy at best. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here until you’re much better.
Dom thinks about this, feeling a bit on the somber side himself. He wants home, their own home, so badly it’s like a pain in his stomach, yet he doesn’t want to be a burden to Billy, who looks exhausted and pale, almost faded. He’s afraid, suddenly, of losing his arm after all and he’s afraid of Billy falling back into his own dark, dark time.
Dom finds himself turning his face away, so that he won’t have to see, and feels Billy folding the cloth back over him. “I’ll be well,” he says softly. “I’ll be well quite soon.”
“That’s my Dommie,” Billy tells him. His hand, soft and scratchy at the same time, strokes over Dom’s cheek. “That’s my brave lad.”
I’m not brave, Dom thinks. I’m not the least bit brave. If you weren’t here, Bills, I’d likely scream and cry and make a terrible row.
Only Billy is here. He’s here, and for that there’s just enough strength in him to find his courage after all. He covers Billy’s hand with his own good hand. “We’ll be home together soon,” he says softly.”
“Aye,” Billy answers. He bends down and kisses Dom’s temple, his lips lingering a long while against Dom’s skin. Dom feels the warmth of his breath, the nearness of Billy, the closeness and love of him, like nothing he truly expected to find in his entire life.
“Yeah, we’ll soon be home,” Dom says.
Billy’s been sitting in the little room too long. He’s looking even paler, strained again to the snapping point, and he’s tapping his fingers quite hard against the arm of his chair, which isn’t at all like Billy, because when Billy goes still he knows how to be very still, unlike Dom who’s always wriggling or fidgeting or biting on something, because he hasn’t the least amount of stillness inside him. He simply can’t do it, unless it’s for a part, and even then, once that bit’s over with, he’ll have to go out and have a run round the set, sometimes four or five times around before he can go back and be still again.
Dom wonders if it’s something that will come to him when he’s older, but then he realizes he’s been lying still for quite a long time. There’s a sadness that washes through him, because he wasn’t ready for that bit of his nature to go out of him yet, not whilst he’s still young, still in his twenties, even if he is twenty-eight now, not twenty-seven any longer, because he’s had his birthday, even if he’s not celebrated it.
“Bills,” Dom says, but Billy doesn’t hear him. He’s staring out the window, toward the sea and the white line of breakers Dom can just barely make out, with the distance and the windowshade. “Billy,” he tries again, “Did you want to be here?”
A shudder goes through Billy’s body. He’s got thinner too, Dom notices, and he wonders if more time has passed than he thought. He wonders if he’s missed Christmas altogether, and if Billy’s had a sad, lonely Christmas here beside him, waiting for him to wake.
“Billy, love,” he says, trying to wriggle round a bit, but Billy’s sat to the wrong side of him again and he can’t roll over or put the least pressure on his bad arm without wanting to scream. He tries, though, and a sort of muffled tea-kettle sound bursts out of him before he can catch it.
Billy seems to come awake then. “No, Dom, you can’t move. It’s very bad if you move.”
“Come round to the right side of me, then,” Dom answers.
It’s painful to watch Billy climb to his feet, so stiff, so worn out. He’s rumpled and untidy and doesn’t actually appear to have showered anytime recently, which is so unlike his Billy that it frightens Dom all over again. He’s accustomed to a Billy who’ll come out after a hard night’s drinking, when Dom himself is nearly paralytic with hangover, and be fresh and clean, smiling, with that sparkle in his eyes. In anyone else it would be annoying, but with Billy… it’s just charming, innit? Just part of Billy’s charm.
Dom runs his hand over Billy’s, then reaches up to touch Billy’s cheek. His skin is dry and bristly. Dom’s alarmed to see there’s the slightest bit of silver glinting now in Billy’s beard, and that Billy’s eyes are bloodshot, their lids swollen and red-rimmed. He turns his face into Dom’s hand, though, and kisses the palm. Dom would like to curl his fingers round that kiss and hold onto its warmth forever.
“Bills,” he says softly, “Did you need to go home?”
Billy blinks at him.
“Did you? Whether it’s the house here, or all the way to Glasgow, whatever you need, I want you to do, Bill. I can’t stand to see you like this, and I don’t want you to fall back into that bad place. I’m being looked after here—fuck, all I do is sleep anyway.” It seems as if Billy’s about to move away, so Dom catches hold of his wrist. “Honestly, Bills, whatever’s best for you, I want you to do.”
“Being near you is best for me,” Billy answers, but Dom hates to see him look so defeated.
“It’s only a little setback, right? I’m getting better again?”
“The doctors are still quite…”
“But I’m getting better. Even if it’s slow, it’s a little bit every day. How many days has it been, anyway?”
“Lost count.” Billy runs his hand back through his hair.
“Has it been Christmas?”
“Aye.” Billy looks down with a bit of a smile. “Nearly Hogmanay now.”
“You have to love a country that frowns on the…” Dom feels his smile go a bit wicked. “Frivolity of Christmas, yet fully supports a holiday that’s all about getting piss-drunk and running around in the streets annoying the neighbors. That is, if all the neighbors weren’t piss-drunk as well.”
Billy laughs outright then. “It’s a very special time for my countrymen and I.”
“Think there’s a reason why there aren’t any heartwarming television programmes to celebrate the season?”
“Feckin’ bigotry, that’s what it is.” Billy’s still smiling though, and since that’s been Dom’s goal all along, he can’t complain. “Feckin’ lapsed Catholic.”
“Have you know, I’ll go nicely to mass with my mum whenever we’re in the same country at Christmas.”
“Surprised you’re not struck by lightning, entering the cathedral.”
“Special dispensation, you know.” Dom grins.
“Oh, really?” Billy’s raised one eyebrow in that specially skeptical way he has.
“Yeah. It’s the ‘no getting struck by lightning when you’re with your mum’ clause.”
“S’pose that’s out for me, then,” Billy answers. His eyes get sad and far away again.
“Bills, I’m sorry…” Dom says softly, because what else can he say? He can’t help but feel a bit guilty at times that his own mum and dad are alive and healthy and in love still, after all this time. It’s something he takes for granted when he shouldn’t.
“No. No, it’s just that…” Billy’s rubbing quite hard at the side of his face and Dom would do anything, anything, to be able to sit up and take him in both his arms, holding onto him until the hurt’s drained out again. He tries even, but he’s just so weak and his head goes round and he feels so horrible, and besides his left arm won’t do anything he tells it and even if it did, he wouldn’t want the shite that’s draining out to get on Billy’s clothes. It smells vaguely, distantly appalling, and Dom hates that.
He does manage to keep himself sitting, however, and to wrap his good arm round Billy’s shoulders, whispering into his ear, “Whatever you need, Bills. Remember that. Whatever you need.”
“God, I’d never leave you here, don’t you know that by now, y’ numpty?”
“Go home to the house, then. Have a drink and cook some disgusting shite out of a tin and curl up on the sofa with a good book or a film. Sleep in our own bed, on our own sheets and keep my half warm for me. Tomorrow go for a long walk on the seashore and don’t come back here until you’re feeling rested, well and yourself again. Dr. Dom’s orders.”
“I’m quite suspicious of your credentials, Dr. Dom. What’s your speciality?”
“It’s quite a narrow field. I call it, ‘Billy.’ Love you so much, Bills.”
Billy’s arms go round him, carefully, tenderly, then he settles Dom back into his pillows. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Not until you’re well, Bills. Promise me.”
Billy touches his fingers to his mouth, then to Dom’s own lips. “Sacred promise,” he says.
“Yeah,” Dom answers with mock sternness. “Now clear out of here. G’wan with you.”
Billy pauses just a moment in the doorway, looking back to the bed. Dom thinks he can read Billy’s entire lifetime in his eyes, and maybe other lifetimes as well, and knows things could never be any way but how they are. He was made to love Billy. Without Billy there wouldn’t be any life, only existence.
After Billy’s gone, Dom lies in bed, wishing he might have gone along. He even goes so far as to build up a fantasy of staging a prison break, of cruising in an open car with Billy along the coastal road, with the ocean breeze on his face and in his hair, but then he thinks, No, you daft prat, how do you expect to get better if you do stupid shite like that? How do you expect Bills to get well if you keep putting him through this?
Then he imagines Billy coming back into the room, him catching hold of Billy’s hand, pulling him downward until their faces are quite close, until Billy’s kissing him, his tongue in Dom’s mouth, Dom’s tongue in Billy’s and it’s the loveliest thing in the world, stroking and being stroked like that, Billy’s breath going into him and the sweet pressure of Billy’s lips against his own. Billy’s hand soft over his hip, his thumb stroking Dom’s hipbone through the covers. Dom’s surprised then to find himself quite emphatically hard, so that he wishes Billy’s hand were real, that it would stray a few centimeters over, and fold back the bedclothes, stroking him until it’s brought him off and that lovely, dizzy, warm, melting sensation fills his whole body, sending him straight into sleep the way nothing else in the world can.
But then he remembers what happened last time they tried, and that thought’s so demoralizing Dom soon fades again. He pulls a face, but that doesn’t help, and the same old loneliness and sadness wash over him, tumbling him about like a bit of wood in the sea. Dom wishes then he hadn’t told Billy to go, even though he knows it’s best that he did.
After a time, for distraction, he switches on the television, flipping through channels until he finds a surfing competition. The waves form perfect curls and the competitors are perfect, too—young, fit and bronzed, every one of them, which makes Dom sad again, because he was like that once. He was. He remembers.
He can’t bear to watch anymore, and so he switches to another channel, where they’re speaking to that little girl who’d got her arm bitten off by sharks whilst surfing, only she still surfs and seems perfectly happy. Dom likes her attitude, her cheekiness. She makes him smile.
On another channel there’s that shite movie with Sean Connery in the Amazonian rainforest and Dom has to laugh a bit, remembering his thoughts when he was off his head, back in their bedroom room. “It’s the fuckin’ ants, you stupid wanker,” he tells Mr. Connery, but he leaves the film on anyway, mostly just to look at the trees, but also because he wants to practice the Sean Connery brogue, which is always present, whatever part he plays, yet always seems the slightest bit considered, slow and measured and deeply-pitched, as if the real Sean Connery had somehow decided, long ago, to play the part of a different, fictional Sean Connery, who is Scottish! and an Actor!
It’s nothing like Billy’s brogue, which is quick as lightning and perfectly natural, his words rising and falling in all the right places, with those lovely curly round vowels, as if he’s the only one in the world who says words correctly and everyone else has got them wrong.
Dom practices saying things like, “Miss Moneypenny, I should very much like to bugger you sideways,” until he’s quite confident he can glide into the voice any time he likes. He also knows Billy will be amused. He’ll call Dom a daft git, but he’ll be amused.
Dom drifts into a dream, in which Sean Connery is saying to him, quite gently, “Young Monaghan, we will now have to detach your left arm with this slightly blunt axe-head. I very much hope your tetanus injections are up-to-date, lad.” He has quite large hands, Mr. Connery, powerful hands, and he holds Dom down easily with a knee against his chest. No matter how hard he struggles, it seems impossible to escape and Dom finds himself crying out, “No, no, I’m sorry!”
It takes all his strength to jerk away, but Dom just manages, only to discover he’s not being held down by a crazed Scottish actor after all (albeit one with a deep, sonorous voice), it’s just the nurses pulling the packing out of his arm with forceps, depositing the small, disgusting rolls in the sort of tray one usually uses to be sick in.
“Oh,” Dom says. “Oh.” It hurts dreadfully. Just having his arm touched hurts dreadfully, but he forces himself to hold still, to be cooperative. He wouldn’t want anyone giving his mum a hard time, so he won’t give these nurses a hard time either.
He’s glad, though, when they’re done, and have the fresh rolls packed in again.
One of the nurses asks him if he’d like some Jello, which he translates into “jelly,” or a Popsicle, which he translates as “ice lolly. Dom answers, “Popsicle, please,” then adds, “Only not the banana kind.”
The other nurse grins at him. “You have the cutest accent, hon,” she says. She sounds as if she comes from Texas, or somewhere in the American south.
“Thanks,” Dom says, “So do you,” which makes her laugh. She’s still smiling when she returns with the lolly—an orange one. Dom isn’t really hungry, but the coolness feels wonderful on his tongue. He takes a bite and lets it melt there, slowly and sweetly.
After a bit, the phone rings. Dom finds he can turn just enough to answer it, and is glad he took the trouble, because Billy’s there at the other end. It’s so good to hear Billy’s voice, even after such a short while, that Dom nearly drops the receiver. “What’s that?”
“I said the house is overrun with lizards,” Billy tells him. “You’d be delighted.”
“Overrun?” Dom asks. That sounds interesting. He imagines lizards on every available surface, their bright black eyes winking up at him.
“I’ve seen at least three so far,” Billy answers solemnly, so much so that Dom can’t help but laugh at him. Billy is not a fan of things reptilian. Billy’s more the type to keep a nice sort of dog, teach it to be obedient, and take it for runs with him in the park. In fact, he has exactly such a dog, that stays with Margaret when they’re not in Glasgow. It’s a spaniel of some kind, with a winning smile and floppy ears, and Dom likes it quite well, though he’s never had the heart to tell Billy that he’s a bit allergic.
“It’s not that large a house,” Billy retorts. “There’s not room inside for you, me and three lizards.”
“What are they then, Komodo Dragons?” Dom laughs a bit more, but then he’s worn out. “Ah, Bills. I’ll see to them when I get home. Promise.”
“You sound tired, Dom.”
“All I do is sleep. Must’ve been very dull company for you, however many days it’s been.”
Dom can hear Billy’s footsteps, wandering from room to room. He must be on the mobile, then. Finally there’s the creak of the back door opening, the crackle of a chair as Billy sits.
“I’m not afraid anymore, Dom,” he says softly. “Of the sea, I mean. It’s lovely just now. So very blue, and I think I see porpoises out where the water’s still.”
There’s a silence, one that’s comfortable, yet a bit sad.
“What were you thinking, Dom, all the time you were swimming?” Billy asks, finally. They’ve never really spoken of this.
“How big it was. How I kept thinking I felt sharks down below us. How I mustn’t fall asleep and I mustn’t lose hold of you and that I wished so much that you’d wake, only when you did it was worse. You were entirely off your head, Bills, and I just wanted to be able to hold you and tell you over and over we were safe, only I couldn’t do that, could I? Then, later, when I first started seeing the island, I was so afraid it would all turn out to be a dream, only a dream and I would have swum, and fought, and saved you for nothing. That I’d let you down.”
“Only the island was real,” Billy said softly.
“That it was.”
“I always knew I loved you, I just never knew how very much.”
Dom doesn’t know what to answer, because the thing is, he’s always known. Always. Even in his dark time, when his body seemed determined to do small, sly things to trick him into letting it stop, loving Billy was the thing that kept him moving forward one day to the next, then onto another day, and another. When the woman who wasn’t really Fran came to him, it was that love that prevented him from leaving with her, because to do so would have been so easy. So terribly easy.
“Always were a bit slow on the uptake, Boyd,” Dom says at last.
“Christ, try to have a serious conversation! Wanker.”
“Git,” Dom responds. “You always tell me not to say I love you more than my own life, Bills, but it’s the truth. There’ve been times I couldn’t hold on for me, yet I could hold on for you.”
“You’ll be well soon,” Billy tells him.
“Absolutely,” Dom responds, though his voice trembles a little.
“If it…” Dom can hear Billy’s soft breath, out-in, out-in. “I do realize now. You know that, don’t you, Dom? That I realize?”
It’s strange to hear that uncertainty in Billy’s voice.
“Oh, knew it before you did, most likely,” Dom answers.
Billy laughs then. “Aye, most likely you did.” There’s a pause, in which it seems many things are being said. Dom shuts his eyes, hearing them all, understanding them all. “Sweet dreams, Dommie,” Billy tells him at last, softly. “Love you more than my own life.”
“Love you too, Bills. At least that much.”
When Billy rings off, Dom’s left feeling weak and shaken, so shaken that he is actually trembling. “Stop that,” he commands himself. “What’s wrong with you, you worthless git?”
“Who are you talking too, Dommie?”
Dom turns abruptly, so abruptly he makes himself dizzy and has to press his hand to his forehead until things go steady again.
It’s Evangeline—Evey--of course. Evey with her smile and her pretty hair, an armful of flowers and a carrier bag in her hand. She drops the bag onto the floor and the flowers into a chair without much ceremony, and in the next moment she’s at the bed, her arms around him gently, one of her beautiful hands stroking up and down the back of his hair, the back of his neck, over his shoulders. “Oh, sweetie,” she’s saying. “Oh, honey, I’m so happy. I’m so happy.”
Dom clings to her, positively clings to her. Her body’s very slender, but firm and strong and she smells to him of Hawaii and laughter and safety and comfort.
"We've--I've--been calling to see how you're doing every day. They wouldn't let anyone in before today."
At last she moves away a little, still holding fast to his hand, her other hand tracing the outlines of his face. “My God, baby. My God.”
“I’m much better,” Dom assures her. He just wishes he looked better. Not that he’s seen himself, but he expects the view isn’t pretty.
Evey traces her thumb over his lips. “Oh, hon, you look like death.”
“Don’t have me makeup, do I?”
Evey laughs. “Same old Dom, huh?” She perches next to him, on the edge of the bed. “We’re on for the full season, by the way. It’s definite. We start filming again right after the Christmas break.”
“You do,” Dom says.
“What’s that?”
“You do. I expect poor Charlie’s monster victim number seventeen, and I’m back in the unemployment queue.”
“Is that what you’ve been thinking? Honey, everyone loves Charlie. They love you. Charlie’s mysteriously disappeared for exactly two episodes, but the suits want you back as soon as you’re able, sweetie. You probably have no idea how huge the publicity’s been.”
Dom glances away, thinking of the reporters, the hurtful stories, the nurse who’d given those people access to him when he was so ill.
Evey touches his cheek, turning his face back toward her. “No, Dom. No, baby, don’t take it like that. I know…” She pulls in a deep, ragged breath. “I know it must have been horrible. I know it’s nothing like on the show, and I probably can’t even imagine how awful it was but, Dommie, you got through. You and Billy both. Do you know how amazing that is? They’ve showed maps on TV, you know? Of where the plane went down, and where the island they found you on was, and it just… I dunno. It made me feel kind of sick actually, looking at that. Seeing how far you had to go, with your poor arm and everything. That’s why everyone was saying you were dead, even after they didn’t find your bodies at the crash site, because it was too far, it was just too far for anyone…” There are tears slipping over her lower lids now, falling swiftly and wetly onto her white shirt. “I’m so damn proud of you,” she murmurs.
Dom would like to explain that he had Billy, so there wasn’t any other choice, but instead he smiles at her, a bit wistfully.
“And none of it seems like that to you at all, does it?” Evey dries her eyes, smiling down at him. “Now, what can I get you? What would you like?” She’s bustling about now, rearranging the flowers in their vase, finding a shelf to put them on where Dom can see them. They’re lovely: hibiscus and white ginger and birds-of-paradise, bright and fragrant and very much part of Hawaii.
Dom doesn’t say anything. He can’t think of a thing he wants, not food, not something to read, not video games. Mostly he’d like to lie quietly, to feel human arms around him, a warm body close to his, so that he can remind himself over and over that he’s safe. It won’t ever happen again. It won’t. It’s like lightning striking twice.
Perhaps Evey senses what he needs, because she curls up on the bed beside him, looking down into his face, gently stroking his chest and his stomach until Dom’s ready to purr like a kitten. If he wasn’t already so completely in love with Billy, he could love Evey, does love her really, as a sister, a friend. He still finds her incredibly attractive, because he may share his life and his bed with a bloke but that’s never meant he doesn’t have eyes. It’s good to have the pressure of Evey’s head resting on his shoulder and to let his own arm curl round her back, holding her tightly as he can, so that she can be his anchor.
It’s good to be in the world, and not alone.
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A lovely chapter, as ever.
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I'm feeling like you are spoiling us with all the chapters lately. And I'm loving every moment of it.
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This is a nice chapter. Dom has finally begun to look outwards again, and is accepting medical care and giving Billy a rest.
This is really lovely work, Sema. The scene with Evey is so sweet, and a great new perspective on things. And I liked the reprise of the discussion about loving someone more than your own life.
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Kailua!!
Queens Medical Center!! (One of my friends works in their ER, hee.)
Oh how I miss Hawaii. *sigh* And I loved your description of their Hawaii home. Next time I go to Kailua, I may have to go looking for a robin-egg blue house right by the ocean. =Þ
And I love your Evey. The real Evey is the cutest thing ever. She's so sweet and seems like the type of person who could be your best friend. Someone your Dommie could fall in love with.....even if it's just as a friend.
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Have nothing at all useful to say except that I love this more than ever. Thank you!
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This was so wonderful, and I'm so glad you got Evie in there too.
He's gonna heal now , yes? PLEASE!! **doe eyes**
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Speechless, so that will have to do
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*does a happy dance* Whew!
Now...what about Sema? Seems you've been doing a powerful lot of writing these past few days my dear girl. You getting your rest? I hope you manage to get out in the sunshine and soak up some of its rays before our monsoons begin again.
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This is a happy chapter! And I loved having Evey there, that's wonderful. You make her absolutely lovely! I'm sure she actually is, but... it paints such a lovely picture in my mind. :)
Wonderful, brilliant... beautiful. As usual. Can't wait to read more, Sema!
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And the reference to the girl who lost her arm to a shark, it's an example of how strong people can be, when we have to be.
We can overcome anything in life, humans are so adaptable. :)
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Yeah. What he said.
And: "Without Billy there wouldn’t be any life, only existence."
Isn't it funny how there's such a difference...
*wobbly little smile* Sorry I can't quite dance right now. I'll dance twice as hard for you later, 'kay? Cos this really rocks.
Pip
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And this: “Miss Moneypenny, I should very much like to bugger you sideways,” Made me howl, that did. I would pay an extraordinary sum to hear Dom actually say that. :o)
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I know from your public journal posts that you have experienced some of the issues Dom is enduring, but your medical knowledge is a frightening thing. All I can say is that I hope that it is due either to research or work, not personal experience.
Thank you so much for these chapters, and take care!
Catherine
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I know this has been said before, but you really know how to send us on an emotional rollercoaster.
I love your fic and I think I might love you, so would you terribly mind if I friend you?
*lots of kisses*
*and cookies*
*and everything else you like*
*ggggg*
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Still, wonderful chapter as always. I can't wait to read the next one!