Chapter 1

Houston, May 1973

The conference had started early in the morning. Enough that by now, at seven pm, Bill was starting to feel drowsy despite the amount of coffee he'd gulped down all day. Not that it hadn't been interesting. The effects of second-hand smoking and possible effects on pregnancies. Bill had been in it more for the oncology aspects of the research, but the place was also brimming with pulmonologists and obstetricians.

He left the amphitheater with a burning sensation behind his eyeballs, uselessly pulling his glasses down to rub at his eyes. He had an inkling that fifty-three was too old to be sitting in a room, looking at projections on a white screen for seven hours, without feeling slightly hungover after.

Thankfully, the lobby of the hotel he was staying at for the duration of the conference wasn't so brightly lit, and the soft burgundy carpet lining the floor at least dulled the sound of conversations a little. He was making his way to the front desk to ask for his key back when something in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

A silhouette that shouldn't have been so familiar.

Except, really, when in his life would he have not recognized him?

Slender without being skinny. Short, hazel waves slightly falling on his forehead, reading glasses that hadn't been there the last time, perched on his aquiline nose. He also hadn't sported that hideous mustache when Bill last saw him, oh… two decades ago.

His heart was beating too fast already, limbs frozen with the dilemma of what to do next. Say hello? And then what, after how they parted ways last time, with barely a last look and no words of comfort? Or walk away before it was too late?

In the end, he dithered for too long and fate took the reins for him.

The other man, slightly taller than him, turned around from where he was leaning in to talk to the receptionist, and his eyes immediately fell on Bill. Shock painted itself on his features, eyes wide and lips slightly parted as he took Bill in. They were both wearing formal suits, sweating under their blazers and stifled by the ties that were mandatory for such an event.

Finally, a small smile spread the other man's lips and he said, voice soft with wonder:

"William Mercer."

Hearing his full name in the man's voice made Bill's heart skip a beat, something that he would have to contemplate in the loneliness of his hotel room, later.

"Robert Ulysses Bachelor," he said in turn.

A few seconds went by, then both men broke into a smile. As if the last twenty years hadn't happened.

His companion's eyes crinkled with mirth.

"Bill," he corrected himself.

Bill's heart soared when he finally allowed himself to say:

"Bobby."

Neither of them had moved an inch since they noticed each other. Bobby's hands were clenched on top of the reception counter, and Bill's own were tightly holding onto his suitcase's handle. He already felt like swaying on his feet, looking for the reassuring comfort of regular movement, when Bobby chuckled, lowering his eyes:

"I don't know why I'm shocked to see you here, really… I mean it makes sense, but I'm still… surprised to see you."

Bill took a deep breath to admit the elephant in the room:

"It's been a while."

"You could say that," Bobby scoffed, a hint of bitterness sneaking into his voice. "Well, nice to see you, but I need to go… check into my room. Have a nice evening," he added, and just like that, he was gone, turning his back on Bill and vaguely waving at him.

Leaving him still frozen in the lobby, wondering how the hell he was going to survive the next few days knowing that Bobby Bachelor was staying in the same hotel as him.

"Sir? Can I help you with anything?"

The receptionist's voice shook him out of his trance. His eyes snapped over to the young man in black and white uniform, hand stopped above the guest register. Bill blinked a few times, nervously pulled at his bow tie in case the sight of his old friend might have knocked it askew, and cleared his throat.

"Um, yes. Room under the name of Mercer, please?"

There really was nothing for it, Bill thought to himself at around one in the morning. He wasn't going to sleep. No matter the comfort of the bedding in his room, as soon as he closed his eyes, the image of Bobby's last, awkward smile came back to haunt him. It only served to show that over the years, he had grown accustomed to the idea he would never see the man again, and now that it had happened, he found that he was dreadfully unprepared.

They would be in the same space for the next two days. How in hell was he supposed to focus on anything that would be said during the talks, when his heart would be looking for a profile in the amphitheater, and then later at lunch, and then in the smoking crowds populating the hotel bar.

His face was lined with more wrinkles than the day before, when he got up at six and went to the bathroom. His hair was graying too, but that hadn't happened overnight. He grimaced, and set about preparing for his day. He put on his usual trousers, white shirt and suspenders, and picked a practical bow tie - both unnoticeable and professional.

He slipped his glasses on with a sigh, and picked up his briefcase. He was still Bill fucking Mercer, dammit. He'd published so many papers in his field of expertise, some of which were actually being studied in universities across the country by thousands of future doctors of medicine. He could hold his own in front of one other man, surely?

Oh but he couldn't. And he was a fool for ever attempting to convince himself of the contrary.

Stomach twisted into knots, he locked his room and went to hand the key over at reception, only to follow the flow of men and yes, a few women, who were heading for the first conference of the day. Mind hazy from his nerves, Bill barely remembered the subject, or the professor who would be speaking. He took a seat in the row furthest back from the stage, hoping that when the talk would start, he could be left alone with his own thoughts.

He scanned the people still walking in with a beating heart. The new fashion of the centuries hadn't much affected this crowd, still wearing black and white suits, the only bit of fantasy residing in the hairstyle of the youngest people there. Bill himself had had to adapt, hair-wise, if only because he couldn't be bothered to correct his barber when the man worked so hard to convince him to try new things. So he himself sported large sideburns that were simply stubble he'd stopped shaving. He didn't mind the look of the longer locks on top of his head, if only because they made him look a little less boring than he actually was.

Bobby walked in amongst the last of the attendants, smiling and laughing with a female colleague.

There was really nothing Bill could do from where he was, so he stared like a smitten schoolboy, eyes boring into the back of Bobby's head as soon as he sat down somewhere in the middle of the amphitheater. Age hadn't made him less attractive, and Bill hated himself for ever making use of that stupid comparison to wines, but he looked… refined. If possible, even more elegant than he'd been in his early thirties, with now a good twenty years of medical career behind him and the confidence that came with it.

Soon enough, sadly, the room fell quiet and the lights were dimmed except for the stage area, where a speaker stepped in and took the microphone.

With all the good will in the world, Bill failed to detach his eyes from Bobby's head. But not to berate himself about it for the three hours that the conference lasted. He'd let go two decades ago. He should have been able to be in the other man's presence and not turn into this… this complete mess.

But that may have been why he let things end in the first place.

When the lights came back on, Bill's eyes, surely tired from all the staring, fell on his hands and he realized he'd spent so long scratching at the skin around his fingernails that his left thumb was bleeding. He groaned and looked for a tissue in his pockets to press on the torn skin. When he looked back up, it seemed that this had been enough of a distraction for him to miss Bobby leaving the room.

He cursed under his breath and resigned himself to a solitary lunch. The hope for some quiet didn't last, as he was soon approached by a young doctor who claimed to have read all of Bill's papers through and through during her degree. Bill reminded himself to smile so as not to appear cold, and let her take place in front of him as he lacklusterly picked at his steak and fries.

Since Bobby was nowhere to be seen in the cafeteria, and there still remained an hour to wait before the next conference, Bill crossed the building in the direction of the hotel again, hoping a nap in his bedroom would set him to rights for the rest of the day.

Except when he stepped into his room, he was assailed by the fact that somewhere in the building, Bobby must be staying in a very similar one, and may have slept over or under Bill's room for two nights without him knowing.

God, he was going to go mad.

For once in his life, he regretted never having taken up smoking. It seemed that it was all people did these days, when they were stressed or angry. Bill only had alcohol at his disposal for relief, and he also knew the damage that could do, so he clenched his teeth and went back downstairs before he could work himself into a frenzy. His fingers were twitching again with the need to scratch at something, and he really couldn't afford to cause his poor hands any more harm now.

There was no one in the bar at this hour, with the hotel fully booked for the conference, and it seemed all the doctors were still having lunch, or likely smoking together in one of the sitting rooms in the opposite wing of the building.

The bar wasn't as bright as the rest of the place, thankfully so. The carpet softened the sound of Bill's footsteps as he went up to the counter and asked for a coffee. If he couldn't take a nap, he would at least need one more cup to carry him through the day.

The second conference was even more of a blur than the first one. At this point, Bill was fairly sure he'd drifted off and taken his nap in the back like a naughty student who'd partied too hard the night before.

He arose to the cacophony of everyone getting up, the room loud with chairs scraping the floor and the chatter of over a hundred people debriefing a day of taking in new information. A pang of guilt burst through Bill's chest at the idea that he hadn't paid attention to a thing all day.

He couldn't get up fast enough and almost tripped down the stairs in his haste to get out. The crowd was already scattered when he made it safe and sound out of the amphitheater. He blinked against the sun glare coming in from the large French windows leading out to a patio. He followed a few people through it, finding it to be a shortcut, and did make it to the lobby in under a minute.

He looked around for Bobby, and failed to notice him. He must have taken the long route.

He stopped, only then realizing his madness. What was he doing?

Surely the man wouldn't want to see him more now than he had the night before. But there had been a sparkle of something positive in Bobby's first glance at him. Probably an old habit, until he remembered just how badly Bill had botched things up in the fifties.

He wondered if Bobby smoked. Then craned his neck to see if he could spot him outside, still chiding himself about the stupidity of his behavior. But the nervous energy powering him up wasn't going anywhere.

He resigned himself to grabbing a first drink in the bar, settling in one of the comfortable leather armchairs and laying his briefcase at his feet. Across from him, in the hall, groups of attendants filtering in and out, laughing, rubbing at shoulders sore from a whole day spent taking notes, or amiably chatting.

Bill should have been with them. But he'd never known how anyone could go up to a stranger and introduce themselves without imploding.

The notoriety of his research helped him, these days, as a lot of people tended to recognize him from the photos on the back of his books, and came to talk to him first.

Only Bobby wouldn't do that.

And speaking of the handsome devil, Bill thought he saw a flash of elegant shoulder and rolled up shirt sleeves pass by the arch that led from the bar into the lobby. He sprang to his feet and ran.

"Bobby!"

The man turned around, eyebrows raised in surprise. Thankfully, his expression didn't sour at the sight of Bill, standing there breathless from anticipation. Bobby's eyes scanned the room around them, as if assessing a situation Bill wasn't seeing, then took a few steps towards him.

"Hello again," the other man smiled, though the spread of his lips was still constricted, held back.

Oh Bill, you old fool. All day hoping to see him and didn't even think of what to say.

"Um. Would you like to grab a drink with me?" he offered as a stand-in for the clever things he would have liked to say.

Bobby licked his lips and seemed to sway in place. Bill could have sworn he was readying himself to run. But, after a few seconds of tense silence, Bobby's shoulders dropped and he cocked his head, eyeing Bill cautiously.

"Alright, why not."

Bill reacted slowly, unprepared for the easy fix to the anxiety that had followed him all day.

"Oh. Well, come on then, I've already got a seat," he mumbled, and turned around before he could see if Bobby was following.

He dropped inelegantly in his arm chair, and took in the way Bobby lowered himself in the opposite one with much more grace. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes and weariness at the corner of his mouth. Bill gestured to a bartender and let Bobby choose his drink – a gin and tonic – then had it put on his tab.

They were left alone again, and Bill already felt himself recoiling under the steadiness of Bobby's gaze on him. He found he couldn't exactly look him in the eye, and fixed his own somewhere above Bobby's shoulder then made himself say:

"So… how are you?"

Bobby's eyes crinkled, it seemed despite himself, and he answered with another question:

"Do you mean how have I been, or are you asking only for today?"

Bill realized he'd already started picking at the skin around his nails again, and forced himself to spread out his hands on his thighs, wiping his sweaty palms on the fabric of his pants.

"Both, I guess, but whichever you're most inclined to answer."

Bobby granted him a half-smile then.

"I don't mind either. Oh, thank you," he interrupted himself to take his drink from the tray that was brought to them. "Today was alright, really. I'm a bit tired," he shrugged. "In general… oh well, I've been okay, I think. I have my own practice in St. Louis. I'm not doing too bad." He added almost as an afterthought: "What about you?"

Bill stopped to consider it, and took a sip from his glass. Today, he'd been doing terribly. Mind invaded by a jumble of thoughts. In general… well, not much better. He clenched his fingers on his legs and stared at the redness where he'd ripped the skin off.

"Professionally… these past few years have been the best of my career. I managed to get funds for a lot of research. Published several books, nothing you'd have read, I think, they're not really in your field but oh… there was one about brain tumors, then lymphoma and last year benign bone tumors…"

"I know."

Bill's breath caught in his throat. He froze with his mouth half opened on words he'd completely forgotten now. Bobby smiled sheepishly and said, as if it was simple:

"I keep up with the times, you know."

It was a lie, and one he wasn't even bothering to cover up properly. Bill knew it, and Bobby knew he knew, and here they were, dwarfed by the immensity of it. What was he supposed to do with the information that twenty years later, Bobby hadn't really stopped following him, reading up on him and his research?

He bit down hard on his lips for a second, then took a large gulp of scotch to wash down whatever had just happened. It was probably better to pretend.

"Of course," he said, like it was obvious. "Well, in that case… if you already know all there is to know about my career…"

Bobby's smile widened, a real one this time as they both realized that Bill was cornered now, forced by only himself to talk about his private life when all he'd wanted was to hear from Bobby in the first place, never to be the one doing the talking.

"Oh, I'm twice divorced," he admitted in an exhale. "I guess that says enough?"

Bobby's eyebrows shot up with something that looked like amusement. He took a sip of gin and asked:

"Twice, really? Are you that bad at women?"

Bill's stomach clenched at the implication hidden in Bobby's words.

"I'm bad at relationships, I think," he concluded the topic, not wanting to bring his ex wives into the conversation.

But Bobby didn't seem ready to let that juicy bit of information go. He leaned forward in his chair, the leather creaking with the movement, and laid his forearms on his lap. Bill's eyes fell to the tie that Bobby had loosened, and the hollow of his throat that he could now see.

"So what, you've got kids?" Bobby asked, incredulous.

Bill nodded.

"Oh come on, don't make me beg for the scraps," Bobby grinned, "not after you ran me down for a talk. How many?"

Bill cringed, and whispered:

"Four."

"How many?!"

"Four!"

It took a second, then Bobby was laughing, full bellied and falling back into the armchair.

"Oh fuck, I wasn't prepared for this," he chuckled.

"Why is it so hard to believe?"

"No no, I believe you. I just… well I can't picture you raising kids, is all," Bobby admitted with a shrug.

"Then you're right, because I didn't," Bill replied, barely containing the bitterness that seeped out of him whenever his former families were mentioned.

"Oh," Bobby said softly, straightening his back. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You're right, I was a terrible husband and father. The first time, I thought it might have been a bad fit, that we weren't made for each other and forced ourselves to remain together for too long. But when my second marriage fizzled out after barely a year, I knew what the problem was."

He wasn't mad about the divorces per se. He knew he'd been sub-par in all the ways that meant anything. It still hurt that even when he'd tried to put some effort into it, he'd been faced with the same results. A wife, increasingly dissatisfied and frustrated with him, taking away her trust and his kid. He hadn't fought very hard to keep either.

"Well," Bobby tried breaking the awkward silence. "I'm glad you're at least happy with your work?"

"In a way, yes."

Bobby stared, all hints of a smile gone, and Bill's skin prickled under his scrutiny.

"Why did you want to talk, Bill?"

He looked down, defeated. Once again, he'd failed to get his message across, and he wasn't sure he would manage in the short time that remained for him to do so.

"I um… I spent all day thinking about you, and…"

More words jammed in the back of his throat, making it hurt to speak. He tried to push them out, but ended up letting out a frustrated grunt. Across the small table, Bobby sighed. The other man ran a hand through his hair, disrupting the carefully arranged strands of hazel, and sighed:

"Listen, I know, Bill. I know it's tough for you. But look at us, what's the point here? If you find something you really want to tell me, then, well… I'm still here for two more nights, as you are I expect, but in the meantime I'm tired and I need a shower…"

Bill's fingers twitched. He shouldn't punch anything. He'd only end up hurting himself and causing more trouble.

The words still remained lodged deep down his throat, so he managed a nod. A flash of pain shot through Bobby's face, something like pity, then he downed his gin and stood up.

"Thanks for the drink. And uh, please… don't beat yourself up about this okay? Just try and let your thoughts out, then hit me up if you think I need to hear them."

Bobby made an aborted gesture reaching out for him, and Bill remained resolutely still. He needed to let him go. It wasn't fair to have Bobby comfort him and coddle him into getting out what he wanted to say, not when Bill was trying to…

To what, exactly? Apologize was probably somewhere on the list. Make amends for the hurt he'd caused. Then… Bobby was probably right. Was there any point in explaining to the other man how seeing him even for a minute, after twenty years, had disturbed him so badly that he could barely sleep or eat, and that all he knew was he wanted to see more of him?

When he looked up again, Bobby had gone.