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Chapter 9

St. Louis, June 1973

All throughout the afternoon spent in Hannah and Edgar's company – and Poppy's, apparently – Bill hadn't paid attention to the sight outside of the French doors.

When Bobby led him through them, he lost his voice.

There was a swimming pool there, not a massive one but it would be long enough to swim a good few strokes without having to turn around, and could hold a party, if Bobby ever hosted one. But most of all, what Bill wasn't prepared for, were the flower beds.

Between the outside edge of the pool and the fence, rose bushes flourished that were clearly older than Bill, and looked well loved and cared for. He felt silly, suddenly, that he only knew how to differentiate shades of red from years of dealing with blood and hemorrhages. In front of him, petals ranged from light pink to deep carmines and burgundies.

There were other flowers he'd never seen before. Violet bells, light pink corollas and other bushes with thorns and leaves so clear they appeared yellow under the sun.

There were bees and butterflies everywhere.

This was more than a backyard, it was a haven.

Bobby came to stand next to him, hands stuck in his pockets and rocking on the ball of his bare feet.

"So… this is me."

Bill was struggling to find anything to say that could encompass what he was feeling. Of all the years he had lived in a house, he himself had never taken care of it, or a garden. Helen had wanted flowers, but had paid a gardener for them. With Margaret, they'd shared a flat and never had the time to even grow parsley in a planter.

And there was Bobby, accomplished, settled, with the garden of Eden in his backyard.

"It's beautiful."

Bobby smiled a sheepish thing, as if he couldn't accept the compliment.

"Thanks. Um, grab a seat and I'll be right with you."

He pointed at the two deck chairs facing the pool, and promptly disappeared back into the house.

Bill went to sit on the edge of one of the chairs, not sure he could actually relax enough to recline fully into it. Not at the prospect of the conversation that was to come. If he could survive it.

By his feet, the water in the pool was slowly lapping over the edges, pushed over by a soft, warm breeze. Worried that it would reach his toes and wet his socks, Bill removed them and rolled them into a ball that he stuffed into his pants' pocket. He wasn't sure there was a worse sensation in the world than wet fabric sticking to his feet.

Bobby came back with a metal tray, two tumblers and a glass bottle of scotch. He nudged something from behind the deck chair with his foot and a tiny plastic table appeared, allowing him to get rid of the tray. He lowered himself into the other chair and poured them both a drink, never looking at Bill.

It seemed as if neither of them was looking forward to what was coming. And it didn't feel fair to expect Bobby to always be the one to jump in first. So Bill squeezed his hands around his knees, finding comfort in the grounding physical sensation, and cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry for… not checking with you before coming here."

Bobby huffed, and he was smiling but it wasn't a happy one.

"You don't have my phone number."

"I don't," Bill agreed. "But I could have looked, or… Sent a letter to your clinic first. All things that only occurred to me once I was already there."

Bobby raised his eyes at last. They were a deep shade of chestnut that turned amber in the sun, and Bill wondered if he'd ever told him that he found them beautiful.

"And now that you're here… what?" Bobby asked.

Bill took a second to look at his feet, and feel the small tiles under the soles. This was his one chance. With Bobby's on and off coldness, he was fairly sure he wouldn't get another one if he messed up again. So he would say the words, no matter if they ripped his throat out on the way.

"I've been a coward all my life. And… Most of the time, it was about you. I don't know if I can ever be as brave as you, as… open," he said, hoping he could convey his meaning, and how much it scared him to go against the law, no matter how cruel and unfair it was. "But… since I saw you again at the conference, you're all I can think about. I haven't even properly worked, even after I went back home. There is nothing in my life that I like, right now, and you…"

He pushed past the weirdness that was looking into another person's eyes, and made himself give Bobby an honest gaze, let him look as deep as he could into his soul, whatever there was to see.

"I don't think there's ever been something as important as you," Bill added, lips trembling around the words.

Bobby's smile turned bitter. "That's not how it used to feel."

Bill lowered his head. He deserved that.

"I know. I let my fear get the best of me, most of the time."

"Especially when it mattered."

Bobby's stare was steely, pinning him in place like one of the beautiful butterflies that were flitting about the rose bushes. But Bill didn't feel beautiful.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know saying it is not enough. But I am."

Bobby frowned at him then, finally grabbing one of the tumblers for himself.

"Did you come all the way here to apologize?"

"I… not really. I came because all I could think about was seeing you again. I couldn't go on with my life."

"And what about mine, Bill? Do you think my life doesn't get immensely disturbed when you show up unannounced like that? Do you think it does nothing to me to see you again, too?" Bobby raised his voice, but it was shaking, and the tremor in his words was slowly reopening a gash in Bill's heart that he hadn't known was there.

"What happened last time at the conference –" Bill began, unsure exactly what he meant to say.

"– Nothing happened Bill, that's the point. We got drunk and were stupid, and I apparently haven't learned my lesson to stay away from you and do a good job of protecting myself. You fell asleep in my room and when I woke up you were gone. And that was it."

Bill swallowed back the tears that were stinging his eyes and nodded. This was good, he told himself. Even if he went back home with his tail between his legs, they would have had the opportunity to say what they hadn't twenty years ago, and maybe get some form of closure.

One he didn't want, but he would have to respect Bobby's wishes, this time.

"You're right. I'm… well, I'm sorry again. Though it doesn't mean much, coming from me, I know," he rasped, feeling as if he'd swallowed gravel and sand.

Bobby pushed a hand through his hair, messing up its artful tousle, and threw his legs onto the deckchair, lying back and staring out towards the flowers. He remained silent for a minute. A small eternity when Bill's heart was trying to break free of its cage to bleed out on the floor.

"You can stay here tonight," was the first thing Bobby said after a while.

It was so… at odds with what they'd been talking about that Bill didn't know what to make of it, or how to even acknowledge it. Thankfully, Bobby had always been the better one at talking.

"I really don't know what to do with you, Bill. What am I supposed to make of your apology twenty years after the facts? Or… the other thing you said. I don't… I don't think you realize just the power you have. I need a night to sleep on things."

And with that, Bill watched as Bobby tipped his head back and downed his scotch in one go, throat bobbing as the liquid went down. Bill hadn't even touched his own drink yet.

"You can sleep in the guest room, and tomorrow… well, we'll see. For now I guess we need to figure out dinner," Bobby groaned, letting his arm flop to the side and laying his empty glass on the tiles.

"I could cook," Bill offered in earnest. "Or go out to get takeout. It's the least I can do after…"

He didn't need to finish his sentence. He could also have offered to get out of the way and go to a hotel, but Bobby had been stern enough in offering him the spare room, and if he was honest with himself, Bill was also keen to be in his orbit as much as he could until he couldn't, at all, ever again.

"There's a pizza joint a few blocks away," Bobby said, with his eyes closed and face turned at the sky.

When he didn't add anything, Bill took that as his cue to get up and make himself scarce.

He crossed the house in a hurry, got into his car and collapsed against the steering wheel. It was scorching hot and burned the skin of his forehead, but he had bigger things to care about. He gave himself a couple of breaths to let his system work out the tension, then turned on the ignition and pulled away from Bobby's driveway.

He didn't have trouble finding the pizzeria, and placed an order for two margheritas and a bottle of wine. Even if they didn't drink it tonight, he felt he at least owed Bobby to leave him something as compensation for the trouble he was causing.

When he made it back to Bobby's house, he was greeted by the sight of Poppy, his plastic collar making him look like an odd alien race, sitting behind the door and staring menacingly.

Bill squeezed past him and barely avoided getting his ankles scratched. So it seemed that the cat really had it out for him, in particular. Bill wasn't sure if he should disturb Bobby again to ask for directions around the house, so since he'd been tolerated as a guest for the night he poked around until he found the kitchen.

It was simple, patterned tiles lined above the counter-tops and a shiny red fridge. He opened a few drawers and cupboards until he found a corkscrew, then wine glasses, and put together their meal.

He found Bobby in exactly the same position as when he'd left. Reclined on the deck chair, with his eyes closed. He could have been sleeping if it wasn't for the frown lines between his eyebrows. Bill cleared the scotch tray from the small table, and laid down the wine glasses and bottle there instead. He still had both pizza boxes in his hands when he said:

"Hello."

Bobby opened one eye.

"You came back."

"Of course I did," Bill frowned.

"Right," Bobby grunted, and pushed himself up to sit. "Despite everything I'm actually hungry, so, give it over."

Bill handed him one of the pizzas, and mirrored Bobby to sit with his own box open in his lap, pulling out one precut slice of pizza.

They ate quietly, including when Bobby reached for a wine glass and held it up expectantly. Bill had never seen him behave quite so… curtly, but if that was something Bobby needed to let out the resentment he might have carried with him all these years, he was going to suffer in silence and make his penance.

Bobby's lips were stained a dark red by the end of the meal, and Bill's own head was starting to spin, but he wasn't sure if he could pin that on the alcohol, or the fact that he was eating for the first time since he'd left Memphis.

Bobby was frowning again when he pushed his empty pizza box at the foot of the chair and asked:

"Have you even warned your clinic you were going away, or are you MIA?"

Bill opened his mouth, and found that he had forgotten to think about that, too. Bobby sighed, but this time some fondness slipped through the sound.

"You can borrow my phone, if you like."

Bill checked his watch with a wince.

"There won't be anyone there now. In the morning?"

Bobby shook his head, and he was smiling again. The mere sight of his lips pulling up at the corner put a balm on the hurt in Bill's chest, soothing him.

"You are unbelievable," Bobby said, and it didn't really mean anything, but Bill could satisfy himself with that smile. "Don't suppose you fancy a dip in the pool?"

The brusque turnaround in topic left Bill blinking, stunned silent.

"I… I don't have swim-trunks with me."

"Right well… I'm gonna," Bobby stated, and stood up abruptly, swaying a little.

Bill nearly yelped when Bobby ripped his shirt overhead. It wasn't that he didn't want to look, but… Bobby had likely just wanted to enjoy an evening swimming, not get ogled by the strange man who had barged into his home with only a change of clothes in his suitcase. He averted his eyes.

"Are you… are you sure you're safe to swim, right now?" he couldn't help but ask, staring at the nearly empty wine bottle.

Bobby turned towards him, and Bill fought against himself to look at his face and not lower.

"I'm not drunk, Bill. And if it makes you feel better, you're welcome to play lifeguard from the edge."

On those words, he disappeared inside, to change into actual swimming gear, Bill assumed. He felt a little too hot now, despite the sun slowly beginning to set over the horizon.

The flowers were bathed in bright orange and pink hues, and he thought, in another life, that he would have loved to dip his toes in the water, sitting on the edge and reading while his… partner swam a few laps around the pool.

He opened a couple of buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves, looking at the bandage wrapped around his hand.

Bobby had been so… tender, in taking care of him. It shouldn't have been so surprising, really. Even when they were boys, Bobby had taken him under his wing and behaved like his guardian angel at all times. Protected him from the world and himself, when Bill's head got too crowded.

Bill just hadn't managed to protect Bobby in return.

Speaking of the devil, the handsome one came sauntering back from inside, and without a look at Bill, went to the stairs leading into the pool and waded his way in.

The water must have been warm, heated up by the relentless sun all day long, and Bobby went down the steps as if it was nothing. When the water level reached the top of his thighs, Bill bit hard into the inside of his cheek, and looked away.

He could have gone back inside, but the thought of Bobby hurting himself kept him tethered to his chair. Hearing him frolicking in the pool while keeping his eyes resolutely fixed on the edge was its own kind of torture, one that Bill had never experienced before.

He decided he might as well finish the wine.

They went to bed near midnight. Bobby had changed into a soft cotton shirt and pants, and his still damp hair was curling on his forehead. He looked far too delicate, his pajamas hanging off his lithe frame and his eyes bleary with drowsiness.

"So," Bobby said with a hand on the door to his bedroom.

He'd shown Bill to his bed earlier, and given him an extra pillow from the couch. Now there was just the matter of saying goodnight, without knowing what the morning would hold.

They kept staring at each other, until a shadow passed between them on the floor, dragging both their gazes downward. Bobby bent with a smile to pick his cat up, cradling it to his chest. Bill guessed there was at least one lucky bastard who would be sleeping in Bobby's bed, tonight.

"I usually leave at half past eight," Bobby said, scratching Poppy's neck under the plastic cone. "I'll see if I can get out of a few appointments and come back early. You can use the phone to call your clinic, and maybe try and find out if you've got your tetanus shots up to date?"

Bill nodded, unsure if there was anything useful that he could add.

"Alright, well… see you tomorrow," Bobby said, and went into his bedroom before Bill could ponder a reply.

He went into the guest room with a sigh, ready to bundle himself in a blanket and pretend he hadn't just opened Pandora's box with his stupidity.

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