wheelsy_sheriff | (no subject)

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["Bill, there's somethin' you should know.]

Bill walks in through the door to Demeter's house with a black garment bag over his arm. Inside is his dress uniform, and in hand he has his cap and shoes to go with it.

Going back to Wheelsy for it had been hard. Not because the door wasn't cooperating, it opened right up to his bedroom, but there things are set to get back to normal. The few minutes it took him to gather up what he needed put him that much closer to returning to work and the life he's wanted back for so long.

He couldn't stay, though, couldn't leave Kate and Boo or Katherine now. So he left that life on hold again and is now back here, to break more bad news to the woman he loves.

Shutting the door quietly, he heads for the bedroom, still trying to figure out how to tell Kate, and already building himself up to be strong for her.

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After scrubbing down Demeter's kitchen with Beckett's help, she'd taken a long soak in the tub; now, she's in the bedroom, hair in a loose knot and dressed in a camisole and a pair of pajama pants.

She's inspecting a faint bruise on her upper arm when she hears Bill approach, and when he steps inside, the base of her spine grows cold.

"Hey."

"Hey."

His eyes go down to the uniform and he turns from her to go put it in the closet.

"How-- how'd the evenin' go?"

"Fine," she says softly, eyes following his movements. "Boo was so tired, she almost fell asleep at the table earlier."

Her mouth is drier when she swallows.

"What about yours?"

He hangs the bag and spends a long moment staring at the brim of his cap before setting it on a shelf and stepping out of the closet.

The door closes with a soft click as he turns around.

"Got some news from the bar."

He crosses the room to close up some of the space between them, eyes flicking to the bed, unsure if he should tell her to sit down or not.

She crosses her arms, hugging her ribs.

This isn't good news, she knows it isn't -- and she knows what's in that garment bag, but why is it here, in Provence, when it should be hanging in his closet in South Carolina?

"What happened?"

This isn't something he can keep from her, and there's no way he can break it gently.

She needs to know, and it's going to hurt her.

He stands across from her, keeping his eyes on her and his voice steady.

"I talked to Katherine tonight. She told me what happened in the stables the day all of us left."

He pauses, but doesn't give her long enough to respond. He doesn't want her to ask, it's too hard to ask.

"She an' Doc had a shootout with Ramon, the both of 'em were hit. She's alright, but Doc-- they fell through his door, an'... he died in Colorado."

She's stone-still, the room tunneling to Bill's blue eyes; the sound of his voice supersedes meaning for a handful of heartbeats.

"He -- "

"Take care of yourself out there, okay?"

"Always do."

She shakes her head.

"No, he -- "

Something hard and sharp twists in his chest and he steps closer.

"Katherine tried but, he was too bad. She couldn't-- "

He shakes his head barely, pushing down his own hurt in order to keep himself together for Kate.

"I'm sorry."

Everything and nothing rushes between her ears, leaving her hot and cold all over.

She searches his face, and she can see the effort in his eyes and around his mouth.

She reaches for his hand, feeling like she might drift and scatter without the anchor, without him.

"Bill -- "

He's lost Doc, too.

He takes her hand and squeezes, pulling her close.

There's not much he can say right now.

She wraps her arms around him, jaw rigid and eyes closed.

A hundred things she wants to say and ask crackle through the riot of white noise in her brain, but right now, she can't voice any of them.

Her cheek slides against the softness of his shirt as she tucks her head beneath his chin and tightens her arms around him.

His shoulder is still a bit damp from when Katherine cried against him earlier, but he hardly feels it, focused instead on Kate's closeness.

His arms are tight around her and he just holds her, feeling like that's the best thing he can do. For both of them.

She's dimly aware of the beat of his heart and the invisible band squeezing her rib cage.

Eyes shut, she shakes her head against his collarbone, as if denial will somehow make the news less true.

(because Doc's burning pancakes in Bill's kitchen, she and Bill are teasing him about his spiral in Bill's back yard, and she's standing in line with Doc at an airport Starbucks before he boards a plane for the first time)

One hand slides past Bill's collar to stroke his hair at his nape, and she takes in an unsteady breath.

"This can't be happening."

Some part of his mind is wondering if her grief for Doc is for more than just a lost friendship, and he hates himself for thinking it.

Holding her closer, his head bows and his eyes are shut as he focuses on what's important now.

Doc's dead.

Doc was his friend, and Kate's, and he was there through the mess in the Old Kingdom and helped to save Nathan, he was there when Bill was losing himself after the shooting, and when Doc showed up in Wheelsy it did a lot more for him then Bill might have said.

He was a friend, a good friend, and now he's gone.

"I'm sorry, Kate. I don't-- I'm sorry."

"Don't -- "

She shakes her head again, pressing closer to the solid line of his body.

"I'm sorry, too, god, I'm sorry, he was -- you guys were -- "

Her voice is thick and soft and rough, giving out as her throat constricts.

He nods to the words she can't finish, tightening his arms and drawing in a slow, deep breath.

After standing quiet a long spell he turns his head slightly, speaking softly into her ear.

"There's gonna be a memorial for him, Friday. Will is-- he's settin' up a bonfire an' git together for 'im."

She swallows hard and nods, the movement jerky and wooden; she's somewhere outside herself, a marionette without strings.

"Okay."

Her fingers thread deeper into Bill's hair, and she tries to push past the hollow feeling in the center of her chest, tries to concentrate.

"There should be -- we should," and her voice catches, but she continues, "take something, if there's going to be food -- "

Because that's how people cope after wakes, she knows that well enough after losing her mom.

"Um, fruit, maybe, he'd like -- "

She presses her lips together briefly.

"He'd like that. And Kate, we have to tell Kate in the morning, and make sure someone can look after Boo, and ... "

She trails off, turning her face into Bill's chest so she won't cry.

"Fruit would be good," he agrees as his hand starts a gentle motion along her back.

When she turns into him he presses a barely there kiss into her hair, shaking his head gently.

"We'll figure it all out, no need t'worry 'bout it now."

Those kinds of details aren't really important right this moment.

Those kinds of details are keeping her from splintering in his arms. She has to focus on what's tangible, what she can cross off a list on a Post-It, because if she doesn't --

Bill's hand on her back and lips against her hair triple the burn behind her eyes and the tickling in the back of her throat; she pulls away just enough to look up at him, and her free hand finds his jaw, fingertips ghosting over the light stubble there.

"I'll pick up a new razor for you tomorrow. I've been using yours in the shower, it's all dull."

He draws back to look at her, searching her features.

He recognizes now what she's doing by putting her attention on other things, but doesn't know if he should let her. He doesn't want to push, but doesn't want her to think he's not there if that's what she needs, so he asks.

"Kate, I don't know... what-- what did you need from me?"

Eyes too bright, her expression softens further.

"I don't -- "

A breath.

"I don't want to need anything from you right now, sweetheart. I -- you've lost him, too."

He has, and it's still sinking in that he's lost another friend. It leaves him caught between his own grief and worry about Kate.

"I know, but I'm still here for you."

"I know you are."

She blinks hard, but can't keep a tear from spilling down one cheek.

"I know."

His hand pulls from around her and reaches to swipe the tear away, caressing her cheek.

"I love you, Kate."

She nods, turning into the warmth of his palm.

"Love you, too, sheriff."

After a steadying breath, she opens her eyes again.

"And I'm here, too."

Her voice isn't as steady as she'd like, but she doesn't drop her red-rimmed eyes from his face.

Soft and cracked, "Okay?"

"Okay."

He draws her close again and just holds onto her for a long while.

Eventually he remembers what Katherine asked of him in the bar, and his hand finds Kate's.

"When I was talkin' with her, Katherine said t'tell you she'd like t'talk sometime."

She laces her fingers with his, her free hand fisting into his shirt halfway between his shoulder blades and his waistband.

"I'd like that," she says, her voice sounding far away to her own ears.

He squeezes her hand and his eyes open and go to the bed.

"Y'wanna lay down?"

Sleep will be hard, but it might help her, them, to settle in.

I want this to be a nightmare.

She nods, giving his fingers a squeeze in return before stepping back and turning down the covers.

Sinking onto the edge of the mattress, she runs her clammy palms down the thighs of her thin cotton pajama pants.

He watches her, then takes a step away.

"I'll be right there."

Moving towards the dresser he grabs a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, then heads to the bathroom to wash up and change.

She slides her legs beneath the sheets and comforter, blank and hollow.

(She doesn't believe it, not yet -- she can't.)

He returns a short time later, turning off the light before settling into bed.

He's not sure what she needs, but feels closeness is something they both want right now, so he moves over on the bed to close the space between them.

She meets him halfway, grateful he doesn't seem to want space or distance, and fits herself along his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder and hooking a leg around his.

She squeezes shut her eyes.

"How's Security handling Ramon?"

He wraps his arm around her, frowning to himself slightly at her question.

"He was celled for awhile."

He won't say for how long, two weeks just doesn't seem right for what he did.

"Katherine said she talked to him, settled things. We should be alright now, he won't give us anymore trouble or they'll ban him from the bar."

She tenses, lifting her head to look at him in the faint light emanating from the window.

"It's really over?"

It can't be this simple, not after everything imploded, not after Bill was nearly beaten to death and Demeter turned Ramon into a tree.

He nods, trying to feel confident, hoping that makes it true.

"Yeah. It's over."

At too high a price, but at least now Kate and Boo will be safe.

At what cost?

All the air leaves her lungs as memories of a conversation from months ago resurface.

"Swear it, ain't nothin' gonna happen to Bill on my watch, Kate."

Doc kept that promise.

Her eyes burn and she has to close them.

"Thank god."

Believing, even temporarily, is easier than arguing right now.

He draws her closer and his other arm wraps around her.

Thank god.

It shouldn't've gone this far, or ended like this, but he knows better than to scorn a break that's finally come.

He knows things can always be worse.

She buries her face in the hollow of his neck and shoulder, drawing strength she hasn't earned or deserved -- not when Doc's dead because of a firestorm she helped ignite, and not when she should be stronger for Bill.

"None of this is fair."

"It ain't," he agrees, closing his eyes and frowning.

But, what can they do?

Nothin'.

He hates this helpless feeling, he's felt it much too much and it wears on him more and more each time.

He's not supposed to be helpless, he's supposed to fix things and set them right; to help people and protect them. He hasn't been doing that, hasn't been able to, and now look where they're at.

Now isn't the time to let himself get bogged down in that guilt, though, the grief is hard enough. So he focuses on Kate, her closeness, and comforting her.

Stroking her back, and pressing his cheek against her hair, he stays strong for her.

She doesn't expect to sleep, but she eventually relaxes against him. One hand slides down his torso and slips beneath the hem of his T-shirt, and her thumb strokes a slow, steady back-and-forth on his stomach.

"Maybe he'll come back to the bar."

Her voice is tiny in the silence of the room, and she's clinging to this fragile strand of half-hope like a child hanging from monkey bars.

"You know, after. For -- for good."

He's nowhere near sleep, but her soft touch and the quiet around them is calming.

Thoughts and memories drift in and out, but he doesn't want to examine any too closely right now.

Her words and the fragile hope behind them make his chest constrict. He thinks about them a moment, and realizes he was hoping for the same thing, too.

He presses a kiss to her hair, breathing in slowly.

"Maybe. Nathan an' George did. It's Milliways, so anything's possible."

She nods, nuzzling closer to his collarbone.

Please.

She doesn't know who she's begging -- God or the Landlord or another deity altogether -- but she is asking.

Another unsteady breath, and she almost asks if Bill has seen George lately; he and George haven't made their trip through George's door yet.

Instead, she shifts, her leg sliding higher on his thigh, and her hand curves around his side, thumb tracing his ribs.

"Thank you."

He moves with her, bringing his arm around her a little tighter, and lifting his other hand to brush his fingertips along her upper arm.

His eyes open briefly and he looks down at her in the faint light.

"For what?"

For letting me hope.

"This."

His fingers raise goosebumps on her skin, and she shivers slightly, pressing closer against him.

"I love you, you know."

He feels her tremor and protectively holds her tighter.

"I know. I love you, too."

God, does he love her, and wishes he could spare her from things like this.

He knows he can't, but at least it seems like he's helping her now that it's happened. At least she's not pushing him away.

"I know."

She swallows thickly and turns her head to kiss the side of his neck, wishing she knew what he needs most right now -- but she can't ask, afraid his walls are too high to scale.

So she concentrates on the feel of his arms around her and the warmth of his skin under her palm, and tries not to see Doc's face in the black behind her eyelids.

He needs her, just like this. To have her in his arms, close, proof-positive that she's safe, that they're here, together, even after everything.

It hurts to think about Katherine, alone now that Doc is gone, and he hopes she'll make it through this.

He and Kate will. The warmth of her closeness, and the soft press of her lips make him believe it strongly. They're going to be okay.

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