wheelsy_sheriff | (no subject)

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(no subject)

["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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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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