Book 4, Chapter 10: Suffer the Fires We've Made
Title: Suffer the Fires We've Made
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Billy and Elijah
Word count: 3906
Summary: Never let schooling interfere with your education.
Index
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
Even the most socially acceptable addiction has its downfalls. For the sort of fist-clenchingly desperate coffee drinker Billy is, one of those downfalls is that after two morning classes and three and a half mugs of said coffee, he's in rather pressing need of a visit to the men's room. This is not ordinarily a problem-the lav's less than a minute's walk from his primary classroom-but today, after the second class, Billy's surrounded by confused second-years who want answers Billy had likely been too overcaffeinated to give properly during the class itself. The little crowd of people around him takes a step back in unison when Billy lifts his hands a bit in the air and snaps Alright, please.
Billy hates raising his voice in a classroom, especially for something as small as this, but it works. In a matter of moments, Billy's taken a deep breath and given his students the answers they seek, just stopping short of placing his hands on the backs of the two loudest and most nervous to shove them politely out of the classroom. Once he's left alone, Billy sweeps the papers from his desk and into his briefcase in one motion, not particularly caring about the creases the essays will develop before he opens the case again tonight.
Baskerville has in recent months failed to accomodate some of Billy's more academic needs, and he's starting to believe that the next step is to prevent him from taking care of some of even the most basic physical needs as well. The men's bathroom on his floor is locked from the inside, with a casually scrawled Plumbing Work-Pls Use Sec. Floor WC sign on its door. On a mission, then, Billy thinks to himself, gritting his teeth as he walks double quick to his office and unlocks the door for only long enough to toss his briefcase toward the couch. Slamming the door shut again and pocketing his keys, he's halfway down the stairs when he notices Elijah at the foot of them, surrounded by a small group of what Billy supposes are his friends; they're tucked around him and nodding at some story or secret, and as Billy gets closer they move as one to get out his way, all but Elijah himself, who throws Billy a smile over his shoulder, the heat of which Billy can feel on his own back the rest of the way to the lav.
There are ways Billy can rationalize being so unsettled by that smile and comfortable stare of Elijah's; the damage the young man's done to Dominic is going to haunt Billy, too, until at least the end of this year, and in the meantime he's still Billy's student, one with whom Billy still has to deal fairly until he's forced not to by means of Elijah himself, and not in regard to what he's done to another student whose relationship to Billy is meant to be just as distant and not any more fair. It's not like Elijah's making it terribly difficult, either; the quality of his essays has gone down somewhat, as if he's only expecting so much from Billy in terms of marks now, so why should he attempt any better? And while Elijah will never match Dominic for fidgeting and occasional absences over the course of a term, he has been enough of a distraction in discussions and casual disappearances on days of scheduled questioning that Billy feels justified when he destroys Elijah's arguments on paper, punctuating his remarks with a politeness he already knows Elijah finds hard to take. It's the wrong sort of pleasure to enjoy as an instructor, but it's only going to be a temporary one, Billy's reasoned to himself, and it's not as if Billy's not making up for this lack of compassion elsewhere.
Billy's half-unzipped when Elijah enters the bathroom, blinking and stepping backward like he hadn't at all planned to follow Billy in here. Billy closes his eyes and lets out a resigned little breath, thinking that there's no way either of them will leave this room without words of some sort, and then Billy allows himself some relief when Elijah breaks the silence first.
"Thought you might have already finished up, sir," he says kindly, leaning against the door. "You looked like you were in a hurry. They have things you can get to take care of that--"
"Mr. Wood," Billy sighs. "Don't let me keep you, yeah? This isn't what I'd call a lounge."
"Maybe not," Elijah shrugs, and Billy squints at the mirror as he watches Elijah's reflection, Elijah's hands patting down his pockets, and finally retrieving from them a crushed pack of cigarettes and a book of matches in even worse shape. "It is what I'd call a room with no sprinklers, though, sir, and seeing how it's a damn mess outside in this beautiful little town, I thought I'd take advantage where I could indoors. Do me a favour and don't bust me, okay? We've all got our little things, and it's been a long day. And you know from bad days, am I right?"
"I see no reason to slow the decline of your health, Elijah," Billy sighs again, shifting his hand inside his boxers and keeping his eyes on the mirror. "And your days are no longer than anyone else's. By all means, light up. Enjoy." A small twitch of fingers and hips and dick, and Billy blinks at the relief of just having a fucking piss, however irritating it is to do so with an audience. Elijah's bent slightly, striking the match and lighting his cigarette slowly, the display almost pretty in the mirror if Billy's honest, almost lovely enough to tempt Billy in the direction of his own packet of cheap, disgusting little things he keeps in his desk for emergencies and after meetings with Noble.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find decent cigarettes here?" Elijah muses, his eyes on the ceiling, following the trails of smoke. Billy tucks himself back in his trousers and chooses not to answer that, deciding for the moment that Elijah wouldn't recognize a decent cigarette even if given a box of them as a gift. Elijah prattles on, comparing various brands and declaring how much he could take in as an underground importer on this campus if he had the energy to get on that. "I take it I could add you to the list of prospective customers, professor? I know you like your matches."
Billy doesn't flinch, but he doesn't meet the sudden contact Elijah's eyes demand of him in the mirror either. Instead Billy leans down to wash his hands methodically, wondering for a moment whether it's some muted scent in his clothes that give him away or the occasional restless curl of his fingers, one of those little gestures addicts recognize in others long before they do in themselves. Or it could be Dominic who's not managed to keep this one secret, the least problematic of many, Billy supposes.
"Did you need to speak to me about something, or is this just chitchat, Elijah?" Billy says quietly as the soap slides between his restless fingers. "I keep office hours for the former and neither of us is much interested in the latter. Wait," he says sharply when Elijah opens his mouth to speak. "While we're here, why not have a chat, then. Y'don't even bother arguing with me in class anymore, Elijah, and your papers have gone to shite. Not that I mind; you make my job easier, though I doubt that's your intention." Billy lowers his voice and takes a step back from the sink, pushing past Elijah to get to the old industrial towel dispenser and its sad, creaking lever. "I'm happy to fail you, if that's what you're looking for," he continues. "But there's no reason why it should come to that."
"You can't fail me," Elijah laughs, and takes a deeper drag from his cigarette before he offers it to Billy with a charming smile and shrugs when Billy tilts his head, both amused and annoyed. "I've had a shitty few weeks, but you can't touch me, professor, and we both know it. And when was the last time you failed anybody happily. What's so special about me that you won't go rage against the dying of my fucking academic light, hmm? Wait," Elijah bites out this time when Billy makes to speak, and Billy can't hold back his own smile, almost proud of the strength behind Elijah's sneer. "We already know what's not so special, don't we. I'm not buying what you're selling in your class, professor, but I'm doing the work. And that means you do yours in return. That means you give the marks people earn, not what you want to see them get, and it goes both ways. You fail me, that's your call, but do it when and if I earn it, and don't threaten me, okay, because--" Elijah sighs, takes another strong inhale and then stares at the ceiling again. "I'm not the bad guy here, and you're not the good guy, either. Like I said, we all have our things. They make you short sighted, and they make you do things you maybe wouldn't do otherwise. Sometimes for your own safety. Hey," Elijah laughs. "Like that thing you were saying last week in class. I do remember these things, professor, you'd be fucking surprised--"
"Mr. Wood."
"No, I think you'd better hear me out on this, sir." Elijah takes a step nearer to Billy and pinches the end of his cigarette out, the last of its sparks fluttering to the ground between them before Elijah tosses the butt toward the rubbish bin beneath the towel dispenser. "What was it, Hobbes, right? The wickedness of bad men also compels good men to have recourse, for their own protection. Do you feel protected, sir?"
"As much as I might ever need to be." Billy folds his arms over his chest before he can think better of it, but he leans against the sink and tilts his head again, surprised by his own willingness to see where Elijah's thoughts are leading them. Billy's under no illusions here; now that he's paying better attention he can see that Elijah's eyes are cloudy, his limbs loose in a way they've never been during the few discussions he and Billy have had, and Billy's relatively certain that Elijah might not remember at all this conversation tomorrow, maybe not even a few hours from now. This is how Dominic had stumbled through weeks at a time, Billy thinks, and the force of that thought makes his chest hurt and his patience with Elijah grow suddenly thinner. "Your point, Mr. Wood. I'm hoping you have one."
"I'm asking because I do, sir, and maybe we can protect each other a little bit here. We've had shit in common before, right? Maybe we still do. I mean, me, I have a pretty fine fucking appreciation for art and photography, and I'm thinking you do, too--"
"Elijah." The warning in Billy's voice sounds pointless even to Billy himself, and Elijah shakes his head, smiling as if he hasn't even heard it and palming his pockets again.
"You're also pretty good at reversing failures before they get that far, sir," Elijah says softly, his fingers now trapping two small Polaroids and waving them carefully before he turns them to face Billy. "Exhibit-fucking-A."
The first of the two pictures shows Billy nothing unexpected once the moment's shock wears off. It's a setup shot, nothing more; it's Dominic's bound wrists and blindfolded eyes caught in murky closeup, the film more than a blurry match for the sharpness of Dominic's angles. Billy can tear his eyes from it easily because he's seen what became of that photograph, the beautiful if terrifying sketch Barchi had created from it, and the distance between reality and art distanced Billy from the reaction he knows Elijah's waiting for. The second picture is harder to take, though from the same source, Billy imagines; it shows Dominic in an act of greater intimacy, bound by desire more than physical restraint and caught at what Billy would call a moment of deep pleasure in it. The slightly smeared photograph isn't tawdry, isn't even obscene as these things go, but it is one that never saw light as a formed sketch and as such is something Billy burns to have explained, knowing he has no right to that or anything else. It takes everything Billy has not to tear both pictures from Elijah's hands suddenly, but he raises his eyes from them slowly, watching Elijah's gaze focus hard on him now, too.
"What possible reason could you have to think these would interest me, Elijah?"
"Because I knew you'd appreciate them. At least as much as I do. I mean, subject matter aside, it's amazing what they can do with film that shitty, don't you think?"
"I wouldn't know," Billy says, as lightly as he can. "Never owned a Polaroid. I didn't think they were even made now."
"Well, let's not get technical about it, sir," Elijah laughs. "But you have to admit that first one translated well into a drawing, didn't it?"
"Again, I wouldn't--"
"Yeah, you would," Elijah sighs. "You've seen it, and I know you have because I did, too. Same day. You're wearing the same fucking suit today you did that night, too. You'd think Baskerville'd maybe not stage an exhibition like that same time they're leading tours around for prospective students, but whatever. Maybe it's a selling point. Check us out: not only are we smart enough to exploit your kids, we're also clever enough to call it art. It's nice, though, isn't it? I mean, I think he looks better with his mouth shut, but--"
"Enough, Elijah," Billy says harshly, his fingers clenching hard and white now in his jacket, hidden from Elijah's view, but Elijah sees the tension ratchet up in Billy's shoulders, and he shakes his head again.
"No, it never is, really. And please, sir, I'd hate to be, like, misunderstood here. I'm not gonna be breaking out the photo album just so we can talk art. And I don't want you to think I don't have anybody's best interest in mind." Elijah flips the photographs between his fingers as if they're thin toys for a moment, and then he pockets them again and tilts his head. "You told him not to be someone else's art, didn't you. You told him a lot of things, and some of them he was just fucked up enough to tell me." Billy can't not blink at that, though he regrets it immediately when Elijah blinks, too, and a wide smile crosses his pale face, creasing it delightedly. "I have more of these pictures, professor. Some of 'em might be yours, am I right?"
"I have no reason to think so."
"That's not an answer," Elijah spits back, stepping into the little space he'd left between them before he smiles again. "I mean, people are used to that from you, never getting a straight answer. They're not asking the right fucking questions, though, and I like to think I am. So answer me this, professor: is that cushy fucking office of yours worth what you're doing during those office hours? And your reputation, sir? What you did with Dom, is that what it takes for you not to fail somebody? You have to have them on their fucking knees, one way or another?"
"You are out of order, Elijah--"
"I like it better when you do that Mr. Wood thing, actually--"
"You are out of order, you piece of shite." Billy advances enough that Elijah staggers back and then to one side, bracing himself against the towel dispenser and breathing suddenly hard enough that Billy can hear it. He'd allowed Elijah his wandering speech, allowed the resentful little smirk to carry his voice over the tile in this room, and now Billy wonders why he'd tolerated it, why every defense mechanism that's saved him from this sort of thing before hadn't kicked him and forced him out of the room and away from Elijah's little games. There's a scent of fear coming off Elijah now, and Billy works with it, giving himself a chance to regroup before he does something insane, but it's hard going; the idea of Elijah's bright blue eyes and clever mouth settling on Dominic's body while Dominic had told him about things that should have never left the rooms in which they were spoken or done makes Billy's stomach tense and roll, and his fingers curl up into loose fists at his sides before he moves again, trapping Elijah a little now between himself and the door. Their heights are better matched than his and Dominic's, Billy notices, and Elijah backs down faster than Dominic ever has inside or outside the realm of play; how Dominic could settle for this shallow, spiteful, bastard infant is hard to understand until Billy remembers the drugs and how shattered Dominic had been when he'd ended up at Billy's door, and that memory makes Billy take his last step forward, one hand pressing neatly on the door and the other settling gently at Elijah's shoulder.
"You're not well, Elijah," Billy says softly. "Which is why I'm going t'forget everything you've shown me and everything you've said, and you're going to remember who and what you are here. If you find you can't do that, come see me at the appropriate time, hmm? Not in a fucking lav, and not when you can't even feel the ground under your feet. Until you do, listen and remember this, yeah?" Billy leans in, lowering his voice more and letting Elijah shift under his harder grasp. "I earned that office, Elijah. Nothing you say or do will see it taken from me. If you could see past your own sense of entitlement, you would have never told me about Dominic. You'd have called it a project and been so desperate to be liked you would have spent everything you had to get him the help he needed, wouldn't you? But that's not your game. For whatever ridiculous reason, you've targeted me since I had the temerity to give you a mark you didn't believe you deserved, and you're using someone else to further your cause. You're pathetic, Elijah; you're a child and you don't deserve to be here--"
"If I get thrown out of this school," Elijah whispers. "If you get me thrown out you'd better believe I'm taking you with me. Him too--"
"And is that worth the risk to you?" Billy asks, relaxing his grip again to stroke Elijah's cheek gently. "Will you be welcomed home, d'you think? Protected? Tucked back into your mum's arms and welcome to all her pretty bottles of pills?"
"Fuck you," Elijah breathes, and Billy shakes his head now.
"I don't think so, no. Not during my office hours, not ever, Elijah. You enjoy games; now you've got one, haven't you? Unless your remember what I'm telling you and leave everyone else alone to forget this and everything else you've done. I'm a reasonable man, Elijah, and as I said, you're not well--"
"A university employee--" Elijah stutters out, stopping Billy cold with the certainty behind the words that follow. "A university employee who enters into a sexual relationship with a student or subordinate where a professional power relationship exists is warned that," Elijah swallows, then continues. "Is warned that if a charge of sexual harassment is subsequently made, the student or subordinate may assert that the relationship was not one of mutual or voluntary consent. That's it, isn't it. I remember what I fucking have to, sir. Maybe you ought to look into that before you threaten me--"
"I've made no threat," Billy murmurs. "And you're reaching back hard for that, aren't you. You offered yourself up to me a moment ago, do you not remember that? I'm prepared to forget it, too, don't think otherwise, but you shouldn't, especially if you're thinking you can use it as a bargaining chip. I don't bargain, Elijah, get clear on that. And I will fail you if it's called for, and you will never--" Billy moves in close again. "Drag another student down with you again."
"This works for you, doesn't it," Elijah whispers. "Dom would have done whatever you wanted like this. And you would've loved it--"
Later Billy will call his actions unprofessional, ridiculous, dangerous, and wrong on every possible level, but in the moment he can't not react; the sound of Elijah's spine and the back of his head cracking hard against the heavy door thrills Billy, and the shocked noise of pain that tumbles from between Elijah's lips is even better. Billy doesn't allow himself more than the brutal shove, but that alone is enough; Elijah eyes clear and then cloud over again as he slips a bit to the floor, and Billy steps back to let him fall, taking his turn to stare at the ceiling before he swallows and looks down again at Elijah, scrabbling now to get back to his feet.
"Get up," Billy says softly, but doesn't offer the help he knows he could. "Focus your energy somewhere else, Elijah. For god's sake, focus that spite you live and breathe on in the direction of something, anything that's not going to backfire on you. Everything you've provided in class has come from a surface reading, and out of class you're no better. It's how you live your whole life, skimming surfaces, making ripples, but afraid to go deeper, afraid to drown even just for a moment. Taking others down to depths you can't even dream of and unable to bear it when they come back up with what they've seen and found and won't share with you."
Billy's shoulders drop in exhaustion, and he turns back to the mirror, shocked by the sight of himself. Elijah's made it to his knees, and Billy forces himself not to look his way, not to give him the satisfaction of thinking Billy enjoys what he sees there. "I had hopes for you," Billy says, and Elijah stops shifting behind him, listening, Billy can tell. "I wasn't the only one, either; you've burnt through friendships here, haven't you. And look at you just a few minutes ago, Elijah, forming another little circle you'll set on fire just like you did the first."
"You don't know me, professor," Elijah whispers, and Billy shakes his head before he turns to face Elijah again.
"I don't have to. I'm not obligated to do anything but teach you, Elijah. And here's the thing." He crouches down and reaches for the book of matches that's fallen to the floor from Elijah's pocket, holding it out to Elijah. "You will be taught, and you will learn."
There's a groan behind Billy as the bathroom door opens, and Billy forces a bland smile to cross his face as he stands, holding the door ajar with his foot. "Look after him, hmm?" Billy says quietly to the surprised student making his way inside, and then Billy leaves, unable to look back.
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Billy and Elijah
Word count: 3906
Summary: Never let schooling interfere with your education.
Index
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
Even the most socially acceptable addiction has its downfalls. For the sort of fist-clenchingly desperate coffee drinker Billy is, one of those downfalls is that after two morning classes and three and a half mugs of said coffee, he's in rather pressing need of a visit to the men's room. This is not ordinarily a problem-the lav's less than a minute's walk from his primary classroom-but today, after the second class, Billy's surrounded by confused second-years who want answers Billy had likely been too overcaffeinated to give properly during the class itself. The little crowd of people around him takes a step back in unison when Billy lifts his hands a bit in the air and snaps Alright, please.
Billy hates raising his voice in a classroom, especially for something as small as this, but it works. In a matter of moments, Billy's taken a deep breath and given his students the answers they seek, just stopping short of placing his hands on the backs of the two loudest and most nervous to shove them politely out of the classroom. Once he's left alone, Billy sweeps the papers from his desk and into his briefcase in one motion, not particularly caring about the creases the essays will develop before he opens the case again tonight.
Baskerville has in recent months failed to accomodate some of Billy's more academic needs, and he's starting to believe that the next step is to prevent him from taking care of some of even the most basic physical needs as well. The men's bathroom on his floor is locked from the inside, with a casually scrawled Plumbing Work-Pls Use Sec. Floor WC sign on its door. On a mission, then, Billy thinks to himself, gritting his teeth as he walks double quick to his office and unlocks the door for only long enough to toss his briefcase toward the couch. Slamming the door shut again and pocketing his keys, he's halfway down the stairs when he notices Elijah at the foot of them, surrounded by a small group of what Billy supposes are his friends; they're tucked around him and nodding at some story or secret, and as Billy gets closer they move as one to get out his way, all but Elijah himself, who throws Billy a smile over his shoulder, the heat of which Billy can feel on his own back the rest of the way to the lav.
There are ways Billy can rationalize being so unsettled by that smile and comfortable stare of Elijah's; the damage the young man's done to Dominic is going to haunt Billy, too, until at least the end of this year, and in the meantime he's still Billy's student, one with whom Billy still has to deal fairly until he's forced not to by means of Elijah himself, and not in regard to what he's done to another student whose relationship to Billy is meant to be just as distant and not any more fair. It's not like Elijah's making it terribly difficult, either; the quality of his essays has gone down somewhat, as if he's only expecting so much from Billy in terms of marks now, so why should he attempt any better? And while Elijah will never match Dominic for fidgeting and occasional absences over the course of a term, he has been enough of a distraction in discussions and casual disappearances on days of scheduled questioning that Billy feels justified when he destroys Elijah's arguments on paper, punctuating his remarks with a politeness he already knows Elijah finds hard to take. It's the wrong sort of pleasure to enjoy as an instructor, but it's only going to be a temporary one, Billy's reasoned to himself, and it's not as if Billy's not making up for this lack of compassion elsewhere.
Billy's half-unzipped when Elijah enters the bathroom, blinking and stepping backward like he hadn't at all planned to follow Billy in here. Billy closes his eyes and lets out a resigned little breath, thinking that there's no way either of them will leave this room without words of some sort, and then Billy allows himself some relief when Elijah breaks the silence first.
"Thought you might have already finished up, sir," he says kindly, leaning against the door. "You looked like you were in a hurry. They have things you can get to take care of that--"
"Mr. Wood," Billy sighs. "Don't let me keep you, yeah? This isn't what I'd call a lounge."
"Maybe not," Elijah shrugs, and Billy squints at the mirror as he watches Elijah's reflection, Elijah's hands patting down his pockets, and finally retrieving from them a crushed pack of cigarettes and a book of matches in even worse shape. "It is what I'd call a room with no sprinklers, though, sir, and seeing how it's a damn mess outside in this beautiful little town, I thought I'd take advantage where I could indoors. Do me a favour and don't bust me, okay? We've all got our little things, and it's been a long day. And you know from bad days, am I right?"
"I see no reason to slow the decline of your health, Elijah," Billy sighs again, shifting his hand inside his boxers and keeping his eyes on the mirror. "And your days are no longer than anyone else's. By all means, light up. Enjoy." A small twitch of fingers and hips and dick, and Billy blinks at the relief of just having a fucking piss, however irritating it is to do so with an audience. Elijah's bent slightly, striking the match and lighting his cigarette slowly, the display almost pretty in the mirror if Billy's honest, almost lovely enough to tempt Billy in the direction of his own packet of cheap, disgusting little things he keeps in his desk for emergencies and after meetings with Noble.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to find decent cigarettes here?" Elijah muses, his eyes on the ceiling, following the trails of smoke. Billy tucks himself back in his trousers and chooses not to answer that, deciding for the moment that Elijah wouldn't recognize a decent cigarette even if given a box of them as a gift. Elijah prattles on, comparing various brands and declaring how much he could take in as an underground importer on this campus if he had the energy to get on that. "I take it I could add you to the list of prospective customers, professor? I know you like your matches."
Billy doesn't flinch, but he doesn't meet the sudden contact Elijah's eyes demand of him in the mirror either. Instead Billy leans down to wash his hands methodically, wondering for a moment whether it's some muted scent in his clothes that give him away or the occasional restless curl of his fingers, one of those little gestures addicts recognize in others long before they do in themselves. Or it could be Dominic who's not managed to keep this one secret, the least problematic of many, Billy supposes.
"Did you need to speak to me about something, or is this just chitchat, Elijah?" Billy says quietly as the soap slides between his restless fingers. "I keep office hours for the former and neither of us is much interested in the latter. Wait," he says sharply when Elijah opens his mouth to speak. "While we're here, why not have a chat, then. Y'don't even bother arguing with me in class anymore, Elijah, and your papers have gone to shite. Not that I mind; you make my job easier, though I doubt that's your intention." Billy lowers his voice and takes a step back from the sink, pushing past Elijah to get to the old industrial towel dispenser and its sad, creaking lever. "I'm happy to fail you, if that's what you're looking for," he continues. "But there's no reason why it should come to that."
"You can't fail me," Elijah laughs, and takes a deeper drag from his cigarette before he offers it to Billy with a charming smile and shrugs when Billy tilts his head, both amused and annoyed. "I've had a shitty few weeks, but you can't touch me, professor, and we both know it. And when was the last time you failed anybody happily. What's so special about me that you won't go rage against the dying of my fucking academic light, hmm? Wait," Elijah bites out this time when Billy makes to speak, and Billy can't hold back his own smile, almost proud of the strength behind Elijah's sneer. "We already know what's not so special, don't we. I'm not buying what you're selling in your class, professor, but I'm doing the work. And that means you do yours in return. That means you give the marks people earn, not what you want to see them get, and it goes both ways. You fail me, that's your call, but do it when and if I earn it, and don't threaten me, okay, because--" Elijah sighs, takes another strong inhale and then stares at the ceiling again. "I'm not the bad guy here, and you're not the good guy, either. Like I said, we all have our things. They make you short sighted, and they make you do things you maybe wouldn't do otherwise. Sometimes for your own safety. Hey," Elijah laughs. "Like that thing you were saying last week in class. I do remember these things, professor, you'd be fucking surprised--"
"Mr. Wood."
"No, I think you'd better hear me out on this, sir." Elijah takes a step nearer to Billy and pinches the end of his cigarette out, the last of its sparks fluttering to the ground between them before Elijah tosses the butt toward the rubbish bin beneath the towel dispenser. "What was it, Hobbes, right? The wickedness of bad men also compels good men to have recourse, for their own protection. Do you feel protected, sir?"
"As much as I might ever need to be." Billy folds his arms over his chest before he can think better of it, but he leans against the sink and tilts his head again, surprised by his own willingness to see where Elijah's thoughts are leading them. Billy's under no illusions here; now that he's paying better attention he can see that Elijah's eyes are cloudy, his limbs loose in a way they've never been during the few discussions he and Billy have had, and Billy's relatively certain that Elijah might not remember at all this conversation tomorrow, maybe not even a few hours from now. This is how Dominic had stumbled through weeks at a time, Billy thinks, and the force of that thought makes his chest hurt and his patience with Elijah grow suddenly thinner. "Your point, Mr. Wood. I'm hoping you have one."
"I'm asking because I do, sir, and maybe we can protect each other a little bit here. We've had shit in common before, right? Maybe we still do. I mean, me, I have a pretty fine fucking appreciation for art and photography, and I'm thinking you do, too--"
"Elijah." The warning in Billy's voice sounds pointless even to Billy himself, and Elijah shakes his head, smiling as if he hasn't even heard it and palming his pockets again.
"You're also pretty good at reversing failures before they get that far, sir," Elijah says softly, his fingers now trapping two small Polaroids and waving them carefully before he turns them to face Billy. "Exhibit-fucking-A."
The first of the two pictures shows Billy nothing unexpected once the moment's shock wears off. It's a setup shot, nothing more; it's Dominic's bound wrists and blindfolded eyes caught in murky closeup, the film more than a blurry match for the sharpness of Dominic's angles. Billy can tear his eyes from it easily because he's seen what became of that photograph, the beautiful if terrifying sketch Barchi had created from it, and the distance between reality and art distanced Billy from the reaction he knows Elijah's waiting for. The second picture is harder to take, though from the same source, Billy imagines; it shows Dominic in an act of greater intimacy, bound by desire more than physical restraint and caught at what Billy would call a moment of deep pleasure in it. The slightly smeared photograph isn't tawdry, isn't even obscene as these things go, but it is one that never saw light as a formed sketch and as such is something Billy burns to have explained, knowing he has no right to that or anything else. It takes everything Billy has not to tear both pictures from Elijah's hands suddenly, but he raises his eyes from them slowly, watching Elijah's gaze focus hard on him now, too.
"What possible reason could you have to think these would interest me, Elijah?"
"Because I knew you'd appreciate them. At least as much as I do. I mean, subject matter aside, it's amazing what they can do with film that shitty, don't you think?"
"I wouldn't know," Billy says, as lightly as he can. "Never owned a Polaroid. I didn't think they were even made now."
"Well, let's not get technical about it, sir," Elijah laughs. "But you have to admit that first one translated well into a drawing, didn't it?"
"Again, I wouldn't--"
"Yeah, you would," Elijah sighs. "You've seen it, and I know you have because I did, too. Same day. You're wearing the same fucking suit today you did that night, too. You'd think Baskerville'd maybe not stage an exhibition like that same time they're leading tours around for prospective students, but whatever. Maybe it's a selling point. Check us out: not only are we smart enough to exploit your kids, we're also clever enough to call it art. It's nice, though, isn't it? I mean, I think he looks better with his mouth shut, but--"
"Enough, Elijah," Billy says harshly, his fingers clenching hard and white now in his jacket, hidden from Elijah's view, but Elijah sees the tension ratchet up in Billy's shoulders, and he shakes his head again.
"No, it never is, really. And please, sir, I'd hate to be, like, misunderstood here. I'm not gonna be breaking out the photo album just so we can talk art. And I don't want you to think I don't have anybody's best interest in mind." Elijah flips the photographs between his fingers as if they're thin toys for a moment, and then he pockets them again and tilts his head. "You told him not to be someone else's art, didn't you. You told him a lot of things, and some of them he was just fucked up enough to tell me." Billy can't not blink at that, though he regrets it immediately when Elijah blinks, too, and a wide smile crosses his pale face, creasing it delightedly. "I have more of these pictures, professor. Some of 'em might be yours, am I right?"
"I have no reason to think so."
"That's not an answer," Elijah spits back, stepping into the little space he'd left between them before he smiles again. "I mean, people are used to that from you, never getting a straight answer. They're not asking the right fucking questions, though, and I like to think I am. So answer me this, professor: is that cushy fucking office of yours worth what you're doing during those office hours? And your reputation, sir? What you did with Dom, is that what it takes for you not to fail somebody? You have to have them on their fucking knees, one way or another?"
"You are out of order, Elijah--"
"I like it better when you do that Mr. Wood thing, actually--"
"You are out of order, you piece of shite." Billy advances enough that Elijah staggers back and then to one side, bracing himself against the towel dispenser and breathing suddenly hard enough that Billy can hear it. He'd allowed Elijah his wandering speech, allowed the resentful little smirk to carry his voice over the tile in this room, and now Billy wonders why he'd tolerated it, why every defense mechanism that's saved him from this sort of thing before hadn't kicked him and forced him out of the room and away from Elijah's little games. There's a scent of fear coming off Elijah now, and Billy works with it, giving himself a chance to regroup before he does something insane, but it's hard going; the idea of Elijah's bright blue eyes and clever mouth settling on Dominic's body while Dominic had told him about things that should have never left the rooms in which they were spoken or done makes Billy's stomach tense and roll, and his fingers curl up into loose fists at his sides before he moves again, trapping Elijah a little now between himself and the door. Their heights are better matched than his and Dominic's, Billy notices, and Elijah backs down faster than Dominic ever has inside or outside the realm of play; how Dominic could settle for this shallow, spiteful, bastard infant is hard to understand until Billy remembers the drugs and how shattered Dominic had been when he'd ended up at Billy's door, and that memory makes Billy take his last step forward, one hand pressing neatly on the door and the other settling gently at Elijah's shoulder.
"You're not well, Elijah," Billy says softly. "Which is why I'm going t'forget everything you've shown me and everything you've said, and you're going to remember who and what you are here. If you find you can't do that, come see me at the appropriate time, hmm? Not in a fucking lav, and not when you can't even feel the ground under your feet. Until you do, listen and remember this, yeah?" Billy leans in, lowering his voice more and letting Elijah shift under his harder grasp. "I earned that office, Elijah. Nothing you say or do will see it taken from me. If you could see past your own sense of entitlement, you would have never told me about Dominic. You'd have called it a project and been so desperate to be liked you would have spent everything you had to get him the help he needed, wouldn't you? But that's not your game. For whatever ridiculous reason, you've targeted me since I had the temerity to give you a mark you didn't believe you deserved, and you're using someone else to further your cause. You're pathetic, Elijah; you're a child and you don't deserve to be here--"
"If I get thrown out of this school," Elijah whispers. "If you get me thrown out you'd better believe I'm taking you with me. Him too--"
"And is that worth the risk to you?" Billy asks, relaxing his grip again to stroke Elijah's cheek gently. "Will you be welcomed home, d'you think? Protected? Tucked back into your mum's arms and welcome to all her pretty bottles of pills?"
"Fuck you," Elijah breathes, and Billy shakes his head now.
"I don't think so, no. Not during my office hours, not ever, Elijah. You enjoy games; now you've got one, haven't you? Unless your remember what I'm telling you and leave everyone else alone to forget this and everything else you've done. I'm a reasonable man, Elijah, and as I said, you're not well--"
"A university employee--" Elijah stutters out, stopping Billy cold with the certainty behind the words that follow. "A university employee who enters into a sexual relationship with a student or subordinate where a professional power relationship exists is warned that," Elijah swallows, then continues. "Is warned that if a charge of sexual harassment is subsequently made, the student or subordinate may assert that the relationship was not one of mutual or voluntary consent. That's it, isn't it. I remember what I fucking have to, sir. Maybe you ought to look into that before you threaten me--"
"I've made no threat," Billy murmurs. "And you're reaching back hard for that, aren't you. You offered yourself up to me a moment ago, do you not remember that? I'm prepared to forget it, too, don't think otherwise, but you shouldn't, especially if you're thinking you can use it as a bargaining chip. I don't bargain, Elijah, get clear on that. And I will fail you if it's called for, and you will never--" Billy moves in close again. "Drag another student down with you again."
"This works for you, doesn't it," Elijah whispers. "Dom would have done whatever you wanted like this. And you would've loved it--"
Later Billy will call his actions unprofessional, ridiculous, dangerous, and wrong on every possible level, but in the moment he can't not react; the sound of Elijah's spine and the back of his head cracking hard against the heavy door thrills Billy, and the shocked noise of pain that tumbles from between Elijah's lips is even better. Billy doesn't allow himself more than the brutal shove, but that alone is enough; Elijah eyes clear and then cloud over again as he slips a bit to the floor, and Billy steps back to let him fall, taking his turn to stare at the ceiling before he swallows and looks down again at Elijah, scrabbling now to get back to his feet.
"Get up," Billy says softly, but doesn't offer the help he knows he could. "Focus your energy somewhere else, Elijah. For god's sake, focus that spite you live and breathe on in the direction of something, anything that's not going to backfire on you. Everything you've provided in class has come from a surface reading, and out of class you're no better. It's how you live your whole life, skimming surfaces, making ripples, but afraid to go deeper, afraid to drown even just for a moment. Taking others down to depths you can't even dream of and unable to bear it when they come back up with what they've seen and found and won't share with you."
Billy's shoulders drop in exhaustion, and he turns back to the mirror, shocked by the sight of himself. Elijah's made it to his knees, and Billy forces himself not to look his way, not to give him the satisfaction of thinking Billy enjoys what he sees there. "I had hopes for you," Billy says, and Elijah stops shifting behind him, listening, Billy can tell. "I wasn't the only one, either; you've burnt through friendships here, haven't you. And look at you just a few minutes ago, Elijah, forming another little circle you'll set on fire just like you did the first."
"You don't know me, professor," Elijah whispers, and Billy shakes his head before he turns to face Elijah again.
"I don't have to. I'm not obligated to do anything but teach you, Elijah. And here's the thing." He crouches down and reaches for the book of matches that's fallen to the floor from Elijah's pocket, holding it out to Elijah. "You will be taught, and you will learn."
There's a groan behind Billy as the bathroom door opens, and Billy forces a bland smile to cross his face as he stands, holding the door ajar with his foot. "Look after him, hmm?" Billy says quietly to the surprised student making his way inside, and then Billy leaves, unable to look back.