Bill was always chuffed to see Phedre, wherever he happed to run into her. He occasionally wondered what might have happened between them if her bloke Joscelin hadn't shown up, but she was a bloody good friend, and for the most part he didn't care to think on what might have been.
"Now who's the one making enough for an army?" he teased as he walked into the kitchen, but his smile vanished when he saw her face. He had to push down the anger that immediately threatened to flare up inside him, wanting to hurt whomever had hurt her, though he knew it was likely the fault of the island. Instead, he went to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.
"Who?" he asked simply, having gone through this enough times to know the look.
I looked up with a pathetic attempt at a smile on my face, having to press down the grief that welled up in my chest at the protective anger on Bill's face. "My friend," I said, "my oldest friend-- my lover, too, I don't-- Hyacinthe," I said, and with his name, once a word I'd taken pride in refraining from saying, the tears flooded my eyes and I could not keep them in. Turning in my chair, I pressed my face unabashedly against Bill's chest, needing comfort now more than I could remember ever needing it since Imriel had gone.
Bill crouched down immediately, gathering Phedre in his arms. "Shit, I'm so sorry, Phedre," he murmured into her hair. He knew all too well what it was like, having someone you loved disappear from the island, and it was never fucking fair.
For a few moments I let myself be held, letting the flood of my weeping spend itself, before making an effort to pull myself together. Sitting up, I took a breath to steady myself, and brushed my hair away from my damp face. "You're going to need a clean shirt," I said ruefully, trying to smile though tears were still running slowly down my cheeks. Another wave of sorrow washed over me, and I fought not to sob, making myself talk instead. "I just don't know what I'm going to do without him," I said softly, wrapping my hands tight around the back of the chair. "He's been my friend for fifteen years."
"Nevermind that," he said dismissively, hardly caring, as he reached a hand to gently brush the tears from her cheeks. "I'm more worried about you, love. Anything you need from me, anything I can do, you let me know."
"Help me eat all this wretched food," I suggested, trying a wry little smile even through my tears. It did not last long, though, and I had to take long breaths to keep my voice calm. "I will be alright, I know-- I'm hardly alone here, after all. But it won't be the same without him," I said, my tears renewing themselves despite my efforts to keep them subdued.
He took both of her small hands in his larger ones, bringing them up to kiss the backs of them, and wished there was something he could do to take away her pain. "I can do that," he replied softly. "Can I get you anything?"
I shook my head, pulling away for a moment to reach for a biscuit and the bowl of whipped cream. "I think this is good enough to be going on with," I said, my smile holding for a moment longer than it had the first time. "I have heard some of my fellow clinic interns laugh about stress eating," I added, dipping the biscuit into the cream and taking a bite. "But I confess I did not quite know what they meant til now."
"Now who's the one making enough for an army?" he teased as he walked into the kitchen, but his smile vanished when he saw her face. He had to push down the anger that immediately threatened to flare up inside him, wanting to hurt whomever had hurt her, though he knew it was likely the fault of the island. Instead, he went to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders.
"Who?" he asked simply, having gone through this enough times to know the look.
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