30 Quills: A Fate Worse Than Death (#26 ~ To Be Forgotten Is Worse Than Death . . .)
A/N: Some time ago, an anon requested I write a fic about Billy dying, but I could not find the drive to write it, couldn’t figure out a way to approach it. When Miss Julie allowed me a request on livestream a few nights ago, I made this one because I knew it whatever she made from it, it would inspire me madly. Well, it made me loose my shit and then inspired me madly.
Please note all my 30 Quills fic take place within the same universe/timeline, although I am not writing them in chronological order at all. Therefore in this fic, Billy and Teddy are adults, and timeline-wise this takes place a quite some time after the events in this fic.
~+~
A Fate Worse Than Death
30 Quills: #26~ To be forgotten is worse than death.
~+~
{Six hours . . .}
.
.
.
Teddy groans. He’s quite certain this is what a hangover would feel like, if he ever drank that is. His head pounds, the light stabs rudely at his defenseless eyes and his entire body feels robotic, as if responding in slow motion. Still, he moves, lifting himself off the . . . gurney?
“Easy, Teddy, don’t fall off now,” Kate’s voice soothes.
“Wersh, B--” the world sways as he slurs his words, and he probably would have fallen on his face if not for the strong hand that catches his shoulder.
“You shouldn’t be moving, you shouldn’t be awake--” Eli sounds sterner than usual.
“Itoldyouitwouldn’tkeephimoutforlong,” the breeze lets him know it is Tommy speaking, but he’s gone as quickly as he passes by.
“Whass. . . B-- Billy--” Teddy pushes against Eli, but although his vision is clearing that robotic feeling is still staggering his movements, “Dis you . . . tranq me? Wha da fush--”
“You hulked out and wouldn’t stop, Teddy,” Cassie’s voice is wavering, that’s never a good sign. There’s a bruise on her cheek, and it doesn’t disappear even after Teddy rubs at his eyes, “Y-You just wouldn’t stop . . .”
“It was my idea,” Jonas puts an arm around Cassie’s shoulders. “Pardon me, but I fear it was necessary for your safety, and as well as those around you.”
Teddy doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to recall the rage of that moment when he was so far gone, he could not distinguish friend from foe. He wants only one thing.
“Guys, whers Billy, please--”
“They’re still operating on him,” Tommy appears again in the doorway, his answer is unusually slow, “It’s touch and go.”
Teddy’s breath hitches, his throat tightens, then his chest heaves, and he is shaking. Eli and Jonas are on either side of him immediately, their grip on his arms and shoulders firm, their faces grim.
“Guys, is that really necessary--” Cassie tries.
“Are you gonna lose it again, Altman?” Eli’s voice is hard.
Teddy jerks for a moment, seeming to all like he is going to put up a fight, instead he hangs his head, a desperate sound squeezing past his clenched throat.
“Let him go, boys,” Kate says as she wraps her arms firmly around him, pulling him close, hands soothing his back and hair, “Shh, Teddy, it’s gonna be okay. Shh, just shh . . .”
Teddy goes limp and sobs into her shoulder.
.
.
.
{48 hours . . .}
.
.
.
“Teddy, go take a break,” Eli tells him.
“I’m fine here, Eli.”
“I’m not asking you.”
He glares at him tiredly, “Would you leave if it was Kate lying there?”
It’s a low blow, but he’s too tired to care.
But Eli doesn’t even miss a beat, “If I smelled as offensive as you, yes.”
Teddy blinks, not quite expecting that. He resists the urge to sniff himself because that feels too much like losing, but if he is honest, this was a battle he lost the moment Eli stepped into the room and crossed his arms.
“Fine.”
.
.
.
{Five days . . . }
.
.
.
“How are you holding up, son?” Jeff asks him, hand squeezing his shoulder.
It makes Teddy’s chest tighten to hear himself addressed as such, but he’s not sure if he’ll ever let Mr. Kaplan know that.
“Okay,” he shrugs with a thin smile. Jeff nods, because he understands what hereally means. No one is okay.
“Teddy, look what we brought!” Aaron holds up a half a dozen copies of Billy’s favorite comic books, the ones he keeps sleeved in vinyl on his top shelf.
“Mommy says that reading is good comfort, so we brought Billy’s favorites! I’m going to read the words--” Jake starts.
“And I’m going to describe the pictures!” Aaron finishes, large innocent eyes turning to Teddy, “You wanna read with us?”
He’s so hopeful; it makes Teddy swallow thickly, but he manages a real smile, ruffling his hair, “Yea, Aaron. That . . . sounds good actually.”
After a short argument of who gets to sit in Teddy’s lap, Teddy just shifts bigger until they can both fit comfortably. Jake starts reading the dialogue first, interrupted by an over enthusiatic Aaron describing the scenery and action, and they force Teddy to do the sound effects as they flip through page after page of comics for the next hour until a nurse stops by to gently remind them that visiting hours are drawing to a close. The family packs up, while Rebecca approaches Teddy with a fresh set of blankets and pillow.
“I’ll take the others to wash, its been a while,” she says, pulling off the dirty ones from the small couch beside the hospital bed.
Teddy feels a terrible surge of guilt; he has been the only one staying at Billy’s bedside every night.
“Mrs. K--” Teddy stops her, “I haven’t even asked if you wanted to stay . . . ”
She straightens, looking at him over the rim of her glasses. Stepping forward, she puts her hands on his shoulders, gaze gentle and forlorn, “Did you not take a vow to take care of my son, Theodore?”
Teddy’s brow furrows, his nostrils flare as he breathes deep, hands twiddling nervously with the band on his ring finger, “Yes, always . . . ”
Rebecca cups his cheek, giving him a gentle smile, and has to raise on her toes a bit to kiss his forehead, “Then its your place to stay now.”
Teddy hugs her tightly then, and if he squeezes a little too hard, she doesn’t complain.
.
.
.
{Three and a half weeks . . . }
.
.
.
“Haven’t the nurses told you that’s not allowed? Shit, Altman, you’re lucky they let you practically move in here . . .”
Teddy starts awake, disoriented and stiff, blinking eyes taking in Billy’s small battered form beside him before drifting over the wires and cables to the twin leaning against the bed rails. He prefers to ignore the jibe, rather than leave the bed, shifting until his cheek is propped on his palm, while his other hand gently traces the contours of Billy’s face; what little of it is in reach under oxygen mask and all the bandages.
Fingertips linger on faded bruising, yellow and green around the edges, the center still containing a hint of the ugly purple it had been. It’s hard to look at it and not recall the terrible swelling that had disfigured the now healing face . . . and the blood. There had been so much blood . . .
But Billy looks peaceful now, comatose and dreamless, not even a twitch under his eyelids. Teddy pushes back the ever unruly hair from his battered face with a touch as gentle as it was reverent. It always made Billy sigh when he touched him like that, with a tiny content smile only Teddy was ever privileged enough to see.
Now all he sees is the stillness on that sleeping face, cool and unresponsive. All he can hear is the buzz and whir of the machinery monitoring Billy’s ailing condition. The drip of the IV between the beeps of his heart monitor is especially annoying in the long silent hours he spends at Billy’s bedside.
Tommy offers no conversation, rarely zipping through more than a sentence or two when he stops in for his 5 minute visits; if they even last that long. Teddy has had time to count exactly how long Tommy can keep himself in the room before his feet itch to pound against the pavement. It’s as if the stillness Billy lives in now is too much for his frenetic movements to coexist with, and he leaves as suddenly as he arrives. Yet for all that it appears callous, Tommy actually frequents the hospital room more than all the others combined.
Teddy only beats his visiting streak because he has camped out at Billy’s bedside, but judging by how often he feels a draft in the room, which has no known ventilation issues, Tommy passes through several times an hour. He doubts the others even realize he zips back and forth like this.
They make no mention of the oddly caring behavior, of course. It doesn’t change the fact that there is little more than awkward understanding between them. It doesn’t mean that Tommy actually acknowledges Billy as family . . . He tells Billy about it, talking to him when no one else is around to hear, because he knows how happy it would have made him.
He can imagine the smile splitting his face, so wide the cute little dimples, that usually went unnoticed in his cheeks, would peek out of hiding. That’s how he could always tell when Billy was truly smiling. Teddy fights the urge to remove the mask just so he can trace over the lines around Billy’s mouth that fold into themselves to form those dimples he loves so much. There’s a short line of stitches right beside the corner his mouth, where the skin had split open and suddenly all he can recall is the blood . . .
Billy’s face blurs in his vision and he bites at his lip hard to contain the emotion trying to overwhelm him. It doesn't work as well as he hopes. His voice still catches when he finally speaks.
“The doctor says he isn’t in any pain . . . b-but how do they know?”
“Psh,” Tommy’s brow crinkles in a strange cross between annoyance, and something that he would never ever call empathy, “I’m pretty sure it’s their job to know, Altman.”
It’s not really comforting, but at least Tommy doesn’t poke fun at him as he scrubs a hand over his face. The tight feeling behind his eyes remains, and the wetness he wiped away just keeps seeping silently down his cheeks.
.
.
.
{Seven months . . . }
.
.
.
“I’m not going to give up on him.”
“No one is asking you to, Ted,” Eli pulls up a chair and sits beside him.
It makes Teddy feel crampred. It makes Billy look tiny, like he is wasting away, slowly fading out of existence. He practically has, at least that’s what the others make it seem like. They move on with their lives as if neither Billy, nor Wiccan, had ever been a part of it.
“I want to be the first thing he sees. I want him to know that I someone stillcares,” there is a bitterness there he hadn’t realized he felt.
Eli sighs, shoulders drooping, “We all care, Teddy. Believe me, we do. But we can't sit here waiting forever when we can do good elsewhere, when we are needed elsewhere. You are needed. You had responsibilities to the Avengers, still have them-- if you want them.”
“I am needed,” Teddy looks pointedly at his best friend, “Right here. I going to be here when he wakes up.”
Eli actually looks heartbroken, and it makes Teddy’s stomach twist in a knot for a moment before he feels like punching something.
“And if he doesn’t?”
Teddy doesn’t answer, because the mere thought is enough to make him go mad with grief. He shoves it away, shuts it out, buries it somewhere dark and deep.
Eli sighs gently, patting his shoulder as he stands. He pauses in the doorway with a soft plea, “Please, Teddy, think about what Billy would have wanted . . .”
He hates that the others insist on speaking about Billy as if he’s already gone, as if he were never coming back.
“Please, just think about it . . .”
The last thing he wants to do is think.
.
.
.
{Two years . . . }
.
.
.
“I’m home!” Teddy calls into the quietness of the quaint little brownstone they had leased a few months after their wedding, shutting the door with his foot as he juggled keys, coat and a bouquet of flowers.
It was old, rich in the character of an era passed, as well as leaky faucets and crumbly ceilings, and loose floorboards. One project at a time, they had decided, the non-magic way; little by little they would restore it until it became suitable for the patter of little bare feet. All they had really gotten around to doing was replacing the god awful wallpaper, the wiring, and some fixtures. Everything else . . . well, things would just have to stay attractively dilapidated for a little while longer.
A little black furball suddenly pranced on silent paws across the open space of the foyer to rub lovingly at Teddy’s legs, mewing loud and whiny. He chuckles, picking up the feisty cat and cradling her in his arms, murmuring kindly, “Hold your horses, Wednesday. I bet your bowl isn’t even half empty yet, you glutton.”
She mews louder, as if to say Teddy’s reasoning is invalid, purring as she claws her way up to settle on broad shoulders, butting at her owner’s neck. Large fingers petted her absently as Teddy shuffles into the house, dropping his coat on the banister of the stairs as he climbed to the second floor. The soft notes of classical music float down the hall to his ears when he reaches the top of the stairs, getting louder as he nears the master bedroom.
“Ah, Teddy, you’re early.”
Teddy shrugs, a half smile tugging one corner of his mouth, as he arranges the bouquet-- snowdrops and forget-me-nots-- in a vase on the nightstand, removing the dead ones there. “It’s a special occasion.”
“Yes, yes indeed,” Mr. Kaplan smiles, a small, tired, sad looking thing. Jeff puts down the book he was reading aloud, something on Norse mythology, and gets up from his chair at the beside with a yawn and a stretch, “Need anything else before I vamoose?”
Teddy shakes his head, “No, sir. I’ll take it from here.”
Jeff looks him up and down for a moment, then a hand lands on Teddy’s shoulder, squeezing with fatherly affection. Wednesday jumps gracefully to the bed, mewing soft and brushing herself in long strokes against the still, unconscious body tucked under the quilts.
“You’re a good son, Ted,” Jeff praises him quietly.
Teddy’s smile feels a bit broken as he nods in affirmation, “Back tomorrow?”
“Always,” he turns and walks to the side of the bed, brushing away stray unruly hair from a pale forehead, “Goodnight son, until tomorrow.”
Jeff claps his shoulder on the way out in parting before Teddy moves to the bedside, letting his knuckles brush over soft pale skin of a slightly hollow cheek.
“Hey, B,” Teddy drops a kiss to his brow, then his nose, lastly his cheek.
He moves to the music player by the bedside table, switching through tracks that were supposed to stimulate brain activity. When he finally finds the track he wants, the one they had selected as their wedding dance, Teddy sits beside the bed, stroking Billy’s face and hair.
“Remember what today is?”
Billy doesn’t answer. He never does.
“Happy anniversary, Billy.”
Teddy refuses to accept that he never will.
~+~
Fin
~+~
~30 Quills Index~
Please note all my 30 Quills fic take place within the same universe/timeline, although I am not writing them in chronological order at all. Therefore in this fic, Billy and Teddy are adults, and timeline-wise this takes place a quite some time after the events in this fic.
~+~
A Fate Worse Than Death
30 Quills: #26~ To be forgotten is worse than death.
~+~
{Six hours . . .}
.
.
.
Teddy groans. He’s quite certain this is what a hangover would feel like, if he ever drank that is. His head pounds, the light stabs rudely at his defenseless eyes and his entire body feels robotic, as if responding in slow motion. Still, he moves, lifting himself off the . . . gurney?
“Easy, Teddy, don’t fall off now,” Kate’s voice soothes.
“Wersh, B--” the world sways as he slurs his words, and he probably would have fallen on his face if not for the strong hand that catches his shoulder.
“You shouldn’t be moving, you shouldn’t be awake--” Eli sounds sterner than usual.
“Itoldyouitwouldn’tkeephimoutforlong,” the breeze lets him know it is Tommy speaking, but he’s gone as quickly as he passes by.
“Whass. . . B-- Billy--” Teddy pushes against Eli, but although his vision is clearing that robotic feeling is still staggering his movements, “Dis you . . . tranq me? Wha da fush--”
“You hulked out and wouldn’t stop, Teddy,” Cassie’s voice is wavering, that’s never a good sign. There’s a bruise on her cheek, and it doesn’t disappear even after Teddy rubs at his eyes, “Y-You just wouldn’t stop . . .”
“It was my idea,” Jonas puts an arm around Cassie’s shoulders. “Pardon me, but I fear it was necessary for your safety, and as well as those around you.”
Teddy doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to recall the rage of that moment when he was so far gone, he could not distinguish friend from foe. He wants only one thing.
“Guys, whers Billy, please--”
“They’re still operating on him,” Tommy appears again in the doorway, his answer is unusually slow, “It’s touch and go.”
Teddy’s breath hitches, his throat tightens, then his chest heaves, and he is shaking. Eli and Jonas are on either side of him immediately, their grip on his arms and shoulders firm, their faces grim.
“Guys, is that really necessary--” Cassie tries.
“Are you gonna lose it again, Altman?” Eli’s voice is hard.
Teddy jerks for a moment, seeming to all like he is going to put up a fight, instead he hangs his head, a desperate sound squeezing past his clenched throat.
“Let him go, boys,” Kate says as she wraps her arms firmly around him, pulling him close, hands soothing his back and hair, “Shh, Teddy, it’s gonna be okay. Shh, just shh . . .”
Teddy goes limp and sobs into her shoulder.
.
.
.
{48 hours . . .}
.
.
.
“Teddy, go take a break,” Eli tells him.
“I’m fine here, Eli.”
“I’m not asking you.”
He glares at him tiredly, “Would you leave if it was Kate lying there?”
It’s a low blow, but he’s too tired to care.
But Eli doesn’t even miss a beat, “If I smelled as offensive as you, yes.”
Teddy blinks, not quite expecting that. He resists the urge to sniff himself because that feels too much like losing, but if he is honest, this was a battle he lost the moment Eli stepped into the room and crossed his arms.
“Fine.”
.
.
.
{Five days . . . }
.
.
.
“How are you holding up, son?” Jeff asks him, hand squeezing his shoulder.
It makes Teddy’s chest tighten to hear himself addressed as such, but he’s not sure if he’ll ever let Mr. Kaplan know that.
“Okay,” he shrugs with a thin smile. Jeff nods, because he understands what hereally means. No one is okay.
“Teddy, look what we brought!” Aaron holds up a half a dozen copies of Billy’s favorite comic books, the ones he keeps sleeved in vinyl on his top shelf.
“Mommy says that reading is good comfort, so we brought Billy’s favorites! I’m going to read the words--” Jake starts.
“And I’m going to describe the pictures!” Aaron finishes, large innocent eyes turning to Teddy, “You wanna read with us?”
He’s so hopeful; it makes Teddy swallow thickly, but he manages a real smile, ruffling his hair, “Yea, Aaron. That . . . sounds good actually.”
After a short argument of who gets to sit in Teddy’s lap, Teddy just shifts bigger until they can both fit comfortably. Jake starts reading the dialogue first, interrupted by an over enthusiatic Aaron describing the scenery and action, and they force Teddy to do the sound effects as they flip through page after page of comics for the next hour until a nurse stops by to gently remind them that visiting hours are drawing to a close. The family packs up, while Rebecca approaches Teddy with a fresh set of blankets and pillow.
“I’ll take the others to wash, its been a while,” she says, pulling off the dirty ones from the small couch beside the hospital bed.
Teddy feels a terrible surge of guilt; he has been the only one staying at Billy’s bedside every night.
“Mrs. K--” Teddy stops her, “I haven’t even asked if you wanted to stay . . . ”
She straightens, looking at him over the rim of her glasses. Stepping forward, she puts her hands on his shoulders, gaze gentle and forlorn, “Did you not take a vow to take care of my son, Theodore?”
Teddy’s brow furrows, his nostrils flare as he breathes deep, hands twiddling nervously with the band on his ring finger, “Yes, always . . . ”
Rebecca cups his cheek, giving him a gentle smile, and has to raise on her toes a bit to kiss his forehead, “Then its your place to stay now.”
Teddy hugs her tightly then, and if he squeezes a little too hard, she doesn’t complain.
.
.
.
{Three and a half weeks . . . }
.
.
.
“Haven’t the nurses told you that’s not allowed? Shit, Altman, you’re lucky they let you practically move in here . . .”
Teddy starts awake, disoriented and stiff, blinking eyes taking in Billy’s small battered form beside him before drifting over the wires and cables to the twin leaning against the bed rails. He prefers to ignore the jibe, rather than leave the bed, shifting until his cheek is propped on his palm, while his other hand gently traces the contours of Billy’s face; what little of it is in reach under oxygen mask and all the bandages.
Fingertips linger on faded bruising, yellow and green around the edges, the center still containing a hint of the ugly purple it had been. It’s hard to look at it and not recall the terrible swelling that had disfigured the now healing face . . . and the blood. There had been so much blood . . .
But Billy looks peaceful now, comatose and dreamless, not even a twitch under his eyelids. Teddy pushes back the ever unruly hair from his battered face with a touch as gentle as it was reverent. It always made Billy sigh when he touched him like that, with a tiny content smile only Teddy was ever privileged enough to see.
Now all he sees is the stillness on that sleeping face, cool and unresponsive. All he can hear is the buzz and whir of the machinery monitoring Billy’s ailing condition. The drip of the IV between the beeps of his heart monitor is especially annoying in the long silent hours he spends at Billy’s bedside.
Tommy offers no conversation, rarely zipping through more than a sentence or two when he stops in for his 5 minute visits; if they even last that long. Teddy has had time to count exactly how long Tommy can keep himself in the room before his feet itch to pound against the pavement. It’s as if the stillness Billy lives in now is too much for his frenetic movements to coexist with, and he leaves as suddenly as he arrives. Yet for all that it appears callous, Tommy actually frequents the hospital room more than all the others combined.
Teddy only beats his visiting streak because he has camped out at Billy’s bedside, but judging by how often he feels a draft in the room, which has no known ventilation issues, Tommy passes through several times an hour. He doubts the others even realize he zips back and forth like this.
They make no mention of the oddly caring behavior, of course. It doesn’t change the fact that there is little more than awkward understanding between them. It doesn’t mean that Tommy actually acknowledges Billy as family . . . He tells Billy about it, talking to him when no one else is around to hear, because he knows how happy it would have made him.
He can imagine the smile splitting his face, so wide the cute little dimples, that usually went unnoticed in his cheeks, would peek out of hiding. That’s how he could always tell when Billy was truly smiling. Teddy fights the urge to remove the mask just so he can trace over the lines around Billy’s mouth that fold into themselves to form those dimples he loves so much. There’s a short line of stitches right beside the corner his mouth, where the skin had split open and suddenly all he can recall is the blood . . .
Billy’s face blurs in his vision and he bites at his lip hard to contain the emotion trying to overwhelm him. It doesn't work as well as he hopes. His voice still catches when he finally speaks.
“The doctor says he isn’t in any pain . . . b-but how do they know?”
“Psh,” Tommy’s brow crinkles in a strange cross between annoyance, and something that he would never ever call empathy, “I’m pretty sure it’s their job to know, Altman.”
It’s not really comforting, but at least Tommy doesn’t poke fun at him as he scrubs a hand over his face. The tight feeling behind his eyes remains, and the wetness he wiped away just keeps seeping silently down his cheeks.
.
.
.
{Seven months . . . }
.
.
.
“I’m not going to give up on him.”
“No one is asking you to, Ted,” Eli pulls up a chair and sits beside him.
It makes Teddy feel crampred. It makes Billy look tiny, like he is wasting away, slowly fading out of existence. He practically has, at least that’s what the others make it seem like. They move on with their lives as if neither Billy, nor Wiccan, had ever been a part of it.
“I want to be the first thing he sees. I want him to know that I someone stillcares,” there is a bitterness there he hadn’t realized he felt.
Eli sighs, shoulders drooping, “We all care, Teddy. Believe me, we do. But we can't sit here waiting forever when we can do good elsewhere, when we are needed elsewhere. You are needed. You had responsibilities to the Avengers, still have them-- if you want them.”
“I am needed,” Teddy looks pointedly at his best friend, “Right here. I going to be here when he wakes up.”
Eli actually looks heartbroken, and it makes Teddy’s stomach twist in a knot for a moment before he feels like punching something.
“And if he doesn’t?”
Teddy doesn’t answer, because the mere thought is enough to make him go mad with grief. He shoves it away, shuts it out, buries it somewhere dark and deep.
Eli sighs gently, patting his shoulder as he stands. He pauses in the doorway with a soft plea, “Please, Teddy, think about what Billy would have wanted . . .”
He hates that the others insist on speaking about Billy as if he’s already gone, as if he were never coming back.
“Please, just think about it . . .”
The last thing he wants to do is think.
.
.
.
{Two years . . . }
.
.
.
“I’m home!” Teddy calls into the quietness of the quaint little brownstone they had leased a few months after their wedding, shutting the door with his foot as he juggled keys, coat and a bouquet of flowers.
It was old, rich in the character of an era passed, as well as leaky faucets and crumbly ceilings, and loose floorboards. One project at a time, they had decided, the non-magic way; little by little they would restore it until it became suitable for the patter of little bare feet. All they had really gotten around to doing was replacing the god awful wallpaper, the wiring, and some fixtures. Everything else . . . well, things would just have to stay attractively dilapidated for a little while longer.
A little black furball suddenly pranced on silent paws across the open space of the foyer to rub lovingly at Teddy’s legs, mewing loud and whiny. He chuckles, picking up the feisty cat and cradling her in his arms, murmuring kindly, “Hold your horses, Wednesday. I bet your bowl isn’t even half empty yet, you glutton.”
She mews louder, as if to say Teddy’s reasoning is invalid, purring as she claws her way up to settle on broad shoulders, butting at her owner’s neck. Large fingers petted her absently as Teddy shuffles into the house, dropping his coat on the banister of the stairs as he climbed to the second floor. The soft notes of classical music float down the hall to his ears when he reaches the top of the stairs, getting louder as he nears the master bedroom.
“Ah, Teddy, you’re early.”
Teddy shrugs, a half smile tugging one corner of his mouth, as he arranges the bouquet-- snowdrops and forget-me-nots-- in a vase on the nightstand, removing the dead ones there. “It’s a special occasion.”
“Yes, yes indeed,” Mr. Kaplan smiles, a small, tired, sad looking thing. Jeff puts down the book he was reading aloud, something on Norse mythology, and gets up from his chair at the beside with a yawn and a stretch, “Need anything else before I vamoose?”
Teddy shakes his head, “No, sir. I’ll take it from here.”
Jeff looks him up and down for a moment, then a hand lands on Teddy’s shoulder, squeezing with fatherly affection. Wednesday jumps gracefully to the bed, mewing soft and brushing herself in long strokes against the still, unconscious body tucked under the quilts.
“You’re a good son, Ted,” Jeff praises him quietly.
Teddy’s smile feels a bit broken as he nods in affirmation, “Back tomorrow?”
“Always,” he turns and walks to the side of the bed, brushing away stray unruly hair from a pale forehead, “Goodnight son, until tomorrow.”
Jeff claps his shoulder on the way out in parting before Teddy moves to the bedside, letting his knuckles brush over soft pale skin of a slightly hollow cheek.
“Hey, B,” Teddy drops a kiss to his brow, then his nose, lastly his cheek.
He moves to the music player by the bedside table, switching through tracks that were supposed to stimulate brain activity. When he finally finds the track he wants, the one they had selected as their wedding dance, Teddy sits beside the bed, stroking Billy’s face and hair.
“Remember what today is?”
Billy doesn’t answer. He never does.
“Happy anniversary, Billy.”
Teddy refuses to accept that he never will.
~+~
Fin
~+~
~30 Quills Index~