Disclaimer: Fiction. No profit is made nor offence intended.
Pairing: Billy Boyd/Dominic Monaghan & Elijah Wood/Josh Hartnett
AN: AU set in the Wild West, circa 1888. The line about thrice-grey lint was partly stolen from the late, great Spike Milligan, bless his lunatic soul
Rating: PG15. A little violence.
Feedback: Always appreciated - perhobfan@yahoo.co.uk
Dom hitched up his trousers and re-fastened his red leather belt. One more notch.
Billy poked around in his mouth with a matchstick in a futile attempt to prise some meat out from between his molars. Fresh meat belonged in the realms of fantasy, like unicorns and pain-free dentistry. “I never said fun. Adventure, yes. Never fun.”
He leaned against a rain barrel and stared up the street. By the clock on the telegraph office wall, it was just after six thirty in the evening in this latest town in a long line of towns. To the left of the telegraph office was the saloon. Or, rather, a saloon. For this town was possessed of three. This first was called Mae Dandy’s and was already half-full of mostly older men, prospectors and the like. Billy could hear the tinkle of worn ivories and the shrill of Miss Mae herself as she committed songicide. He cringed.
Over on the right stood Lucky Oscar’s establishment. Oscar, the founder, had been lost in the great landslide of 1877 but since he had been married to, by all accounts, the most evil bitch in Christendom, he was considered very lucky indeed to have gotten away so lightly. Oscar’s was quieter than Mae’s, but then again the gambling in Oscar’s was serious business.
Finally, there was Elijah’s Place; the facia was freshly-painted, gleaming blue and white and gold beneath its numerous gas lamps. Dom and Billy had been watching the clientele arriving for the last half-hour – young, mostly; seriously serious young men in city garb, some sporting spectacles and carrying books.
“Let’s copper up, Dom,” said Billy, pulling out his trouser pockets and revealing nothing but dingy once-white cotton and a layer of thrice-grey lint. His companion did the same, with the same result, though he did have the bonus of a humbug, tucked right in the seam. While he joyfully cleaned the dirt off his boiled sweet, his companion was studying the saloon once more. “It looks a wee bit odd, for a bawdy house. No sign of any gambling going on, either,” he said, green eyes narrowed in concentration.
“We’ve got no bunny, Milly,” his friend replied. Billy turned to him, puzzled, but when he saw the lump in Dom’s cheek, he just gave a disparaging frown and turned once more to his surveillance. Dom sucked on his humbug, savouring every juicy tang; it was his first meal in two days. “Wanna suck?” he asked, tapping Billy on the shoulder.
“Shh. I want to know why that place is so popular. Let’s get closer.” Billy strode purposefully out of the alley in which they had been standing and walked across the street. Dom switched cheeks, resisting the temptation to bite down – a good meal should be made to last, not frittered away just because a man was starving to death. There was no telling when he’d get his next repast.
“Dom, get your arse over here!” Billy was beckoning him, none too patiently. Dom hurried to join his friend. They peered carefully in at the glass window, into Elijah’s Place.
It looked like any other saloon, only cleaner. The wood was cherry red and gleaming, the brass fittings polished and sleek. There were, despite what Billy had supposed, several gambling tables, but these were set off to the side. Only one was presently occupied; a poker game was in progress, the players eyeing their cards with studied indifference.
There was a small stage, of course, nicely done up with rich velvet drapes in burgundy and cream. To the left of the stage was a piano, its lid closed, and upon this was stacked many pages of sheet music.
Billy looked at Dom and Dom looked at Billy. Then they both looked inside once more. Young men were crowded at the bar, ordering beers and shots of liquor; others were seated at tables clustered in front of the stage, reading newspapers and books and conversing loudly and with words of many syllables.
“They don’t look like cowboys, do they?” Dom said, smiling. Billy nodded.
“I agree. Not your usual run-of-the-mill crowd, is it? Nearest big city must be, oh, a hundred miles thataway…” A shadow appeared on the other side of the glass; Billy pulled back abruptly, dragging Dom with him. A second too late, for the double doors of the saloon suddenly swung open and a brawny gentleman appeared.
“In or out?” The gentleman had succeeded in blocking all the light from inside the place; indeed, he appeared to suck the light into himself and manifest it, like a great hole of a very dark colour indeed. Dom wondered what the matter could be.
Making an admirable recovery, Billy straightened up and stuck out his chin. “In!” he said, fiercely. The mass in the doorway cocked his surprisingly small head at the pair of them, sizing them up.
“You leave your guns with me, gents,” he grunted, pointing to a placard upon the wall that, in bold letters, proclaimed Elijah’s Place to be a peaceable one. As neither Dom nor Billy were armed, the rule seemed most reasonable. Billy lifted his arms and allowed the doorman to pat him down. Satisfied, the bruiser turned his attentions to Dom, who, upon being patted burst into a fit of giggles and very nearly swallowed his humbug.
“In you go; no trouble,” the big man warned, moving aside.
Billy stepped into the saloon, automatically reaching behind to pull Dom in after him. The bulky gentleman returned to watching the door, cracking his knuckles as he did so.
Dom looked about him, his stomach rumbling; the bottles of whisky and gin and rum and cactus wine all seemed to be whispering to him – “Come have me, I am yours for the taking; I will make a man of you; have me, have me, have me…”. He licked his parched lips and pulled off his dusty bowler hat. Billy, however, only had eyes for one bottle – a huge, beautiful, glittering glass receptacle full of amber wantonness and peaty promise. He had begun to lean in to the bar, his eyes glazing.
The barman, one of three, had a bristling handlebar moustache and he was all but twirling it. “Yes, gentlemen, what’ll ya be having?” he asked.
“Two large whiskies - no water,” Billy said, decisively. Dom drew a sharp breath and fixed his gaze on the mirror that ran the whole length of the bar. “Billy,” he began, in a whisper.
“Shut up, Dom,” Billy replied, his eyes never leaving the bottle that was now within the barkeep’s grasp. He watched his goddess – for such was she, this spirit, this siren of his soul - chug out of the bottle and into first one glass and then the other. She swirled about; the first gut-claiming jolt of recognition assailed Billy’s nostrils as his hand reached reverently to take her, be with her once more, his goddess of the glen…
“Let’s see your money, sir,” the barkeep said, his hand flat across both glasses. Billy groaned inwardly. The goddess was in him now. To not follow-through, to not take her fully, would be sacrilegious and stupid. Dom was shuffling in embarrassment. Billy loved Dom like a brother; in fact, he loved him like a brother who had a very talented tongue and a surprisingly big cock. But he wasn’t good in these situations. Not anymore.
“I shall pay for our drinks this evening by entertaining one and all.”
Billy looked around to see who had said such a thing. He saw Dom’s open mouth and big eyes and realised that he had himself done it. It was the goddess, roiling around in her vitreous chamber, who had goaded him into losing his head.
“We have entertainment, mister, and damned fine entertainment it is, too. Now pay up or get out!” Moustache began to pull the glasses away, back behind the bar. Dom let out a disappointed sigh. But Billy was not so easily beaten. He climbed up on a stool and, throwing out his arms, began:
Billy looked around. The chatter had died and there was deadly silence. Dom was staring at the bemused faces, defying them to laugh at, or barrack, his mate. He needn’t have worried.
“That was my poor mother’s favourite song, mister! Sing some more - please,” this from a tall, bespectacled man. Billy nodded, shooting a triumphant glance at the barkeep and a yearning one at the whisky.
Billy sang his heart out. By the time he had poor, foolish, Charlotte frozen to death at her lover’s side, half his audience was in tears. He finished, his head bowed low, and waited. The silence was broken by the bespectacled young man bringing his hands together in enthusiastic applause. Soon the whole saloon had erupted and requests were being shouted out.
“Barbara Allen, sing Barbara Allen!”
“No! Sweet Betsey from Pike!”
Dom had drained his glass once he saw the danger had passed – he considered whisky a damned fine drink but saw no religious connation in the malt, merely a fire in the loins. Billy, however, was cradling his glass lovingly in his two hands and smiling into the depths. He loved her as she hit his nostrils then his lips then his taste buds then his throat then his stomach, possessing him completely. He felt warm and right again, probably for the first time in days. Food he could do without…
“Is he your friend?” Dom turned to see a lanky boy, thick fair hair slicked down on his head, an earnest expression on his pretty face. Dom nodded, watching as several eager punters led Billy from the stool to the stage, his glass still firmly in hand.
“He is. His name is Billy Boyd and he sings like a-“
“Angel?” interrupted Earnest Boy. He had long lashes, Dom noticed, and a hint of a lacy handkerchief escaping from up his tweedy sleeve.
“No, I was going to say he sings like a man possessed. Get him started and there’s no stopping him.”
“He’s wonderful,” Billy’s admirer breathed. “Do you sing, Mister – Mister -?”
“Monaghan, but you can call me Dom. No, well a little. I’m his – Manager like.” He gestured to the barkeep, who quickly refilled Dom’s glass. The impromptu performance hadn’t so far adversely affected trade, the man seemed to have decided.
“You’re British?” Earnest Boy continued. “My aunt is British. Maybe you know her?”
Dom smiled brightly and sipped his whisky. “Probably, yes,” he nodded. “You come here often?” He wanted to giggle at the words but Earnest Boy obviously hadn't heard them before, for he nodded eagerly.
Upon the stage, Billy had begun I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen and suddenly a pianist had appeared and was taking up the refrain. Billy walked the stage, using his whole body, hamming it up. He caught Dom’s eye and gestured to his now empty glass; Dom nodded in total understanding. Everything would be all right, now.
As he watched the barkeep fill another glass, he became aware of a subtle shift in the dynamic around the bar. Earnest Boy had shrunk away so that when Dom turned with the glass, he found himself quite alone. Apart from…
“Good evening. I’m Elijah Wood. This is my place.”
Dom realised the piano had stopped playing as abruptly as it had begun; the men crowded around the stage had turned as one. Only Billy was late catching on.
He had closed his eyes but opened them when he sensed that he had lost his audience. Then he saw why.
The man who stood now facing Dom was no taller than him but he had a certain presence. He was young, younger than they, for sure. Dressed in black from head to toe, only the hint of starched white linen at his neck served to break up his funereal garb. He turned from Dom to Billy and Billy faltered.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wood,” Billy cried, jumping down from the stage and extending his hand.
“You were on my stage. Singing. On my stage,” Elijah said, quietly. Billy noticed out of the corner of his eye that the barkeep had slunk right back as far as he could go, his moustache now wilting.
“Aye, I was,” Billy nodded, his hand still raised. He smiled as brightly as he knew how, the devastating smile that made his eyes lighten a shade and set off his dimples. It always worked on Dom.
“You were singing ballads to my customers.” Elijah pointedly ignored both the hand and the devastating dimples. Billy wasn’t sure where this was going, but he couldn’t help but like the scenery; Mr. Wood was stern and not a man to take lightly, but he was awfully pretty…
“Don’t you like ballads, Mr. Wood?” Billy asked politely, finally dropping his hand back down by his side. This Mr. Wood was a bit of a prick but he had a mouth you’d definitely like to see washing the family jewels...
“No.” Elijah turned to the crowd. “Do you gentlemen want to hear more from - what is your name?”
“Billy Boyd,” Dom said, quickly, nodding his head. “He’s from Scotland. And I’m from Lancashire.”
“You don’t say?” Elijah’s tone was sarcastic but Dom smiled, oblivious.
Elijah turned once more to the crowd. “So, gentlemen? I repeat – do you want to hear more from – Mr. Boyd?”
There was a silence, then “I surely would. He sings real fine, Elijah; let him sing.” A tall young cowboy had pushed his way to the front; he seemed a little incongruous in the midst of so many citified folk, though his clothes were clean and his boots relatively free from dung. Someone else having made a stand, the crowd began to nod and there were occasional cries of “darn tootin!”.
“Josh, keep out of this,” Elijah’s steady blue gaze was for the first time uncertain. “He was singing ballads.”
“I know, Elijah,” the cowboy said, his voice soft and low and deep. “He was playing to the crowd, just wanting some free drinks, is all. He didn’t mean no harm.” Josh laid a big hand on Elijah’s sleeve, bending to look deeply into his eyes.
Dom was desperate for a pee but dared not move. He knew something had happened, was even now still happening, but he couldn’t figure out what.
“I opened this place to showcase new music, Josh. To be a place guys like us could go and listen to new music without fear of being scorned. I threw out the player piano! I wanted all-new, live, music!” Elijah pulled his arm away from the cowboy and strode out of the bar and into the back office. “Not sentimental claptrap like that!” He slammed the door violently after him.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then,
“He’s not a happy chap, is he?” Dom said, shaking his head. Josh frowned, which was at odds with the boyish freckles on his nose. When Dom turned back to Earnest Boy, Josh gestured toward him, questioningly. Billy smiled.
“He's not as stupid as he seems. Fact, he’s one of the cleverest men I know,” Billy said, his voice low. Dom was sinking another whisky, courtesy of his new friend. “He was a school teacher back home, you know.”
“Then… ?” Josh gestured to the barkeep for a shot of bourbon.
Billy sighed. “The great eejit tripped on the gangplank and was knocked out cold on our very first day in America. In the commotion, some thieving arse picked my pocket and stole our bags, took all our savings - everything.”
Josh grimaced sympathetically and looked kindly upon Dom, who seemed to be always on the verge of saying something profound, but then didn’t.
“Every day he gets a wee bit better, but it’s been a long haul. I’ll know when he’s back to normal - drunk, sober, standing on his head, down on his knees - there’ll be a sign, I know there will…”
Josh looked closely at Dom and then nodded, sympathetically.
“Good luck with that,” he said, draining his glass. Billy noticed him glance across at the closed door.
“What’s with him, then? Mr. Wood?” he asked. Josh sighed.
“Elijah’s not as much of an asshole as he might appear. He’s just… highly strung.”
Billy’s stomach rumbled loudly, almost loud enough to drown out the noise of the piano.
“Why does he hate ballads, though?” Billy wanted to know.
“You don’t want to know,” Josh replied, his face impassive. He had the look of a man determined not to betray a terrible secret. Billy, craning his head to look up at that impressively handsome face, guessed the cowboy and Mr. Wood often made sweet music of their own, behind that closed door.
“I do. Is why I asked,” he persisted. He waited, patiently, but Josh was having none of it.
“Aint my place to tell tales out of school,” he said, resolute.
“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, anyways,” Billy said. “My mate and me could’ve done with the bit of work, you know. We’re sleeping out in the livery if we don’t get a bed for the night.”
“You’re welcome to share my room,” Josh offered, evenly. Billy looked at the closed door.
“Yup. Would’ve been bunking with Elijah but I guess I’d best git me a room now, so you’re more’n welcome to share, the both of you.”
“I don’t suppose you’re planning on a bite of supper afore bed?” Billy asked, hopefully. Dom’s ears pricked up at the mention of food; he’d been building a house of cards with young Earnest Boy, and was up to nine storeys.
“Sure,” Josh laughed. “Willard,” he addressed the bartender, “see if Dorrie can fix us some supper, will you?” Willard nodded and disappeared into the little kitchen, returning a moment later with a menu. Billy was very impressed; he’d never known an establishment like this to have menus. Josh caught his expression and smiled.
“It’s a thing Elijah has – quality in everything. Good food, clean rooms, hot water for the hip bath… Good music…”
“Nothing wrong with that at all,” Billy agreed, greedily scanning the list.
Earnest Boy – or Hayden, as he introduced himself - joined them for supper in a cosy alcove where they dined upon steaks with all the trimmings. Dom and Billy ate and ate, stuffing their faces until they could simply cram no more in. Josh and Hayden watched them, thoroughly amused.
Full, the four of them sat at their table and talked, drank, belched, and drank some more. Through the smoky pall, Billy saw that several men had taken to the dance floor… He realised that one of the things that was off about this place, that was totally different to every other saloon he’d been in during his six months in America was…
“Where’re the saloon girls, Josh?” he asked, drawing on a cheroot. Josh shrugged.
“This place is one of a kind, my friend,” he said. Hayden nodded in agreement, smiling shyly. He leaned in and squeezed Dom’s knee. Dom looked down at the hand and then back up at Hayden and then at Billy.
“You don’t want to be doing that,” Billy warned, his eyes becoming intensely green like seaweed caught in an iceberg.
Hayden quickly removed his hand, placing it with his other one in plain view on the table, his face the colour of the stage curtains. “I didn’t mean any offence,” he began, but Billy waved his hand, dismissively.
“I don’t blame you for trying. Dom’s a handsome fella, and all. But he’s my handsome fella.”
Dom beamed. “Aw, Billy,” he said.
“Shut up, Dom,” Billy replied, though without any edge. He scrutinised the room once more, noting that the dance floor was now full. Cowpokes and bank clerks and college boys… dancing with each other, slow-dancing beneath a great and intricately constructed crystal chandelier. It was – beautiful.
“You don’t get any trouble from the townsfolk?” he asked, incredulously. Josh shrugged; it seemed to be his stock-in-trade and he did it well.
“Occasionally. But mostly they leave us be,” Josh replied, softly, his eyes fixed on the closed door behind which the Elijah of Elijah’s Place sat all alone. He unfolded himself out of his chair and tucked the hem of his plaid shirt back in his britches.
Josh nodded to Billy and Dom. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but I have the urgent need to go talk to my man.”
They watched as he strode purposefully up to the office door and rapped. There was no answer, apparently, for after a moment he turned the handle vigorously and then took a step back on his long, long legs. The heel of his boot connected with the mahogany and it was the mahogany that blinked. Billy heard an angry, startled cry, then Josh was inside. The door, swinging off its hinges, was pulled slowly to. The dancers paused to look but not for long; they had business of their own.
Hayden was giggling; he’d had way too much bourbon and not enough supper.
“Do you know why Elijah hates ballads?” Billy asked, smiling encouragingly. The boy sobered up before his very eyes.
“I think maybe I should be going. My brother’s probably out there, waiting for to take me home,” he said, quickly. Dom looked disappointed.
“There’s no need to go on my account; was curious, is all,” Billy said. He was sorely intrigued. What on earth was going on here?
“No, I should go. Thanks for the company, fellas,” Hayden said, standing; he swayed a bit on his feet. Dom looked to Billy for permission, which was granted with a slight nod of the head, then he took the boy by the shoulders and steered him out onto the street. Billy watched them out on the sidewalk, talking beneath one of the polished lamps. He saw Hayden glance back inside, then lean down and whisper in Dom’s ear. Beneath the table, Billy’s hands clenched into fists. This was what happened when you gave an inch – some earnest American lad tried to stake a claim on your Dom.
Dom sauntered back in, whatever information he'd gleaned from Hayden locked up, good. He took his place at the table again.
Billy waited, patiently. For a minute.
“Did he say anything? About why our esteemed host starts slavering at the chops at the very thought of a ballad?” He waited but Dom was preoccupied with peeling the backing off the Ace of Clubs, his tongue sticking out as he worked the waxy paper with his long, slender fingers.
Billy wondered how he would ever be able to face Mrs. Monaghan back in Manchester; he tried not to think of her kindly face wrought with bewilderment and pain as she realised her son, her clever, hearty son, was changed forever. He should have looked after him better. He was the elder, after all.
“Sokay, Dom,” Billy said, gently.
He remembered one afternoon in late spring, waiting outside the classroom door, peering in through the murky glass. Dom had been standing before the blackboard, a ruler in his hand, starched collar white and stiff about his neck. He’d used the ruler to point out the elements of a long algebraic formula on the board and all the while his eyes had been dancing and the boys had been scribbling on their slates… He’d made the maths sound magical and practically every boy had been smiling, even the ones with their tongues lolling out in concentration. It had all gone over Billy’s head. Give him a decent bit of literature, ask him to work out if he was being diddled on a bar bill, and he was your man. But complicated stuff? He left that to Dom.
And now Dom could barely remember a name he just heard five minutes ago. If pressed, he wouldn’t remember the name of the saloon they were in. Billy closed his hand over Dom’s but when Dom looked up, eyes shining, Billy pulled away and pretended to be very interested indeed in the office and what might be happening therein.
I remember the first time I laid eyes on you. I was in the Public Library, newly-arrived in England, broke and keeping out of the rain. And you saw me, huddled by the stove with the deadly scorn of the Chief Librarian about to scorch my ears… You sat beside me and engaged me in a debate about some dead Greek – Socrates, I think – and it was enough to keep the harpy at bay. I never knew that words like philosophical and rhetorical and logic could make me hard, but when you said them, they did.
Come back to me, Dom. I miss you.
“He’s a lowdown lousy cheat! He had two Aces in his hand and another three up his sleeve, I’m tellin’ you!”
Billy looked up, together with most of the saloon. There was a crash and then cards were flying and glasses breaking. Billy saw that it was a red-haired cowboy he’d noticed earlier, playing cards, who had upturned the table.
The cowboy was glaring furiously at a skinny office clerk with a pile of bills in front of him. The skinny guy was shaking his head, his mouth slack with fear…
The office door opened and promptly fell off its hinges. Elijah strode out; he was jacketless, bootless, his shirt undone and his face flushed. All this Billy noted in a blur. His attention went back to Red, who had now drawn a gun from out of his boot and was waving it drunkenly in every direction.
“What’s going on here?” Elijah demanded. Billy cringed; Elijah was tiny next to this thug. Yet he stood there, hands on hips, defiant.
“You run a crooked house!” Red spat, derisively. He raised his gun and took aim.
Not Elijah, thought Billy, He's an arse, but God he’s a pretty one. Not him. He’s so young…
The doorman was pushing through the crowd, trying to get between his boss and the drunken Red, but Billy could see he was too far away to do any good.
There was the sound of cussing and then Josh emerged from the office, tripping as he tried to pull on his britches over his long johns. Billy thought it would have been comical if it weren’t for the look on the cowboy’s face; it was the look that Billy would wear if he saw his lover was about to die.
Red’s gun was pointing at Elijah’s chest now, its barrel catching the light of the chandelier and Red’s mouth was pulled up in a sneer. Billy waited for the crack of the shot, for all hell to break loose.
In his stomach, the goddess roiled and coiled, treacherous and bitter. Helpless, he closed his eyes.
There was a movement somewhere nearby; a shot; someone cried “no!”; and then nothing. For a second that spun into an eternity there was nothing at all.
Then glass was falling, a tinkling waterfall of crystal; it took Billy a moment to realise the great chandelier had taken a hit. But then that meant that Elijah had not…
He opened his eyes and saw that Elijah was standing, now encircled in Josh’s arms, whilst upon the floor Red was lying, straddled by-
Dom had pinioned the big man’s arms and was bouncing on top of him, brows drawn down in a determined v. Billy saw Red’s gun on the floor amongst shards of crystal.
“It’s not polite to shoot at people,” Dom was saying, matter-of-factly. Josh, never letting go of Elijah, kicked at the gun upon the floor, sending it sliding across to the doorman who quickly pocketed it. He looked stricken; he’d missed the weapon at the door and consequently his employer had almost been killed. Billy almost felt sorry for the brute.
Red was struggling, trying to buck Dom off, but Dom was having none of it. He twisted and looked up at Billy, grinning. Billy nodded, approvingly.
“Elijah, are you all right?” Josh held his lover at arms length to check him over. Elijah nodded; Billy thought he looked pale and couldn’t blame him.
“Someone get the Sheriff,” Josh said, calmly, though he beheld Dom’s captive with barely-concealed anger. “Before I do something uncivilised.” He relinquished Elijah’s arm just long enough to hitch up his britches and fasten his belt. The head bartender, Willard, despatched one of his juniors to go fetch the local lawman and then he gestured to the piano player to quickly strike up a tune.
“He’s crazy!” It was the skinny runt, shaking as he stuffed dollar bills into the pockets of his jacket. He pushed his spectacles up his nose and glared at Red upon the floor who was still held firmly in place by Dom. “He needs to be locked up.” He ran a trembling hand through his pale blond hair and that was when something escaped from his sleeve and floated gracefully down to the ground. Elijah quickly bent to pick it up. It was the Ace of Diamonds.
“He may be crazy, but he was telling the truth,” Elijah snapped, holding the card like it was a flaming brand. The skinny guy swallowed nervously and began to back away… right into the doorman, eager now to make amends for his earlier incompetence.
Dom twisted a little to see which card Elijah was holding and in that moment, Red reared up, knocking Dom from him. He reached out wildly and his hand found the leg of a broken chair.
“No!” screamed Billy, as the chair leg swung in a vicious arc in Red’s hand and connected with a sickening thud on the side of Dom’s head.
Elijah’s office was comfortable and neat, all oak fittings and polished brass; the divan upon which they laid Dom was still warm. Josh and Elijah stood back anxiously and let Billy tend to his friend while they waited for the doctor.
“Is he going to be okay?” Elijah asked. “He saved my life. He saved my life.” Josh squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.
Billy, kneeling by the cot, replied, “I don’t know.” His eyes were fixed firmly on the unconscious form before him. He wiped the blood from Dom’s temple, again and again. Dom’s hand in his was clammy and slack. He leaned close and whispered the only endearments he could think of:
“You slacker. Wake up. Wake up, you lazy bastard. Dom Monaghan. You hear me? Wake up…”
The door cracked open, letting in light and the buzz of the bar room. It was Willard bearing a tray; he’d made a pot of coffee and even found some tea. “Doc’ll be here in a half-hour, Mr. Wood, sir,” he whispered. “He’s on his way back from the McKenna place.”
“Thanks, Willard,” Josh replied on Elijah’s behalf. The door closed again and all was quiet; all that could be heard was Dom’s raspy breaths and Billy’s sweet nothings.
Josh poured hot, strong coffee into cups and pressed one on to Elijah; he drank it automatically, never noticing the taste or temperature. Billy was oblivious to everything but Dom, it seemed, even when Elijah squatted down next to him and quietly offered him a job. Singing ballads.
All three of them watched Dom intently. He was so pale, his breathing shallow. Behind his lids, his eyes moved frantically from side to side as if he were in the throes of some wild and fantastical dream.
The clock struck eleven. Exhausted, Billy lay his head down upon his arms and closed his eyes. He wanted a whisky but there was no way he was moving from this spot.
“The Pythagorean theorem states that the square of the hypotenuse is the…”
Billy wondered if he’d nodded off. He was remembering Manchester. School. Dom.
“…sum of the squares of the other two sides…”
“What did he say?” That was Josh, coming closer to the divan. Billy sat up and took a deep breath before opening his eyes.
“Dom?" Billy placed his hand on Dom’s forehead and looked deeply into his open eyes. “Are you back?” he asked, hardly daring to believe it was so.
Dom closed his eyes and sighed. Then he opened them again and Billy knew that he was.
“Oh, Dom. I missed you so,” Billy cried, falling forward, head on Dom’s chest. He felt Dom’s hand gently brushing through his hair, felt Dom’s warm breath upon his neck. He hadn’t realised how much it had taken out of him, all the worrying for two, until this moment, when he could lay the burden down. Dom was back.
“What do you remember, Dom?” Billy asked, warily. If those eyes clouded again, if the light went out again… He couldn’t bear to think of that happening, but he had to know.
“I remember the ship, Bill. I remember the crowds on the quayside, the horns and the noise and the colours… I remember it like it was yesterday. But there’s more. Faces… Places… But it’s like seeing everything out of the corner of my eye, like it’s happening but just out of sight.”
“We’ve travelled all over America, Dom! You loved the buffalo, don’t you remember the buffalo? Watching ‘em roam across the prairie, from the window of the train? Thousands of beasts, a sea of black as far as the eye could see, a moving carpet of running, bellowing, meat! And Indians, Dom! You smoked the pipe of peace with real Indians in a real tepee; you must remember that!” Billy wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry – laugh because his best friend and lover was back with him, or cry because his best friend and lover had only the haziest of recollections about what might turn out to be the time of their lives…
“It doesn’t matter, Bill,” Dom said, softly. He caressed Billy’s shoulder, kneading it as if he wanted to open him up and climb inside. He sat up and pulled Billy to him, breathing in the familiar scents of his hair and the amber goddess. “We can do all that again. And this time, I’ll try to remember it. Where’s this place, anyway? I half remember a really pretty saloon girl… dark hair and big blue eyes… Must’ve been dreaming…” He released Billy and put his hand to his head, closing his eyes for a moment.
“Lie back down, you daft bugger.” Billy pushed him gently down onto the bed. “You didn’t dream him – yes, him. He’s real all right, and as pretty as a picture. Shame he’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of the McLennan Arch.” He heard a sharp of intake of indignant breath behind him but ignored it.
Dom laughed; he looked pale but his eyes were bright and knowing. “Aye, that’s the one."
The big bathtub was filled with hot, scented water. Dom sat with Billy in front of him, sponging his chest and shoulders. His temple throbbed a little with the stitches; the doctor had assured him there would be a scar as a keepsake and Dom had been thrilled.
Josh and Elijah had been and gone, leaving a bottle of fine whisky behind them.
“The room’s yours for as long as you want it,” Elijah had said. Billy wondered it was the same Elijah at all. He seemed younger, more open. He’d almost asked him about the ballads but it seemed a pity to spoil things. As it was, he had a job and he could earn enough to get him and Dom home. If that was what they decided to do. Nothing was set in stone.
“Let’s leave these two gentlemen to get reacquainted, Elijah. Something tells me they have a lot of catching up to do,” Josh had said. Billy thought that could equally have applied to Josh and Elijah, judging by the way the big man couldn’t keep his hands off him; Elijah wasn’t objecting, mind.
“Sing to me, Billy,” said Dom, nibbling Billy’s ear. “Sing me our song.”
Billy did not reply and presently Dom leaned forward; he brushed the tear from Billy’s cheek. He wrapped his arms tighter around his lover’s chest and kissed his neck and whispered, “It’s all right, Bill. I’m here now. I’ll look after you.”
The End