What little hope existed that time would 'heal all wounds' had been formulated by a naive, baseless assumption brought forth in an attempt to calm my nerves. If anything, leaving things unattended to only worked to spoil what little opening I had, If I'd had an opening at all. Maybe somewhere between ' give her space' and the first three days of cold, unbroken silence. But, how could I have known?

Mabel was avoiding me like the plague.

Sure, she still did her little deeds of kindness around the apartment; washed the dishes on her nights, woke me before falling asleep -back twisted- on the couch, and willed an unorthodox array of (un)edible treats from the oven, despite the gloomy fixation of her lips. It was no mystery to anyone that something deep and hurting had planted itself within her. Things were very much broken between us. In that span of silence.

Something had changed.

We sat opposite of each other, separated by the rectangular stretch of a cheap wooden table, picking quietly at Moo Goo Gai Pan and Shrimp Egg Foo Young, all the while seeping into splinted chopsticks. It was times like these I forgot how it felt to flop back on the couch, arms thrown over the edge as Mabel and I sucked down innumerable jiaozis. We almost never sat like this; away from each other. And, if we ever did, there was at least a word of bickering to be had in the moment of division.

Here, there was none. Just the quiet moosh of seasoned broccoli and squishing mushrooms. I'd peek up from my dish every so-often, watching as my sister's fingers twitched, strained, before inevitably fumbling with her chopsticks. Perhaps it was too much to ask for things to be normal enough to tease her for it. She wouldn't have taken it hard back then. Before... everything. Mabel would have laughed, called me a nerd for using them, before placing either stick under her lips and trying to eat like a walrus.

I looked away as her gaze shuffled up, just in time to note whatever I was about to put in my mouth. In all honesty, it didn't rightfully matter. The flavor was numb. Repetitive. The salt hit, dissolved and died against my tongue like something of a phantom.

My eyes rolled up again to view Mabel's shoulders bunched and close. Her lips smoothed inwards, fingers once again flicking, fumbling, and dropping the chopsticks. She'd give them an awkward expression, then one a bit sharper. Straightened herself, hardened and picked the disruption up once again. An uncommon shine of cold, hard determination worried the lines of her face when she stared at the wooden sticks, clutched them firmly, and shoved them down a box of stir fry.

My leg began to bounce, an old habit reserved for when my mind really got racing. When I didn't have a pen in hand. When I couldn't click click click my thoughts into a set line of order, or bury my molars in thick plastics and a spring of metal. I had to do something. Tap my fingers. Pinch my nose. Bounce my knee. All racing, racing, racing the thoughts in my mind. And, if there wasn't a thing to be done on the physical plane- the real - I'd only seep into it.

No. Feel the knee. The bounce. The touch of hardwood flooring under bare skin. This was all temporary. Every moment. Every scene. Every action that was 'now,' slowly dissolves to 'then,' until crippling away into 'nowhere.' Things would go back to normal one day; they always did. That moment that changed everything- that 'now'- was only so great to the little people who'd once been, but had since evolved from it. What 'was' was a vaccine for the future decades of illness to follow; to make us stronger. More resilient. What would've become of us if we'd never gotten into a fight before this day? Never bickered or argued?

Well, I probably wouldn't have had an apartment to go home to.

But, this was far more resilient. We were resilient. Wendy had informed her only a day after the break up, and the scandal, and having no idea what she was supposed to do with herself, or who she could trust, or if Mabel had been in on the whole thing, to which she was avid about denying, if not a bit hesitant. And I, in this capricious atmosphere of confusion, was just short of forgiven. Almost. When she finally called Pacifica. Told her I could come home. Perhaps all she'd wanted was the truth; for me to come clean.

That was so simple, though. Not at all our current situation. Forgiveness was the farthest thing from us. From this. Not that I deserved it. Not that I'd ever deserve coming to terms with these little things, or the eventual self-satisfaction in overcoming exposure. The discomfort was blatant. The stiffness, unbreakable. Like being submerged in concrete, struggling only barely as the substance set and froze. And Mabel had been caught in the mess. My mess. Something I'd hoped to get her support from, instead worked to undo our relationship.

Which she shouldn't have had to go through.

My head tilted up again, just in time to meet a pair of brown eyes already looking back. I shot my gaze away, back straightening at the contrastingly awkward weight of her sight, matched with all preconceptions of Mabel's persona. Even arguing, she never would have been so quiet. Not even a snippy remark, or the reminiscing of some past fallacy, all to rial my senses into a state of hot-headedness. Instead, she was slow; calculated. Still fighting tooth and nail against her wooden chopsticks in hand, stabbing full-force into a bit of fried shrimp, only for the shell to crunch, slip and slide from under the point of impact.

Without order, my fingers began tapping against the table. In time with my knee, but far less powerful, as though a sobered form of coping to aid my body's mounting speed. It became increasingly difficult to guide my chopsticks under a wilted spot of broccoli until finally, I stuttered, tightened and thoughtlessly released the utensil from my grip. From it, a slightly high noise drew forth through contact with my platter, and the seal of complete silence was broken. A small ring of sound. A drop of chatter.

Mabel's eyes drew up, and this time I made myself look back. I could feel myself swallow, body shifting against her uncharacteristically hesitant expression. A complete lack of confidence where she sat, flicking aimlessly at soaked bean sprouts, before finally clearing her throat, licking her lips, and looking away.

"Mom called today." Mabel remarked in dry, breathless vowels. I almost startled from hearing her. I forced myself not to jump into this minute opening head-first. Being normal took time. Patience. My eyes darted down.

"O-oh. Yeah? What did she say?" My tone was scratchy; weak. She took another breath before speaking.

"Our birthday's coming up soon." She replied simply, chin propped in hand with a look of almost dread. "She wants us to spend the weekend back home to celebrate."

"That's not for another two weeks."

Mabel shrugged.

"Probably knew we'd want to celebrate the real deal here."

"Yeah... probably."

"...Probably." She repeated. I felt my throat twitch at her low energy, working fruitlessly to salivate the sensation of being bone dry. My finger tapping grew rapid, feeling that space turn cold and try to close again.

"Why does she want us to visit?" I asked, if only to keep conversation flowing. Mabel glanced fleetingly at me.

"We haven't seen her in, like, a hundred years." Which wasn't true. ' We' was an overstatement. She had gone to visit every holiday weekend. She had gone to every family reunion. She had hugged, kissed and hand shaken every cousin, aunt and step-grandma on Piedmont's strip of concrete. Every year.

I...

Was busy.

Too busy.

Every time. Whenever there was a hanukkah party planned out- Sorry, can't. Zombie trafficking. Whenever the weather was just perfect for a summer getaway- Poor timing; still haven't finished filing my taxes. If there was even a chance we could make it to passover this year- I'd love to, but if you haven't noticed, I'm experiencing symptoms of a possible werewolf transformation. Next year, for sure. I promise.

What were the odds I was always occupied?

Couldn't visit family.

Couldn't see my old home.

Couldn't chance bumping into that guy.

Because, hell if I was about to entertain crossing paths with John.

So, maybe the scenarios were a little fabricated. Maybe I lied every once in a while to get out of seeing family. Maybe I only came by when the possibility of seeing my no-good half-assed son-of-a-bitch step father was completely, without a doubt zero. And, yes. Maybe I missed seeing my mother every holiday, and maybe it was boring in the apartment all alone when Mabel wasn't around, and maybe I'd lost out on a lot of happy memories trying to avoid him.

I'm not sure If I'm still trying to make a point.

"Is she doing okay?" The question seemed appropriate, considering the time spent away from home. Still, Mabel's features soured into something nasty in an instance. She sniffed, shooting me a dark look. Something completely unrelated to our current situation; something she'd resented of me for the longest time.

"Why not come and find out?" Mabel challenged, leaning forward ever so slightly. I leaned away, even with the stretch of distance between us.

"I can't. There's still the-. You know. Case. I can't leave it until it's solved." And, like that, my sister's face morphed. Gaze, sharp. Teeth, bare. Knuckles, white. Her mouth drew wide, taking in a hefty bit of air. Mabel looked as though she would stand, bound towards me, and absolutely howl whatever it was she needed to say.

A twitch of the lips was all I got. She forced her own mouth shut with a clack, slumping back in her seat with arms folded over her chest, a heavy pout splattering her features. A low growl could be heard as her finger went out to tease aggressively at chopsticks. Mabel's body angled from me.

" Never had a problem doing it before. " She grumbled with a creased brow. That seemed to be the end of it. The space closed. That little connection between us: Gone. Poof. Vanished. But, I hadn't gotten nearly enough of it. The taste was there but fleeting, and I found my own subconscious battling for superiority. Food or water? Hot or cold? Yes or no? Take your pick. One or the other, but never both.

I felt my stomach clench, watching as Mabel readied the wooden panels between her fingers, working once again to pick at crunchy shrimp. My voice caught in my throat for only an instance, before forcing its way out in a gust of exasperation. I sighed, rolling a hand over the back of my neck before finally giving way.

" Fine ." I spoke gravely. Mabel's gloomy expression flickered, attention driven from the sea creature teetering on her utensil, to me. I swallowed, ducking my head before continuing. "I'll go."

Her face lit up just barely, the tingle of a smile rushing between her clamped lips. A kind of warmth spread through my chest, loving the slight shift in atmosphere, the way her shrimp fell off, and the strangled squeal of her throat, shoved down but there .

"- Really? " Mabel choked before remembering herself. Within an instance, all facial expressions had calmed, and she gave me an uncertain look.

So, okay. Maybe I was just working up the brownie points. Maybe this was just a way out of the eternal silence between us, if not the awkward cold. And, maybe it still wasn't enough to hoist us out of this strange stuper we'd found ourselves in.

But, hell if it didn't make her happy.

I willed a slight shrug, pushing my platter away, lest the adrenaline catch up to my fouling appetite.

John would be there.

Which was...

Oh, god.

"S-sure. I mean, why not? I can always... postpone... whatever."

Mabel's smile was far brighter this time, and lasted just a second longer before inevitably wiping itself clean.

[]

I stood from my bent position over the facility's porcelain toilet, having doggedly heaved up every last bit of leftover takeout. My gut tightened once more, hoping to expel what made me feel so sick, but nothing more would release itself. Last night had been a step in the right direction, but at what cost ? I couldn't do this. I couldn't-.

With him.

With...

Mabel had been so overtly satisfied in my willing response, the slight pat of my shoulder she'd given before exiting the car had almost felt normal. Stiff, but trying. Fucking trying. I hadn't felt that in forever. Of course, she hated this whole situation as much as I did. She didn't want this. She didn't want to stay seperate.

And, how could we come together if I was always so stubborn?

I'd done the little things. Bill and I were... not distanced exactly. We were still touching. A little.

Okay, a lot.

Kisses. Caresses. A slight flick of the hair, or a hand on the shoulder. It was all really good. Electrifying, even. Amplified by my own new vow of celibacy. No messing around. No sex. Which I hated more than anything. It easily took up one of the top three tiers in my favorite things to do.

But, what could be done? Going over to his place would mean not going home. And, what would Mabel think I was doing if my ass wasn't in the apartment, chewing pens, scripting together another five unchecked (but totally feasible) conspiracy theories in my notebook?

Well, exactly what I wanted to do.

But, couldn't.

Didn't.

Whether or not she knew I'd sectioned that aspect of our relationship off, or that I'd put in place restrictions at all. It was a little thing. That bit of resilience I should've had from the get-go, now played out on a whole other level of tooth-pulling pain. Being blue balled had become the most suffocatingly excruciating experience in my adult years, and who I was doing it for didn't even know I was doing it.

So, yes. Succumbing to the poison and crawling back to California on my hands and knees was necessary. It was an obvious attempt at fixing things. An open exclamation, ' Alright, I'm sorry!'

If only she knew how much I was really sacrificing.

A knock at the bathroom stall forced me from my thoughts. I glanced under the door, noting a familiar pair of polished dress shoes. Ah, Jesus.

" Go away, Bill. " My own overworked lungs surprised me. I placed a hand against my throat, massaging the tender meat in an attempt at easing its course tone. My partner only laughed.

"Having trouble?" He teased. I could just taste his stupid grin. It was enough to will a growl from my throat, even as a second wave of nausea crashed over me.

" No!" I blushed, balling up my fists. Just like that, Bill had his head popping up over the stall's top, grinning down at my green complection.

"Not looking so hot from this angle-."

" Get the fuck out! " I whipped my hand over my lips, paling harshly at the grimy slide of lingering puke. It was almost enough to have me doubled over in disgust, but my stomach had already been scooped clean.

"Don't be so harsh, pinetree. I thought you could use some moral support." That statement would've been comforting if spoken by literally anyone else. Bill of all people would do no less than thrive off of my pain. I wrinkled my nose at him.

" Like you know anything about morals ." I spat. The satisfying grin across his lips only seemed to stretch his cheeks in two. He lifted either arm against the stall's door and crossed them under his chin, resting himself like he'd climbed a stoney wall to peer out beyond, and not down at his partner currently fighting back a dry-heave.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Bill limented for a moment, only to let out a snort. "So, what the hell is this?" His hand shot out to gesture towards me. "What's got you all... pukey ?"

" You're here ." I could feel a little color come back as bravado fueled my motions. It was only a cheap shot at his ego- one he'd recover from quickly- but I'd gotten a point in. As expected, his expression drooped, paused, and remade itself with a beaming grin.

"How cute." Bill sighed simply, looking down at me with a teasing smirk. "To think, I'd guessed we were getting closer. " The smile he laid on me was anything but innocent.

Here we go again.

" No closer than usual. " Energy leaked from my being as I forcibly stared him down, all the while his endless rush of vitality seemed to weaken my stance. Just looking at all that pent up power made me tired. To think he had so much stamina-.

Not the right word.

I groaned, running a hand down my face.

" Listen, Bill. I already told you we can't-."

"Hey, hey, hey! Trust me: I hear ya', buddy!" Bill slid down from the door, feet shuffling from the entrance as a kind of courtesy. "None o' that body-stuff until you've got whatever figured out with whoever for whatever reason." He joked airily. There was a kind of frustration behind his tone, I could feel. An annoyance. Like he knew exactly what was going on. Like we were just going around, and around, and around in this big circle, cat-and-mouse style. Like some sort of game he couldn't wait to get out of. Limbo, perhaps.

"I'm just saying . If you ever feel like -. "

" I'll put a pin in it."

"How about tonight?"

" Bill. No."

"Come on! A quick drink? A movie, even?"

" You know that's not what we'll do."

"But we could!"

"But we won't. "

" And ? What's so bad about that, pinetree? You scared ?" Bill's voice was teasing, as though the very thought of coming over chilled me to the bone, and I wasn't absolutely dying to drape myself on his couch. I snorted.

" Terrified." I moved to open the stall, greeting the persistent man in all his tailored glory. " You might take advantage of me."

"Oh, baby. We're past that, aren't we?" Bill feigned shock, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the poor excuse of a performance. Not that a guy like him gave a shit about fooling me. He was only teasing. Of course. There was nothing to convince. I knew what he was, after all.

A pain in the ass.

" We're definitely not ." I crossed my arms, looking him up and down with a snarky expression. A clearing of the throat was in order, the sharp sting of my lungs rubbing against each other anything but pleasant. Still, it felt as though something had come loose. A bit smoother. "You're the last person I'd ever let my guard down around." Much better.

"I'll bet." Bill grinned, coming in a bit closer. He straightened the bowtie around his neck with shining pride. "Smart choice, but I doubt you'll be able to resist for long."

"Looks to me like you're the one who can't resist." Bill's forward demeanor wouldn't so much as wane in the face of my accusation. If anything, the comment made him almost glow.

"Looks can be deceiving, sapling." He gave me a glance- one I couldn't rightfully pin- before sighing with something just short of victory. "You should know that better than anyone by now."

Oh, yes.

Because, the man standing before me definitely dressed like a gentleman.

But it was all surface-level.

He was a snake in a waistcoat.

I gave him a minute, sure Bill was bathing in his own self-glorification. The jackass. Handsome, pert jackass, feeling himself up every chance he got. All while slithering on his belly like the narcissistic shitface he really was. I would've snarled at his disgusting pride if-.

If...

It wasn't the slightest bit endearing.

I decided to ignore his comment, sniffing hotly as I made my way around him. I was sure to bump his shoulder just a tad before crossing the tiled flooring to a sink. A quick burst of water came from the faucets, something I sighed at while ducking my head, taking in an awkward swig of rusty sink water, and swishing it in my mouth. The foul taste of my own upchuck slowly lifted, replacing itself with a dry copperiness that left my tongue feeling chapped. Not ideal, but definitely an upgrade from the constant reminder of half-digested soy sauce. I spat the backwash out, not overcoming the barest of self-consciousness when my partner snickered, poked fun, and continually alluded to how ' dirty' my mouth was.

"We do have water coolers here, pinetree."

I ignored him, wiping my lips once again to find only a smooth trail of water dousing my skin. My tongue searched for stray bits of mush and gunk between teeth -tasted the vibe of metal along gums- and came back relatively clean. Still, the memory of texture and smell disturbed my senses, and I couldn't help but smack my mouth to air out what lingered. I made a distasteful noise, but nothing more.

"Got all the ickies out, sweetheart?" Bill leaned against one of the sinks, butt almost cradling itself on the faucet. What I wouldn't give for it's sensor to go off and wet the back of his pants. It was a busted little thing though, and only frantic, arbitrary hand swipes seemed to trigger the damn pipe, if at all. The thought was entertaining, at least. I let out a small chuckle before schooling my features with a shrug and another swipe of the mouth.

"I don't taste like Lo Mein anymore, if that's what you're asking." Not that public-sink-water was much of an upgrade. Even if I hadn't put my mouth on anything constantly fondled by human hands, the thought of having it in my mouth made my stomach flop.

" Good ." Bill replied, leaning over to grab me by the cheeks. His fingers clasped the curling tufts of hair that peeked over my ears as he tried dragging me in for a tongue-fueled kiss. It took me a moment to realize what he was trying to do before a heavy signal was shooting up my brain, down my spine, through every nerve of my body, and forcing me to respond. I yelped, reflexes saving me just as his breath coasted the skin of my lips. In a self-preserving act of modesty, my hand shot between our faces, blocking all contact.

"Bill, what the-?! Gross! " I reprimanded him, palm catching under his chin to snap off any and all face-to-face attacks from his range. He kept me in tight, hands sliding to snag on my shoulders when the sudden jerk had him placing every last bit of body weight against the sink. God, what I wouldn't give for even a spurt of water.

"Oh, come on pinetree! I've tasted you dirtier!" Bill quipped with a mischievous glint, working to wrap his leg around mine, hook the other under my waist and pull me in. I was resistant, though. Not even fooling around in the workplace was a feasible option for us. I'd marked it up as rule #1, 'Jackass with Benefits:' Don't become the secretary.

The ' How was your day, Mr. Angle?'

The 'What would you like from me, Mr. Angle ?'

The 'Can I get a raise, Mr. Angle?'

Hell no.

I was not a secretary.

I was not getting fucked like one.

And, I was not getting caught for it.

Because if someone caught us in here, it would get out to Bulbs, who would tell his husband Durley, who would tell Lazy Susan, who would tell literally everyone with a side of fries, who would most definitely tell Pacifica, who would- and I'm 100% confident- force me to tell Mabel. Not that it wouldn't be all over the news by then. Not that it wouldn't make everything 10x worse. Not that it wouldn't make the trench between Mabel and me into a cavern of insurmountable devastation.

Not that it would crush her weakened heart.

I wiggled out of Bill's vice-like grip, snarling at his abrupt mannerisms.

"Jesus christ, Bill! No! Don't you get it? N. O. No! "

"Well, stop teasing then!" He retorted quickly, sporting a grin like a grimace. Bill looked amazingly frustrated. "We get to kiss. We get to touch! How long is this gonna hang on for? I'm absolutely starving for some Dip!"

"That joke's definitely not helping." I quipped. For once, Bill didn't look so pleased by it, as though making light was some kind of personal attack. He leaned back, then forward, teetering awkwardly on the sink's curved top. His head fell into open hands, where fingers worked furiously to comb strand upon strand clean of knots and tangles. I could hear a low mumble under his breath- stalled, stuffed, and suffocated- before Bill finally shot his gaze back up; smile plastered on tight.

"What will help, pinetree? In case you haven't noticed, my balls are being strung and hanged by a noose. It's not exactly a pleasant experience." I almost laughed at his analogy, feeling a soft tickle of relivense in the metaphor. 'Same,' I wanted to say. I didn't, of course. He'd only take it as fuel. Instead, my hand went to prop itself against my waist, hoping to come off as uninterested and indifferent as possible. Bill looked at me for a second, searching my expression for even a tinge of weakening resolve. When none was detected, he went back to combing- mumbling- before finally letting forth a groan.

"Look, kid. I'll cut you a deal, okay? Come over tonight; we'll get into a whole bunch of shenanigans, I'm telling you. Some real low-brow stuff for you to rewind. Trust me, you need to. I won't even pull anything. No bloody-murder. No screaming baby heads. No weirdness. Just good ol' fashioned sex, with a twist!" Bill's hand shot out for me, putting his whole body into the motion. A trying grin stretched his features. "So, how's it sound, pinetree?" His voice dropped an octave. "Do we have a deal? "

Which sounded ridiculously familiar.

Bone-chilling, teeth-chattering, toe-curlingly familiar.

A heat rode up my spine, inching its hands high to tug on the red string attached to a thick, golden bell; sound the alarms. Something was so amazingly perverse about what he'd just said, I could physically feel my spirit leave me. My stomach dropped again, and this time I was certain I'd puke. Because, looking into that single eye of his, the barest ring of blue encircling his gaze- new, invented, artificial- a tiny nothing began to drum.

He sounded so...

Nostalgic.

So memorable.

' Do we have a deal .'

I'd heard that before. There was no denying.

Fuck it.

Bill was crazy as shit.

Years of prepping, rejecting, fearing; readying myself against that Bill in case he ever came along. I'd almost thought it was pointless. It definitely felt pointless, in part because none of my worrying looked to fulfill that craving for control; stability. But, perhaps the constant on-edge act was justified.

I could always use the skill on my other Bill.

Thick skin.

It'd given me thick skin. Thick enough to glance at the offer- Want it. Drool for it- only to shrug at the hand and him with one calming flick. I was so beyond temptation. So conditioned to turn down any and all deals at the drop of a hat. Not even world peace could get me going, really. Not even ending all wars. World hunger. Global warming. Human trafficking. Cancer. I wasn't so romantic. I was calculated; cynical.

I didn't take handouts, and no one was giving them.

Something was always expected in return.

Something was always...

Taken.

My hand went out, parting his palm's path to tuck it down into his lap with a sly move. Bill's expression furrowed at the gesture, almost baffled by my open refusal, like no one had ever turned him away before. The expression didn't last long as his head tilted upward, viewing me with curious intent. I leaned in on him then, smiling with a smugness I was sure rivaled his own. My lips were inches from his, and for a moment there was confidence in his gaze. He looked like he might pull in to meet me, but decided against it; perhaps wanting me to make the final move. My breath broke across his cheeks, and a bit of a smirk came over my partner before finally- aggravated by my stalling- he flinched forward just an inch.

I laughed.

"How about 'no'? " I pulled back just as his hands came to cup my cheeks, and had to physically fight back the billowing squeal of victory when seeing his reaction: Pale. Bill pain-in-my-ass Angle, one of the most golden-skinned motherfuckers in the GFPD, looked pale. His hands were stuck in midair, processing the lack of cheek-against-palm action he'd quickly prepared himself for, staring at the empty space I'd once occupied. "I can hardly 'deal' with you, as is." My arms crossed, feeling both smug and hesitantly sure in the face of boldness. Now, this. This felt like a win.

But, holy shit.

If looks could kill.

Bill's hands- frozen in place- slowly curled in on themselves, clutching at what should have been there, but wasn't. There was tension behind that squeeze, frustration, like his nails might shoot razor-sharp from the base and absolutely puncture flesh. Bill's gaze was quick to target his source of rath; me. And, he looked. Stared. Took in a mangled breath that promptly dissolved the little pride my dirty move had gifted. Sucked the oxygen from my own lungs. From the room. The building. I was stiff; airtight. Watching him, outright cursing myself at the feel of my own facial muscles going slack.

Goddamn it. He'd even sucked away my smile.

" You. " Bill's hands lowered, struggling to maintain composure. He placed either knuckle against the sink's pristine curve, certain his pulsing grip wouldn't lax enough to reveal blushing palms.

That eye.

Him .

He had become a very, very dangerous man, all in one swing.

" -are such a fucking brat. " My partner grit, willing the most painful, hateful smile I'd ever seen. His cheeks could've curled up into the Grinch's, it was so foul. And I, like the knucklehead I was, let out an obscene gulp. A literal gulp. The kind everyone anticipated, registered, and could trail your rising adam's apple with.

The kind I despised.

"And you're an ass ." Thank god my voice didn't break; I wasn't sure I could come back from that. Still, there was something in avoiding eye contact that lessened even a slight shift in control. My remark had been wasted. Tossed up, but not caught. Instead, I spoke to the sinks, the tiled flooring, the drain pipe, the urinals, but not Bill .

It felt like we were on separate planes. That what we wanted- what we were working towards- had always been, and would always be, two completely different things. He wanted me in bed, under him, reaching or recoiling at every second he allowed me pleasure.

Or...

Was that not right?

My brain only nodded and confirmed, but my gut... Was still uneasy. It certainly wasn't wrong, but saying it was down-right correct seemed dumbly optimistic. Bill was clever, even I couldn't deny that. And, well-spoken. Educated. He was versatile and blunt, the kind that got you popped in the mouth. He was practical. Eccentric, but practical . Could something as primal as sex really drag him on his hands and knees so easily ? Was he really willing to bargain for it? Chase like a wild dog and risk subjectation? Could he even swallow all that sickening pride without choking if it meant half an hour's worth of bodily gratification?

Maybe that was what kept me from teetering over the edge. I'd diluted myself a little in motivation. Mabel's 'weak heart' and my ' reputation' were certainly on the line. But, it wasn't like I hadn't tossed them aside before in favor of Bill climbing on top. They were boundaries, not barriers. I could always kick and redraw the line in the sand. And, I always did.

Now, though.

Something was wrong.

Bill was wrong.

My gut twitched at that expression. My skin burned around him, and not every ounce was with desire. There was uncertainty. Confusion. Hesitence. A very old, very animalistic caution had tangled itself between the bleeding ropes of my brain and groin. There was a halt each time where he stood- where I stood- and caught behind Bill's dark cloud of lust something... Malicious.

Was sex all he wanted?

" Big words, sweetheart ." He made a quick step forward, and even the distance between us couldn't stop me from jumping back. I did so with a hand clutching my chest, eyes wide, looking as though he'd pulled a knife. It made for an embarassing show when I caught my back foot on my front, stumbled and almost ate ceramic before my hand shot out to catch against a stall's handle. I let out half a lewd term when regaining my balance, yanking myself in place with heated cheeks.

Bill's features, whether voluntarily or not, brightened, twitched, and lifted when he let out a high laugh at my misfortune.

Like that, the mood shifted.

"Aw, bunny. Stop, you're flattering me." Bill gave a jeering cackle, lifting himself on his heels with putrid satisfaction. It had all changed so easily . Fast enough to give me whip-lash. That smile was casual, familiar, if not a little stiff. Holding onto a life-saver; clinging to that small gift in the middle of raging waves. It didn't take a genius to see what had just happened.

He was changing the subject.

A quick, cool transition from jarring rage to softer, more friendly waters. Even though I'd been in the waves. I was the stranded sea man, and he... Bill was the storm.

And he'd let me off the hook. For whatever reason. Maybe he didn't have the energy. Maybe he didn't want to scare me; hurt me. But, I was only indulging myself. I was better than to entertain the idea. No. Bill was more complicated than that.

He couldn't risk blowing his top.

The thought alone frightened me, but I couldn't let it show. Taking him in- his buzzing motions, the slouch in his perfect posture, the slight tilt of his bowtie- he'd taken that one opening and ran with it. Open door, open door from the fire, pire and more. Like he'd just barely escaped disaster. Exposure. From the space of silence not usually granted, I realized he expected me to run out with him.

"You-re impossible." A stutter, but nothing more. I took it as a win. Bill did too, glancing towards the exit. He made a turn, shrugging tightly.

"Which means infeasible, means unreal, means mythical, means fabulous, means marvelous . Kid, if I'd known you were such a charmer, I would've swept you off your feet sooner." He remarked cooly.

He couldn't risk it.

Something told me he just couldn't.

And, I wasn't sure why.

[]

The hours drove by in the lab. Bill took a seat behind my desk while I worked away at numerous documents sent up by Bulbs. Status reports. Updates. Names, age and sex, all filled out and spaced for my viewing pleasure. And Bill, who found it convenient he could read over my shoulder if his chest was pressed to my back. I always moved away. Hesitant, but... less begrudgingly.

My eyes would drift over him every so often, just to make sure he hadn't moved from his spot. And, yes. Bill was stagnant where he sat, legs kicked up, arms folded behind head, cloud-gazing through the window. Or, so it seemed. There was always that stinging burn when I turned from him, having paid his subdued attitude a glance; a single spot at the back of my head, prickling the hairs to stand on end. Every time I turned back though, he was off doing something else. Humming, whistling; not staring at me, but putting every fibre of his being into anything else.

I wasn't sure I had any basis for feeling uneasy at that. I always felt like someone was watching me. But, this was much too close. And, too out of character for Bill's otherwise abrupt personality. He was a forward guy; he'd tell me if he had something planned. At the very least, he'd allude to it. The guy was a dick, after all. He couldn't go five seconds without imbedding some dark, elusive cryptograph into each and every conversation that knocked at his door.

By the day's last hour, I was sure I'd burst without confronting the strange atmosphere. Bill, for the most part, had been silent the duration, and I was sure he was still ticked off for what I'd pulled in the bathroom. Wasn't that kind of not Bill? It didn't take a psychologist to tell that he of all people hated avoiding confrontation. Anything that let on nervousness or overt discomfort was openly scoffed at, and regarded as borderline cowardly. He wouldn't do that. Bill wouldn't do that.

Something was up.

Something was different.

Bill was...

He was...

I took a second to myself, looking over my shoulder again. Not even a glance in my direction.

No, Dipper. No. Nothing's wrong here. Nothing's different.

You're different.

You're wrong.

You know why you're so paranoid today. You know why nothing feels right. You do.

Of course I was on edge. The empty knot in my stomach should have been proof enough.

I was so ridiculously off balance, it was playing with my head.

Every corner, Dipper. He's behind every corner.

And, who could blame me? I'd just locked myself in place for the most awkward family reunion of my life.

The drift of citrus.

My stomach pinched out of pain this time. I hadn't eaten since last night.

Cars, zooming past. Never stopping. Never glancing.

I looked over my shoulder again, on a whim. Bill's neck flinched with a slight turn, and I convinced myself it was only an itch, not his head snapping away.

His thick, wide hand pressing on my knee.

My eyes drifted over the final paragraph of some cryptic document inscribed with fussy words and description; what I was supposed to understand, but didn't. What adults expected you to know by now.

What's for dinner tonight? When's it due? The club meeting Monday.

Funny how people just expect you to know by now; they just expect you to understand. One day, everything just falls into place; sitting on the couch, eating a sandwich, enjoying that last bit of child wonder when suddenly, you're switching channels to watch stock markets crash, and updates on the leaked Pentagon papers, and following on the elections and presidents and policies and pretending to understand even a drop of what every politition's saying, and feeling outraged with one party and pleased with the other.

I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to. I want to. I want to. I want to. I want . I want . I want .

But, life's not always so simple, because I'm still sitting here looking over these papers, not sure what the hell I'm supposed to understand, and what should be left blank, or who these should even be turned in to.

Have you ever kissed-?

No.

Would you-?

NO.

The truth is, I don't understand a goddamn thing. I never have. I never will, and it gets so frustrating when people look to me for answers. I don't know. I just... don't. I couldn't tell you the life-span of a sea turtle. I'm not entirely sure the poverty rates in the middle east. I can't so much as spell 'sycophant,' let alone give you a definition.

You fucking kids! You think everyone's all over you!

Because you were. You are .

I don't know. I've never known. I've been in the dark since day one. But, people look at me, and they expect. Don't I hold myself so maturely for my age? Aren't I so much more mature?

I didn't do anything!

Tell that to CPS.

How could I ever ask for advice when everyone gave me that look? How could I ever tell a single soul what had happened?

How could I ask about paperwork? Taxes? Applying for college? Scholarships?

Hell, even safe sex? I carried myself like I knew things. Like I understood, and people believed me. They fucking bought it.

And don't you dare tell your mother, or I-.

You'll what?

I'll-!

You won't. The only reason you came onto me is because I'm vulnerable. John, you're weak.

I wish I'd known. So many things I know now, that I had to learn the hard way, I wish I could've been spared the recoil. I wish someone had seen it. Damn, I wish I'd done something. I wish I'd known, and I wish people hadn't expected me to.

But, you didn't, and they did.

Because you couldn't stand to face it.

You couldn't stand to digest.

Just puke it up.

Puke.

It.

Up.

One last look behind me, and I could swear Bill's eye had met mine. It was fast- snipped- and before I confirmed it, his attention was elsewhere. The last five minutes of work. The last five, and I was filling it with paperwork I didn't understand.

Stressing over the past.

Worrying about Mabel.

Trying to wrap my head around every second of every hour of every day, just to keep things in line.

Because there were quotas to be met.

Expectations.

And, I'd fall on my knees to blow the corporate figure head in charge of leashing me to a stack of documents in a language I didn't speak, for a project I wasn't a part of, to a person I didn't know.

Something about that was so remarkably sobering.

Five minutes of my life: Gone. We could be bombed right here, right now, and my final moments on replay would be my brows furrowed intently on the word 'boondoggle.'

That was no way to go out.

"Hey, Bill." My brain spoke before I did, a side compartment of my psyche working on auto-pilot. It hardly bothered me in my numbing stare, the document bumping my skull, but never seeping into the fabric layering of memory.

My partner looked up, a little quicker than your average man just ' cloud gazing .' I willed the thought away, instead allowing myself to rest in his attention. Five minutes. Every day could be lived like five minutes, and I used it each time to do what I thought was important: Taxes, work, cleaning, and eventually having ' fun.' Good. All good things.

Every day.

Every.

Day.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Wake up, work, go home, sleep.

Oh! But, what about the weekends?

Same thing done drunk.

Same thing hung over.

Same thing a little buzzed.

Lather, rinse, repeat repeat repeat.

And, every time something became tempting.

Someone became tempting.

A cute blond. A raven-haired bear. Red-headed curly fry. The bar-tender. The guitarist. That handsome new barista you told yourself you never noticed, and promised never to let Mabel near. And, why ?

Because:

The smell of citrus; of soft powder. The drip of rain. Thunder of engines. Pitter patter pitter patter, windshields squeaking and car emissions puffing. The hand on your knee. Your ass. Heat across your lips. Telling him to stop. Acting like you hated it. Hated, hated, hated.

But, you didn't.

In fact, if you could stomach the guilt...

You would have asked for another.

Still. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

"Alright. Deal ." I smiled at Bill, ignoring the thick, gooey mush of black something behind that eye of his. That look of victory; of winning.

Five minutes of my life, wasted on paper work.

Nearly seventy thousand hours going into a constant blitz of guilt, trauma and remorse. Stopping myself. Drawing out restrictions and schematics and a platform for my 'moral high ground,' if it all kept me looking like I knew where the hell I was, what the hell I wanted, and why the hell any of this bullshit was necessary.

Now that was bullshit. I couldn't give you a solid answer without time travel. All this worrying, all this denial, all this regret. Wasn't it so sickening to hear on replay?

Absolutely; a complete waste of time.

Bill returned with a charmed smile, tilting his head cattishly.

"What's this? Is Mr. goody-two-shoes finally giving in?"

"I'll let you figure it out, smart guy."

[]

Bill's car was nice. Too nice for him, obviously. I tried not to remember how he'd gotten it, or what old lady had to die so he could have it, and why there was still a light stain of lake sludge on the seats. No, I ignored it in favor of that heavy taste against my tongue. His kisses, deep, passionate, a little toothy from constantly grinning and bitter with smoke.

I leaned over the gear shift, fighting back a surge of vibrations channeling from where it pressed into my stomach, instead focusing on how Bill led me. His hand clutched the steering wheel, engine running, seatbelts on, car still parked in front of the GFPD. We'd decided waiting to reach his apartment before touching was a waste of patience. What was the point, after all?

It wasn't like tonight was our last chance.

No; we had all the time in the world.

All the time to mess around, drink from each other, envelope ourselves in this hypnotic function. This craving.

Because waiting was stupid.

Waiting had always been so stupid.

And, why should I have given a shit either way?

Come Monday morning, I'd be off by 8 AM to the slaughter house.

To see him.

To see-.

My fingers tangled, yanked at his blond hair and forced my tongue as far as it would go. Bill was quick to comply; he'd never let me have control. Every attempt at pushing forward made him push back that much harder.

Don't think about it. Don't.

Savor this.

Love it.

Cherish the taste. The smell. The feel of tongue against tongue, lip against lip, tooth scraping tooth.

The action only escalated when he moved to have me pressed against the door. I could feel myself melt into it, turning warm against my legs when Bill drew my lip between his front teeth.

"Ah, fuck. " I groaned, feeling the way it slid free of his grip.

Yes, this was perfect.

Everything about this was amazing.

Until it started to rain.

And, I went rigid. Just a little. Not enough to stop everything, but to make it that much harder to reciprocate kisses.

I missed the bus home. On the worst of all days, because it was raining cats and dogs outside, so no way I was riding my bike-.

I pushed the thought out, fighting Bill's nip with one of my own. Harder, bitter with a spritz of copper that made his growl.

Who cares, right? I've wasted so much time on this. I've spent so long eating away at myself for something I didn't understand. That wasn't my fault. That wasn't my fault.

My hands trailed his cheeks, his neck, only to hook a finger under his bowtie and pull.

Taste it.

Feel it.

Let all of that past stuff go and just forget.

But, how-?

Just forget-.

HOW?

The weather worsened in a matter of seconds, burying the car in a sheet of sliding rain. It forced me to stiffen when my head turned, looking over the heavy layering like a thick curtain. Surely, everyone would be too busy shielding themselves from the wet to notice us here, embracing each other, holding onto this heat in his car.

My throat tightened.

I turned my head, looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a passing car; someone who'd see us. They didn't, and when he noticed I was looking away, he grabbed me by the chin-.

Shut up.

-squishing my cheeks as he snapped my head to look at him.

SHUT UP.

Bill didn't mind my turnt gaze, only taking it as an opportunity. His hand left my cheek to slide down my shirt, stopping to rub circles around my clothed chest. He buried his nose in the space just below my ear, whispering softly.

"Your heart's beating pretty fast, baby." A kiss to the skin before drawing his other hand up to turn my face from the window. A sweet peck against wet lips brought me back to reality.

" Yeah... Yeah, I know."

Things are different now.

Things change.

You're not that naive little kid you were back in Piedmont.

He'd got no power over you.

You're smarter. Braver. You can face this on your own.

Like always.

Bill, for the fun of it, revved his car once, forcing the whole thing to vibrate. I snorted into the kiss, the tingling kick of an engine rising in my flesh. It was funny for a second. It was funny . It was .

I started to sink, the vibrations of the car mixing with the vibrations of the rain, rocking my mind into a mental checklist. I no longer noticed-.

Bill's a great kisser.

-the passing cars-.

It's all so exciting.

-blurring trees-.

It's a step forward. It's a step in the right direction, finally.

-and buzzing radio station John insisted on tuning into.

My breathing picked up as I dug my nails into Bill's jacket. Because he tasted good. Because he kissed well. Because things were fucking different now and I didn't have to worry anymore. I had come out, and I knew what I was, and no one could take that away from me.

Nothing was wrong.

I could do this.

I could do it all myself.

" You nervous?"

"Why would I be nervous?"

"You're shaking, sapling." Bill laughed, trying to pull away, only for my mouth to chase his.

Don't take this away from me. Don't let me feel. Don't let me think.

I don't want to think.

" Don't worry." He cooed, taking that hand on my chest and sliding it lower. Down, down, down until it rested against my hip. My breath hitched painfully. " I promise to put you back right how I found you." A toothy grin. The coasting of hot lips. All soothing, smothering, intoxicating.

And, suddenly horrifying.

But, I remember him being close. Unprofessionally so. Close enough to cage me up against the door. Close enough to feel my heart pump against his chest. Close enough to feel the hand up my pant leg play with the elastic of my boxers.

I trembled in his hold, but couldn't bring myself to stop. We kissed again. Quick skin against skin, moving in and pulling away just as fast. The familiar feeling I usually got wasn't coming as easily. Instead, it was blocked off. A dam. A wide, pooling dam that willed wave upon wave of rushing heat to the back of my mind. Something leaked from that stoney wall. Something trickled, cracked, and downright shook my foundation.

Something...

Was building up.

And, when Bill finally slid his hand down to rest at my knee, the walls collapsed.

His fingers flinched, catching a bit of extra skin near my thigh, only to go back to rubbing my bare knee.

"Nhg- NO!" I cried, snapping away from the contact.

John repeated, squeezing my knee as he did.

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME! " Those lips had left me, but I didn't care. The taste in my mouth was suddenly foul.

I could feel his heartbeat through where his skin pressed against mine, noting the subtle slick of sweat when his wrist twisted to rub my boney knee.

Before I knew it, my hands were flying to yank at the door handle, only to find it was locked. A kind of dread washed over me then.

"You fucking bastard! You- you goddamn bastard!" I jerked my body back and forth, working with all my strength to free this energy.

You're different now, Dipper.

No, you're not.

Age has made you wiser; stronger.

You're right where you left off. You haven't grown. You don't know any more than you did back when you were young.

You can get past this. It's easy if you try. Just think: all that time wasted loitering on what John did to you.

What you did to yourself.

It's made you stronger.

It's made you confused.

You'll confront him.

You'll hide.

And tell him right to his face what a goddamn perv he is.

You haven't moved from your spot.

You're still in his car.

I felt a cold hand wrench my wrist, snapping my grip away with rug-burn speed. It made me scream, kicking out at the dash as I nearly nailed Bill with the most angst-fueled left hook I'd ever dished. But, I was delirious, power hungry and off center. My shot knocked against his head rest and popped it from its metal rods. That didn't exactly help things.

"Jesus christ , kid! Calm the fuck down, will you?" Bill growled, tightening his grip on my wrist. I whimpered, keeping a hold on the car's door handle with my free hand. He was too close. That fucking touch was too close. But, it had never been before...

Because, you didn't have to face it before.

You never thought you'd have to see him again.

"Don't be a goddamn coward, pinetree. Take the death penalty with a little dignety, will you?" He looked at me, only to play with a sour expression and outright dump my wrist into my lap. "And stop crying! Holy shit, kid!"

I used my freed hand to check, touching lightly at my cheek before pulling away; damp.

Just like in his car. The pieces are falling into place again.

Because you never thought to resolve things.

" L-et me out of the ca-ar, Bill ." I sniveled, running a hand under my nose.

I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home I want to-.

" Why? " He asked.

" B-because I fucking said so !" I yanked again at the handle, unmoving, watching Bill's face as he gave a bored expression to my distress. He sucked in a breath, rolled his eye, before falling back into his seat and actually groaning at me.

"Don't be a pussy; I'm not gonna hurt you that bad."

" Yo-u're not fucking f-unny, Bill! You're not!" He slammed his hand against the wheel.

"What did I just say about crying? Grow some balls."

" Fuck you!"

"Fuck you too, princess."

"You cunt-!" I snapped around, pulling at the bar with a new vigar. I could almost convince myself of the lock loosening, or the metal bending, or the rain stopping, or the sensation on my knee dissolving, or that entire interaction going a completely different route.

The timeline where it didn't rain, and I decided to bike home.

Where mom could pick me up.

Or, the bus was delayed, and I made it just in time for them to drive me back.

But, those things never happened. They didn't exist.

I was here, with someone I... liked, in a car, in the rain trying to wrap my head around how stupid I was, and am, and would always be. Since I fucked up so bad.

Because I wasn't sure I could get over it.

" Let me out of the fucking car, asshole."

"I'm not your butler . Why not open it yourself, Goliath? You had enough 'manpower' to knock the teeth out of my headrest." Bill emphasized his point when lifting the busted object by its snapped metal rod, bent at a 90 degree angle. He waved it like a flag. "How's about showing my window the same courtesy?"

"I fucking hate you."

"No, you don't." He put the thing down.

" Yes, I do. " I grit through clenched teeth. My eyes were red, my cheeks hot, my throat tight, and a second wave of tears flowing. It only worsened when Bill took my expression and smiled .

"No, baby. You really don't." After that, he sighed again, lowering the headrest to his side. He gave me a half glance- one quick, confident look- before humming something like understanding. His hand went out like he'd touch me again, and I flinched away. That made him snicker. "You're associating ."

My body went cold where I sat, the handle in my grasp suddenly lacking.

William Angle.

Criminal mind expert.

"No, I'm-."

"Something about this reminds you of someone, I'll bet." Because, Bill was just the kind of asshole to wait for me to respond so he could cut me off. "Something..." He gave a distasteful expression, rolling his hand through the air for inspiration. When no better description came, he gave his diagnosis hesitantly. " -'triggered' you."

"I'm not the triggering type." I shot.

"Then it's recent."

"No-."

"Then you're just now acknowledging it."

" No-!"

"Then you're just now remembering- ." He leaned in on me with that smug expression I'd always hated.

"Quit it!"

Bill always knew best.

Bill was a walking microscope, the way he held people down and watched them squirm on a petri dish.

He knew so goddamn much, it was scary.

It was dangerous.

Someone like him would lose out on life if he kept up with the all-knowing bullshit. He didn't know everything. He certainly didn't know me.

Because if he did, he'd know how much this was pissing me off.

...

Or, maybe he knew me a bit too well.

"Hey, don't raise your voice, pinetree. I'm right here."

But, that gaze wasn't. That look of honest entertainment seemed completely disconnected from our current conversation. Like he was enjoying it; it only filled him with curiosity and wonder figuring out exactly how and when I'd fucked myself over.

Because Bill Angle couldn't feel .

" No, you're not ." I spat darkly. " You're not here. You're-. You're somewhere else, I don't know. Doing- crack or meth or whatever the hell it is that makes you such a fucking sociopath, but you're not here. " I shook my head, biting down a mounting wave of severe disappointment. In Bill, for being a catastrophic omen that brought nothing but chaos to whatever we were. And me, who still searched for the human in him. For some reason, I still checked. Like he'd ever change.

Like he'd ever care .

Bill patted himself down, sliding open palms over his chest like he was checking for something.

"I feel like I'm here." Because, wasn't he such a smart ass? The smirk he shot made me sick in a new way. Not disgust or uneasy, but mild confusion.

Why did I try so hard for that guy?

"God..." I eventually sighed after a long pause, lowering my head into my hands. "It's hopeless, isn't it?"

"Probably." Bill answered without really knowing what I meant. That somehow made it all the more worse. "But, let's give it a shot anyways, hmm?" He gave my shoulder a nudge and my hair a small ruffle. I flinched away, hand pulling once more at the door that wouldn't open.

"You're the devil reincarnate." The rain hadn't stopped, nor would it for a while, which was fine. It gave me an excuse for why I was late picking up Mabel. Since I definitely wasn't doing this . Not in the end, I guess.

Five minutes more: Wasted.

"Don't insult me; I'm at least ten times worse." Despite my own dipping mood, I found the will to snort at his remark. God, if the guy couldn't be a loving, supportive boyfriend, he could at least be an entertaining, funny escort. Maybe that was the description I was looking for. Certainly not the most satisfying, but it went somewhere.

"I'll bet." Bill snapped the key out of the ignition, turning the car off. The vibration was gone. Rain was much louder under his roof. "I don't think I've ever met anyone as despicable as you before."

"Gotta defend my spot, pinetree." I sucked in a breath, lifted my head and looked at him. Smiling. Always smiling, but I knew him well enough to discern one from the other. Mirthy, frustrated, flirtatious, angry; I'd seen them all. And, this one, which was both entertained and oddly hesitant. My head whipped around with a shake.

"Why are you like this?"

"It'd take too long to explain." Bill laughed before leaning over me. I scooted away from him, only to realize he was aiming for something other than me. The glove compartment. Open, close, and a white box in hand, along with a shining lighter. I'd never seen him with a lighter before.

"Same." He flicked the metal flint roller, burning the edge of his cigarette in peace. The look he gave me said something like ' I don't care' and ' I already know.'

"Same how?" Bill asked, despite the look in his eye. I scoffed at the question, sniffing once to clear out my nose. It was cold inside without the car running.

"You don't want to know." Was my response. My partner let out a chuckle and a puff of smoke before turning to watch me.

"Well, now I do." He snickered. "Come on; don't hold out on me. What's got my baby in such a sour mood?" The car grew murky with each draw of his smoke when he leaned back, kicked his feet on the dash, and tilted his head towards me with a grin. I tried not to like the smell.

"Do you even care?"

"I cared enough to waste my time asking, don't I?" Bill shrugged once, took the smoke in deep and blew every last cloud at my face, making me feel so much warmer. It wasn't as cold here, the way his cigarette's heat soaked me. My lips stretched against a grin, hoping to starve it off with a grimace.

"It's a long story."

"Are we on a time-schedule?" I looked out the window. The pouring hadn't softened. It would be dangerous driving out in this kind of weather.

Mabel would understand my delay.

"...No-."

" Fantastic ." Bill went out, placing a tactical hand on my shoulder. One I couldn't will myself to shrug away, and I knew he knew that. He pulled the stick from his lips, blowing a thick line across my face, and I could tell he understood the effect it had on me. Perhaps he meant to drug me with it. Hypnotize me. Whatever the case, it was working, and when Bill finally leaned away, tracing his fingers under my chin before drawing it back, I was fighting tooth and nail not to chase the contact. "So, tell daddy what's wrong." He cooed.

I huffed at him, a tiny smile pulling at my lips from his playful tone. Always an asshole. Always messing around. I took a final look out the window before sighing.

"Don't laugh." I warned. He smiled back, a bit nonreassuring.

"I'll try my best."

So, I told him.

Everything.

Every last detail of that day, and the days before, and the ones after.

I explained the complexing partnership of my parents.

The daunting loom of their separation.

My mother's sudden drive to out-do whatever my father had been, or would ever be to her, Mabel and me.

And how, in a stroke of misfortune and unforeseen consequences, her hunt had dragged John into the picture.

Who he was.

What he was.

And why I couldn't bare seeing him again.

It was only after finishing that I realized the constant stream of tears driving down my face, and the sudden addition of thunder, and the way Bill listened and smiled.

Darker.

So much darker.

After a moment of silence, he let out a laugh.

"So, he touched you? Is that what happened?"

"You said you wouldn't laugh."

"I said I'd try." I turned to yank at the handle one final time. Locked.

" Great. " I snarled, banging my head against the window. He chuckled at me, the hand placed on my thigh promptly slapped away. "So glad you got to personally snuff out my self-esteem. Can I go now?"

"No."

"Oh, come the fuck on, Bill! If you don't give a shit, stop messing around and just- just open the fucking door, will you?"

"Aw. Pinetree, of course I care-."

"Up yours." This was such shit. This was literally total shit. I hadn't even told Mabel about John, and I'd just spilled the beans for him.

Great job, Dipper. You're a cheater, a perv, anxiously gay, and now, apparently brain dead . Five stars: World's dumbest human.

"And, that's why I'm gonna help you." Bill continued. I didn't even entertain the idea. I just let out a hopeless laugh, looked him up, down and crossed my arms with a scowl.

"You'll help me? Oh, sure. Sure. How could I ever doubt you?"

"I know! Right ?" He exploded with confidence, hands flying out to swirl the second smoke in his hand through the air. "With me on your side, what could go wrong-?"

" Don't. " I grit. " Don't even say that, Bill. There's too many to count."

"And, you're counting them, aren't you?"

"What am I supposed to do? If I can't prevent an outcome, the least I can do is perceive it." Bill shrugged, taking a drag.

"So if you're ever tied down on the train tracks, well hey! Just 'cause you can't jump out of the way doesn't mean you can't watch that locomotive barrelling towards you, right?"

"Right." I threw it away; all of it. Whatever fight I had left in me. He wasn't going to stop if I kept my fists up over my face. Might as well let him have his fun, walk over me, and be done with this finally. If I looked like I wouldn't stir, he'd get bored and give up.

Hopefully.

" But... Let's say there was a passerbyer who saw your pretty little figure snagged on the rails. What says you?" I ducked my head, chin cradled in hand as I watched the rain fall. Mabel was waiting now, I was sure of it. A bit unsure. Maybe doubting my arrival. There was no sure answer. I should call her, and let her know I'd be a little late. But, maybe that was overdue. She'd been waiting at least ten minutes now.

"Hope they brought popcorn."

"Don't be so macabre!" Bill laughed, slapping me on the back. I didn't so much as flinch at the contact. "Come on: You're tied to the rails, and there's a train barreling towards you at eighty miles an hour. No swiff army knife. No wiggle-room. But there is an extremely handsome blond that just so happened to come across you right before hitting. What do you do?" I shot him a dirty look before replying.

"I brace for impact."

"Aw, don't be like that-."

"What the fuck's the point you're trying to make?" I snapped. Bill's smile wavered. "Am I supposed to say ' I'd call for help ' here? Huh? Is that what I'm supposed to say?"

"Exactly-!"

"Then you're goddamn nuts, Bill. You're literally nuts If you think I'd ask you or anyone for help."

"Hey! Don't think of it as help. Think of it as... a solid. " I let my head fall back against the headrest, laughing bitterly at his suggestion.

This fucking guy.

" There it is! I should've known a guy like you would never help me without wanting something in return."

"What can I say, pinetree? I'm a blood-born American. Capitalism's my game!"

"Great. Great. " A second wave of tears. Or, third. Fourth, maybe? I wasn't sure. All I was sure about was Mabel waiting inside, looking down at her phone, wondering whether or not it was okay to call and ask when I'd be over to pick her up, which I wanted to do ten times more than anything around Bill. I sniffed, shaking my head. "And, what exactly would you want in return?"

"Who's to say? I'm a humble guy with a well-paying job. I don't need a stack of green to keep me happy." And that leering expression was anything but tempting. "Maybe you could come up with something."

I was close to exploding then.

This whole situation.

This ' hypothetical' bullshit he'd tangled me up in.

A barrelling train.

Eighty miles.

Me, tied to the rails.

And Bill, smiling, gulping down popcorn, asking if I need help.

Wow, no fucking shit .

Even then, speaking over the bursting choo of the locomotive, he dallied on the subject.

' Looks to me you're a bit tied up at the moment!'

Cause he couldn't bother giving a shit unless I was valuable.

I had something to offer back.

And, I just wished I'd gotten mixed up with someone a little more human.

"So, what? I blow you, and you'll untie me from the railing, is th-at it?" My voice broke. Of course it did. I was still crying, and this guy was still talking, and I was still trying to figure out my own way out from in front of the train. But, it just kept chugging. Faster, faster. And Bill just stood there, watching, dropping beads of kettle corn over my flinching face, waiting for me to give in and pay his fee. What more did I have to lose, though? " You're fucking shit, Bill . You're literal scum. "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I'm not the one suggesting blow jobs. That's all on you. " He laughed. I almost broke down, but the metaphor was still playing in my head, and a small part of me wanted to know how this Bill could even save me. "Still... I'm tempted to take up your offer-."

" So glad we could come to a consensus. " I huffed, yanking at the door for the billionth time today. " Then fucking 'untie me' and I'll give you what you want. "

Untie me.

Unlock the door.

Just let me out, out, out for fuck's sake!

Bill couldn't help me, I knew that.

More so, he wouldn't help me. The kind I needed had been emotional after all, and he'd demonstrated perfectly well how impossible that was for him.

I'd just do it myself.

Like always.

I'd find a way out from under the train.

"Who said anything about untying?" Bill laughed at me, this time capturing both wrists in his grasp. I tried wrestling away, but only a little. Again, my spirit was gone. I hardly cared to listen. I hardly cared to understand, or imagine the metaphor. He had some snarky whatever to play with; so teasing pun about coal miners, or a caboose, or being steam-powered or other.

Little did I know how seriously he'd taken it. The metaphor.

His hand let me free to tuck itself under my chin, lift my ducked head and view the untainted honestly before me. When his eye met mine, and that smile hardened, and that look on animalistic mirth coated the several layers of his person, I felt cold. And hot. And suddenly sure that this was more Bill than I'd ever seen.

"I say we kill the conductor."