Book 1, Chapter 5: Future Past
Title: Future Past
Authors: escribo and kiltsandlollies
Characters: Billy and Dominic
Word count: 4421
Summary: Questions, answers, and an invitation.
Index
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
It's been two weeks since Dominic had shown up for what had become an almost twice-weekly meeting with Professor Boyd, only to find ten boxes neatly stacked outside of the office. After a moment's fear that Billy was leaving the school and he'd been recruited to help the professor pack up his things, Dominic had squared his shoulders, calmed himself down, and greeted Billy as he'd turned the corner of the hall with one last box in his arms and a tall cup of takeaway coffee perched on top.
Over these two weeks Dominic's discovered that the small project Billy's asked him to help with has turned into something much bigger. Each of the boxes was filled with the detritus of one Professor Ansel Andersen's career, gifted to Billy upon the man's retirement from the University of St. Andrews. Dominic's happily agreed to help Billy sort through the thousands of pages and hundreds of files, sharing the space of Billy's office after he's chosen suitable background music from Billy's odd but mostly good collection of CDs, but secretly, he's begun to believe that in the end there will be one box's worth of salvageable material.
Billy might agree with Dominic's assessment of the material, but he's honoured to have been given the things nonetheless. Professor Andersen had been kind to Billy at St. Andrews, where few others had, and there are treasures to be found in his papers and possessions; Billy knows this from the term he'd clerked for the man and learned to love even the classicists under his rambling tutelage--well, if not love, then at least understand much better. Professor Andersen had been the sort of mentor Billy often wishes he could be--the sort of person Billy often wishes he could be-though he's hardly made significant steps in that direction. There's still time, he knows; he has miles to go in this career and at this school, if for no other reason than the mortgage on the little house he's owned now for a few years, just enough outside of the campus to feel like an escape from it. A few of the boxes strewn around his office right now might eventually make their way to Billy's home, but for now he steps over one and peers into another beside Dominic, laughing at the sight of two paperbacks lodged tightly among the stacks of files.
"What is it?" Dominic asks him, turning from the pile of essays on free will he's been peering through absently. Billy pulls one of the books from its hiding place and laughs again, crouching down next to Dominic and showing him the cover.
"Fahrenheit 451."
"Must've liked science fiction," Dominic smiles up at Billy, and Billy raises his eyebrows and the corners of his lips.
"I don't know that he did, actually. I think he just happened to have a particularly forgetful clerk who left the book behind in the office."
Dominic tilts his head, and Billy watches the calculations click in his eyes. "No," Dominic laughs. "That's not yours, is it? It looks like it went through a war or something."
Billy shrugs amiably and thumbs through the curled-edged, smudge-covered book for a moment, appreciating how the minor repairs he'd once made to the book have held up over this long time. He's still hard on paperbacks to this day, folding back corners of pages too hard, forgetting books outside on the small patio behind his house and then growing frustrated when they fall apart in his hands. He has less reason now to keep his books in good condition for longer, but he can vividly remember the scent of the bookbinding glue he'd borrowed from a friend in the art department, and how the practice of making even the worst of his books last for as long as possible had taught him to care for other things, too. There's no melancholy in the reminder, though, and Billy laughs as he catches sight of his own handwriting in a margin of the book and then turns the page again to Dominic. "Maybe it did."
Dominic looks at the page, at Billy's spiky penmanship that hasn't changed for worse or better in the years since he'd scrawled a surprised note under one of Bradbury's odd turns of phrases. There's a moment of quiet between them, and then Billy takes a breath and tosses the book back into the box as he stands.
"So how are y'making out there, Dom? Anything worth keeping?"
"Some. It wasn't as much as it looked once we got rid of the old student papers. He kept everything, didn't he. There's an entire box of stuff on free will." Dominic picks up another stack and tosses it back into the box then moves it out of his way so that he can stretch. "Is that what he taught?"
"For a time." Billy picks up the first essay from the pile, a mimeograph from a journal that he doesn't even recognize--one that probably went out of print before he was born. The purple ink has blurred almost to the point of being illegible. "He touched on it in some classes enough that the students made a free will decision not to attend." Billy smirks as he rises again and nears Dominic. "I touch on it considerably less, at least with the first-years. And what have you got there? Did you find any pictures?"
"A few. I think there's more in this box." Dominic pulls another box closer and pushes off its lid. From inside, he pulls out a big handful of photographs in black and white or faded colors, very few that had been taken in the last ten years. He flips through the stack, handing most up to Billy, but stops when he finds one familiar face. "There's one of you."
"You're joking."
"No, it's you." Dominic turns the photo to show Billy the picture of himself caught deep in concentration. "You look like that now in class sometimes when someone's thoughts are way off."
"Do I?" Billy takes the picture and tries to remember when it had been taken, and to whom he'd been speaking. He supposes it must have been Professor Andersen who had taken it, as he recognizes the wall of vinyl records behind him, records Billy had frequently borrowed from the professor. After a moment's more study, he hands the picture back to Dominic. "It was probably taken during a late meeting with his clerks. He loved to hold court. I learned a lot from him, when he wasn't giving me ten kinds of--when he wasn't telling me I needed a haircut." Dominic suppresses a laugh, and Billy arches his eyebrows. "Well, it was some time ago. I was hoping there'd be more pictures of the school in these boxes; the man was an ace photographer."
"There are," Dominic says quickly, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the box behind him. "Not all in good condition, but I think it's St. Andrews, anyway. I've never been."
"It's beautiful," Billy says absently, and looks around Dominic to the box, making a mental note of the number on its side. "And in the next breath it's like something out of a horror movie." After a pause, Billy returns to the couch and the boxes waiting for his attention there. As he sits, though, another thought comes to him. "If Baskerville gives me the funding, I'm thinking to take a few students up there for the Arché conference." He pushes his glasses back on and then looks at Dominic from above their rims, eyebrows raised again. "As punishment or praise; I haven't decided."
He and Dominic continue through the boxes, falling into a companionable quiet but for the low sounds from Billy's CD player, sounds to which Billy frequently drums his fingers lightly on the arm of the ratty couch or hums low and soft until it occurs to him that he's not alone in his office. Twice Billy catches himself at it, but if Dominic's noticed, he's not making a show of it.
As Billy skims essay after essay, he remembers how kindly Andersen had treated him upon his return to St. Andrews, letting up somewhat on his gentle mocking of Billy's too-long hair, wrinkled trousers, and oversized mugs of coffee. Most of the other professors in the School of Philosophical and Anthropological Studies--Billy cannot hear the name even in his head without wanting to modulate his thick accent, without wanting to sit up straight and lift his chin a little in preemptive defense--had offered Billy little more than expressions of bemusement on good days and irritation on bad. After several long, commiserating talks with Professor Andersen and Professor John Helden, too, Billy had learned to return those other professors' gazes with impassive smiles and good cheer that had only disappeared in staff meetings, when Billy allowed his temper and voice to rise, but not without good reason.
More than an hour passes before Billy really looks up from his own pile of papers and folders, and he's momentarily distracted by the swirl of dust spinning in the late afternoon sun. Full sunlight's been a rare thing in Baskerville over the last several days, with fall coming in strangely, bringing rain that comes down in sheets for hours here and there and falls petulantly off and on otherwise. The entire college seems to have lifted from a moody spell with the good weather this day, and as that thought hits him, Billy turns his head to look at Dominic across the room, sitting with one knee tucked against his chest and resting his chin on that knee, his other leg stretched out long, near Billy's desk with a box open and articles strewn around him in piles. From the neck down Dominic looks terribly young, thin in worn jeans and a faded tee shirt just visible under the brown, hooded pullover he's using as a jacket-clothes that don't fit as well as they could, however much they're obviously well-loved, and certainly not warm enough for the way the weather's turned in the last week.
Dominic looks comfortable, Billy thinks, at ease on the floor of Billy's office, surrounded by the cumulative mess of one philosopher and the beginnings of another's. His paper cup of coffee is almost finished, Billy can tell, and he looks tired but for the most part happy to be where he is. Still, Billy wonders if he might be taking advantage of Dominic's willingness to help, when he could certainly be elsewhere.
"Am I keeping you from anything, Dom?" Billy asks, tilting his head again when Dominic looks up. "Surely there's something more interesting you were wanting to do today, yeah?"
"No. I mean, I think this is interesting," Dominic says without looking up from his work.
"I'm not sure that's possible."
The tease in Billy's voice makes Dominic look up to grin at Billy, caught out in his lie. It's not interesting work, but work that pleases him nonetheless. There's a little pile of treasures near him that he's made a slight effort to hide--the picture of a younger Billy tucked inside one of the sci-fi books and an essay of Billy's that Dominic had taken great joy in reading--even more, reading the voluminous comments in red down the margins. Not interesting, no, but he's more than happy to have had the chance to learn more about Billy. "I'd rather do this today."
"I fear what your other options might have been, then. You're welcome to keep anything that's caught your eye; as much as I'd like to hold on to all of this," Billy shrugs, "can't be done. I'd already read through some of this when I was working on my first articles; I recognize my own underlinings. And some of those papers--" Billy looks behind him at a stack pushed to one side on the couch. "They're going to help me finish that bloody thing I'm working on now."
"'Given Half a Chance,'" Dominic says, smiling, and Billy smiles, too, pleased that Dominic's remembered the title of the article Billy needs to publish soon, before his views on philosophical polarization in education become outdated or more fanciful than they already are. He's discussed the article's development with Dominic a few times, mostly in an anecdotal fashion, to persuade Dominic that the process of writing on philosophy is neither as frightening nor as pointless as others might have him believe. "I'm still floored they sent this much to me," Billy says, getting back to the matter of Andersen's work. "I know there were other clerks who would have loved to have the man's papers."
Dominic nods, though he looks around the room as if he can't imagine there being more of Andersen's work to share. "Did you like it, professor? Being a clerk?"
"When he remembered to pay me," Billy laughs. "No, I loved it. I learned a great deal, from Professor Andersen and others. It was difficult, though, sometimes." Another shrug. "I didn't have a lot of time for anything else. Certainly no money to waste in any time I had."
"I'm sorry." The words leave Dominic before he can stop them as he recognizes what Billy means, and then he blushes and returns to stacking the last bunch of papers around him. "I mean. I understand."
"It was worth it, though," Billy says firmly, walking to the window and shoving his hands in his pockets. Dominic watches Billy's shoulders drop and then rise again as he takes a deep breath. "I've lost count of how many times I've told myself that."
"You don't have a clerk, though," Dominic says, and Billy shakes his head.
"I'm afraid I don't have the patience my professors had, and I have a worse reputation." Billy frowns and pushes away that thought quickly in favour of others as he crouches back down beside Dominic to help him. Billy remembers walking into St. Andrews' Edgecliffe Hall as a student, bearing the weight of questions and fear that he might not walk back out alive. When he'd found the two professors willing to listen to and encourage him, Billy had felt more confident about stepping into the shaded doorway and climbing the steps to their offices for hours of conversation and--more than a few times--a shared glass of something Billy couldn't pronounce and that made his eyes water. Professor Andersen's moved on to an even quieter life now, but Billy still calls Professor Helden a friend, one without whom Billy would have left only a month into his return to St. Andrews as a lecturer himself. Billy would like to believe he might one day be as good a mentor to an uncertain but strong student, but after only a short while at Baskerville, his reputation indeed has yet to inspire students; from all but a few reports, students seem more frightened of him than inspired. And more to Billy's concern, others have simply seemed bored.
Dominic wants to argue with Billy about his reputation, but Billy seems closed off suddenly to discussion and Dominic sits quietly, waiting for it to pass. He's seen this sometimes during their other meetings: the reddening in Billy's cheeks that fades almost as quickly as it's come, the distant look as if some forgotten memory is playing through his mind, the twist to his lips that's both meditative and sad. Dominic's always tempted to reach out and touch Billy, to bring him back, but he's afraid to--afraid it would ruin what they have by moving forward with what Dominic (increasingly) wants. So he waits until Billy seems to remember where he is and offers up a self-conscious smile. It's only then that Dominic feels free to talk again. "You've been patient with me. My mum would call you a saint."
"She'd be wrong." It comes out too sharp, and Billy shakes his head and smiles again. "There's nothing saintly about me, Dom, trust me."
"Not saintly, no," Dominic teases, keeping his eyes on the stack of papers he pulls from the last box.
"Careful there, Dom."
"Actually, what my mom says is that I can try the patience of a saint." Dominic inflects the statement to a question and grins at Billy. "She calls me teufel."
Billy barks out a laugh at the word, one of very few in German he's understood in passing. "Now that I can believe."
They work together to clear the last of the mess, Billy only pausing them in their scanning pages to point out Andersen's handwriting--worse than mine, Billy's quick to say--down the entire length of a student's paper or inside another excellent book falling to pieces after so much time spent being pulled off and put back on Andersen's shelves. After a few minutes they both stand, boxes tucked under their arms. Billy walks his outside the office, marks it Rubbish in dark green permanent marker, and then steps back inside.
"Where should I ..." Dominic's voice trails off as he shifts his box to his hip and looks at Billy's cluttered desk. Billy moves around the desk to push files this way and that, making room. He gathers a medium-sized stack of folders and drops them somewhat unceremoniously into his chair, smiling when Dominic laughs.
"You can put those there," Billy nods to the now-open space on the desk and then back at his chair. "It's not class work, this. I have advising appointments tomorrow, and I feel like I haven't read some of these students' information in too long."
"You're an advisor?"
"To a few, mostly postgraduate students."
"But to undergraduates, too?"
"Occasionally. Usually the ones carrying a double concentration in education. The department seems to think they'll be a good fit, much to the chagrin of the student."
"I can't imagine having two concentrations. I can barely get through one. I kind of took a cheat, anyway."
Billy stops in his distracted thumbing through his CDs and looks up at Dominic again. "What do you mean?"
"German. I mean, I don't really have to work at it. My dad told me once I got in here that I'd better prove I deserved to stay, or he'd bring me home. So I took German."
"But what you're doing is more than just speaking a language you already know, yes? You're focusing on literature."
Dominic looks down, but he's smiling. "Poetry."
"I've read some translation of the modern Germans," Billy says. "What you're doing is difficult work, Dom. I wouldn't be surprised if that's why your advisor sent you straight to a philosophy course."
"It was either that or biology."
"So you've told me." Billy raises his eyebrows again. "But you're not like half your classmates, drawing in their margins and wishing the second hand would move faster. I can see that you're putting some thought into what I'm teaching. Trying to teach. In fact, I think--" Billy pauses and taps a finger against his lips while Dominic waits him out, holding a little breath. "I think you might be a better fit as a second concentration student in this department than the education majors I see."
"I couldn't do that."
"Why not?"
"I'm not smart enough."
"Rubbish."
"I'm not, Billy." Dominic cuts himself off, embarrassed to have used Billy's given name and for beginning the argument. Billy just blinks, momentarily surprised, but he can see enough of Dominic's reddened face to know that the slip was unintentional. Dominic straightens the folders on Billy's desk absently, still looking anywhere but at Billy himself, until Billy places one hand on top of the last stack, stopping him and making Dominic look up though he still doesn't meet Billy's eyes.
"Do you think I would have mentioned it if I didn't believe it were possible, Dominic?" Dominic lowers his eyes slightly again, and Billy tilts his head to compensate, strangely eager to make sure he keeps the little eye contact he can. "You've been coming here to talk to me long enough for me to gauge your interest and your ability, and your marks in discussion are the highest in your section." Dominic's eyes widen, and Billy nods slowly. "And those marks will translate to your papers soon enough if you continue to take my advice and trust that I can see things you cannot." Billy takes a breath. "Look at me, Dominic."
Dominic swallows hard and meets Billy's eyes, overwhelmed by the surge of something that he's felt since his first meeting with Billy--something that he's been afraid to name because he knows it will never be returned. His cheeks turn pink at the memory of explaining to Greg one night how he would just know when something was right--when he'd fallen in love with someone--and he's shocked to think that this is what he meant. Dominic tries to tell himself that he's wrong--that this is just a crush on someone who's being very kind to him--who believes in him. Still, looking into Billy's eyes, Dominic finds himself wanting to be what Billy believes him to be--strong and smart and confident, someone who deserves Billy's trust.
"You've found me a patient man," Billy continues. "Do you believe me patient enough to work with someone who wouldn't be worth the effort?"
"No."
"Then you'll have to trust me, won't you."
"I do trust you."
Billy's expression turns a bit more intense, softening only when Dominic looks away as if suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry. Look, Dom, I thought-I was wondering if you might want to have a look-in at the first presentations later this month." When Dominic frowns in confusion, Billy smiles. "I have some of the graduate students come to my house and present their papers to me and their colleagues. It's a bit ..." Billy's mouth works as he thinks. "Like a rehearsal, I suppose. I don't give marks, but they are being judged, and I don't spare them much just because we're not in a classroom and they're still among their colleagues. It's a chance for my students to figure out whether the road they've taken for the last few years of their lives will lead them much further." Billy leans forward and points to the picture of himself with Professor Andersen. "He and John Helden both ran me through my paces long before I had to stand up in front of a committee, and I don't like t'think of how much worse it could've gone without their help. You won't have to say or do anything; it's just so you can see how people get on with it later. And have some food, of course," he laughs. "Half the students come just for the food; sod their classmates."
Dominic laughs too, more shakily. "They don't--mind other students being there? People not in their own classes?"
Billy shrugs, beginning to gather his things to leave. "That should be the least of their concerns. It's not as if entirely friendly faces are going to greet them in their actual presentations, and. Well." Billy allows himself a small smirk. "They have known me for a bit now. Most of them have learned to accept any eccentricities I might have in exchange for the guidance I can give them. It's my house, and they are my students. I extend the invitation, and I determine the company. So." Billy takes a breath and tilts his head. "You'll come."
It's not a question, and Dominic recognizes that as he nods. "Excellent," Billy continues, and levers his briefcase onto the desk, shoving a file into the little space left inside. "I'll email you the date and my address--which, by the way, you're not to use for nefarious purposes. We start at half six, and I aim to get everyone out of my house before eleven. Sometimes it even works. Are we finished here, do you think?"
Dominic nods again, moving quickly to grab his rucksack and the short pile of things he's taking with him from their work this afternoon. Billy tucks a small box under his free arm and locks the office door behind them before they leave the humanities building at a decent clip, both suddenly eager to be outside and enjoy the end of the day before night overcomes Baskerville. At the bottom of the stairs, Billy takes a step toward the nearest parking area and then turns back to Dominic.
"Where are you headed, Dom?"
"Langton Hall." Dominic points across the green and well back, to a section of rusty brown-brick buildings Billy knows as residence halls, though he's never had occasion to be on that side of the campus. "The last one, on the corner. It's really for the international students, or whatever they want to call us. Language concentrations and such. It's not bad, though. Really great old building."
"It looks like, yeah." Billy smiles. "And that's good t'see. I'd give you a lift, but ..." Billy recognizes how awkward he sounds almost before the words leave his mouth, and he flushes a bit, frowning at the unfamiliarity of the feeling. Dominic licks his lips and nods quickly, rescuing them both, Billy thinks.
"It's okay. It's a good walk. Might even take it as a run." He hefts his rucksack onto his back and laughs. "If this thing doesn't topple me, yeah?"
"Wait, here." Billy places his box on the stairs and then steps around Dominic to hook one of the straps higher on Dominic's shoulder, giving it a sharp enough tug that it will stay put, and then he flattens his hand on Dominic's back, just for a moment. "Steady, yeah? There."
"Steady," Dominic repeats, more quietly. It's there again, that feeling that tells Dominic he's on dangerous ground, but he can't help but to ease into Billy's touch even while he cuts his thoughts off, afraid of giving away too much.
"Well." Billy coughs and moves back around Dominic to pick up his box again, shifting it against his hip while his briefcase swings behind him. "I'll see you in class, then, Dom."
Dominic nods, not trusting his voice. The word crush sounds stupid to him, but he doesn't know what else to call it. He comforts himself with the thought that at least Billy will never know. Taking a couple of steps backwards, he raises his hand and gives Billy a lopsided smile. No one ever has to know, he decides, then turns to head back to his room.
Authors: escribo and kiltsandlollies
Characters: Billy and Dominic
Word count: 4421
Summary: Questions, answers, and an invitation.
Index
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
It's been two weeks since Dominic had shown up for what had become an almost twice-weekly meeting with Professor Boyd, only to find ten boxes neatly stacked outside of the office. After a moment's fear that Billy was leaving the school and he'd been recruited to help the professor pack up his things, Dominic had squared his shoulders, calmed himself down, and greeted Billy as he'd turned the corner of the hall with one last box in his arms and a tall cup of takeaway coffee perched on top.
Over these two weeks Dominic's discovered that the small project Billy's asked him to help with has turned into something much bigger. Each of the boxes was filled with the detritus of one Professor Ansel Andersen's career, gifted to Billy upon the man's retirement from the University of St. Andrews. Dominic's happily agreed to help Billy sort through the thousands of pages and hundreds of files, sharing the space of Billy's office after he's chosen suitable background music from Billy's odd but mostly good collection of CDs, but secretly, he's begun to believe that in the end there will be one box's worth of salvageable material.
Billy might agree with Dominic's assessment of the material, but he's honoured to have been given the things nonetheless. Professor Andersen had been kind to Billy at St. Andrews, where few others had, and there are treasures to be found in his papers and possessions; Billy knows this from the term he'd clerked for the man and learned to love even the classicists under his rambling tutelage--well, if not love, then at least understand much better. Professor Andersen had been the sort of mentor Billy often wishes he could be--the sort of person Billy often wishes he could be-though he's hardly made significant steps in that direction. There's still time, he knows; he has miles to go in this career and at this school, if for no other reason than the mortgage on the little house he's owned now for a few years, just enough outside of the campus to feel like an escape from it. A few of the boxes strewn around his office right now might eventually make their way to Billy's home, but for now he steps over one and peers into another beside Dominic, laughing at the sight of two paperbacks lodged tightly among the stacks of files.
"What is it?" Dominic asks him, turning from the pile of essays on free will he's been peering through absently. Billy pulls one of the books from its hiding place and laughs again, crouching down next to Dominic and showing him the cover.
"Fahrenheit 451."
"Must've liked science fiction," Dominic smiles up at Billy, and Billy raises his eyebrows and the corners of his lips.
"I don't know that he did, actually. I think he just happened to have a particularly forgetful clerk who left the book behind in the office."
Dominic tilts his head, and Billy watches the calculations click in his eyes. "No," Dominic laughs. "That's not yours, is it? It looks like it went through a war or something."
Billy shrugs amiably and thumbs through the curled-edged, smudge-covered book for a moment, appreciating how the minor repairs he'd once made to the book have held up over this long time. He's still hard on paperbacks to this day, folding back corners of pages too hard, forgetting books outside on the small patio behind his house and then growing frustrated when they fall apart in his hands. He has less reason now to keep his books in good condition for longer, but he can vividly remember the scent of the bookbinding glue he'd borrowed from a friend in the art department, and how the practice of making even the worst of his books last for as long as possible had taught him to care for other things, too. There's no melancholy in the reminder, though, and Billy laughs as he catches sight of his own handwriting in a margin of the book and then turns the page again to Dominic. "Maybe it did."
Dominic looks at the page, at Billy's spiky penmanship that hasn't changed for worse or better in the years since he'd scrawled a surprised note under one of Bradbury's odd turns of phrases. There's a moment of quiet between them, and then Billy takes a breath and tosses the book back into the box as he stands.
"So how are y'making out there, Dom? Anything worth keeping?"
"Some. It wasn't as much as it looked once we got rid of the old student papers. He kept everything, didn't he. There's an entire box of stuff on free will." Dominic picks up another stack and tosses it back into the box then moves it out of his way so that he can stretch. "Is that what he taught?"
"For a time." Billy picks up the first essay from the pile, a mimeograph from a journal that he doesn't even recognize--one that probably went out of print before he was born. The purple ink has blurred almost to the point of being illegible. "He touched on it in some classes enough that the students made a free will decision not to attend." Billy smirks as he rises again and nears Dominic. "I touch on it considerably less, at least with the first-years. And what have you got there? Did you find any pictures?"
"A few. I think there's more in this box." Dominic pulls another box closer and pushes off its lid. From inside, he pulls out a big handful of photographs in black and white or faded colors, very few that had been taken in the last ten years. He flips through the stack, handing most up to Billy, but stops when he finds one familiar face. "There's one of you."
"You're joking."
"No, it's you." Dominic turns the photo to show Billy the picture of himself caught deep in concentration. "You look like that now in class sometimes when someone's thoughts are way off."
"Do I?" Billy takes the picture and tries to remember when it had been taken, and to whom he'd been speaking. He supposes it must have been Professor Andersen who had taken it, as he recognizes the wall of vinyl records behind him, records Billy had frequently borrowed from the professor. After a moment's more study, he hands the picture back to Dominic. "It was probably taken during a late meeting with his clerks. He loved to hold court. I learned a lot from him, when he wasn't giving me ten kinds of--when he wasn't telling me I needed a haircut." Dominic suppresses a laugh, and Billy arches his eyebrows. "Well, it was some time ago. I was hoping there'd be more pictures of the school in these boxes; the man was an ace photographer."
"There are," Dominic says quickly, throwing a thumb over his shoulder at the box behind him. "Not all in good condition, but I think it's St. Andrews, anyway. I've never been."
"It's beautiful," Billy says absently, and looks around Dominic to the box, making a mental note of the number on its side. "And in the next breath it's like something out of a horror movie." After a pause, Billy returns to the couch and the boxes waiting for his attention there. As he sits, though, another thought comes to him. "If Baskerville gives me the funding, I'm thinking to take a few students up there for the Arché conference." He pushes his glasses back on and then looks at Dominic from above their rims, eyebrows raised again. "As punishment or praise; I haven't decided."
He and Dominic continue through the boxes, falling into a companionable quiet but for the low sounds from Billy's CD player, sounds to which Billy frequently drums his fingers lightly on the arm of the ratty couch or hums low and soft until it occurs to him that he's not alone in his office. Twice Billy catches himself at it, but if Dominic's noticed, he's not making a show of it.
As Billy skims essay after essay, he remembers how kindly Andersen had treated him upon his return to St. Andrews, letting up somewhat on his gentle mocking of Billy's too-long hair, wrinkled trousers, and oversized mugs of coffee. Most of the other professors in the School of Philosophical and Anthropological Studies--Billy cannot hear the name even in his head without wanting to modulate his thick accent, without wanting to sit up straight and lift his chin a little in preemptive defense--had offered Billy little more than expressions of bemusement on good days and irritation on bad. After several long, commiserating talks with Professor Andersen and Professor John Helden, too, Billy had learned to return those other professors' gazes with impassive smiles and good cheer that had only disappeared in staff meetings, when Billy allowed his temper and voice to rise, but not without good reason.
More than an hour passes before Billy really looks up from his own pile of papers and folders, and he's momentarily distracted by the swirl of dust spinning in the late afternoon sun. Full sunlight's been a rare thing in Baskerville over the last several days, with fall coming in strangely, bringing rain that comes down in sheets for hours here and there and falls petulantly off and on otherwise. The entire college seems to have lifted from a moody spell with the good weather this day, and as that thought hits him, Billy turns his head to look at Dominic across the room, sitting with one knee tucked against his chest and resting his chin on that knee, his other leg stretched out long, near Billy's desk with a box open and articles strewn around him in piles. From the neck down Dominic looks terribly young, thin in worn jeans and a faded tee shirt just visible under the brown, hooded pullover he's using as a jacket-clothes that don't fit as well as they could, however much they're obviously well-loved, and certainly not warm enough for the way the weather's turned in the last week.
Dominic looks comfortable, Billy thinks, at ease on the floor of Billy's office, surrounded by the cumulative mess of one philosopher and the beginnings of another's. His paper cup of coffee is almost finished, Billy can tell, and he looks tired but for the most part happy to be where he is. Still, Billy wonders if he might be taking advantage of Dominic's willingness to help, when he could certainly be elsewhere.
"Am I keeping you from anything, Dom?" Billy asks, tilting his head again when Dominic looks up. "Surely there's something more interesting you were wanting to do today, yeah?"
"No. I mean, I think this is interesting," Dominic says without looking up from his work.
"I'm not sure that's possible."
The tease in Billy's voice makes Dominic look up to grin at Billy, caught out in his lie. It's not interesting work, but work that pleases him nonetheless. There's a little pile of treasures near him that he's made a slight effort to hide--the picture of a younger Billy tucked inside one of the sci-fi books and an essay of Billy's that Dominic had taken great joy in reading--even more, reading the voluminous comments in red down the margins. Not interesting, no, but he's more than happy to have had the chance to learn more about Billy. "I'd rather do this today."
"I fear what your other options might have been, then. You're welcome to keep anything that's caught your eye; as much as I'd like to hold on to all of this," Billy shrugs, "can't be done. I'd already read through some of this when I was working on my first articles; I recognize my own underlinings. And some of those papers--" Billy looks behind him at a stack pushed to one side on the couch. "They're going to help me finish that bloody thing I'm working on now."
"'Given Half a Chance,'" Dominic says, smiling, and Billy smiles, too, pleased that Dominic's remembered the title of the article Billy needs to publish soon, before his views on philosophical polarization in education become outdated or more fanciful than they already are. He's discussed the article's development with Dominic a few times, mostly in an anecdotal fashion, to persuade Dominic that the process of writing on philosophy is neither as frightening nor as pointless as others might have him believe. "I'm still floored they sent this much to me," Billy says, getting back to the matter of Andersen's work. "I know there were other clerks who would have loved to have the man's papers."
Dominic nods, though he looks around the room as if he can't imagine there being more of Andersen's work to share. "Did you like it, professor? Being a clerk?"
"When he remembered to pay me," Billy laughs. "No, I loved it. I learned a great deal, from Professor Andersen and others. It was difficult, though, sometimes." Another shrug. "I didn't have a lot of time for anything else. Certainly no money to waste in any time I had."
"I'm sorry." The words leave Dominic before he can stop them as he recognizes what Billy means, and then he blushes and returns to stacking the last bunch of papers around him. "I mean. I understand."
"It was worth it, though," Billy says firmly, walking to the window and shoving his hands in his pockets. Dominic watches Billy's shoulders drop and then rise again as he takes a deep breath. "I've lost count of how many times I've told myself that."
"You don't have a clerk, though," Dominic says, and Billy shakes his head.
"I'm afraid I don't have the patience my professors had, and I have a worse reputation." Billy frowns and pushes away that thought quickly in favour of others as he crouches back down beside Dominic to help him. Billy remembers walking into St. Andrews' Edgecliffe Hall as a student, bearing the weight of questions and fear that he might not walk back out alive. When he'd found the two professors willing to listen to and encourage him, Billy had felt more confident about stepping into the shaded doorway and climbing the steps to their offices for hours of conversation and--more than a few times--a shared glass of something Billy couldn't pronounce and that made his eyes water. Professor Andersen's moved on to an even quieter life now, but Billy still calls Professor Helden a friend, one without whom Billy would have left only a month into his return to St. Andrews as a lecturer himself. Billy would like to believe he might one day be as good a mentor to an uncertain but strong student, but after only a short while at Baskerville, his reputation indeed has yet to inspire students; from all but a few reports, students seem more frightened of him than inspired. And more to Billy's concern, others have simply seemed bored.
Dominic wants to argue with Billy about his reputation, but Billy seems closed off suddenly to discussion and Dominic sits quietly, waiting for it to pass. He's seen this sometimes during their other meetings: the reddening in Billy's cheeks that fades almost as quickly as it's come, the distant look as if some forgotten memory is playing through his mind, the twist to his lips that's both meditative and sad. Dominic's always tempted to reach out and touch Billy, to bring him back, but he's afraid to--afraid it would ruin what they have by moving forward with what Dominic (increasingly) wants. So he waits until Billy seems to remember where he is and offers up a self-conscious smile. It's only then that Dominic feels free to talk again. "You've been patient with me. My mum would call you a saint."
"She'd be wrong." It comes out too sharp, and Billy shakes his head and smiles again. "There's nothing saintly about me, Dom, trust me."
"Not saintly, no," Dominic teases, keeping his eyes on the stack of papers he pulls from the last box.
"Careful there, Dom."
"Actually, what my mom says is that I can try the patience of a saint." Dominic inflects the statement to a question and grins at Billy. "She calls me teufel."
Billy barks out a laugh at the word, one of very few in German he's understood in passing. "Now that I can believe."
They work together to clear the last of the mess, Billy only pausing them in their scanning pages to point out Andersen's handwriting--worse than mine, Billy's quick to say--down the entire length of a student's paper or inside another excellent book falling to pieces after so much time spent being pulled off and put back on Andersen's shelves. After a few minutes they both stand, boxes tucked under their arms. Billy walks his outside the office, marks it Rubbish in dark green permanent marker, and then steps back inside.
"Where should I ..." Dominic's voice trails off as he shifts his box to his hip and looks at Billy's cluttered desk. Billy moves around the desk to push files this way and that, making room. He gathers a medium-sized stack of folders and drops them somewhat unceremoniously into his chair, smiling when Dominic laughs.
"You can put those there," Billy nods to the now-open space on the desk and then back at his chair. "It's not class work, this. I have advising appointments tomorrow, and I feel like I haven't read some of these students' information in too long."
"You're an advisor?"
"To a few, mostly postgraduate students."
"But to undergraduates, too?"
"Occasionally. Usually the ones carrying a double concentration in education. The department seems to think they'll be a good fit, much to the chagrin of the student."
"I can't imagine having two concentrations. I can barely get through one. I kind of took a cheat, anyway."
Billy stops in his distracted thumbing through his CDs and looks up at Dominic again. "What do you mean?"
"German. I mean, I don't really have to work at it. My dad told me once I got in here that I'd better prove I deserved to stay, or he'd bring me home. So I took German."
"But what you're doing is more than just speaking a language you already know, yes? You're focusing on literature."
Dominic looks down, but he's smiling. "Poetry."
"I've read some translation of the modern Germans," Billy says. "What you're doing is difficult work, Dom. I wouldn't be surprised if that's why your advisor sent you straight to a philosophy course."
"It was either that or biology."
"So you've told me." Billy raises his eyebrows again. "But you're not like half your classmates, drawing in their margins and wishing the second hand would move faster. I can see that you're putting some thought into what I'm teaching. Trying to teach. In fact, I think--" Billy pauses and taps a finger against his lips while Dominic waits him out, holding a little breath. "I think you might be a better fit as a second concentration student in this department than the education majors I see."
"I couldn't do that."
"Why not?"
"I'm not smart enough."
"Rubbish."
"I'm not, Billy." Dominic cuts himself off, embarrassed to have used Billy's given name and for beginning the argument. Billy just blinks, momentarily surprised, but he can see enough of Dominic's reddened face to know that the slip was unintentional. Dominic straightens the folders on Billy's desk absently, still looking anywhere but at Billy himself, until Billy places one hand on top of the last stack, stopping him and making Dominic look up though he still doesn't meet Billy's eyes.
"Do you think I would have mentioned it if I didn't believe it were possible, Dominic?" Dominic lowers his eyes slightly again, and Billy tilts his head to compensate, strangely eager to make sure he keeps the little eye contact he can. "You've been coming here to talk to me long enough for me to gauge your interest and your ability, and your marks in discussion are the highest in your section." Dominic's eyes widen, and Billy nods slowly. "And those marks will translate to your papers soon enough if you continue to take my advice and trust that I can see things you cannot." Billy takes a breath. "Look at me, Dominic."
Dominic swallows hard and meets Billy's eyes, overwhelmed by the surge of something that he's felt since his first meeting with Billy--something that he's been afraid to name because he knows it will never be returned. His cheeks turn pink at the memory of explaining to Greg one night how he would just know when something was right--when he'd fallen in love with someone--and he's shocked to think that this is what he meant. Dominic tries to tell himself that he's wrong--that this is just a crush on someone who's being very kind to him--who believes in him. Still, looking into Billy's eyes, Dominic finds himself wanting to be what Billy believes him to be--strong and smart and confident, someone who deserves Billy's trust.
"You've found me a patient man," Billy continues. "Do you believe me patient enough to work with someone who wouldn't be worth the effort?"
"No."
"Then you'll have to trust me, won't you."
"I do trust you."
Billy's expression turns a bit more intense, softening only when Dominic looks away as if suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry. Look, Dom, I thought-I was wondering if you might want to have a look-in at the first presentations later this month." When Dominic frowns in confusion, Billy smiles. "I have some of the graduate students come to my house and present their papers to me and their colleagues. It's a bit ..." Billy's mouth works as he thinks. "Like a rehearsal, I suppose. I don't give marks, but they are being judged, and I don't spare them much just because we're not in a classroom and they're still among their colleagues. It's a chance for my students to figure out whether the road they've taken for the last few years of their lives will lead them much further." Billy leans forward and points to the picture of himself with Professor Andersen. "He and John Helden both ran me through my paces long before I had to stand up in front of a committee, and I don't like t'think of how much worse it could've gone without their help. You won't have to say or do anything; it's just so you can see how people get on with it later. And have some food, of course," he laughs. "Half the students come just for the food; sod their classmates."
Dominic laughs too, more shakily. "They don't--mind other students being there? People not in their own classes?"
Billy shrugs, beginning to gather his things to leave. "That should be the least of their concerns. It's not as if entirely friendly faces are going to greet them in their actual presentations, and. Well." Billy allows himself a small smirk. "They have known me for a bit now. Most of them have learned to accept any eccentricities I might have in exchange for the guidance I can give them. It's my house, and they are my students. I extend the invitation, and I determine the company. So." Billy takes a breath and tilts his head. "You'll come."
It's not a question, and Dominic recognizes that as he nods. "Excellent," Billy continues, and levers his briefcase onto the desk, shoving a file into the little space left inside. "I'll email you the date and my address--which, by the way, you're not to use for nefarious purposes. We start at half six, and I aim to get everyone out of my house before eleven. Sometimes it even works. Are we finished here, do you think?"
Dominic nods again, moving quickly to grab his rucksack and the short pile of things he's taking with him from their work this afternoon. Billy tucks a small box under his free arm and locks the office door behind them before they leave the humanities building at a decent clip, both suddenly eager to be outside and enjoy the end of the day before night overcomes Baskerville. At the bottom of the stairs, Billy takes a step toward the nearest parking area and then turns back to Dominic.
"Where are you headed, Dom?"
"Langton Hall." Dominic points across the green and well back, to a section of rusty brown-brick buildings Billy knows as residence halls, though he's never had occasion to be on that side of the campus. "The last one, on the corner. It's really for the international students, or whatever they want to call us. Language concentrations and such. It's not bad, though. Really great old building."
"It looks like, yeah." Billy smiles. "And that's good t'see. I'd give you a lift, but ..." Billy recognizes how awkward he sounds almost before the words leave his mouth, and he flushes a bit, frowning at the unfamiliarity of the feeling. Dominic licks his lips and nods quickly, rescuing them both, Billy thinks.
"It's okay. It's a good walk. Might even take it as a run." He hefts his rucksack onto his back and laughs. "If this thing doesn't topple me, yeah?"
"Wait, here." Billy places his box on the stairs and then steps around Dominic to hook one of the straps higher on Dominic's shoulder, giving it a sharp enough tug that it will stay put, and then he flattens his hand on Dominic's back, just for a moment. "Steady, yeah? There."
"Steady," Dominic repeats, more quietly. It's there again, that feeling that tells Dominic he's on dangerous ground, but he can't help but to ease into Billy's touch even while he cuts his thoughts off, afraid of giving away too much.
"Well." Billy coughs and moves back around Dominic to pick up his box again, shifting it against his hip while his briefcase swings behind him. "I'll see you in class, then, Dom."
Dominic nods, not trusting his voice. The word crush sounds stupid to him, but he doesn't know what else to call it. He comforts himself with the thought that at least Billy will never know. Taking a couple of steps backwards, he raises his hand and gives Billy a lopsided smile. No one ever has to know, he decides, then turns to head back to his room.