Book 5, Chapter 14: One Eye on What You Knew, One Eye on What You Do (3/3)
Title: One Eye on What You Knew, One Eye on What You Do (3/3)
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Billy, Cate
Word Count: 3850
Summary: Continues from here. This chapter concludes Book 5; we'll resume with Book 6 in September.
Index
Note: Original text and characterization of Cate created by magickalmolly; in some chapters through this story, we’ve adapted both text and characterization, but Molly’s work happily remains the foundation for Professor Blanchett.
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.
There's perseverance, and then there's this, Billy thinks as Cate makes her way to the darts. He has no desire to get on that little stage and play, for Cate or anyone else. He knows the temporary rush it will give him if he manages to block out the presence of everyone he knows in this room, but he also knows the feeling of emptiness that will remain afterward for days. Playing his guitar is a deep pleasure Billy's reserved mostly for himself for the last several years; it has nothing to do with William Boyd, professor of philosophy, and he's been happy to keep it that way.
But there had been something kind underneath Cate's cheeky dare, underneath her steely determination to have him play for her here. There had been affection in her eyes and smile, and for not the first time, Billy senses a real potential for danger there. Nerve endings that have not woken since their lunch are now pulsing, pounding all over Billy's body, half in warning, half in interest. He knows better than to have agreed to a dare-especially one that he seems doomed to lose, if Cate's enthusiasm is anything to go by-and he'd been surprised to feel himself nodding wordlessly, as if his silence would make up for this later, as if he could remind himself he never really wanted it in the first place.
She's good, too. She stands at the shooting line with the same erect carriage with which she carries herself through the day. The young professors stare in admiration and a little lust, but Cate doesn't seem to notice them. Instead she fixes her gaze on the bullseye and shoots-
And Billy closes his eyes at the sound of the little roar.
Cate has nailed it, as she likely expected to, and Billy swallows down a sudden urge to run from the pub and into the chilly night. His fingers go white on the table edges, but he doesn't move. Now that he's lost their bet, Billy's mind works to not think of the last time he'd played for more than an audience of one, and the damage that night had done; instead he forces his thoughts in the direction of feverishly deciding what he could play, what short little run of notes he can strum out distractedly and be done with it. Cate moves back to their table, sashaying a little with obvious pride and with a warm smile, and Billy smiles, too, raising his glass to her.
"Congratulations, Cate. Between us, we've managed to quiet them, and now you'll be wanting to make them talk again." He drains his glass as she sits and leans in to her again, his eyes darker and more than a little stormy, his voice now just as determined as hers was moments before. "I'll play you a song. One, that's it. You should know I don't do this for just anyone, and I don't do it without reason-" Or without something in return, Billy wants to say, but does not. "Doesn't matter. We'll see if it was worth it to you."
Billy remains seated long enough to watch Cate's eyes dilate a bit from his stare, then he turns and stands and makes the long walk to the pub's little stage. The nerves ratchet higher with every step he takes, but the three musicians already there might as well have expected him, from the wide grins they throw his way when he leans in slightly and drums his palms on the stage floor, clearing his throat as the guitarist comes to its edge.
"Seems I've lost a bet," Billy says plainly, as calmly as he can, and then nods at the man's newish Gibson, more beautiful than anything Billy's ever handled. "Think y'can let me have a go up there?"
A moment's discussion among the musicians, and then the guitarist nods back; before he can think too hard about it, Billy wanders to the side of the stage and takes the five steps up in two, keeping his grip firm as he first shakes the guitarist's hand and then takes the instrument from him. Billy turns his back on the rest of the pub to hold the guitar properly, to pluck at the strings gently, learning their feel. His own guitar’s strings are softer, warmer to the touch; these will leave little striated marks on his fingertips, to remind him either of mistake or triumph. Everything leaves its mark, Billy reminds himself, closing his eyes and listening for the right sound to come; everything always has.
Billy knows he does not yet hold the attention of more than a few people in the pub. There is Cate, of course, her every slow blink another dare in Billy’s direction. But there are also the professors, the few who know Billy not bothering to hide their surprise or mild amusement. Billy’s aware that he could just focus his song in between the professors and Cate, sending the notes -and if he's not careful, launching his voice-to the middle of the room, even to the bar itself. But the moment the strings and his fingers work together to bring something beautiful to Billy's pessimistic ears, the night suddenly becomes less about Cate's dare and more about proving something to himself, perhaps by extension to those bastards at the dartboard, to Cate, to the shadows and silhouettes and shapeless forms of people he hasn't allowed himself to think about for more than a decade.
Billy strums the guitar slowly, easing his way into a song he’s never played before for anyone, just a piece of music he fell in love with while still in university, still learning to define himself as more than a student. He leans forward into the melody and begins to play, slow and careful at first, then with more urgency. He cannot meet anyone’s eyes just yet, preferring to relish the feeling of the music moving over him, the rise and fall of note after note urging him to the next.
The pub noise is lessening a little, Billy feels it, and his face flushes with quiet joy from more than the attention. The few minutes pass both too quickly and agonizingly slow in Billy’s mind, and he raises his eyes finally only as he reaches for the final notes of the song. He no longer feels his hands working on the guitar; he just trusts that the notes are coming, that the sounds somehow connect. His gaze sweeps across a room gone nearly silent, and rests on Cate as Billy's fingers slow to the mournful crawl of the end of the song. When it's over, after the very last, always difficult, note, Billy releases the neck of the guitar as if it were on fire and steps back, an indescribable pleasure and heat flooding his face and body. He hears nothing in the next seconds but the pounding of his own heart, and before he can say something ridiculous, some foolish thanks in return for the polite applause of his colleagues and whatever random strangers who'd wandered into this old pub, Billy steps back again and strums the guitar harder, smiling and nodding the band back on stage to join him in something louder, rougher and safer. There's no hesitation in the other musicians; they laugh and take up their instruments and immediately set to work, the song Billy's begun one every bar band worth its salt knows and then some, and Billy steps happily behind them, raising his eyes to the near-blinding heat of the small stage lights and thinking that in the haze he might easily see the fierce few demons he’s vanquished tonight.
It doesn’t take long after that for Billy to have moved past nearly all thought of those demons; he’s in the thick of it now, consumed by that rush of pleasure he'd only begun to enjoy years ago before he ceased singing in public altogether. His smile is broad and challenging as he strums the unfamiliar guitar hard now, moving beyond its little quirks and feeling blisters beginning to develop. The only thing that matters right now is that he has survived Cate's dare, and it will take something even more pleasurable to get him offstage at this point. The band's singer gestures Billy forward again to join him at the microphone, and Billy laughs before he nods. He slides the guitar around his body to his hips, his back, and takes the microphone with an unearned authority, launching into the quicker tune. Some of the tired, typically deskbound bodies of the regulars in the pub have started to come to life, a brave few making their way to the near front of the stage to move only about as much as they dare in ragged time to the music. The more courageous-or more soused-of them find a way to encourage others, and Billy’s thrilled by the sight of it, by the relaxation of all the petty internal rules they’ve absorbed like the air on this campus, in this town.
And then he sees her. Cate is moving-comfortably, smoothly, full of certainty and chilly, calm, flirtatious precision-in and out of the arms of one of those junior professors, who looks frankly stunned that he's dancing with her, but able to keep up by force of will. Billy suppresses his laughter as he continues to sing, pulling in the band's actual singer and guitarist to make the chorus significantly louder.
Taking advantage of a moment's rat-a-tat drum break, Billy hands the guitar back off to its owner and then clears the next verse of the song, his voice already hoarse, before he makes a dangerously easy decision. He jumps from the little stage onto the floor and makes his way easily through the small crowd, waiting for the appropriate moment when Cate is released from the young professor's grip. She spins away in perfect, proper motion, but when she returns to her place in the dance it is Billy who holds her, Billy's eyes that meet hers with none of the fear or shock that rested in the young professor's eyes. Cate doesn't blink; she looks as sweetly determined as Billy feels, and their smile match in defiance and joy as Billy spins them both, his feet moving faster than they have in years, in time to the driving rhythm of the music.
Before Cate can speak, Billy is singing again, under his breath and in deadly harmony with the singer on stage as he turns her, moves them both around the floor with a confidence that makes a few of the other dancers step back. Cate laughs and sings along, too, surprisingly well-versed in random pub singalongs, however much she doesn't seem the type. Billy knows they must look rather strange-Cate blonde and pale and brilliant, himself ruddy-cheeked and shadowed with a day's worth of stubble, to say nothing of his already disheveled suit-but he doesn't care, can't care now. Singing, playing a guitar, dancing-these are things he knows how to do well, and just for tonight, there's no reason why he shouldn't, no real caution he'd be throwing to the wind. It's refreshing and thrilling and terrifying, too, but that terror's easy to fight off as long as the music continues.
But as the notes flow into their final measures, Billy slows himself and Cate as well, until they are nearer their own table. Billy waits for the end of the song, and for the sound of applause directed toward the stage, before he says anything to break this new spell. His hand reaches up into Cate's hair before he can think about it, curling slightly at her neck, and he finds he can face her as he would most challenges, letting her wait him out until he speaks, his voice low and worn.
"I think we might need another drink, Cate.”
“Or another song.”
Billy laughs and shakes his head. “You, maybe. I’ve got nothing left t’show off.”
“Don’t be too sure.” She says it kindly but not without the hint of suggestion that makes something inside Billy turn over on itself and warm to the point of discomfort. Billy holds his own expression calm but hard against it until Cate suddenly nods, untangling Billy's fingers from her hair, and then she smiles, the sight of it sudden and bright and full of possibilities Billy is absolutely not entertaining, and turns to weave her way across the floor and back to the bar.
Billy watches her go and then reaches for his drink, draining the little left in his glass before leaning against the wall near their table. His body is still too restless, too energized to sit down just yet, and he smiles broadly at the few people in the pub whose attentions have not been diverted by Cate. It's the afterward of singing or playing that gets to Billy-that feeling of nothingness, the idea that no matter what he plays or sings or shares, no reaction to it could fill him in return for more than a moment. He hasn't felt that particular emptiness in months, owing mostly to Dominic's presence in his thoughts and elsewhere, but Dominic is not here now, and Billy waits for the darkness to settle around him. The alcohol's helping stave it off a little, and Cate's smile as she returns to the table is almost enough to distract Billy entirely.
The odd pair of eyes is still moving from where Cate stands at the bar back to him, expecting more of their little show to go on. At any other time, Billy might panic under that attention, unmerited as it is, but for now Billy decides to instead just add it to the list of pleasant thorns he's been placing in the sides of the younger professors all night. Cate couldn’t seem to care less about whatever they’re thinking or doing; even though Billy knows he's more than half in shadow, Cate sees him nonetheless, looking over her shoulder, and he returns her intense gaze as hard as he can. When Cate turns her gaze a little, tilting her head, Billy sees immediately the young woman in the snapshot Cate keeps tucked in her journal-vibrant and glowing and fascinating.
When she returns with their drinks, the music’s well into the half of another song, this one slower, almost mournful, but tempting enough in its rhythm and pace that Billy doesn’t fight anywhere as hard as he could when Cate leaves the drinks on the table and pulls him forward just a little, into a slightly wider space where they can move, pressed tight against each other but just discreetly enough that Billy can tamp down most of the warnings screaming through his mind and body. A tease, Billy thinks, that’s all this is. If Billy has gathered nothing else from his interactions with Cate, it is that if she were actually interested in him, she would have been on him like a proper predator-like nothing and no one so coolly, carefully contained as Cate appears to be-and she would have stopped at nothing to have him. No, this is a tease and nothing more.
Still, her eyes do burn blue bright fire into Billy's, and warm as they are now from drink and the simple pleasure of the evening, they’re still all-seeing, forcing him eventually to look down to refocus and keep steady in their slow, swaying movement. The beginnings of the light sweat that had overcome him the moment he took the stage feels stronger, heavier on his forehead and neck, and Billy wonders abstractedly if Cate knows that this is the only thing he's able to offer her, the only instance where it's safe to play like this, to move like lovers on a floor for others to see. The thought is both comforting and not. Flirting is one thing-Billy can do that easily, with his voice and hands and eyes-but if this goes much further, then Billy will be forced to say something-anything-and he will risk losing one of the few friends he's made at Baskerville.
When the music stops this time, Billy releases a long, relieved exhale anyone else might call something else entirely, and lowers his and Cate’s hands together, stepping backward to lead them back to the table. He doesn’t sit, though, not at first; instead he pulls Cate another inch closer, the better to keep his voice down, that’s all.
"Brilliant," he says quietly, then tilts his head when Cate does, too. "Can't say this won't come back to haunt us later, Cate, but thank you for that. This. You’ve been-great tonight. Just perfect." Billy pauses, realizing he still holds Cate's hand, and more tightly than at all necessary. Billy swallows, shakes his head and licks his lips before finally releasing Cate's warm hand. "I really need that drink now, I think."
Cate nods and smiles, her cheeks flushed with a fresh heat Billy can’t pretend he’s seen before. The pub is noisy around them again as they sit, the band stepping down from the stage for a break and conversations rising with the pre-recorded music where they had left off. Cate reclaims Billy's hand from where it rests on the scarred wooden surface of the table and curls her fingers around his, and Billy presses their fingers together only half-consciously, making no real move to pull away.
It’s on his lips to say something more intelligent, something distracting and useless and meant to make Cate laugh, when Cate’s mobile chirrups loudly, and she releases a muffled curse at the sound. It's an odd, confusing noise to Billy's ears, cold and mechanical after all that warmth of music and laughter, and Cate's expression as she reads the brief message confuses him further, until he's beginning to regret the amount of alcohol he's consumed tonight. Cate offers Billy an apologetic smile as she looks up again, regret and determination both bright in her eyes.
"I have to go. There's a problem at the laboratory; I'm sorry I don't have time to explain." Cate rises from her chair immediately, not bothering to hide the frown on her face as she slips her bag over her shoulder. Billy tries to stand when she does, and resists her light touch to his shoulder pressing him back down. Words tumble out of his mouth-there anything I can do, what's happened, d'you need a taxi-but Cate leans in then, bending to curve one hand around the back of Billy's neck and silence him with a kiss, nearly soft as it gets but still enough to leave Billy shocked by its unfamiliarity and danger. Cate's lips are wet and taste of Guinness and something sweeter, her skin warm through her clothes, and Billy's hands rise of their own accord and from long-buried memory to catch her forearms and hold her steady until she pulls away.
"It was worth it, I think," Cate murmurs as she pulls back, her smile thin but still very soft, and Billy lets her go, terrified now by his body's reaction and that memory, and feeling the eyes of too many others upon them. She's disappeared before Billy forces himself out of his little stupor, distracting himself both from what's just happened and the stares around him by pulling out his wallet, forgetting Cate's run them a tab and dropping several bills on the table before he takes his coat and breaks into a trot of his own outside the pub.
Cate's long gone-he can neither see the flash of blonde hair nor hear her boots crunching across the graveled path back to the university. It would be easier and safer to think none of the last few hours had happened, that he'd imagined all of it, but there's still the taste on his lips and the warmth at the back of his neck, the contrast strong against the feel of the wind grown more vicious than it had been on their way to the pub tonight. Billy blinks into it and then closes his eyes, letting the chill move over him completely before he starts walking again.
It takes forever to make it back to the car, every step weighing heavy with thought as much as the drink, and when Billy finally tumbles into the driver’s seat, he remains still for ages, considering whether he can get home safely or at all. It’s not the first of this kind of risk he’s taken, and he rationalizes some of his earlier behavior by telling himself he’d planned to stop after that last drink, to let a few more hours pass just being a fucking adult about it, sitting and talking to another fucking adult, and he couldn’t have expected-this. It’s a pathetic excuse and he knows it, and the sudden adrenaline and irritation meet to force his hand at the ignition and sober him up as much as he hopes he’ll need.
He might as well have held his breath for the entirety of the drive home in the darkness, down blessedly deserted back streets, for the new relief that overcomes him in front of his own house. The nearby parking available to him this late is too tricky to manage, so Billy works the car in where he can, several houses down and nearly around the corner, and then moves stiffly through the wind to his own door. In the front hall, Billy shivers and then goes still, counting off silent seconds in this darkness, too, confirming what he already knew: Dominic is not here, not expected to be here, considering he had plans that should by now have him safely tucked up with friends watching different kinds of horrible films and listening to anything but the sound of a miserable fuck coming home half-drunk and in shock, his nerves singing with something terrifying and strong, something Billy could get out of his system immediately and with some force if Dominic were here, but-
Billy takes a deep breath and warns himself to get it fucking together before he makes whatever this is worlds worse, and then he shucks off his coat and jacket and tie, stumbling toward the bathroom and a blistering shower to get the scent of Cate and Guinness and his own confusion off him. Under the spray, Billy suddenly decides that it will be several days before he takes another drink, for several reasons, and closes his eyes in gratitude that he shouldn’t have reason to see Cate for at least another three days; by then he will have rationalized every second of the evening to the skies and beyond, and will retain nothing but pleasant memory of having enjoyed himself. The thought of it should feel better than it does, and Billy’s on his back and near restless sleep before he determines and almost believes that it will.
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Billy, Cate
Word Count: 3850
Summary: Continues from here. This chapter concludes Book 5; we'll resume with Book 6 in September.
Index
Note: Original text and characterization of Cate created by magickalmolly; in some chapters through this story, we’ve adapted both text and characterization, but Molly’s work happily remains the foundation for Professor Blanchett.
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.
There's perseverance, and then there's this, Billy thinks as Cate makes her way to the darts. He has no desire to get on that little stage and play, for Cate or anyone else. He knows the temporary rush it will give him if he manages to block out the presence of everyone he knows in this room, but he also knows the feeling of emptiness that will remain afterward for days. Playing his guitar is a deep pleasure Billy's reserved mostly for himself for the last several years; it has nothing to do with William Boyd, professor of philosophy, and he's been happy to keep it that way.
But there had been something kind underneath Cate's cheeky dare, underneath her steely determination to have him play for her here. There had been affection in her eyes and smile, and for not the first time, Billy senses a real potential for danger there. Nerve endings that have not woken since their lunch are now pulsing, pounding all over Billy's body, half in warning, half in interest. He knows better than to have agreed to a dare-especially one that he seems doomed to lose, if Cate's enthusiasm is anything to go by-and he'd been surprised to feel himself nodding wordlessly, as if his silence would make up for this later, as if he could remind himself he never really wanted it in the first place.
She's good, too. She stands at the shooting line with the same erect carriage with which she carries herself through the day. The young professors stare in admiration and a little lust, but Cate doesn't seem to notice them. Instead she fixes her gaze on the bullseye and shoots-
And Billy closes his eyes at the sound of the little roar.
Cate has nailed it, as she likely expected to, and Billy swallows down a sudden urge to run from the pub and into the chilly night. His fingers go white on the table edges, but he doesn't move. Now that he's lost their bet, Billy's mind works to not think of the last time he'd played for more than an audience of one, and the damage that night had done; instead he forces his thoughts in the direction of feverishly deciding what he could play, what short little run of notes he can strum out distractedly and be done with it. Cate moves back to their table, sashaying a little with obvious pride and with a warm smile, and Billy smiles, too, raising his glass to her.
"Congratulations, Cate. Between us, we've managed to quiet them, and now you'll be wanting to make them talk again." He drains his glass as she sits and leans in to her again, his eyes darker and more than a little stormy, his voice now just as determined as hers was moments before. "I'll play you a song. One, that's it. You should know I don't do this for just anyone, and I don't do it without reason-" Or without something in return, Billy wants to say, but does not. "Doesn't matter. We'll see if it was worth it to you."
Billy remains seated long enough to watch Cate's eyes dilate a bit from his stare, then he turns and stands and makes the long walk to the pub's little stage. The nerves ratchet higher with every step he takes, but the three musicians already there might as well have expected him, from the wide grins they throw his way when he leans in slightly and drums his palms on the stage floor, clearing his throat as the guitarist comes to its edge.
"Seems I've lost a bet," Billy says plainly, as calmly as he can, and then nods at the man's newish Gibson, more beautiful than anything Billy's ever handled. "Think y'can let me have a go up there?"
A moment's discussion among the musicians, and then the guitarist nods back; before he can think too hard about it, Billy wanders to the side of the stage and takes the five steps up in two, keeping his grip firm as he first shakes the guitarist's hand and then takes the instrument from him. Billy turns his back on the rest of the pub to hold the guitar properly, to pluck at the strings gently, learning their feel. His own guitar’s strings are softer, warmer to the touch; these will leave little striated marks on his fingertips, to remind him either of mistake or triumph. Everything leaves its mark, Billy reminds himself, closing his eyes and listening for the right sound to come; everything always has.
Billy knows he does not yet hold the attention of more than a few people in the pub. There is Cate, of course, her every slow blink another dare in Billy’s direction. But there are also the professors, the few who know Billy not bothering to hide their surprise or mild amusement. Billy’s aware that he could just focus his song in between the professors and Cate, sending the notes -and if he's not careful, launching his voice-to the middle of the room, even to the bar itself. But the moment the strings and his fingers work together to bring something beautiful to Billy's pessimistic ears, the night suddenly becomes less about Cate's dare and more about proving something to himself, perhaps by extension to those bastards at the dartboard, to Cate, to the shadows and silhouettes and shapeless forms of people he hasn't allowed himself to think about for more than a decade.
Billy strums the guitar slowly, easing his way into a song he’s never played before for anyone, just a piece of music he fell in love with while still in university, still learning to define himself as more than a student. He leans forward into the melody and begins to play, slow and careful at first, then with more urgency. He cannot meet anyone’s eyes just yet, preferring to relish the feeling of the music moving over him, the rise and fall of note after note urging him to the next.
The pub noise is lessening a little, Billy feels it, and his face flushes with quiet joy from more than the attention. The few minutes pass both too quickly and agonizingly slow in Billy’s mind, and he raises his eyes finally only as he reaches for the final notes of the song. He no longer feels his hands working on the guitar; he just trusts that the notes are coming, that the sounds somehow connect. His gaze sweeps across a room gone nearly silent, and rests on Cate as Billy's fingers slow to the mournful crawl of the end of the song. When it's over, after the very last, always difficult, note, Billy releases the neck of the guitar as if it were on fire and steps back, an indescribable pleasure and heat flooding his face and body. He hears nothing in the next seconds but the pounding of his own heart, and before he can say something ridiculous, some foolish thanks in return for the polite applause of his colleagues and whatever random strangers who'd wandered into this old pub, Billy steps back again and strums the guitar harder, smiling and nodding the band back on stage to join him in something louder, rougher and safer. There's no hesitation in the other musicians; they laugh and take up their instruments and immediately set to work, the song Billy's begun one every bar band worth its salt knows and then some, and Billy steps happily behind them, raising his eyes to the near-blinding heat of the small stage lights and thinking that in the haze he might easily see the fierce few demons he’s vanquished tonight.
It doesn’t take long after that for Billy to have moved past nearly all thought of those demons; he’s in the thick of it now, consumed by that rush of pleasure he'd only begun to enjoy years ago before he ceased singing in public altogether. His smile is broad and challenging as he strums the unfamiliar guitar hard now, moving beyond its little quirks and feeling blisters beginning to develop. The only thing that matters right now is that he has survived Cate's dare, and it will take something even more pleasurable to get him offstage at this point. The band's singer gestures Billy forward again to join him at the microphone, and Billy laughs before he nods. He slides the guitar around his body to his hips, his back, and takes the microphone with an unearned authority, launching into the quicker tune. Some of the tired, typically deskbound bodies of the regulars in the pub have started to come to life, a brave few making their way to the near front of the stage to move only about as much as they dare in ragged time to the music. The more courageous-or more soused-of them find a way to encourage others, and Billy’s thrilled by the sight of it, by the relaxation of all the petty internal rules they’ve absorbed like the air on this campus, in this town.
And then he sees her. Cate is moving-comfortably, smoothly, full of certainty and chilly, calm, flirtatious precision-in and out of the arms of one of those junior professors, who looks frankly stunned that he's dancing with her, but able to keep up by force of will. Billy suppresses his laughter as he continues to sing, pulling in the band's actual singer and guitarist to make the chorus significantly louder.
Taking advantage of a moment's rat-a-tat drum break, Billy hands the guitar back off to its owner and then clears the next verse of the song, his voice already hoarse, before he makes a dangerously easy decision. He jumps from the little stage onto the floor and makes his way easily through the small crowd, waiting for the appropriate moment when Cate is released from the young professor's grip. She spins away in perfect, proper motion, but when she returns to her place in the dance it is Billy who holds her, Billy's eyes that meet hers with none of the fear or shock that rested in the young professor's eyes. Cate doesn't blink; she looks as sweetly determined as Billy feels, and their smile match in defiance and joy as Billy spins them both, his feet moving faster than they have in years, in time to the driving rhythm of the music.
Before Cate can speak, Billy is singing again, under his breath and in deadly harmony with the singer on stage as he turns her, moves them both around the floor with a confidence that makes a few of the other dancers step back. Cate laughs and sings along, too, surprisingly well-versed in random pub singalongs, however much she doesn't seem the type. Billy knows they must look rather strange-Cate blonde and pale and brilliant, himself ruddy-cheeked and shadowed with a day's worth of stubble, to say nothing of his already disheveled suit-but he doesn't care, can't care now. Singing, playing a guitar, dancing-these are things he knows how to do well, and just for tonight, there's no reason why he shouldn't, no real caution he'd be throwing to the wind. It's refreshing and thrilling and terrifying, too, but that terror's easy to fight off as long as the music continues.
But as the notes flow into their final measures, Billy slows himself and Cate as well, until they are nearer their own table. Billy waits for the end of the song, and for the sound of applause directed toward the stage, before he says anything to break this new spell. His hand reaches up into Cate's hair before he can think about it, curling slightly at her neck, and he finds he can face her as he would most challenges, letting her wait him out until he speaks, his voice low and worn.
"I think we might need another drink, Cate.”
“Or another song.”
Billy laughs and shakes his head. “You, maybe. I’ve got nothing left t’show off.”
“Don’t be too sure.” She says it kindly but not without the hint of suggestion that makes something inside Billy turn over on itself and warm to the point of discomfort. Billy holds his own expression calm but hard against it until Cate suddenly nods, untangling Billy's fingers from her hair, and then she smiles, the sight of it sudden and bright and full of possibilities Billy is absolutely not entertaining, and turns to weave her way across the floor and back to the bar.
Billy watches her go and then reaches for his drink, draining the little left in his glass before leaning against the wall near their table. His body is still too restless, too energized to sit down just yet, and he smiles broadly at the few people in the pub whose attentions have not been diverted by Cate. It's the afterward of singing or playing that gets to Billy-that feeling of nothingness, the idea that no matter what he plays or sings or shares, no reaction to it could fill him in return for more than a moment. He hasn't felt that particular emptiness in months, owing mostly to Dominic's presence in his thoughts and elsewhere, but Dominic is not here now, and Billy waits for the darkness to settle around him. The alcohol's helping stave it off a little, and Cate's smile as she returns to the table is almost enough to distract Billy entirely.
The odd pair of eyes is still moving from where Cate stands at the bar back to him, expecting more of their little show to go on. At any other time, Billy might panic under that attention, unmerited as it is, but for now Billy decides to instead just add it to the list of pleasant thorns he's been placing in the sides of the younger professors all night. Cate couldn’t seem to care less about whatever they’re thinking or doing; even though Billy knows he's more than half in shadow, Cate sees him nonetheless, looking over her shoulder, and he returns her intense gaze as hard as he can. When Cate turns her gaze a little, tilting her head, Billy sees immediately the young woman in the snapshot Cate keeps tucked in her journal-vibrant and glowing and fascinating.
When she returns with their drinks, the music’s well into the half of another song, this one slower, almost mournful, but tempting enough in its rhythm and pace that Billy doesn’t fight anywhere as hard as he could when Cate leaves the drinks on the table and pulls him forward just a little, into a slightly wider space where they can move, pressed tight against each other but just discreetly enough that Billy can tamp down most of the warnings screaming through his mind and body. A tease, Billy thinks, that’s all this is. If Billy has gathered nothing else from his interactions with Cate, it is that if she were actually interested in him, she would have been on him like a proper predator-like nothing and no one so coolly, carefully contained as Cate appears to be-and she would have stopped at nothing to have him. No, this is a tease and nothing more.
Still, her eyes do burn blue bright fire into Billy's, and warm as they are now from drink and the simple pleasure of the evening, they’re still all-seeing, forcing him eventually to look down to refocus and keep steady in their slow, swaying movement. The beginnings of the light sweat that had overcome him the moment he took the stage feels stronger, heavier on his forehead and neck, and Billy wonders abstractedly if Cate knows that this is the only thing he's able to offer her, the only instance where it's safe to play like this, to move like lovers on a floor for others to see. The thought is both comforting and not. Flirting is one thing-Billy can do that easily, with his voice and hands and eyes-but if this goes much further, then Billy will be forced to say something-anything-and he will risk losing one of the few friends he's made at Baskerville.
When the music stops this time, Billy releases a long, relieved exhale anyone else might call something else entirely, and lowers his and Cate’s hands together, stepping backward to lead them back to the table. He doesn’t sit, though, not at first; instead he pulls Cate another inch closer, the better to keep his voice down, that’s all.
"Brilliant," he says quietly, then tilts his head when Cate does, too. "Can't say this won't come back to haunt us later, Cate, but thank you for that. This. You’ve been-great tonight. Just perfect." Billy pauses, realizing he still holds Cate's hand, and more tightly than at all necessary. Billy swallows, shakes his head and licks his lips before finally releasing Cate's warm hand. "I really need that drink now, I think."
Cate nods and smiles, her cheeks flushed with a fresh heat Billy can’t pretend he’s seen before. The pub is noisy around them again as they sit, the band stepping down from the stage for a break and conversations rising with the pre-recorded music where they had left off. Cate reclaims Billy's hand from where it rests on the scarred wooden surface of the table and curls her fingers around his, and Billy presses their fingers together only half-consciously, making no real move to pull away.
It’s on his lips to say something more intelligent, something distracting and useless and meant to make Cate laugh, when Cate’s mobile chirrups loudly, and she releases a muffled curse at the sound. It's an odd, confusing noise to Billy's ears, cold and mechanical after all that warmth of music and laughter, and Cate's expression as she reads the brief message confuses him further, until he's beginning to regret the amount of alcohol he's consumed tonight. Cate offers Billy an apologetic smile as she looks up again, regret and determination both bright in her eyes.
"I have to go. There's a problem at the laboratory; I'm sorry I don't have time to explain." Cate rises from her chair immediately, not bothering to hide the frown on her face as she slips her bag over her shoulder. Billy tries to stand when she does, and resists her light touch to his shoulder pressing him back down. Words tumble out of his mouth-there anything I can do, what's happened, d'you need a taxi-but Cate leans in then, bending to curve one hand around the back of Billy's neck and silence him with a kiss, nearly soft as it gets but still enough to leave Billy shocked by its unfamiliarity and danger. Cate's lips are wet and taste of Guinness and something sweeter, her skin warm through her clothes, and Billy's hands rise of their own accord and from long-buried memory to catch her forearms and hold her steady until she pulls away.
"It was worth it, I think," Cate murmurs as she pulls back, her smile thin but still very soft, and Billy lets her go, terrified now by his body's reaction and that memory, and feeling the eyes of too many others upon them. She's disappeared before Billy forces himself out of his little stupor, distracting himself both from what's just happened and the stares around him by pulling out his wallet, forgetting Cate's run them a tab and dropping several bills on the table before he takes his coat and breaks into a trot of his own outside the pub.
Cate's long gone-he can neither see the flash of blonde hair nor hear her boots crunching across the graveled path back to the university. It would be easier and safer to think none of the last few hours had happened, that he'd imagined all of it, but there's still the taste on his lips and the warmth at the back of his neck, the contrast strong against the feel of the wind grown more vicious than it had been on their way to the pub tonight. Billy blinks into it and then closes his eyes, letting the chill move over him completely before he starts walking again.
It takes forever to make it back to the car, every step weighing heavy with thought as much as the drink, and when Billy finally tumbles into the driver’s seat, he remains still for ages, considering whether he can get home safely or at all. It’s not the first of this kind of risk he’s taken, and he rationalizes some of his earlier behavior by telling himself he’d planned to stop after that last drink, to let a few more hours pass just being a fucking adult about it, sitting and talking to another fucking adult, and he couldn’t have expected-this. It’s a pathetic excuse and he knows it, and the sudden adrenaline and irritation meet to force his hand at the ignition and sober him up as much as he hopes he’ll need.
He might as well have held his breath for the entirety of the drive home in the darkness, down blessedly deserted back streets, for the new relief that overcomes him in front of his own house. The nearby parking available to him this late is too tricky to manage, so Billy works the car in where he can, several houses down and nearly around the corner, and then moves stiffly through the wind to his own door. In the front hall, Billy shivers and then goes still, counting off silent seconds in this darkness, too, confirming what he already knew: Dominic is not here, not expected to be here, considering he had plans that should by now have him safely tucked up with friends watching different kinds of horrible films and listening to anything but the sound of a miserable fuck coming home half-drunk and in shock, his nerves singing with something terrifying and strong, something Billy could get out of his system immediately and with some force if Dominic were here, but-
Billy takes a deep breath and warns himself to get it fucking together before he makes whatever this is worlds worse, and then he shucks off his coat and jacket and tie, stumbling toward the bathroom and a blistering shower to get the scent of Cate and Guinness and his own confusion off him. Under the spray, Billy suddenly decides that it will be several days before he takes another drink, for several reasons, and closes his eyes in gratitude that he shouldn’t have reason to see Cate for at least another three days; by then he will have rationalized every second of the evening to the skies and beyond, and will retain nothing but pleasant memory of having enjoyed himself. The thought of it should feel better than it does, and Billy’s on his back and near restless sleep before he determines and almost believes that it will.