(no subject)

[thecoolone]

Bill's thoughts are not fit for public consumption. They're barely fit for his own: he paces the floor of Room 42. Back and forth, back and forth: does she think he's stayed away this whole time over a buggering fight? Has she got his letter yet? Does she have a sense he's trying to reach her and can't? All the thoughts, of course, are punctuated heavily by fuck! and bloody hell! and damn! and his brother Charlie's favourite, fuckity fuck fuck!

He's miserable. Completely, utterly miserable and frantic. It's a bloody fuck of a good fucking thing she's as good a witch as she is. Fuck's sake, she saved his life. Twice.

And this is how you repay her, Bill. How very genteel of you.

He's so caught up in angry thought that he doesn't even hear the door opening.

Comments

[thecoolone]

Some of the hardness on his face melts away, but it's accompanied by the thought have I been gone that long? Long enough for her to find a new Healer? It's not a thought that makes him happy. But he puts his hand over hers and does what she asks: "Hullo."

He would say more, but he can't at the moment; anything that might have come next sticks in his throat. A moment passes, then two, then three.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. "Can we go home now?"

[leplusbeau]

She flushes a brilliant shade of red and tugs on his hand. "Pardon. Oui. Let us go. I will make tea." She is tugging him toward the door.

[thecoolone]

Following her through the door and down the stair, he doesn't let go of her hand. His only hesitation comes when they stand by the front door; it hasn't opened for him in days. But he's paid his penance; when Fleur reaches for the knob it opens to the sights and sounds and smells -- most notably the smells -- of Luxor.

Thank heavens. Without a moment's hesitation or a backward glance, Bill follows Fleur through the door. His last thought before the door closes is that it's so, so good to be home.