#(and yes I did promise someone more cocky billy) (and she deserves the universe with all the dark matter and space ghosts SO)

[cherrydreamer]

Rebirth My entry for Day 8 of the HarringroveApril challenge! Steve isn't sure what to expect when he offers Billy a spare room after he leaves the hospital. He figures that Billy might be quiet. Withdrawn. The Billy that Steve had gotten glimpses of in that too-white, too-cold, too-quiet room. The one who curled himself up small and flinched away from touches and didn’t utter a word, even when his cheeks were wet with silent tears.

Then Steve thinks he might be angry. Surly. The Billy who screamed at the orderlies and hurled his cane at the doctors and pounded on locked doors until his knuckles bled. The one who was rightfully pissed off with the hand that fate had dealt him. Steve wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been resentful of Steve's offer. If he rejected it or decided to take it only to destroy it rather than let himself have even the smallest piece.

That was if Steve actually sees him at all. If Billy doesn't just grab whatever isn't nailed down and drives straight to the nearest pawn shop in Steve's Dad's bright red midlife-crisis Ferrari. Steve won't even stop him. Will just leave the keys right there in plain sight and make sure that Billy doesn't forget to take the silverware hidden away in the sideboard.

Instead, Steve seems to get Billy. Just Billy. Maybe a Billy with his rough edges rounded just enough to let himself accept an offer of help. But still one who struts into Steve’s house and makes himself at home instantly. Throws his jacket over the bannister and flings himself down on the sofa without even taking off his shoes. Gazes round at the big television and the modernist decor and lets out a murmur of appreciation, “Nice place, Harrington. Any chance of a drink?”

Their first night goes well. They sit in front of the TV and Steve orders pizza and refuses to give Billy a beer because, “Dude, did you not hear a word the doctors said? No booze, no weed and no-” “No fucking fun, Harrington. I get it.  Uh. Fine Mom, I’ll have a Coke.” And Billy grumbles and grouches and rolls his eyes, but he drinks his Coke and he eats his pizza and he even takes himself off to bed when Steve declares that they’ve both had a long day.

So Steve breathes a sigh of relief. Thinks it might be OK, after all.  A little odd couple maybe but...they can make it work. Which is good, because he has a shift at Family Video that he can’t miss. So the next day he leaves Billy home alone. Entirely unsupervised, but for a whole pack’s worth of Post-It Notes dotted on most surfaces, reminding Billy to eat, to drink, to take his meds, to call Steve at work if he needs him, to call Hopper or Joyce if he needs a proper adult, to call Doc Owens if he feels anything anything weird. And Steve helps customers and shelves films and yells at sticky-fingered kids and moans to Robin and tries very hard not to think about all of the possible things he might find when he gets home.

But still. His minds whirls.

And while he might not have been expecting Billy to destroy the place, not now, Steve sure as shit isn't expecting to come home, exhausted from the shittiest shift of all shitty late shifts, to find Billy reclining in Steve’s dad's Eames chair, wrapped up in his mom's silk robe, his hair piled into the soft, pink towel tied on top of his head and absolutely reeking of peach body lotion.  Steve’s Mom’s very expensive peach body lotion, to be exact.

"Hey, Harrington," Billy drawls, as soon as he spots Steve lingering in the doorway, "Dude, that Jacuzzi tub your parents have is in-fucking-cred-ah-ble!" He ends his declaration with a  sensuous, feline wriggle against the leather chair, the silk robe shifting up and revealing so much shining skin that Steve can't help but wonder whether he's wearing anything underneath it.

"I mean it," Billy grins, "Better than all that goddamn physical therapy. I feel like a whole new man. Re-fucking-born." He stretches again, and the robe slips to reveal what seems to Steve like a whole acre of chest. Scarred, and a little paler, but still muscular. Still firm. Still right in Steve's eyeline.

"Yeah?" Steve's tired. His head is buzzing. He's not thinking straight. There's suddenly a lot more slippery, peach-scented skin in his life and he's spent a lot of the last few weeks staring at a poster of Rob Lowe glaring down at him, all big hair and dangly earring, and he’s been talking to Robin and maybe he's been... thinking. Not straight.

That's his excuse, anyway. The only reason he can think of when, instead of walking away. Instead of rolling his eyes. Instead of slipping quietly on to the couch and turning his gaze to Magnum, P.I and his thoughts to Tom Selleck, instead of doing any of those sensible, normal, reasonable things, Steve keeps looking at Billy and just cocks an eyebrow and lets out the one and only thought that’s been running around his brain since he walked in,

"Got anything other than that robe between your bare ass and that leather, Hargrove?"

And Billy blinks. Flushes. Red rising from his chest to his neck and spreading all across his cheeks.  But he also smirks. And spreads his legs, just a little. Just enough.  And then he catches Steve’s eye and his tongue darts out to wet his lips and his smirk turns wicked. Turns irresistible, 

“Wanna come find out?”