#the way wilson and house still rode back to the hospital together

[wilsons-divorce-papers]

📣 SOFT HOUSE MOMENT. I REPEAT, SOFT HOUSE MOMENT 📣

[hellacluttered]

Left Behind - Chapter 2 (Billy Rocks)

    Billy rolled out his stiff neck, squeezing his eyes shut in a vain attempt to dull his headache. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was, and then remembered. But… where were you? Nowhere to be found, it seemed.

    He stood, reeling slightly, and reached out his good hand to the wall to steady himself. There were a number of reasons he didn't usually drink, and the aftermath was a big one. He grabbed his hat and headed for the stairs that led out of the cellar. He needed to find you to figure out what it was you had been going to tell him the previous night. He had just stuck his head out of the cellar door when he spotted you just a few yards away, hanging up some laundry on a clothesline. As you stretched up to pin up another shirt, your jacket rode up slightly, revealing a gun belt under it, off it hanging a small holstered revolver. “Not many women carry around here,” he said.

    You turned after securing the last clothespin. “Most of them have someone else to protect them,” you said. “How do you feel?”

    “Could be worse,” he said. “Sorry about last night. I don’t usually drink much.”

    “It’s fine,” you said. You could easily guess his motivation for having done so, knowing what had happened to some of his comrades.

    “What were you going to tell me last night?” he asked.

    “There were two men asking around for you,” you said. “Said you stole something from them, that you owed them.”

    Billy’s face darkened, his brows drawing together. “Where did you see them?”

    “In the Wilsons’ boarding house. I think they're staying there,” you explained.

    “Damn,” he muttered. That had been where he was staying; now he’d have to move. “Do you know if they’re still there?”

    “I think so,” you said. “I haven’t seen them out since yesterday, so I’m assuming yes.”

    Billy nodded. “I better go find them then. Thanks.”

    “Sure,” you said. He started to walk away and you watched him for a moment, your brow furrowing before you called. “Mr. Rocks?”

    “Call me Billy,” he said as he turned to face you.

    You nodded. “Okay. Billy. Do you need a hand?”

    “Was that an intentional pun?” he asked, glancing at his bad arm, and for the first time, a tiny smile played around the corners of his mouth.

    You laughed, shaking your head. “It wasn’t.

    “If you say so,” he said. “Anyway, thanks, but I’d prefer to do it alone. And thanks for the heads-up.”

    “Sure,” you said. He walked away then, his stride confident and assured though his left arm bounced slightly with every step, hanging limp. You finished your laundry and then headed to the makeshift hospital to help out. You were halfway there when you heard the sound of a gunshot startlingly nearby and then footsteps pounding down the road. You drew your gun, stepping into the shade under the edge of the bank’s roof and watched as one of the men you had seen yesterday sprinted down the street, obviously panicked. You raised your gun, ready to shoot if necessary, but then Billy emerged from an alley, and his hand moved faster than you could follow. A flash of silver streaked through the air and the man cried out in pain, falling to the ground with a small knife hilt sticking out of his arm.

    Billy quickly closed the distance between them and knelt next to the man, telling him something you couldn't hear. The man nodded frantically, barely daring to look Billy in the eye. Then Billy yanked his knife out and stood, wiping it on a rag he procured from one of his pockets before sheathing it again. The man rose and rushed down the street, disappearing around a corner. “Thought I told you I didn't need help,” Billy said, mopping sweat off his forehead with his sleeve as he approached you from the center of the street.

    “That's not what I'm here for,” you said. “I was on my way to help take care of the injured when he came running down the street.”

    “And you were gonna shoot him?” Billy asked, nodding at the revolver in your hand.

    “I thought I should be prepared,” you said.

    “You ever shot someone before?” he asked.

    You frowned. It was something you tried not to think about. “Yeah. I had to.”

    “Mm.” Billy said. “And you don’t want to tell me where you came from.”

    Your expression softened slightly. It had been a long time since you'd talked with… well, with anyone really, about anything significant. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to talk to him about it. “I… It’s okay, I will,” you said finally.

    “So?” Billy tilted his chair back slightly, watching you take a sip of your drink. The saloon was fairly quiet at this time of day, for which you were grateful.

    “My father was a Yankee soldier,” you said. “My mother wasn’t married to him and her family would have shunned her if she didn’t give me up so he took me. I was 11 when the war started and we didn’t have any family with enough money to care for me, so I came with when my father went to war. There were women who followed the army- you know how that goes- and they helped take care of me when my father couldn’t. I was 12 when he died.” You swirled your glass, watching the amber liquid rise against the sides. “I’d learned a lot along the way though; he schooled me at home before the war, and he taught me how to shoot, so I knew how to keep myself safe. I also learned about being a nurse from helping take care of the soldiers. So I’ve just been traveling, using my skills where they’re needed.”

    “That sounds lonely,” he said and you looked up, your eyes meeting his for a moment before he looked away.

    “It is,” you said. “I’m guessing you’d know.”

    He just nodded.

    “How about you?” you asked. “How’d you end up here?”

    He chuckled humorlessly. “That’s a story for another day.”

    “Okay,” you said. “I’m guessing it has to do with those men earlier?”

    “Yes,” he said. “But there’s no need to worry about them; I’ve got it taken care of.”

    “I wasn’t worried,” you said honestly.

    “Good.”

    “Well, I should get going.” You pushed your chair back slightly and rose, dusting off your skirt. “Thanks for the drink.”

   “Sure,” he said, giving you a fleeting smile. “See you around.”