this is all my fault

[ "three days." ]

Kate's asleep on her side in Boo's too-small bed, neck bent at an awkward angle. One arm is draped around Boo's snoring form, and the fingers of her free hand are still loosely curled around a dog-eared paperback on the pink comforter. An impressive assortment of Boo's books litter the floor, and a small stack is perched precariously between the edge of the mattress and Kate's heel.

She hasn't been sleeping long, her breathing still shallow and features not as relaxed as they could be.

[ after this and this ]

Kate blinks awake, her sleep-fogged brain registering the fact that there's only one person in bed with her instead of two.

She vaguely remembers Bill's lips near her ear -- "I'm just goin' downstairs for some coffee, you want me to bring y'anything?" -- and her own near-incoherent nnnmkay.

Stifling a yawn, she sits up, careful not to disturb Boo still sleeping beside her. She adjusts the sheet and comforter around Boo before easing out of bed and padding into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face.

She feels closer to awake as she quietly brews a pot of coffee in the kitchen, then curls up on the couch to write out a few notes to leave with Bar.

[ "opening the door will not get your child back, darlings." ]

Boo's not here.

They're combing the filthy penthouse -- checking closets, cupboards, the bathtub, even behind the dust-caked velvet curtains -- and she's not here.

[ "we can't cancel, can we?" ]

She threads her fingers with Bill's as she takes his proffered hand.

(Convincing him had been easy; a simple, "It's your last weekend as a free man -- let's go out on Saturday" had gotten an immediate smile and a nod of agreement. The hard part was assuring him they should stay in town instead of driving to Columbia for a night out.)

Gravel crunches beneath her heels as she slides from the cab of the truck.

"S'pretty crowded tonight," he says with a glance around the parking lot.

"Let's hope there's not another rodeo on," she teases, squeezing his hand. She ignores the tight feeling in the pit of her stomach and doesn't let herself double-check for June's car as they cross the gravel lot.

Bill holds the door for her and she ducks inside; the four-piece band stops warming up and the lodge buzzes with the hushed hum of nearly a hundred people.

When Bill steps in beside her, the house lights flash.

"SURPRISE!"

Resisting the urge to bite the inside of her cheek (and stifling a laugh at the hand-painted Welcome Back Sherr Sheriff!! banner), Kate turns to give him a hopeful smile.

[ "what do y'feel like drinkin'?" ]

It's more of a hovel than a hotel, but Kate doesn't particularly care -- she's enamored with the (hideous) decor.

(If she were less intoxicated, she'd be more impressed that she and Doc and their bags made it to the top of the stairs and into the matchbox-sized room.)

She slings her tote onto the bed with a careless, drunken grace and picks up a throw pillow.

"This is amazing."

She runs her fingers through its fringe.

"It's cowboys, Doc. Not the football team, either -- real ones. It's like a -- an homage."

She glances around the room -- four walls, the bed, a rickety dresser, and a couch that's more of a loveseat.

"But where's the other bed?"

[ pillow talk ]

It's still dark when Kate eases out of the bedroom for her morning run, closing the door with a quiet click. Zipping up her thin fleece jacket, she heads for the kitchen; the smell of coffee fills her nose, and she's glad Bill remembered to set the timer last night -- if Doc wakes before Bill (which she's sure he will) and before she gets back, he'll only have to grab a mug from the cabinet.

She's pulling her hair into a ponytail as she enters the kitchen, her eyes adjusting to the dim light they'd left burning over the stove.

[ "sex ain't about controllin' someone." ]

She shivers when Bill slips beneath the sheets again, her heart rate nearly back to normal as she fits herself along his side.

"Hey."

He wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer.

"Hey."

She pillows her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes, tracing an invisible line down his sweat-damp chest with one fingertip.

Concentrating on his closeness, she still can't quite force away a worry that's been building in the pit of her stomach since her talk with Doc a few hours ago.

"Can I ask you something?"

[ stay, little valentine, stay ]

"Isn't it a little early for you?"

A quiet squeak (and is that amusement she hears?) is her only response.

Kate thanks the wait-rat with a hoarse, sleep-fogged whisper and closes the door to her suite. Cupcake in hand, she can't help but smile at Bill's still-sleeping form sprawled and tangled in the sheets.

She re-reads the note in the gray pre-dawn light before placing the saucer on the nightstand. Licking a stray smear of buttercream frosting from her thumb, she slips into bed.

"Nggh, kinda dumbass don't know -- "

She brings a fist to her mouth so she won't laugh.

"Show y'how ... chop block ... "

Leaning over, she presses a kiss to his bare shoulder; he still smells like summer and sunblock and sex.

"Below 'em, fuck-face."

She almost snorts when she sees his expression -- eyes closed, his brow is creased and his mouth is a firm line. Licking her lips, she glances from Bill to the cupcake. And grins.

Shifting, she snags the saucer and scoops up a bit of frosting with one finger, then applies a barely-there dollop to his shoulder. She bends to lick the icing from his skin, and he murmurs when her tongue swirls around the spot.

So she does it again.

And again.

When her mouth finds his collarbone, he lets out a soft groan.

"The -- Kate?"

"Mmm."

"Whatcha doin'?"

She lifts her head and licks frosting from her finger.

"Nothing."

A slow smirk tugs at one corner of his mouth. "Supposed to be just for you, birthday girl."

"But what if I feel like sharing?" She swipes another fingerful of icing from the cupcake and dabs some on his lower lip.

His grin (and the sound of approval when her tongue meets his) tells her he doesn't mind the change in plan; it's her birthday, after all.

[ surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and i shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever ]

The funeral passes in a muted blur, a Monet of hushed condolences and sniffling.

Her thumb traces Bill's knuckles in a steady back-and-forth during the service, and she can't stop snapshots of eulogies of past funerals (her mom; ralph burton; agent don richards; agent george mason) from sliding between the pastor's words.

(And it could so easily be Bill in that casket, wearing the uniform he's in right now.)

She folds her hand in his when they stand.

It's a short drive to the cemetery, and she hugs her white wool dress coat closer to her body, thankful for its length and for her matching leather gloves. She doesn't flinch through the 21-gun salute, and when it's over, her ears are stinging with sound and cold.

Once the crowd begins to disperse, she hangs back and waits for Bill, not wanting to intrude while he speaks with Mrs. Hargrove. Kate stands a short distance away, trying to smile at the two-year-old with wide, curious green eyes and pink-mittened hands tugging at the hem of her coat.

(Her name is Savannah, and she'll never know her father.)

Kate crouches and they make tiny snowmen from the dusting on the grass.

Her throat is tight while she watches the little girl rejoin her mother and Bill steps closer, his cheeks red and eyes on the frozen ground. She reaches for his hand, grateful for the squeeze he gives her fingers as they walk to the truck.


- - - - -


They don't talk on the way back to Wheelsy, and that's okay.

Once they're in the house and Bill has closed the door behind them, she turns and wraps her arms around his waist.