Everyone's Man – 22

 

"Well now, isn't this a pretty picture."

 

Marc's eyes snapped open and he groaned when he saw Bill standing in the bedroom doorway. "It's not what it looks like," he said, carefully freeing himself from the still-sleeping Colin.

 

With a sharp nod, Bill turned and walked away. Marc slid out of the bed, hurrying after him. He found him in the kitchen pouring bourbon into a water glass. As he watched, Bill swallowed a quarter of it before swinging around to glare at him.

 

"What was it, then? Poor little baby was lonely all by himself in that big old bed and you decided to keep him company?"

 

"Actually, pretty much that, yeah." Marc leaned on the door frame looking at his partner. "He fell in the shower. I bandaged his forehead and then redid the dressing on his back. He couldn't get to sleep so when he asked if I'd stay for a while I did. He's scared, Bill, scared and in denial. He won't accept that what happened to him wasn't his fault."

 

Bill frowned. "He gets raped in, where, an alley or some such? And he's blaming himself?"

 

"It wasn't quite like that." Marc moved across the room to stand beside his lover, filling him in on the details, as much as he knew of them.

 

As he did Bill listened, his frown deepening. "That's the shits," he said when Marc finished. "I mean, yeah he sort of put himself in the position for that to happen, but damn, he didn't deserve it, no matter what." Marc looked at him, honestly surprised at his reaction. Bill smiled slightly. "What, you thought I'd say it was his fault and he got what he asked for? I'm not that much of an ass, Marc. At least I hope I'm not."

 

"No, you're not." Taking the glass from Bill's hand, Marc set it on the counter before hugging him tightly. Then he chuckled softly. "Though you do have your moments."

 

"I know," Bill replied with a sigh. "I've been a bitch to be around recently and I have no excuses for why, other than I'm afraid you'll walk away. You have so much going for you now, why do you need me?" Smiling bitterly, Bill reached for the glass of bourbon.

 

Marc slapped his hand away, took the glass, and dumped the contents down the drain. "You don't need that. You need to talk to me. No, we need to talk to each other. Somewhere along the line we've stopped doing that."

 

"Our not talking is my fault." There was a wan, sad look on Bill's face. "It's easier for me to be jealous and use threats to try to bind you to me than it is for me to tell you what's going on in my head."

 

"It doesn't help that we rarely see each other anymore, except in bed or in passing," Marc admitted. He took a deep breath. "And that might not change any time soon."

 

Bill shot him a surprised, hurt look. Then he nodded slowly. "You're going to stay there, aren't you, instead of opening your own practice?"

 

"I am. I should have told you as soon as I figured it out, but I know how much your dream of a house for us means to you."

 

"Marc, it's just a house. Yes, I had plans, we had plans, but they're not written in stone. We can change them, although someday I do want a home of our own."