and if you don't expect too much from me
you might not be let down
cause all i really want is to be with you
feeling like i matter too
if I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago
i might be here with you
tomorrow we can drive around this town
and let the cops chase us around
the past is gone but something might be found
to take its place
--gin blossoms

Billy couldn't sleep. All the children were put to bed contentedly, happy to see their Billy again, excited to hear that this time they'd be coming with him. Not safe here in Aquvy any longer, everyone getting ready to move somewhere new.

He rolled over, bunching the pillow beneath his head. He missed his bunk on the Ygg, he missed late night conversations with people actually his age. No last-minute cups of water for sleepy orphans, no creak and hiss of the house settling in its foundation, no niggling old guilt.

Rolling over again, he sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. The moon was bright beyond his window, the sky busy with stars.

This would be the last night he would spend in that house. What reason would there be, to come back? He'd promised Prim he'd be back on the sub early next morning, bringing a host of kids with him, goodbye to the house and good riddance.

So what was the problem?

And where else was there really to go, on a sleepless night?

His feet were noiseless on the wooden floor, practically there before he'd even made a conscious decision to move. To say goodbye to the room, he told himself. To make peace. His heart was going a little fast, fluttering like caged birdwings in his chest. He pulled back the bookcase with clammy hands.

He didn't know what he'd expected to see, but a chill slipped up his spine to see the room was lit-- and occupied. Two flickering beeswax candles-- his candles!-- burned merrily, sweetly oblivious to the fact that the room should have been empty, should have been dark and cool and inviting.

Should have cherished the memory of him rather than holding the man himself.

The candleflames cast odd fickle shadows in that pale hair, catching the flash of long smooth metal, an expertly oiled shotgun. His back was to the door, his hands lifted to the gunrack, as if in a sort of supplication-- laying the gun gently in its slot, among its fellows.

For a long moment Billy did not move. Half of him wondered if he would blink and the apparition would disappear; the other half waited with masochistic patience for the man to turn and yell, to hustle him drunkenly out of the room.

Nothing happened at all.

"Father?" It came out impatiently, and he frowned.

Jesiah did not turn, but he cocked his head a little. "You really should open the curtain, you know. It's damn stuffy in here."

"What are you doing in here?" Billy demanded, feeling uninvited in this, the room that had been his only solace.

His father might have sounded hurt. "It was my room, Billy Lee."

He bit his lip and tried to steady his voice. "I meant, I thought you were off again." He gestured futilely with one hand. "Getting supplies for Shevat, as you said."

"I thought you were aboard Sig's ship," he countered, his own voice steady as steel. "Guess we're both surprised."

Billy heard the edge, the not-quite accusation, and felt his hands curl to fists. "I guess so," he said hotly.

Jessie inclined his head toward the light, his profile edged against the wavering candlelight, the crosspattern scars standing out in blood-bright relief. "Somebody's kept this room real nice." His chin dropped a little, regarding the well-dusted bookshelf, the neatly-tied leather sack of bullets. "Good to come home to... Everything's still here." With the ease of long familiarity, he untied the bag one-handed and spilled some of the contents into his broad palm.

Billy's breath caught in his throat, the half-formed indignant words dying on his tongue. "Twenty-six," he said, the only thing he could manage as he watched his father count the shells, overlaid with a mesmerizing double-image of himself, wakeful nights, doing just that. "There are twenty-six of them."

Jessie did turn then, something like a smile playing uneasily about his lips. "I know," he said. Billy dipped his head, feeling the weight of his gaze, and looked instead at the cluster of brightness in his father's hand. "There shoulda been twenty-seven, three clips of nine."

Curiosity lifted his face, and he blinked up at his father. "Twenty-seven? What happened to the other one?"

The smile was genuine now, a wry grin that Billy thought looked almost familiar, beneath the stubble and the scars and the sheen of bitterness. "I gave it to your mama," he said. "She wore it around her neck."

Billy bit his lip, remembering his mother's pouch necklace, the one she always wore-- even with her nightgown. It had never occurred to him that it might be a bullet casing. He realized Jessie was watching him, thirsty for some sort of reaction. "She never took it off," he said simply, not trusting his voice to more.

Jessie made the smallest choking sound, raising a hand to cover his face. Billy wished he hadn't spoken, wished he could look away, wished he were anywhere at all but where he was--

But then Jessie looked up, and his eyes were blue like the ocean buoying the Yggdrasil, wide and unexpectedly steady. "Thank you, Billy Lee."

He shook his head, trying to deflect the depth of gratitude presented to him in his father's gaze. "Don't thank me," he said, a sour feeling in his stomach, like the phantom-pain of a wound. "I was-- I was wrong. The whole time."

It wasn't quite a laugh, but Jessie crossed his arms over his chest, looked down at him. "You won't make me pity you," he said good-humoredly, one ragged eyebrow lifted, speaking in deliberate echoes of Billy's own oft-repeated words. But then his face changed a little, the wrinkles by his eyes deepening. "You only did what you believed in, and that's damn admirable, son. Where you headed, Billy Lee?" Billy opened his mouth to say I don't know, I don't know anything anymore, but Jessie held up a hand. "Tomorrow, I mean. Where will you go tomorrow morning?"

Billy shrugged, obscurely glad for a question he could answer. "Back to Sig-niichan's ship. The kids are all looking forward to it."

"Hmph." Jessie looked bemused. "You take good care of them brats. They all look up to you, don't they? Your mother... she'd be proud to see you." His mouth twitched. "Hell, I'm proud of you. Don't think I've ever told you that."

"I--" Billy didn't mean to say it, but the truth slid off his tongue like a sigh. "I miss mom."

Jessie nodded slowly. "So do I, kiddo. So do I."

Neither looked away, though perhaps both wanted to, the silence hanging heavy between them. More in common than they thought.

Finally, Jessie grinned. "Aw, you look a mess," he said, and Billy didn't flinch away when his father's hand ruffled his already slept-on hair.

"Thanks," he said, drowsily. His head was feeling heavy at last, and he thought he might be able to get at least a little sleep before the dawn. Without really knowing it, he was listing towards the bookcase, not quite balanced as he stood.

"Damn, kiddo, you're asleep on your feet." Before Billy could protest, there were hands on his elbows, spinning him around and heading him back to bed.

"But I--" Billy began, reaching a wobbly hand to free himself.

"But nothin'," Jessie said, at the same time extending his own hand to steady him.

Caught mid-motion as they were, the hug was unintentional, and neither one of them would admit to starting it. But for a long moment, neither of them moved, breathing in shared warmth, arms tightly around each other. Belatedly, with his face resting against the bandanna tied around his father's neck, Billy realized that familiar scent was not the room, not this time, and his father smelled nothing of alcohol, only well-worn leather and fine gunpowder.

"I'm sorry," he said to his father's shoulder, and wondered just when he'd started crying, wondered just what he was apologizing for.

"Hush it, Billy Lee." He spoke quietly, and Billy heard years of relief in his voice. "If we're both sorry, there ain't no use in wallowing in it."

Billy nodded, and in the early morning hours there was something profound about so simple a decision. Easier by far than hours in prayer, agonized penitence in an Ethos confessional. He tried valiantly not to sniffle, and failed, and then both of them were laughing.

"Bed," Jessie said, in no uncertain terms, relinquishing the hug at last, though he still left his arm around Billy's shoulders. Billy was grateful for the support, though one look at his father's too-bright eyes and he wondered just who was shouldering whose burden.

He decided it didn't matter, and the thought made him smile.

I'll come with you in the mornin', 'fyou have no objections. Hyu said somethin' about checking out the Zeboim lighthouse for tech and equipment salvage; I'm all for it. And-- oh yeah, before I forget." Jessie's deft fingers pulled another bullet from the bag, and he held it out to Billy, palm-up. Billy raised a sleepy eyebrow. "For Prim," Jessie said, and winked, pressing the warm shell into Billy's hand like a secret.