#btk

Any night without you felt like a waste of time.

Billy halfheartedly took a swig from his bottle, leaning his cheek on his palm. Before he met you, he'd spend hours at places like these drinking and playing cards, but it all felt pointless. In this dark space surrounded by men who smelled like liquor, he was daydreaming about your warm, soft body between his arms under the covers of his bed. He didn't even necessarily think of anything intimate, just being near you.

You and your friends were at the theater tonight, and he didn't want to be overbearing. Just because he didn't have any friends, didn't mean you couldn't. Your life was broader than just him, he knew, but he couldn't help missing you.

At least Billy had his imagination and his memory. Otherwise being surrounded by sweaty, drunk men would be a nightmare. You were a breath of fresh air, a daisy in a thornbush. Sometimes you would accompany him here and sit on his lap while he studied his hand of cards. He played a few rounds tonight, but winning didn't taste as sweet when you weren't here to kiss his cheek, even though his pockets were heavier.

Tipping his bottle to his lips, he squinted at the round table in the corner, seating a group of men with dark eyes and lowered voices. He kept an eye on them, tipping his hat so it shadowed his face in case they were bounty hunters. Most people oseemed to be okay with him now, but there were some who found his existence repulsive.

"Another one, Billy?" The barkeep's voice snapped Billy's eyes up.

"No, I'm alright." He tilted his head toward the table. "You know 'bout them?"

"I'd steer clear," the barkeep said, wiping down the counter as he spoke. "Ain't good folk. They get into trouble."

"Huh." Billy tapped his finger, fidgeting. "What kinda trouble?"

"Illegal kind. Never done anythin' in here, though." The barkeep shrugged, gathering bottles and walking to the back room.

Billy stood, taking his bottle by the neck and trailing over to the cards table. At least he might be able to distract himself with the game instead of pining over you. He chose a seat where he could see the men in the corner, looking up every now and then. When they finally paid their tab and left, he felt relieved before remembering you weren't with him. Those men could be up to anything tonight.

He tried not to ruminate, fixing his eyes on the three of clovers in his hand. You loved clovers, picking them and weaving them into your daisy chains. Billy would let you crown him with them, twist them into his buttonholes. He wished he had a photograph of you like that, when your eyes sparkled and you had flowers in your hair.

There was one picture of you he kept in a safe place, where you looked serene, in a dress he knew was blue even though the photograph was black and white. Even though he had the real thing most of the time, Billy liked having your picture. He collected pieces of you like a magpie. Maybe it was in his nature to keep every bit of the people he loved so they couldn't slip away. He had his Ma's wedding band in the drawer at his bedside and the book he read to his brother Joe when neither of them could sleep. In these objects that were theirs, they were alive.

He collected you in both memories and objects. Burying himself in your hair in the early hours of the day, memorizing the way you smiled when you mounted a saddle. The way you kissed him when you needed it like air. You called him baby. He was never anyone's baby before.

In these moments when he wasn't near you, he still basked in your light. As he laid down his winning hand, he pictured how happy you would be when he told you. That was one of many things he loved about you. His triumphs, no matter how small, were yours.

"-fire at the theater."

Billy's head snapped up. "Fire?"

One of the men at the table looked uneasy. "Yeah. Someone just came in talkin' 'bout it."

Getting to his feet, he snatched his hat off the table, slamming a bill on the table for his tab. Sprinting to the door, pockets jangling with coins, he nearly bumped into a half dozen people. Billy's vision was blurry. All he knew were the barriers between him and the theater, and you.

The smoke burned his nose from what felt like a long ways away. When he caught his first glimpse of the orange flames burning a hole into the night, somehow he moved faster. All he could see in his mind's eye was an image of you with marks on your hands, fire licking at your skin. You couldn't make daisy chains if your hands were burnt.

Men were throwing buckets of water at the building when he skidded to a stop in front of the theater. There were people gathered, watching the building succumb to the flames. His head whipped from side to side, searching for even your silhouette. Billy could spot you in a crowd of thousands, and tonight would be no exception.

He saw you standing alone a little ways from the commotion, arms folded around yourself. You were alone, stone-still watching the action. It didn't matter how quickly he moved; he couldn't get to you fast enough.

When you saw him, lifting your head when he called your name, your face melted into relief, and he swept you up into his arms, hugging you tight. "Are you hurt? Did it get you?" Billy set you down, holding you at arm's length, but still holding you. He surveyed you the best he could in the dark. "Sweetheart, where does it hurt?"

"Nothing hurts. I'm okay." Your voice was shaky. "I wasn't inside when they set it on fire."

"Oh, baby." He brought you back to his shoulder when he saw you were trembling. "I've got ya. I'm here."

Your hand found the pocket of his shirt, clinging there. Billy cupped your head, trying to guide you away. "Let's go home, honey. It's gonna be okay."

He held your hand, guiding you through the street. Most people had gathered around the building, and so it wasn't too crowded the further away you got. Billy kept you close, letting go of your hand to wrap an arm around your waist. You leaned into him, staying quiet. This was hardly like you, failing to talk about the show, your friends, anything.

Arriving to his room at the boarding house, he sat you down on the bed, taking your hand back into his and rubbing your knuckles. "Talk to me. What's goin' on in that head?"

You took in a breath, finally looking up, meeting his eyes. "It was scary."

"Scary," he agreed, and you slumped against him.

"I don't know who they were, but they were scary men," you said, fidgeting with one of his fingers. "The ones who started the fire. I saw them. I ran from them when they tried to get me."

"Get you?" Billy was on alert, pulling you closer.

"I stepped out for a second and I saw them starting the fire. One of them tried to take me with them when they tried to leave but I ran the other way." You looped your arms around his torso, face pressed to his chest. "I was so scared they'd come find me, Billy. And I couldn't find any of my friends."

Even the mere idea of what could have happened struck struck him like a bullet. "I'm sorry, baby." He brought you closer, leaning back and forth a little, hoping it would soothe you. His heart was racing.

You sniffled, pressing your face into him. "Billy, can I stay here tonight? I just…I don't want to be alone."

"'F course, sweet girl." He smoothed your hair, dipping his chin over your head. Relief coated him inside. He wouldn't worry about you tonight because you would be right here, with him.

He retrieved you something to sleep in, an old button up of his that you loved. Billy settled under the covers with you curled into his side, determined to keep you safe and sound. You clung to his arm, whispering, "Billy, what if they try to find me? Cause they know that I know?"

"I won't let 'em get you," he promised, imagining jumping in front of you with his gun pointed at the shadowy men he saw earlier. Trying to lighten the mood, he said, "'M the fastest draw in the west, baby. Nobody would dare come after my girl."

You giggled, head slumping into his chest. "Oh, really?"

"Sure. Ain't nothin' to it. I'm gonna keep you safe."

A light kiss was pressed to his collarbone and his heart overflowed with delight. You were going to be okay on the inside too. "How was the bar?"

"Eh." He shrugged the shoulder furthest from you. "Just sat there missin' you."