#uncharacteristically

He locked up as quickly as he could, the numbness making him drop the keys. The lush carpets kept the floor silent through the east wing, and he ran as softly as he could down the flights of stairs, leaning against the wall to catch his breath while Thomas Hall shouted through the door. Billy groaned, and opened it, after frowning around one last time for a servant, to be met by a screech of his name, and Max abruptly hanging from his neck like some idiot had made a necklace out of the anchor of a ship.

“Billy,” she mumbled, letting her swinging leg connect with his shin, and he swallowed a yell, hugging her to him. “He said you fell off your horse —”

“I did not.” Billy narrowed his eyes at Thomas, who shrugged, pushing past them.

“He said you were attacked—”

Billy was wishing heartily that he’d shoved Thomas Hall off the ferry when he’d had the chance, when a fluffy creature smelling of mushrooms struggled to hop up the stairs, huffing at Thomas like it wished the same.

“Someone needed a doctor?” it panted, and Billy dropped Max, grabbing her hand and pulling her over to help the creature with the bag balanced on its top. It was only about two feet high.

“We do apologize.” Billy gave his most charming smile, and it fluffed at him. He took the bag, bowing over it. “Had I only known you were arriving,” he said, flirting automatically, and ushering it to the stairs, “—we’d have dressed for dinner.”

“Doctor Lion’s-Mane was needed in town,” Max panted, squeezing his hand as they climbed. “The river’s flooding. When he couldn’t get on the ferry, Will decided to swim—”

“The child’s half-frozen,” the doctor put in, making a clicking sound. Billy wondered whether it had a tongue. “We were followed here. They tried to lure your sister out of the carriage.”

Billy must have nearly crushed Max’s hand in his grip, because she winced, squeezing his wrist, and he let go.

She grabbed his hand again. “I didn’t know what was going on,” she hissed. “You might have picked me up. Lucas and Dustin came to get me—”

“Who are Lucas and Dustin,” he asked evenly, watching Thomas run ahead to Harrington’s room.

“They—they danced—Lucas taught us to dance.”

Billy nodded, tucking the bag under his arm so he could keep holding Max’s hand, and frowning at the doctor, who was slowing, now that they’d reached the third staircase. “I remember him,” he said, quirking his mouth at Max, who squeezed his hand.

“Dustin met one of those...water horses,” Max told him, shuddering. “It speaks, it’s horrible, but it was hurt—”

“They—are usually—safe—” the doctor wheezed. “Something—something has—happened. The—the Lady would not—five children taken--” It stopped on the stairs, collapsing into a lower, wider pile of fluff. “I-I beg your—please pardon—me.”

“Ah, he—he’ll live a bit longer, take your time,” Billy reassured the fluffy mushroom doctor, shifting his feet. “The bleeding’s stopped, anyway—”

“We couldn’t cross the river,” Max said, tugging him down a couple of steps so she could brush grit out of his hair and narrow her eyes, pressing near a tender spot on his cheekbone. “...there were eels the size of oak trees, Billy. The horses spooked.”

Billy rolled his eyes, grinning at her fussing. “I think Harrington and I found out why your ‘Lady’ is—”

“—trying to steal children?” The doctor fluffed upright again, and Billy swallowed.

“Y-yes. We found, uh, there was a camp. Where the little girl from the ball—”

“Ellie,” Max put in, and he nodded.

“—where Ellie was held, by the mound. Sounded like outsiders? Not people from the town? They held her there, threatened her mother. They—they wanted to break in to the mountain, to the--the inside? Used cannons.”

“...what,” the doctor hissed.

“Iron cannonballs,” he admitted, wincing. “Maybe iron filings. The waterfall was running red with it.”

“And the breach is unguarded,” Doctor Lion’s-Mane said softly. “No good shall come of this. Young Master Hall said—surely you did not encounter the—the Nuckelavee.”

“That is what Wheeler called it,” Billy said, keeping his voice even, as Max’s eyes darted between him and the doctor.

“...may the Lady have mercy,” it whispered.

When they got to Harrington’s door, Thomas let the doctor in, but stepped to block Billy. “I don’t think we require your services.” He smiled falsely from one to the other, packing more powder down the barrel of Max’s internal flintlock than was entirely safe. Billy held her back by the shoulder. Thomas slammed the door in their faces, and Max started to unsheathe her sword.

Billy yanked her close. “It may not be here,” he told her, and she stared at him.

“Not...here?”

“It would make sense, wouldn’t it,” he whispered, trying to bite back a smile, “—something valuable, he’d put it in a—a bank, or something—”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you think it’s hidden from you?”

His heart started pounding, and he swallowed, trying not to imagine the words in his father’s voice. “I—I haven’t looked everywhere, there might—it’s a castle— I—”

“Billy,” she hissed. “Just tell him you can’t find it. You can lie to him in a letter. He won’t come here.”

“He’d want to talk face-to-face.” Billy shook his head, pushing her hands away, and turning away to sit on a loveseat matching the one he’d sat on, carrying Harrington. One for every stair landing, he thought, raising his eyebrows. “You know I can’t lie to my father.”

“You could,” she argued. “Billy, look around, Harrington wants to marry a girl with antlers. You can tell him everything. He won’t mind pointed ears.” She reached to touch one, and he smacked her hand away.

“Even—even I were— I’ve lied to him, he thinks—he thinks I’m some kind of hero. And you read her letters,” Billy said, and laughed, pressing his hands together between his knees. “It’s true, she was crazy. She wasn’t some—fairy deer princess, she was—she was locked away for good reason, Max—”

“It’s true she didn’t make sense,” Max replied, leaning her chin in her hand, familiar with the beats of this conversation. “But if she was—if she was one of the Fair Folk, they don’t, they don’t make the same kind of sense, Billy, I talked to Porridge—”

“I beg your pardon,” he said, snorting, and wiping his eyes.

“Dustin’s water-horse, Porridge. She likes porridge with chopped apples, just like Dustin does—anyway.” She paused to clear her throat, and smooth her trousers. “Porridge is smart, but she doesn’t make sense, she keeps talking about ‘the child’. We don’t know whether the Lady wants Will, or Ellie, or—or all of us, they tried to call me into the river, they kept calling me child—”

“Don’t you dare,” he told her, forcing a laugh through his throat.

“I’m only—I don’t want you to—” She stumbled over her words, then bent from the waist, blowing air through her cheeks in a loud wet buzz.

“I see why you have so many admirers,” Billy told her, and she sat up, swung around and started kicking him in the leg.

He yelped, and grabbed her boot.

“Do you...want me to keep Harrington distracted?” she asked, flopping back against the loveseat, and groaning at the painted ceiling. “While you finish looking.”

Billy was still biting his lips together, considering his answer, when the doctor hopped out a few minutes later. Max was through the door before Thomas could stop her, drawing Billy after her by the hand.

Now Harrington could move— his skin was smooth and unbloodied through his torn trousers—he swung his legs off the bed, cracked his neck, and stood, stretching.

Billy watched the line of his back. “Shall I run down and ask someone to bring supper? And a bath, on our way out?” The lost opportunity to ransack Harrington’s house was enough of a blessing that he didn’t even mind leaving.

Harrington laughed, running his fingers through his hair to pull out a piece of rubble. Billy found himself stepping closer, and clutched his hands into fists.

“I can see them out,” Thomas said, throwing an arm around Harrington, but Harrington shook his head, batting at the sand falling from his shirt.

“It’s late, and there are...things out there, why don’t you all stay?” He shot a glance at Billy, mouth quirked. “I’ve got a nicer bath.”

“Ye-yes, let’s stay,” Max said, nodding, and Billy was about to elbow her for acting suspicious when she squeezed his hand tighter, and smoothed her fingers over the jagged, bloodstained rip in his sleeve. She swallowed hard, and he tugged his hand out of hers to put it around her shoulders.

“Idiot,” she whispered, rubbing her nose.

When Billy looked up, Harrington was grinning at them. “I should probably return him clean,” he told her.

She snorted, wiping her eyes. “Please do, he reeks, wash him first.”

“I’ll do that,” Harrington promised, shrugging Thomas’ arm off his shoulders, and walked over to brush his fingers over the same tender bit of Billy’s face where Max had prodded him. He was gentle, checking the elbow on which Billy’d slid down the stone, and sliding his thumb through a tear to stroke it along Billy’s ribs.

Billy ducked his head, feeling blood start warming his skin as Harrington checked for hurts like he was a purebred horse.

“Ah-I-I’m hungry,” Max stuttered, backing away, and Billy opened his mouth to reply, but Harrington leaned in, cupping Billy’s jaw with both hands, and he forgot what he’d planned to say.

Harrington smiled at him, meeting his eyes as he called, “Thomas, could you help Ms. Mayfield find some supper?”

Max, proving wrong every rude thing Billy had ever thought about her, grabbed Thomas’ elbow and dragged him from the room, leaving Billy steadying himself against the bureau, while Harrington pressed soft kisses to his face.

Once Harrington was finished kissing around the bruised scrape up Billy’s cheekbone, he went on to kiss along his forearm, and Billy laughed, letting his head thump against Harrington’s shoulder.

The door clicked closed. “I’m glad you talked me into bringing you,” Harrington whispered, his lips against Billy’s neck, and Billy shuddered.

“...told you I’d make myself useful,” he whispered back. “Make it worth your while, letting me—”

“Letting you save my life,” Harrington said, his teeth clicking against Billy’s as he tried to talk and kiss at the same time, “—letting you save my friends—”

“...not sure I can manage that every time,” Billy said, laughing, “—I can only throw myself at so many monsters before I won’t—”

“Hush,” Harrington breathed against his lips, and Billy nodded, lifting his jaw so Harrington could press kisses along his throat, and letting his eyes drift shut. Harrington’s hands slid along the rips in the back of his shirt, and paused. “...you must have been sunning yourself with your shirt off,” he mumbled.

Billy laughed, remembering the mirror above the bureau, and somewhat hoping Harrington was the sort of romantic idiot to compare his freckles to constellations—or better yet, he thought, while allowing himself to be manhandled to face the mirror—the stars the night before, over the balcony. Harrington ran warm hands over Billy’s thighs, and rocked their hips together. He slid his fingers around the largest rip in Billy’s shirt. “...you have...scars,” he said, and Billy laughed.

“Spare the rod, spoil the child.”

Harrington paused, watching Billy’s face, then bent to kiss his back through the tear in his shirt. “They’re like a map. This one could be the river,” he said, running his thumb over it, and Billy shivered, watching his own face redden in the mirror.

Harrington kept talking. “This one’s the road. The freckles along here are the shops along High Street.” His breath tickled, and Billy bit back a grin, his eyes stinging. “These—” Harrington said, his fingers stroking lower, “—South Street. I guess you—you belong here. In Hawkins.” He looked up and met Billy’s eyes in the mirror, their cheeks as flushed an identical red. “You can’t ever leave again, right, not with a map of the town on you—”

Billy leaned back to kiss him, sideways and clumsy, and Harrington laughed, sliding his fingers through the gap in Billy’s shirt, and along his back, dipping into his breeches. Billy smacked his hand away, yanking his shirt out of his breeches and over his head, and nearly elbowing Harrington in the face.

Harrington hummed, wrapping his arms around Billy again, and kissing the base of his neck. “We should take that bath,” he said, his voice buzzing against the tender skin under Billy’s ear.

The bath room was as resplendent as the rest of Harrington House, with a marble tub set in the floor, water that jetted from the mouths of swans—“Your swans are very ill, Harrington,” Billy whispered, and dodged Harrington’s shove—and an actual crystal chandelier, in case you needed fifty magical lights to soap your ass.

“Some people have more trouble than others,” Harrington replied, straight-faced, then started snickering at Billy’s flat stare.

“Do you mean...Thomas,” Billy asked, tugging Harrington’s shirt out of his breeches, and sliding his hands up the man’s back.

Harrington snorted. “If he’s taken baths in here, it was in secret,” he whispered, slipping his fingers down the front of Billy’s breeches, and Billy grinned, yanking Harrington’s shirt off over his head.

“Secret bathing,” he said, nodding. “I wouldn’t put it past him. Sneaking in here and—”

“He thinks you want my money,” Harrington said, pushing away to unbutton his own breeches, and huffing a laugh. “I told him that can’t be all of it.” He glanced over, then down again. “—you wouldn’t—there’s no way you’d take that kind of risk, just for money. You would—you aren’t stupid—”

“...you think there’s some chance I want you for more than money,” Billy repeated, to be sure.

“It could have been a gamble, Tommy said. You save me and know I’ll be grateful, I’m—he always says I’m a bit simple.”

“Tommy is an ass,” Billy growled, pulling Harrington close, and feeling him laugh.

“You wouldn’t risk death for a gamble,” he said, glancing up to look over Billy’s expression, then down.

Billy, privately, begged to differ, but took a deep breath. “My m—” His voice cracked, and he took another breath, and blew it out through his cheeks. “My m-mother is in a sanatorium,” he said. “I don’t know where. He—my father worked for yours, he visited here, he—he said he—met her here. He said she—she came and gave me up, she was afraid she’d—hurt me. I stopped breathing underwater, she said.”

Harrington went still.

Billy nodded, and kept talking, lowering his eyes to further preserve the mystery of Harrington’s expression. “—she kept saying I wasn’t right, I—I was no child of hers, he—he says he didn’t know she had—madness. Running through her. She tried to drown me again, so he had to take me. He had her locked up.”

“What are you saying?” Harrington asked, pulling Billy closer, his fingers stroking up the ears Billy had stared at in the mirror, trying to see points.

“I’m more likely about to run mad than do magic,” Billy said with a laugh, swallowing against Harrington’s warm hand on his face. “I want to help her. He said she writes, sometimes. She’s asked to see me, he won’t tell me where she is—”

“Why won’t he tell you where she is?” Harrington’s voice was level, but he’d stopped stroking Billy’s cheek, and hair.

“He wants something of your father’s,” Billy admitted, watching Harrington’s jaw work. “I—I don’t know what, exactly. I’m—I’m here to search. But I’d—I’d never see her if a monster killed me, Harrington.” He gripped Harrington’s arm with both hands, preventing him from pulling away. “That’s true enough. I wasn’t thinking of her, when I ran in.”

Harrington pulled back the hand Billy wasn’t throttling, and covered his mouth. He took a slow breath.

“I was only thinking of you,” Billy emphasized, watching Harrington’s face, and wondering whether to let go, or step back, or take Max and leave, when Harrington’s hand on the side of Billy’s head slid around to his nape, pulling him forward into a tight embrace. Billy took shallow breaths, began to slide his arms around Harrington in return, and then rested them on Harrington’s hips.

“At the dance—” Harrington whispered, against the side of his head, and Billy pushed through his mad urge to giggle and took a shuddery breath against Harrington’s neck and hair, inhaling the dust of the ruins, and sweat, and the salt fog that had blown off the bottom of the Falls. Harrington’s skin was cold, and a little sticky, his muscles gleaming in the light from the chandelier.

“I didn’t know who you were,” Billy whispered. “Thomas told me. I was already watching you. Max told me you’d rescued children. Fought monsters.”

Harrington pushed him away again, watching his face. “Tell me what you’re looking for.”

“I don’t know,” Billy said, trying to stand still. “He said your father received something, before he died. He doesn’t know exactly what it was.”

“We can look in the morning,” Harrington said, and Billy bit back another bewildered peal of laughter, reaching out to touch Harrington’s hand and chest before he realized he was doing it.

“You—you’ll permit me to look?” he asked, to be sure, and Harrington nodded.

“I will help in your search.”

“How on earth did I happen on someone like you,” Billy mumbled, wrapping his arms around Harrington’s neck, and doing his best to kiss his gratitude into Harrington’s mouth. Harrington held him bruisingly tight, yanking at the buttons on Billy’s breeches.

When they were both freed from the tyranny of clothing, in a cloud of dust and the smell of unwashed men who’d had a fright, Billy knelt. Harrington yanked him upright again, grabbed his face, kissed it, and then flung him bodily into the enormous tub. The tiles along the bottom were also of swans, and Billy rolled his eyes, kicking off them to splash to the surface. He shoved water and dripping curls out of his face, only to be knocked back in the wave of Harrington jumping in and grabbing him around the waist. Billy yelped, splashing with his arms wide, but Harrington didn’t push him under—though he did use his free hand to make a great wave into Billy’s face. The water smelled of flowers, steaming and covered in soft foam. Billy jumped lightly from the floor of the bath, lying back so his weight pushed Harrington under the water, and Harrington yelled bubbles, and let go.

Under the layer of bubbles, Billy couldn’t see him, so he edged over to grip one of the gold swans with both hands, in anticipation of attack. The bubbles in his hair started to drip into his eyes, and he let go with one hand to push them back, just as Harrington’s hand slid out across the bath and felt around, then grabbed a chunk of soap the size of a piece of masonry, and disappeared under the bubbles again. Billy raised his eyebrows, sat on the tiled edge, and swung his legs out of the bath, uncertain why a well-meaning bath partner would need to stay underwater, grasping large heavy objects with corners to them.

Harrington surfaced, wiping his face, and blinking around. “Where are you going?”

“Hrm,” Billy hummed, without moving.

Harrington flapped a hand at him. “Come back. I’ll scrub your back.” When Billy didn’t move, Harrington swam over, reaching out to wrap a hand, pink with heat, around Billy’s ankle. “...you’re all over goosepimples,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb along Billy’s Achilles tendon. He set the soap down to tug at Billy’s leg with both hands. “Let me warm you up,” he whispered, leaning his head to catch Billy’s smile. “I’ll keep you afloat.”

Billy laughed. “I can swim well enough—”

“I probably shouldn’t have thrown you in, after what you said earlier,” Harrington muttered, frowning at the ankle he was holding.

Billy wiggled his toes at him, scooting closer to slide back in. The splash knocked them together. “I am very well, your Lordship,” he said against Harrington’s mouth, and kissed him.

Harrington smiled into the kiss, his lips hot from the bath against Billy’s cold ones, and ran the flats of his warm hands up and down Billy’s back. They stopped on scars.

Billy’s voice cracked as he laughed, wondering what to say—when he’d planned to get into Harrington House, he’d assumed he’d be jimmying open a window, or a guest at a party, not invited to Harrington’s bed. Harrington’s hands clenched at his arms, and Billy flinched. “—they—they aren’t—I’m—”

“May I see?”

Harrington’s face was set, and Billy turned easily, his brain in a whirl of explanations.

“I’m not a criminal,” he offered, finally. “They’re not—I stole no horses, or property, they weren’t from—”

“...thieves are horsewhipped,” Harrington said, running his thumb along one of the thickest scars. “...they were deep, or you were very young, or—” Harrington stopped talking, and swallowed. “...Hargrove. What—”

“I can’t prove I’m not a thief,” Billy said, shrugging, and huffing a laugh. “It’s not—”

“What, no, I believe you,” Harrington said unevenly, pulling him back into a tight embrace. He pressed open-mouthed kisses down the side of Billy’s neck, punctuating each with a squeeze. “I wouldn’t—I didn’t think that, I know you didn’t earn these.”

Billy laughed, his vision blurring. “You—you can’t know that,” he said hoarsely.

“I know it,” Steve said against the base of his skull, kissing it, and reaching around Billy for the soap. He scrubbed his hands together in front of Billy, then pushed him up against the side of the tub, sliding hot soapy hands along his shoulderblades. His thumbs stroked along Billy’s spine, squeezing the muscles until Billy leaned his head on his arms, sighing against the edge of the tub.

His head felt like it was pounding. “It wasn’t anything I did,” Billy mumbled, and Harrington’s hands paused, then continued. “I don’t—not everyone has that—you have a spark.” He leaned his head back, fluttering his lashes, and Harrington rolled his eyes, grinning. He pushed Billy’s head away, and Billy leaned back again to rub his cold, sudsy curls on Harrington’s arms, saying, “You have something in you that people see, that—that led Wheeler, and the melodic Carol, and Doubting Thomas—”

“I was there,” Harrington said, laughing, pushing Billy’s head forward again, and rubbing the ball of his hand under Billy’s shoulderblades, so his back shivered, and he swore softly with his face still pressed against his arms.

“No less than four people rode to save you,” Billy reminded him, “—because you—have something within you that—”

“You’re saying I made you fall desperately in love with me?” Harrington snickered, sliding his arms around Billy again, and soaping his chest.

“I’m saying I don’t have it,” Billy said, squirming in Harrington’s suddenly-stiff arms. “Whatever it is,” here he leaned his head back against Harrington’s shoulder, trying to see his expression, “—I don’t have it, and it took me some time to—to learn to make myself agreeable enough that my lack would be overlooked.” Harrington wasn’t responding, and Billy elbowed him. “That’s why I’m scarred, is all. I was the kind of child a mother wanted to drown—” He swore as Harrington yanked him around, holding his hands up, but Harrington only stared at his face. Billy laughed, waiting, and grabbed the hand Harrington lifted to touch him, but Harrington only reached out and reached out and cupped Billy’s cheek. Billy closed his eyes, leaning into the rough thumb stroking his cheekbone. He let himself be tugged forward again, so his face rested against Harrington’s neck.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Harrington growled, “—but I want to shove you under the water for thinking you should be shoved under the water—”

Billy sputtered, choking on his own unexpected laughter.

“I know,” Harrington cringed. “I could—I could drown whoever said that to you.” He caught Billy around the waist as he bent, cackling, and pulled him close. “I could—I could push them off the waterfall. Watch them—we could take them as a gift to the Nuckelavee.”

Billy was laughing too hard to reply, tears running down his face. He took a slow breath, and kissed Harrington’s neck, snickering against his skin. “That’s my father, you know,” he whispered. “That you’re tar-and-feathering.”

“At least make him drink Tommy’s punch,” Harrington hissed. “He’ll vomit out everywhere, once I—”

“And my mother,” Billy said, leaning his head back to watch Harrington’s face. “Don’t you think they know me better than—” He cut off at Harrington’s petulant bulldog expression, whooping a laugh as he staggered backwards, wiping his eyes. “Harrington, stop—stop pouting—” He stumbled and dunked himself, and Harrington swooped upon him again, pulling him out of the water and pressing kisses to his face, and then blowing air into loud rude noises against Billy’s wet skin. Billy laughed harder, pushing at Harrington’s face.

“No,” Harrington said, into his hair. His voice sounded thick. “No. I—I don’t think that, she’s—they’re wrong—” he muttered. “That’s not—that’s not how—god have mercy on your—” His breath was warm against Billy’s ear as he nuzzled closer, wrapping his arms around Billy’s shoulders more carefully than before.

“What are you doing?” Billy asked finally, when Harrington had been silent for several beats. He breathed against Harrington’s shoulder, and Harrington pushed away, wading through the waist-deep water to grab a cloth before splashing back over.

Billy shivered, laughing, as Harrington wrung hot water over his head, and then dunked the cloth again, and started scrubbing him.

“That’s all—they said that to you?” he growled, and Billy’s eyes fluttered shut at the hot sudsy water across his collarbones, and up his neck.

“Mmm.”

“They don’t—they can’t have you back,” Harrington muttered, ignoring Billy’s snicker, and splashing the cloth over his arms. Billy grinned as he was yanked close again. He licked the water running over Harrington’s collarbone, and Harrington jerked, then narrowed his eyes. “Our map’s on you, you—you—you’re— fond of—us.”

“That’s true,” Billy admitted willingly, kissing the wet shoulder closest to his lips.

“Stay here,” Harrington ordered, and Billy snorted, letting his knees bend. Harrington nearly fell trying to catch him around the waist.

“Here? Here in this house? Don’t call the ratcatcher—” Billy whispered back, sliding his arms around Harrington’s neck, and Harrington swung him around in the water, leaning in for a kiss. It was hard to ask more questions with Harrington’s tongue in his mouth, but when Harrington wouldn’t let him speak, he relaxed into it, letting himself be pushed across the bath onto a tiled seat. The cloth was perfectly rough against his skin, and he laid back with his arms along the rim of the bath.

“Nothing amiss here,” Harrington said, scrubbing Billy’s arm, and turning it in his hand to scrub each finger. Billy squinted at him. “Or here,” Harrington said, grabbing the other one, and turning it to have a look.

“Do you think you’re going to find a label?” Billy asked, quirking his mouth. “‘Billy Hargrove. Poison in excessive quantity, please drown—’”