InsaneJournal

Who: Gideon Prewett & Bilius Weasley
What: Two emotionally damaged men sharing shepherd's pie, drinks, and secrets from their past. AKA: Bilius' Warm Whiskey Punch is a dangerous concoction.
When: Sunday, 12 January 1998, evening
Where: Gideon's cottage
Warnings: Language. Sexual topics. Talk of character death / Death eater murders. Panic Attacks. Talk of past trauma.


Gideon and Molly shared a love for cooking that transcended the duties of hearth and homemaking. Though while for Molly it may have been born out of a desire to nourish and sustain her family, for Gideon, it was an act of meditation. Every potato that budded out of the earth was, he liked to imagine, a small act of repentance. Every finished meal a divine sacrifice to be served up to whatever gods of mercy and justice there were left.

The shepherd’s pie emerged from the oven piping hot and richly smelling of root vegetables, savoury lamb and buttery crust. The mash topping had carmelised into browned crests. In the background, a light mix of muggle jazz music played softly from the radio (he often caught himself tapping a toe to its rhythm) and a fire burned merrily away, drawing the felines into its circle of heat and light. All in all, this quiet and content flavour of evening were normal, though they were not usually accompanied by guests.

As it was, he enjoyed cooking for others much like his sister, though his houseguests were rare and short-stayed. Fabian was the most frequent, but Bilius could be considered the second. The Weasleys had always been, at least to those not directly married to them, a curious if affable lot. Pure of blood, which eased some of his parents’ tension, but certainly of lower class and reputation. Strange but, as Gideon came to know them through Molly and Arthur, warm, decent and loving. Genuinely good people indeed.

Thus it was why he was happy to pay forward the warmth and generosity with which he was still received by this family, even though association with he and Fabian would have done them no favours.

He set the pie upon the counter to cool and wiped his hands with a towel, glancing back to the sitting room. “Five or ten minutes, I should think.”

Bilius nodded, looking up from the mug in his hands. The biting wind had made him concoct a warm whiskey punch of sorts in Gideon's kitchen upon his arrival. This time, however, he'd left the dogs at home, not wanting to torment the cats with being licked to death. Or Fabian, for that matter. "Smells delicious," he acknowledged. "And I'll do my best to wait."

It had become habit, in a way, finding excuses to come visit the little farm. Sampling Gideon's pies - Gideon was a much better cook than Bilius himself - or coming for vegetables, which were paid or bartered for. After all, supplying his friends with alcohol was one thing he could do in this crazy world which was not the respite any of them had hoped for. Gideon was a friend and Bilius did what he could to take care of his friends, though sometimes it manifested in odd ways. "Probably good I left the girls at home, they'd be tripping you up in the kitchen trying to get at that pie."

Of this, Gideon had to agree. His counters were low (he was already a mite too tall and had to stoop) -- easily accessible to the large canines, however merry their company was otherwise (the cats had differing opinions on the matter, however). Bilius' gift, however, was quite possibly a dangerous concoction -- heady, deceptively so, where one could easily and swiftly overindulge without quite meaning to. Already glasses had been served out and imbibed -- it imbued a rosy flush to his cheeks and a lightness to his head. “Supper thanks you. The cats, however, do not. They thank no one.” He gave Bilius a crooked smile, threw the towel down upon the counter and ambled over to the rustic table that served as dining, desk, and counter space at any given moment. “I hear from Fabian you’ve had to put up with the horrors of burlesque this past week.”

" 'Dogs look up to us, cats look down on us, and pigs see us as equals'," Bilius quoted, no longer remembering where he'd first heard the statement. Alcohol and other substances, along with a desire to forget painful memories had muddled parts of his mind over the years. Of course, whether he didn't remember or simply chose not to was anybody's guess. He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"It wasn't that bad, just… uninteresting," he said with a shrug. Bilius' orientation wasn't something he broadcast, but his friends knew that one of the main reasons for being a confirmed bachelor was that the 'fairer sex' held no appeal for him. He had tried, when he was younger, being the eldest son, but luckily he'd realised the error of that before any sort of legal entanglement. "The drinks are decent and occasionally Fabian enjoys it. Besides, there are few enough places where there is that sort of view that appeals to me."

“Mediocre reviews all around. You know it’s bad when it can’t even rouse an interest from Fabian.” As with all things that dangerously skirted territory that had become second instinct from which to shy away, Gideon deflect with a lighthearted turn of phrase and a glancing smile.

In truth, he could distinctly recall that club on that night, the one he had clumsily barrelled right into in the heat of chasing down a suspect like the proverbial bull in the china shop. He could still recall the stale, sharp scent of sweat and cigarettes. The chaos and uncomfortable, abrupt confusion and shock -- and in the midst of it all, a glint in pale eyes, a quick, mischievous grin.

The dull ache of the memory that inevitably followed, like hunger gone on for too long.

Gideon blinked and rubbed at his chest as if to assuage the hollowness there, taking up a deep draught of his own mug instead. “He thinks I ought to be party to these outings. I don’t know if that is such a grand idea.”

"Well, perhaps Fabian should suggest a location with better talent if he's so dissatisfied." The words were light and teasing, with no malice and only affection. Bilius studied Gideon out of the corner of his eye as he sipped his drink. There were secrets there, unspoken, he knew, but Bilius was not one to push. People deserved the right to secrets. Perhaps that's why he was allowed to visit as often as he was.

"Only if you feel up to it," Bilius said, his voice soft and concerned, different from the jovial, eccentric demeanor that dominated at the Hog's Head. "I won't force it upon you, but your company would most certainly be welcome. And perhaps you'd be able to offer a more suitable location."

Gideon couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing a finger to his brow. “I know of places that existed twenty years ago and haven’t a clue as to whether they still stand today. I don’t think they were considered very hip, even then.” The thought -- sitting in a dark pub somewhere or, gods forbid, a club, going out -- seemed at once both absurd and vaguely terrifying. But it would be a step towards normalcy, and he was supposed to try. “I wouldn’t want to be the barrier for any conversations you two would need to have,” he added meaningfully. Conversations to which he did not want to be a part.

"Doesn't everything move in cycles? If they're not closed, they may be the new hot spot. I don't imagine Fabian intends on dragging you to a burlesque club, but perhaps an evening at the Hog's Head? Or at my flat?" The suggestions were offered without pressure. No one had forced Bilius to return to England before he was ready and although there were days when he regretted how long he'd been gone and his cowardice, he was grateful that he had been the one to make the choice. "If you need me to distract Fabian's energies onto something else, I will. I've no problem coming out here for drinks."

The comment about conversations made him pause and take a long sip of his drink. He wondered just how much Gideon knew. "You're no more a barrier than my girls, and it's easy enough to keep the conversation to safe topics. Unless you're not sure you can handle both of us at once, which is, completely understandable. Though I will do my best not to charm tulips out of anyone's arse this time," he said, referring to drunken antics at a wedding back before the war, before everything had changed.

He’d say more -- Merlin knew, Gideon had many words with which to mine the subject, but held his tongue with only some effort. He still hated, with all his heart, what Fabian sought to do, was still doing, and he could very much hazard a guess that Bilius was party to it, more so now than even the first time, but just as he made it no longer his place, he no longer held say such matters anymore either.

But safe topics. What were those? “Fabian wants me to be happy. I confess, I do not know what that is anymore. I thought to be fortunate enough to have a sort of peace here.” The small cottage, his own plot of land, were swept up in the slightly off-kilter hand with which he gestured. “I suppose happiness must be sought outside the grounds. Christmas was a first attempt.” It had not been unpleasant. “How do you manage it?”

"Happiness can be whatever you want it to be." In theory, it was that simple. In practice, well, it was far from that simple. "I don't think happiness must be anything. Isn't the whole point of it to be whatever makes you happy? If this makes you happy, then that's enough and just tell Fabian and me to sod off."

The next question took Bilius by surprise and he sobered up, glancing from Gideon to his cup. "Honestly, I don't. I mean, not in the traditional sense of the word. Content, maybe." He didn't even want to say the word. "There are things that make me smile and laugh, like friends and Arthur's kids, things that bring me comfort, like the girls and-" He ended that line of thought before he sounded like a drunk. "Happiness though, I'm not sure I know what that is. I know how to function, how to hide in plain sight, how to escape for awhile. But the thing about running is that you can't run forever, but you can bloody well try.

He hadn't intended to say that much, and now Bilius felt bad. He ran a hand over his hair. "And you ought to shut me up before I go on like that. Serious conversation usually leaves to a bad place." He took another drink. "How's that pie coming along?"

“I…” Gideon could not finish his line of thoughts, rambling, disorganised and muddled as they were. It was more honesty than he had expected, comforting in its commonality and unbearably sad in all other ways: all of them were trying to varying degrees of success. “Probably ready,” he said instead and stood up (perhaps too quickly, if the moment of unsteadiness were an indicator) to serve it out. A much needed distraction, sorting out portions on plates and spooning out the cutlery with each.

He set down the plates, filled several long, silent moments with the concentrated work of eating -- no need of formalities here -- and had finally garnered together enough of a thought to say, “In here, it is only me and my thoughts. Out there, a world of judgment and condemnation. I can’t tell which is worse. I think there was a moment when--I was happy, once. I...” Only, the rest of the words stuck in his throat, coated in fear and old anxieties that weighed heavily upon his chest.

If he could do it all again, knowing the pain and heartbreak that lay at the end of it, would he have? Yes, probably, even if knowing happiness and having it taken away was a sharper blow than to have not known it at all. “It’s alright, then?” he nodded to the food.

"It's beyond alright," Bilius said with a grin. "Better than Molly's but don't tell her I said that," he said in a conspiratorial whisper.

He nodded. "You're not alone. In that-" Bilius' throat was tight and he fidgeted with his fork. "Sometimes we can create our own hell.... Sometimes we create our own solace." He swallowed hard. "It's hard, losing that happiness. Seems like you'll never feel that way before." He drained the rest of his drink and got up to refill it, offering to refill Gideon's as well, a hand resting on Gideon's shoulder in silent empathy and comfort.

Gideon could not help but produce a small grin of his own, miming a cross over his heart. “Your words shall be taken to the grave, though as to whose, I know not.” A cheeky glint to his eye that softened and saddened and warmed all at the same time at Bilius' unspoken comfort. “Thank you for being honest.” He preferred the harshest of truths to the most comforting of lies, any day. In reply, he held up his empty mug and touched Bilius’s hand in return. “This is dangerous brew.”

Bilius had been worried that the hand on Gideon's shoulder might be unwanted, or worse, provoke a panic attack. He certainly hadn't expected the return of physical contact. He squeezed Gideon's hand for the briefest of moments, hoping to offer what small comfort he could. "No matter what, I will not lie to you."

He took the cup from Gideon, then, refilling them both before bringing it back and setting it down in front of Gidon. "Hey now, it's simple something to warm you up from the inside. My version of a hot toddy."

“Your version of an impending hangover,” Gideon muttered goodnaturedly, feeling very much as Bilius described, the warmth sinking into his limbs, causing them to unwind and lax into his seat. What earlier dark thoughts had hovered dissipated if only a little, pushed away in the temporary suspension of Dutch warmth. “Do you wish for it? Finding that happiness again? Daring to?”

"Well, that couch of yours does look mighty comfortable," Bilius said with a smile, stretching his legs out under the table and running a hand over his hair. At Gideon's question, Bilius wrapped his hands around the mug of warm alcohol. It was awhile before he spoke, his voice quiet. "I don't know. Maybe then the nightmares would stop; maybe the smiles would be.." Real, his brain supplied, but that wasn't quite right. He usually didn't talk about this more than in passing, but something about this felt different, and it wasn't just the spiced whiskey he was drinking. "With him, it felt like I was on top of the world.. and then…" His voice was tight and the words were a struggle. "Gone. I thought- I didn't want to live after that. I tried not to.. I ran, Gideon… I would have run through five hells just to… I don't know, get him back? End the pain?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I never want to feel like that again. I know that. I… maybe that was it, my one chance at happiness. As for another chance.. I'm not sure I could survive losing someone again, but there are days when I think it might be nice - not to go through this alone."

That happiness should be a someone, a very specific someone -- it cut too deeply within Gideon himself. He looked away, unable to meet the haunted expression he knew to be written across Bilius’ face for it would be mirrored within his own. And perhaps it was owed to too much drink, too much temporary warmth and the relaxation of his guard that he let slip an, “I know.”
At those words, Bilius glanced up, watching Gideon's face. "I'm sorry. No one should have to go through that." Even if misery supposedly loved company, this was something that Bilius wouldn't wish on almost anybody. He took a sip of his drink. "What about you? Do you think it's possible? For men like us?"

At this, a panicked, hunted look briefly shone in Gideon’s eyes, and he was too stunned to say anything for a moment -- mind utterly blank, when, upon further scrutiny of Bilius’s quiet, sad face (not insinuating, not knowing), he realised that Bilius’s questions were benign, meant only to unite on the most common of levels. It forced him to scramble for an answer, and several moments of weighty silence passed before, “I don’t know,” he replied, voice thin and hoarse. No, probably not him, the coward in hiding, afraid of far too many things to be named or thought of, but mainly, of himself. “I am told...I am told I should try, but I can’t...I can’t….seem to.”

"All I can manage is random… encounters. Can't let anyone get close," he muttered under his breath, cheeks flushing and proving that even the eldest Weasley was capable of blushing.
His hand moved across the table, the back of it bumping against Gideon's arm. "You get to decide that. You don't have to listen to anyone else. Not even me."

The touch caused Gideon to look up and open his eyes, meeting Bilius’s gaze head on. Bilius was a man of transparent emotions: acceptance, unshakable calm and steadfast reassurance. He was already ten times the man Gideon could ever hope to be in many regards. “I’m…” Whatever he was going to say, however, he seemed to think better of it. “Same for you, Bilius.”

Bilius chuckled, pulling back and taking a long drink. "I didn't mean to, you know, be a coward." The words were out before he could stop them. "I just.. I couldn't. No one knew I was even seeing him, so what was I supposed to when my world came crashing down... "

“No one understood that private, quiet world you built for yourselves. Every look and unspoken gesture, every private joke. Losing it is like...losing the only other person in the world who could speak the same language you spoke,” Gideon muttered, a stream of words slipping from his tongue before he could think to reel them back in. “Losing that is like becoming deaf, dumb and blind.”

Bilius' eyes glanced up as Gideon spoke. It sounded like… but, what were the odds? It didn't make sense, but then Bilius thought back.. there had never been a serious girlfriend for Gideon, not that he remembered, at least. Which didn't mean anything by itself, but that. And this… and the earlier look of fear. "You know what it's like…"

The seemingly hazy dream in which he dwelled fell apart coldly. Gideon turned suddenly at Bilius’s tone (there it was, knowing, curious), briefly paralysed. He opened his mouth to speak, and found no words wanting to emerge. Then, at last, thinly, too late: “--no. I just--I…”

"It's all that and more. The world stops making sense," Bilius said softly, following up on Gideon's earlier unintended declaration. He took a drink and sighed, wondering what to do. He hadn't expected this. "I know what it's like to keep secrets. I'll forget I know anything, if you want. But it's alright. Doesn't need to change things between us. And I won't tell."

He wished he had something more hopeful to offer Gideon - that it didn't need to be two separate worlds anymore, but this world was far from perfect.

As Bilius spoke, he could only press his palms to his face, fingertips to eyes, palms to heated cheeks and coarse beard. If this was the bottom dropping out -- so be it. There was already the dreadful weight in his stomach, the choking grip in his throat, the sharp constriction of his lungs that made it suddenly very difficult to breathe.

One glance at Gideon's flushed face told him he'd bollocksed this all up. "Gideon, it's alright-" he said before noticing that something didn't seem quite right. "Gideon?" he asked, voice full of concern and worry as he got out of his chair and moved around the table, wondering if he'd need to contact Fabian.

The world narrowed and darkened, sound muddled and distant. It felt like water, tons of it, crashing down upon him, pulling him out into the waves, drowning, and so Gideon blindly reached out and latched onto the steadiest thing within reach -- Bilius, as it would happen. He gasped, tried to suck in much needed oxygen through the constriction, tried to remind himself -- no, he was not dying, no, he could breathe, steady, in and out, concentrate only on that.

Whatever time had passed, he knew not, only found himself a huddled mess against Bilius’s shoulder when he had the mind to process himself again. “Please,” was all he could think to say, though he wasn’t sure for what he was asking.

Bilius wasn't sure what he expected, but he was fairly sure it wasn't Gideon clutching at him. "It's alright…" he said softly, running his hand over Gideon's back. "You're safe. It's alright. You're in your cottage. We just had a lovely shepherd's pie. Everything's okay." He didn't know if it would help. He didn't know what to do, but he could contact Fabian later, right now he needed to make sure Gideon was okay. He rested his head against Gideon's. "It's alright. I've got you. I've got you.."

When his aheartbeat had returned to normal, and the sheer blind panic had seeped away, leaving only a dull headache in its wake, the full impact of the past ten minutes settled in and Gideon was, suffice to say, mortified. “Please don’t say anything,” were the first sensible words that emerged from his mouth. “No one must know. No one. It’s….”

"I won't. You have my word." Bilius continued to rub his hand over Gideon's back, trying to reassure him that he was safe. He pulled back enough so he could look at Gideon's face. "Can I get you anything? Water? Something stronger? Another slice of pie?" It occurred to him that he was rather useless in this situation. "A cat to pet?" he added as an afterthought, knowing how his monstrous sheepdogs were a comfort when he woke up screaming from a nightmare.

This, at least, produced the slight quirk to a corner of his mouth. "Cats are jerks," he croaked.

And then, realising he was practically wrapped up in Bilius and clinging to him like a security blanket, his eyes widened and he tried to sit up. "...gods, I'm so sorry. You must think me so pathetic."

"Well, I'd offer you one of my dogs, but that's a bit difficult at the moment." Of course, the oddest thing about Gideon clutching him was that it hadn't felt as odd as it could have (should have?) felt. He didn't let go of the other man, but one hand came to cup Gideon's cheek, fingers resting against the coarse beard so he could look Gideon in the eyes. With as stern a glance as he could muster (which wasn't very, but the gaze was honest and earnest), he began. "Don't apologise. There's no need. You did nothing wrong, Gideon, and you don't need to apologise. I could never think you pathetic. Reclusive, perhaps. Maybe even a bit strange but then so am I. But not pathetic. Never pathetic."

The touch was grounding, and though he wanted to look away (it was difficult to maintain eye contact with the man who held you while you shattered), Bilius's gaze, though always gentle and wizened, was commanding and utterly unshakable enough to keep it. "We both ran away. Aren't we a pair."

Bilius chuckled, a lingering touch of his hand against Gideon's cheek before dropping it and slowly pulling away, enough to give Gideon a bit of space if he wanted it. "Quite. Maybe it's time to adjourn to the sofa? And perhaps another drink after that heaviness."

Cool air flooded in the wake of Bilius's warm hand on his skin. It was only the absence of its weight that made Gideon aware of how much comfort it brought him, though he did not think he would ever want the touch of another again. It made his heart both ache and yearn -- happiness.

He was lonely.

"Gods yes." He'd agree to anything to blunt the sharp edges of this night.

Bilius kept one arm on Gideon's back as he gathered the mugs and refilled them from the pot on the stove and led them both out to the sofa, shooing a cat off the sofa before settling Gideon onto it. Grabbing a log from the pile, he added it to the fire before returning to the sofa. Settling down, he realised that the lack of contact when he'd stoked the fire had felt.... empty... and he hadn't been prepared for that. He chose a spot close to Gideon, slinging an arm on the back of the sofa so it brushed against Gideon's shoulders. He didn't want to force contact, but he longed for it after having finally had it again.

For once, Gideon did not think as he sat back and sunk into the sofa’s cushions, where the back of his head came to rest over Bilius’s arm, his arms folded themselves over his chest, but he pressed against Bilius’s side and drew his comfort there. The ceiling he found himself staring out was awash in the flickering lights from the fire. “His name was Colin. He was a muggle. He was the first...the only.”

His arm slid lower, wrapping Gideon closer to himself. "How did he die?" Bilius asked softly, hoping this wouldn't seem like pressure, but simply space to share.

"One of those broad-based Death Eater attacks. One muggle casualty among many. I don't think our papers even bothered to name him." One death was a tragedy, many deaths were a statistic -- barely that if they were mere muggles. "I never learned who had been directly responsible, so I simply assumed it was every Death Eater at the other end of my wand." He had been vicious and relentless in hunting them down, hurting, not holding back, eventually going so far as to murder himself.

"I'm sorry. People forget that every person who died was important to someone." His voice was quiet and gentle. "It was the Valentine's Day. We were at a party that I didn't want to go to. I don't know who killed him, but it was him who died, not me. I.. I should have done something, but I just let him step in front of me. And then he was dead. I was just left with scars.... physical and emotional."

His hand went to his side where the scarred flesh remained, years after the fact. "Liam was a muggle born. I never would have thought I'd find a wizard who was... like me, but I did. At a sketchy muggle club, at that. I had no idea what I was doing in that world. After he died... I didn't want to live, and certainly not in this world that had killed him."

“I’m…” sorry seemed laughably inadequate. Gideon realised he had never actually asked Bilius how it had happened. Sure, he had been aware (had shied away from) the knowledge of Bilius’s preferences, had known it had ended tragically -- but never this detail, never to this extent. No, what he could say: “I understand.” Maybe not the survivor’s guilt. Bilius’s Liam died to save him -- he had doomed Colin by association. But a world in which these things could happen was not one he wanted to be a part of. Tentatively, Gideon reached out and placed his hand over Bilius’s where it lay over his side.

Bilius shivered, tensing for a moment before relaxing, his fingers moving slowly to intertwine with Gideon's. He didn't usually let people touch the scar spread over his side - it was why he preferred muggle clubs, where quick shags in alleys were the norm and shirts could easily stay on. He closed his eyes, resting his head against Gideon's, unable to speak at the intimacy of the action. "We don't always get a choice though.. about surviving..."

If they had, it would be a far emptier world, Gideon would wager. He could imagine a better put together person here, Arthur, Molly or Fabian, who would now say, but we can choose to live, or some such equally inspiring thing, but Gideon hardly possessed persuasive skills even in his finest hours, and worse still, hardly held such convictions himself. Instead, he could only offer his silent acceptance, a reciprocating press back, closed eyes, the willingness to dwell equally and freely within the same breath.