Re: Gilligan's Island: Billy/Atticus
The fire held a part of Billy’s focus in pull, with a hypnotic sort of quality that rasped down all the rough edges he felt catching against his skin when he talked about the Compound where he’d been held. It wasn’t easy, no — but it was simple enough. He’d spent enough time dancing around the truth to get a pretty good look at it, even if that had been with the detached sort of self-knowledge that let him sometimes pretend it had happened to somebody else. Avoidance through acknowledgement.
But it was still the most that he’d spoken about it, and he’d done that now precisely because of the ways in which this Atticus was different from the one that he knew off the island. More open, less jaded. Not so quick to make Billy feel like he talked too much or had too many feelings that were altogether too messy. Willing to talk about himself without it being like pulling teeth. And all the lectured points that he chose not to give when they were readily available and up for offering, that he and Billy both seemed to understand were simmering under the surface? That was a plus. Billy might have reverted to the old fallbacks of bratty sarcasm, and while that had its moments it was also like fresh air to be able to speak without reservation or fear of scaring this Atticus off. “No idea,” he said with a shake of his head, pulling his gaze from the crackling dance of the fire to look up at the other again. He propped up his head with the heel of his hand against his jaw and gave a halfhearted shrug. “I hope not. If he was human, I don’t think he could have gotten out of there alive. But I never figured that out for sure. And I don’t know what the likelihood is that a human would be collecting witches.” Another shake of his head, this one smaller like he was trying to dislodge something minute. He took another swallow of beer. “Nothing obvious about her that jumped out. But her magic felt familiar, the same way that Destiny’s feels to me. I can’t really explain it better than that. Have you met anyone else who can see ghosts?”
He leaned the beer bottle against the crook of his arm and his chest so that he could fish the pack out of his pocket, extracting another smoke and then tossing the whole thing on the quilt between them so that Atticus could help himself if he wanted. “Is there a part of you that wishes you could say the things you regret will go away when you get older? Because I’d get that, too.” The cigarette was already lit when Billy slid the filter between his lips to take a drag. “Maybe he’ll want to stay now that Steve is back.”