Re: Gilligan's Island: Billy/Atticus
Billy made a face. “I’m not going to pretend that I get what’s going on in his head about all of this.” He extended one arm and held his hand flat, then made a vague circle in the air. The island. Young Atticus. Whatever had happened between them, him and the other, older version. “But it’s sort of ridiculous to blame you for things you haven’t even done yet. Petty. If he’s mad because he can’t be mad at the person he wants to be mad at? Or if he’s hurt, and disguising it? Sure. That I get.” Because lashing out at the people around you, and inappropriate reactions in general - that was familiar territory. “But it’s not fair to take that out on you.” He shook his head and took another drag of his cigarette, with the glow of the ember at its end flickering in the fading light.
He didn’t know Janus, and certainly didn’t know his history with Atticus well enough to be judgemental with any weight. But he was bothered by the idea of this version of his friend bearing the brunt of anything else. Billy thought about what it’d be like, if he woke up tomorrow and discovered that he’d lived decades of a life that he didn’t remember and that he resented for not turning out how he’d planned. Billy couldn’t even see past the scope of the next few months, never mind his forties. But he could imagine that it would gut him to find out he’d live a life that underwhelmed at the things he’d like to think he wanted: happiness, security. Stability and success doing something he loved. A family. The basics, yes, but so far beyond his reach that all he could do was hold onto the general hope of ‘someday’.
“I never said you can’t,” he asserted with a half-grin from behind his smoke. “Want to, I mean. I just don’t want to promise something that I can’t be sure I’ll follow through on. And we’ve been doing so good.” He gestured between the two of them now, as he pushed up on his elbow so that he was sitting upright again, legs crossed. “With this. Talking like normal, well-adjusted people. I’d hate to ruin it by bullshitting you. Can I promise to think about it?” He wasn’t trying to be difficult, really. If anything he was aiming for realism. He’d managed it well enough, but this night held a lot of firsts for Billy when it came to talking about what had happened to him.
“I don’t really know what she likes,” he admitted, feeling a pulse of embarrassment in his gut. What kind of person didn’t know what their own sister liked to eat? “We usually just get pizza or something from the diner. Something cheap that we know her little brother will eat. Not me, obviously.” The grin widened around the mouth of his beer bottle as he sipped. “I’ll eat anything.”