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It’s been a week.
Frank could feel the passage of time scratching down the back of his neck. He felt it in the amber light spilling through the open window, curtains blowing gently in the breeze. He felt it in the sticky morning sweat that had plastered his cheek to Bill’s broad chest. In the way Bill cracked open one eye, then the other, squinting against the sunlight, soft and half-awake and beautiful.
Frank had always fallen in love too easily. He was known for it among his friends, back in the before times. They would tease him and his foolish heart. But whatever love Frank thought he’d known - in seedy bars, and stolen glances, and gasped against skin in the dark - he’d never known anything like this. From the moment he’d caught Bill looking at him, noticing him, even when he was still hiding behind the barrel of a gun, Frank had known he was in trouble. He wanted to coax out more of Bill’s bashful little smiles, his uncertain sideways glances, his heated, wanting gazes. Frank wanted every last morsel of Bill, all to himself. He had right from the beginning.
And then Bill had sung for him, the notes of the piano wrapping around Frank like a blanket, Bill’s voice overflowing with so much longing that it well and truly broke Frank’s heart. That was the moment he knew he was done for. Frank had been thoroughly unprepared for the immensity of it. His love for Bill crashed over Frank’s head in a wave, ripping his feet out from under him. By the end of their first night together, Frank knew there was no coming back from it. And he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, even if it would make the next part much, much harder than it should have been.
Because Frank wasn’t allowed to let himself get comfortable. He wasn’t allowed to learn how Bill took his coffee (black, now. But in the before times with two sugars and a dash of milk) or how to work the washing machine (it stuck when setting it off unless you slammed the door closed just right). He didn’t live here, and pretending he did was only going to make it that much harder when Bill remembered that Frank should have left days ago. Frank invited himself in to lunch, and then invited himself to stay for a few days, and sometimes Frank fancied that if he invited himself to stay forever, that Bill would let him. He wasn’t an idiot, and he knew Bill had been enjoying his new sexual awakening just as much as Frank had been enjoying teaching him. But he’d meant what he’d said: he was no whore, and his heart was already way too tangled up in Bill to allow himself to stay if Bill didn’t want him there. The Sword of Damocles had been hanging over his head since the moment he stepped through the electric fence, and Frank couldn’t take the waiting game anymore.
“So I should probably get going,” Frank said, trying to sound cavalier over their morning coffee. Judging from the way Bill’s expression froze on his face, mug arrested halfway to his lips, Frank suspected he didn’t quite nail the tone.
Bill set the mug back down, his face blank. “Get going?” He repeated evenly.
“To Boston,” Frank said against a suddenly tight chest. He cleared his throat, hoping Bill won’t notice the quaver in his voice.
“To Boston,” Bill repeated.
“I, uh,” Frank felt suddenly like an ant under a magnifying glass, squirming under Bill’s steady gaze. “I’ve prevailed on your hospitality for too long already.” It was only supposed to be a couple of days. It wasn’t real, Frank reminded himself. Just a quick respite from the relentless, appalling reality. A dream, really. Just a dream.
Silence stretched between them at the small kitchen table. Frank shifted uncomfortably. The wooden chair creaked underneath him, breaking the mounting tension in the air. Bill seemed to shake himself and snap back to normal. A frown had settled between his eyebrows.
“When?” he asked gruffly.
Frank felt pathetic as he gave a small one-shouldered shrug. “This morning, I suppose. No sense in putting off the inevitable, right?” Right? He wanted to ask. This is inevitable, isn’t it? Please, please tell me it’s not inevitable.
Bill stood abruptly, shaking the table and sending coffee sloshing over the rim of his mug. Bill ignored the spill, looking down at Frank. “You can’t- I need-” Bill stopped, took a breath, and continued. “Give me an hour,” he said, voice brooking no argument.
Turning his back on Frank, Bill stalked out of the kitchen. Frank sat still, listening as Bill unlocked the access to the basement and climbed downstairs. Frank wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting… a stoic nod of agreement, probably. In his dreams he’d hoped for maybe a hint of disappointment in Bill’s stoic expression. But no, not even that.
Sighing, Frank pushed himself up from the table and cleaned up the spilled coffee, washing the mugs and setting them on the side. Then he set about gathering his meager possessions from the bedroom. He had nothing, of course. Not even a bag. But he changed out of the clothes Bill had loaned him, shrugging back into the sweater he’d arrived in. It was clean now, but just the sight of it made Frank’s heart seize in terror. His memories of the road from Baltimore hovered at the back of his mind, always, and he wasn’t looking forward to the long trip to Boston. But he’d stayed alive so far, he could do it again. He could. He could.
He’d survived for years before he ever met Bill, and Frank could do it again. Sure, he would miss the food, the warmth, the shelter. But he’d gone without it before and he could go without again. Losing Bill, on the other hand. Frank wasn’t sure he’d bounce back from that so quickly.
An hour later, Frank was sitting in his traveling clothes at the antique piano. He trailed his fingers over the smooth, well-worn keys, too chagrined to try playing again. Linda Ronstadt ran through his head as Frank tried to capture his memories in amber, hold tight to them for the next part of his journey.
Behind him, someone cleared their throat. Frank whipped around to find Bill standing, hunched and tense, in the foyer. He had a military-grade duffel bag slung across his shoulders. At a glance Frank could tell it must weigh a ton. It was fit to bursting with who knew what. He was also armed to the teeth: a gun at each thigh, two more in shoulder holsters, and a shotgun across his back. He was wearing his thickest boots and clothes clearly designed for the elements. The sight made Frank’s mouth water, desperate suddenly to drop to his knees. But that wasn’t important right now.
“Okay,” Bill said, “let’s go.”
Frank stared at him, taking entirely too long to put two and two together. “What?”
“We’re burning daylight. It’s going to take days as it is. We shouldn’t try to travel during the night, so we’ll need to put in as many miles as we can before we lose the light.” Bill said, as though that was what Frank was objecting to.
“You- you’re coming with me? You can’t, this… this is your home.”
Bill raised an eyebrow at him, as though Frank was the one being stupid. “You want to go to Boston, so I’m going to get you to Boston. Once we arrive, I can go… or I could…” he trailed off, looking embarrassed. He cleared his throat and looked back up, meeting Frank’s eyes with steely determination. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Not ever.”
Frank’s heart felt like it was going to explode. His eyes burned with unshed tears as he absorbed this staggering act of love. No one in his life, in the before times or the after, had ever given so much of themselves to Frank. Without asking, without prompting, simply because they wanted to, because they thought Frank was worth it. No one but this incredible, beautiful, genius of a man. Fuck, but he loved him so much.
As Frank struggled through his existential crisis, Bill was already turning around, prepping to lead them outside. His hand was on the front door by the time Frank could finally find his voice again. “Wait,” he said - shouted, really, against the ache in his chest. “Wait, stop.”
Frank was still rooted on the piano stool, the mid-morning sun streaming across his face. “I don’t want to go to Boston,” he confessed in a small voice. “I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to stay here, if you’ll have me.”
Bill dropped the duffel bag from his shoulder. It fell to the foyer floor with a dull thud. He let out a long, shaky breath. “Thank fuck.”
Bill was obscurely, incandescently furious.
He watched Tess and Joel walk away, staring at their retreating backs until they disappeared into the copse of trees. They would be back, he knew. Frank had already promised to host them again soon. He had given Tess gifts.
“That was fun!” Frank enthused beside him. He reached out for Bill’s arm, trying to link their hands.
Bill flinched away from his touch, cringing like he’d been burned.
Bill was so mad he could barely think straight. He was mad at Joel, who had Bill dead to rights over that fucking fence, and knew it. He was mad at Tess and the way she drank their wine and gushed over their food. Mad at the way she looked at Frank, like they were friends. He was mad at Frank, who invited these strangers into their home with no regard for his own safety. What if Tess had killed him while Bill was outside keeping Joel under a watchful eye? What if they’d stolen from them? What if they were doing a recon mission and would come back with a whole gang, now that they’d found all of the weaknesses in Bill’s security. And god help him, the weaknesses were there. He tried so hard, so very hard, to keep Frank safe. But the fence was eroding and the gas was getting weaker and as careful as his traps were, they weren’t insurmountable if someone took the time to learn their layout.
Most of all, Bill was furious with himself. Joel had taken one look at their home and seen all the ways to break in. Frank had grinned at Tess and reminded Bill of all the ways he was failing. He was furious with himself, because Frank was going to leave him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Frank had such a good time. He loved playing host, meeting people, talking to someone other than Bill. Bill and his gruff, cold affection. Now that Frank had met Joel and Tess, he wouldn’t need Bill anymore. He didn’t need Bill’s protection, or his food, or his shelter. What good was Bill, if Frank could be kept safe by someone else? Sooner or later, Bill always knew Frank would decide he wanted more than this lonely, empty life. Now that he had friends at the Boston QZ, what was keeping Frank here? Frank would leave. The certainty of it was choking him.
Frank dropped his hand back down to his side, watching Bill sidelong. His smile slipped, but only a little. He was still so happy. He had loved Joel and Tess, he wanted to see them again. Bill thought he might be sick.
“Are you okay?” Frank asked softly, “I know you didn’t want-”
“I’m fine,” Bill lied sharply.
“Bill-”
“You let them into the house,” Bill snapped, focusing with intent on the smallest of his grievances. “She could have killed you.”
Frank smiled, damn him. “But she didn’t.”
“She could have, Frank!” Bill lurched to a stop, forcing Frank to turn and look at him. They were standing just outside the house. An American flag twisting in the breeze, a pristine porch, even a goddamn white picket fence. And it still wouldn’t be enough. “You need to- fuck, you can’t just-” Bill took a deep, rattling breath. His head was pounding, but this was too important. If Frank was going to leave, he needed to know how to keep himself safe. It was the only thing that mattered. Frank needed to be safe. “People, out there, they’ll kill you for less than what we have here. They’ll kill you for a clean sweater.”
Frank’s expression softened. “I know, but Joel and Tess… I trust them. They’re like us.”
Bill didn’t have the wherewithal to untangle that particular idea. Later, when the dust had settled and Bill could step back from the precipice of his panic, he would understand Frank’s meaning. In the years to come, he would eventually recognize a kindred spirit in Joel, someone who tried too hard and held on too tight, because he didn’t know how else to keep the people he loved safe.
“I wish you would take this more seriously,” Bill said tightly. “When I’m not around, I- I need you to take this more seriously. Please, Frank.”
Frank gave him a confused little smile, still so warm, despite Bill’s ire. “Why, love, are you planning on going somewhere?”
God, why did Frank always need to make it so difficult for him? He was going to force Bill to spell it out, scraping himself raw in the process. “Not me, you.”
“Am I going somewhere?” Frank countered, still politely confused.
“You don't… have to stay here anymore,” Bill grit out. “You can go to Boston with Tess and Joel. They’ll look after you.”
Bill felt like he’d been turned inside out. His hands were shaking as he crossed his arms over his chest. He’d known this moment would come - he’d been selfish, thinking he could trap Frank here forever. Frank liked people too much. He craved noise and friends, he wanted more from life than Bill could offer. The past couple years, Bill had just been kidding himself. It didn’t count as a real choice, when Bill was just the best of a bunch of bad options. And Bill was honest with himself that if they’d met in the before times, Frank never would have looked twice at him. Bill knew what he was - paranoid, Frank called him. He’d heard the same and worse from everyone he’d ever met. Stupid, the kids in school called him. They called him other things too, which hit closer to the mark than Bill had cared to dwell on at the time.
He was sure that Frank didn’t mean anything by it - Bill was paranoid, he did hate the government long before they were overtaken by a military coup. But it just served to drive the point home, that Frank wasn’t like him. Frank wanted more than what Bill could give him.
As Bill was neck deep in his usual brand of self-loathing, Frank had blithely been ignoring his self-sacrifice. Instead, he stepped towards Bill with sure-footed certainty. He always did know the way through Bill’s defences. Frank brought his hands up to cup around Bill’s jaw. Despite himself, Bill leaned into the touch, unable to do anything else.
Clearly, Bill was less of a closed book than he’d thought, as Frank said, with aching tenderness, “Bill, my love, you are not the Beast keeping me locked away in a tower against my will.”
He was though. He was . Bill was selfish, his heart was cold and possessive. He wanted to keep Frank where he could see him, always. He got anxious when Frank went to the boutique on his own. The idea of Frank leaving the safety of their street, setting out on the long trek to the Boston QZ, made him want to crawl out of his skin.
Bill shook his head, trying to argue. His eyes were locked on his own boots, his shame a physical weight on the back of his neck.
“No, listen to me,” Frank persisted. “I love you, you nut. I love you. Not for what you give me, or because you think I’m trapped here. You-” Frank’s voice cracked, and Bill’s eyes snapped to his face. His eyes were shining with tears, which spilled over as he continued, “you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’m not leaving you, not ever. You can’t make me.”
Bill gave him a shaky smile, feeling rubbed raw. He captured Frank’s tears with a wide thumb, wiping them away. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay,” Frank repeated back to him. “Glad that’s settled then.”
Call Joel. Call Joel. Call Joel.
Frank’s hands were shaking as he scraped a hand over his face. He tipped his head back, looking up at the burning stars overhead.
In his twenties, Frank had been a chain smoker. He gave it up in the mid-90s, years before the world ended. It had been a long time since his last cigarette - these days, they were rare and staggeringly expensive. Bill would be livid if Frank traded anything actually useful for them. Except right now, Frank would have given Joel half their arsenal for a single drag.
He felt wrung out, like a wet rag, twisted and emptied and cold.
Frank heard the telltale creak of the floorboard right before Tess came into view, stepping outside to join him. She sat down on the stairs beside Frank, her shoulder pressing hard against his. It was grounding, and Frank leaned back into it gratefully. “You did good,” she told him into the quiet night. “You did everything right.”
Looking down, Frank noticed her hands in the torchlight, stained red with blood. Bill’s blood. After, when Frank had done everything he could, repeating all of Tess’ first aid to himself as he worked, when he had called Joel and sent his emergency signal, when he had been sure that Bill would survive the night, Frank had scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed his hands with a pellet of Bill’s hard homemade soap. Even now, days later, Frank is sure he can still see some of Bill’s blood under his fingernails.
Finally, Frank pulled himself together enough to ask, “Is he going to be okay?”
“I think so,” Tess told him steadily. “Nothing is guaranteed, but…”
Frank let out a shaking breath. “Yeah.” He took a moment to let the relief settle into his bones. “I should go-”
“He’s going to sleep for a while still-”
“Even so, I want to be there when he-”
“Frank, when did you last sleep?” Tess stood as Frank did, her hand on his elbow.
He couldn’t remember. He must have dozed off at some point in the last few days, but his memory was already a blur of agonizing, endless, obsessive watching of Bill’s rising and falling chest. There was no answer he could give Tess that would satisfy her, so he stepped around her back into the house. He found Bill asleep in their guest bedroom, where he and Joel had carefully transported him.
Joel was leaning just inside the room, holding his own kind of vigil over Bill. Frank felt a rush of affection for him - Bill would never believe him, but Frank at least was deeply grateful for Joel’s friendship. Joel gave him a nod and a squeeze of his shoulder before retreating back out of the room and leaving Frank with Bill.
It took another ten hours before Bill woke for the first time, but when he did, Frank was there.
“You’re here,” Bill said when he could speak.
“I told you I would be,” Frank told him, hand tight in his. “Always.”