Chapter Text
“Your servant can sleep in the barn. We keep it nice and toasty for the horses so he'll be just fine.”
Billy tipped his head to the side, and the avalanche of snow and mud that had been trapped on the brim of his hat splattered across the hotel's plush blue carpet.
“No, no,” Goodnight said. He slapped Billy hard on the back, and moved the two of them forward as a unit all while twisting the heel of his boot into the swiftly melting mess. “My companion and I couldn’t possibly be parted. Got a full night of planning to do you understand? He's my guide. He knows these mountains better than the back of his hand, and I’d be lost without him. You wouldn’t want me to get lost now would you?"
They were far enough North that he wasn’t entirely sure if his name would grease the wheels in the way he needed, but the young man behind the desk took one look at Goodnight's graceful, looping signature and turned bright red.
"Oh! Of course Mr. Robicheaux. I mean, of course you'd know best about your situation not of course I'd ever wish for you to get lost."
He paused and dragged his eyes over Billy. The weight and measurement in his gaze made Goodnight want to bury a bullet in the other man’s brain. Owls be damned.
“Though you should know there's only one bed in that room, and we’ve no blankets to spare. Bit of a full house tonight.”
“I sleep standing up,” Billy said mildly.
The young man gapped.
“And with both eyes open,” Goodnight said, grabbing the thread and pulling the story loose. “Old trick he learned from back home. Marvelous thing to have in a body guard.”
The desk clerk bit his lower lip uncertainly. He was young, handsome and possessed the air of someone who was very aware of it. He reminded Goodnight of himself in years long past, and the thought only exacerbated his desire to shoot him.
“Thought you said he was your guide?”
“Why he's both,” Goodnight said. “Two birds, one stone if you catch my meaning. I've seen him wrestle a mountain lion into submission without breaking a sweat.”
"I kept it as a pet for a while," Billy added.
Goodnight positively beamed. Usually, Billy left the tall tales to him, but it was so much more fun when Billy jumped in.
"Not that we have it any more," Goodnight assured. "Deadly creature like that has no place in civilized society. We let her run back to the mountains after a few months. Though she has been known to get lonely and suss Billy out."
Goodnight leaned against the counter.
"Now, I'm sure a smart young man like you has a complete run of this place. I know you're busy, but I bet a regular boss man like yourself could work some magic and get two baths up to my room. Cold water first for a good scrubbing, but then a refill of steaming hot stuff for a nice long soak. That wouldn't be all that hard to find would it? I'd be much obliged."
The hotel clerk bobbed his head, his golden hair gleaming in the candle light. He leaned in so close with such an eager expression in his grey eyes that Goodnight wondered what he was going to do if this young man offered to scrub his back. Compliments of the hotel and all.
"Mr. Robicheaux, it would be my pleasure, sir.”
“Wonderful,” Goodnight said. “After weeks on the road it’ll be just the thing for us.”
“Of course,” the clerk’s gaze flickered to Billy. "I imagine there's a stink to contend with."
"I shouldn't have done that."
Billy sat on the bed, and bounced experimentally. There was a faint creek to the springs, but nothing anyone would come knocking about if it went on for too long. The fancier the place, the better the bed springs.
Goodnight leaned hard against the thick wood door, and pressed his ear against it. What he could pick up was muffled enough to satisfy him. He gave the door handle a pull, and then peered through the keyhole. Standard procedure.
"Done what?" Goodnight asked.
"The carpet."
Goodnight snorted. "Worried about scarring this fine establishment's pretty face?""
"No." Billy unbuckled his knife belt and draped it over the desk chair. "But the jackass at the front desk won't be the one cleaning that up. It's late. He'll wake up a maid. Make her scrub it."
Goodnight opened his mouth and then swiftly closed it. Billy was fond of saying that it was Goodnight who helped him navigate through the white man’s world, but Billy was the one with a keen understanding of how the guts of that world ground together. He knew what was waiting in all its dark corners, and whenever he pointed one out he left Goodnight feeling useless and lost in unfamiliar territory. Why Billy kept him around was a never ending mystery.
Billy finished unwinding the long strip of ratty knit he insisted was a scarf, and started to peel off the rest of his clothes. He ran into some trouble when he came to the buttons on his vest. Frowning, he flexed his fingers, trying to work heat and movement back into the stiff joints.
Goodnight crossed the room, and cupped Billy's hands between his own.
"Stop. Let me help."
He blew warm air over the knuckles, dug his thumbs into the calloused palms, and gently massaged the backs where he could feel the bones under a thin layer of skin. ‘Delicate’ wasn't a word he usually associated with Billy, but the bones under his fingers felt thin and fragile, and a mess of scars pointed to others who had gotten close to them and then abused the privilege.
He almost pulled him into his arms before remembering that he was still wearing his sopping wet coat, and then he did it anyway just to hear Billy grumble.
"If there weren't hot baths coming I'd make you sleep on the floor for that," Billy said.
Slowly, Goodnight turned. He rolled his shoulders, and let his wet coat hit the floor with a dramatic thud. He tossed his hat behind him, not paying much attention to where it landed, and then kicked both his boots across the floor.
“Oh you’d be far too lonely all by yourself in that big bed.”
Billy's cold nose was suddenly buried into the back of Goodnight's neck. He clumsily untucked Goodnight's shirt, and ran his breath warmed hands across the other man's stomach.
"Do you think your friend from the front desk will be the one to bring the water up?" Billy asked. “He actually batted his eyelashes at you. I thought people only did that in plays.”
Goodnight snorted. "That petty little piss-ant deserves to get his teeth knocked in, and yes I expect we'll see him again tonight.” He paused. "Don't suppose you'd enjoy getting pampered? I could make him give your feet a rub. Scrub your back? Wash your hair? Order up a big steak dinner for you?"
Billy hummed as he kissed a trail across Goodnight’s neck, pausing to nip at the chilly skin.
“No, he’d do something to the food.”
“He would lose several fingers if he tried that,” Goodnight said with a smile that was as sharp as one of Billy’s knives.
He turned, but batted Billy’s hands away when he reached for Goodnight’s vest.
“Take yours off first,” Goodnight said. “You’re the one who keeps sneezing on me.”
“You started the whole thing by sneezing on me,” Billy said, but took the advice and started unbuttoning his vest and shirt with much nimbler fingers. “By the way, you’re missing a button.”
Goodnight peeled his own layers off, and then held the vest up for inspection. The low lamp light didn’t give him much assistance, and goose bumps ran the length of his arms. They’d need to get a fire going soon.
"It appears that I am. I’ll stop by the general store tomorrow. Hell, I might send the piss-ant. Give you, me and the bed some more time together. What about the rest of my suggestions? If you don’t like my options you can always come up with a few of your own. He won’t try anything, not with me there watching, pointing, and managing the whole affair from a comfortable distance away.”
Billy shook his head, and turned around.
“Look at you!” Goodnight crowed. “You’re not even tempted. Not even a little bit!”
Billy shrugged, and the muscles across his bare back stretched and flexed. There were scars across that length of skin that Goodnight liked to trace with his fingertips, connecting them with the occasional freckle like they were far off constellations and he a sailor searching for safe harbor.
“I’m not being selfless. I just don’t want him to touch me. I only like it when you touch me.”
And just like that the vast cash of Goodnight’s vocabulary was made worthless in the wake of Billy’s simple confession. Goodnight’s compliments were heartfelt and numerous, but he’d never once stolen all the air out of the room with one simple sentence the way Billy just had.
“Here. Catch.”
A small black button bounced off Goodnight’s forehead, and he grabbed it before it could plummet to the floor.
“Did you pull this off your jacket?”
Billy grinned. “With my teeth.”
“This does not solve the problem,” Goodnight said. “It just hands my problem over to you.”
“If I’m missing a button no one will notice, but a manager should look presentable,” Billy said. ”If people start thinking I’m the manager and you’re the knife thrower we’re in trouble. You’re a terrible knife thrower.”
A series of sharp knocks put a halt to the exasperated eye roll Goodnight was about to give.
“Okay funny man. I’ll keep the wolves at bay. You get a fire going.” He allowed himself one moment of complete self-pity before turning the handle, and throwing the door wide open. “Why if it isn’t the future manager! Roll those beautiful bathtubs in here. I’ve got three months’ worth of dust to wash out of my ears.”
Behind him, Billy sneezed.
Goodnight could never decide which was worse; being plagued by insomnia or tormented by nightmares. No matter which one the night brought he paid well for it; his body and mind raw and suffering from the aftershocks well into the next day. Still, there were worst places to enjoy a night. He was in a bed, clean, full, and had a swell view of the full bright moon through the room’s far window. The sliver light spilled across the bed, and washed over Billy creating a sight so lovely that Goodnight wished he had any talent with a paint brush.
Billy’s still damp hair fell across his face like tendrils of smoke, and Goodnight reached over to tuck them behind his ears. He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or worried that the move didn’t wake him.
Taking full advantage of Billy's unconscious state, Goodnight pressed a hand against the other man's forehead. If he'd tried it during waking hours Billy would have eye-rolled and squirmed away. Bristling at the mere idea that he, Billy Rocks, healthiest son of a bitch this side of the Mississippi could be sick. And lord help them all when Billy actually was sick. Goodnight practically had to sit on him to get him to rest. Luckily, the skin under his palm was cool. Billy cuddled closer, pressing into Goodnight’s palm. It would have been sweet had he not coughed right into Goodnight's face.
Deciding to leave Billy be, Goodnight rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It was higher than the roofs he was used to, but nothing as fancy as what he'd grown up with. He knew every spot on the ceiling of his childhood bedroom thanks to a bout of scarlet fever that had killed two of his siblings, and left him bed bound. He’d been weak as a kitten, and picking patterns out of the shadows that waltzed across the wood above had been the only excitement allowed. This one didn’t even have an interesting water stain to entertain him with.
His gaze drifted back to the window, and the moon.
A lack of fever didn't mean they shouldn't set up camp in this town for a few days. Or even a few weeks. Just long enough to chase Billy's cough away. They had the money, but the pompous cow-eyed youngster downstairs could be more trouble than the soft bed and warm fire was worth.
He was weighing the possibility of asking the piss-ant to ride to the next town to pick up something that he didn't need or want (Shoestrings maybe) when a rock crashed through the window. It hit the floor with a thud, and went sliding across the boards amidst a glittering shower of broken glass.
It wasn’t a promising sight, but it wasn’t nearly as concerning as the fire drenched torch that came sailing in after it.