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Holden is discharged the day after he collapses. No concussion, no trauma from the fall or the panic attack. The doctors give him instructions to take it easy on the caffeine, get a proper amount of sleep, and lay off the overnighters for a while. Bill watches the doctors give all this info to Holden, who seems to take it in with a ghostly pallor and empty gaze. Bill takes notes on the small pad tucked into the pocket of his slacks so he can relay it all to Wendy when he has a chance.
It’s unspoken, but Holden is released on the condition that Bill doesn’t leave his side; not that Bill was planning to anyway, but the firm glare the doctor gives him is enough. Holden walks like a regular human being as they step out of the hospital room and into the hallway. Still, Bill is struck with the urge to put his hand at the small of Holden’s back and guide him. He doesn’t, but he wants to, which is strange enough to have the tips of his ears burning.
Holden has never been a fragile, delicate person; once upon a time, Bill might’ve thought that, but it’s easy to see that Holden is far from sensitive. And this work with the BSU has only solidified that idea, that Holden is so much tougher than his gentle look would have people believe.
But here, now...this Holden may actually be as breakable as he’s always looked, and the thought terrifies Bill to his core.
He holds open the car door for Holden and watches the other man slide in and buckle, eyes never wavering, thoughts clearly a million miles away. Bill gets into the driver’s side and throws the car into drive. If not for the accident a few weeks prior, he’d be darting his gaze over to Holden every other moment while they drive. Part of him worries the other man is going to open the door and simply tuck and roll out of the car—another part of him feels ridiculous for ever worrying about such a thing.
He never worried about Holden have a god damn panic attack, though, so Bill thinks he maybe ought to start worrying more.
They make it to the motel in one piece and Holden gets out of the car on his own. Bill isn’t sure if that’s reassuring or not. It’s a quick walk to their room and Holden follows him inside, making a beeline for the bed. Immediately, Holden yanks off his tie and tosses it aside. It was crumpled and wrinkled anyway; Bill isn’t sure why the other man bothered putting it on in the first place but hadn’t felt right to call it out in the moment.
“I need,” Holden starts and stops.
Immediately, Bill takes quick strides to reach his side. “What?”
Holden shakes his head. Then, “I need new clothes. I can’t keep wearing these.”
Bill has never shied away from honesty with Holden, and he decides he’s not going to start now. “I don’t know if you should be left alone.”
The glare Holden aims his way is the first real sign of emotion Bill has seen since he burst into Holden’s hotel room. It’s enough to convince him that, for the ten minutes or less he should be gone, Holden will be fine.
So Bill nods, grabs the keys where he left them on the dresser, and leaves. He drives to the nearest department store, which thankfully is only just down the road, and haphazardly throws together an outfit. He buys a five pack of briefs, a tacky plaid pajama set because it’s cheap, a shirt and some linen pants. He guesses at the sizes and pays for the whole thing out of pocket.
His first reaction is panic, when he gets back to the motel room and the bed is devoid of Holden. He’s about ready to dive for the phone and call Wendy, or 911, or anyone, when he realizes there are clothes scattered around the room and the shower is running.
Bill takes a moment to breathe, catch his breath, and sets the bag of clothes on the bed. He follows the sound of the shower to the slightly ajar bathroom door and knocks on the doorjamb.
“Back,” he says. “Got you something to sleep in.”
“It’s barely noon.”
Bill rolls his eyes. “We aren’t going anywhere. Might as well be comfortable.”
A pause. “Thanks.”
Bill nods even though Holden can’t see him and then steps away from the bathroom, tugging the door shut the rest of the way. He busies himself with sitting on the edge of the bed closest to the phone, digs his notepad out of his jacket pocket, and dials Wendy. He gets her voicemail and leaves all the info from his hastily scribbled notes and hangs up just as the shower stops.
Bill looks over his shoulder right as Holden steps out of the bathroom, steam billowing out around him, nothing but a towel slung around his waist. “Jesus, Holden.”
“Like you haven’t seen worse,” Holden snarks flatly. He rummages around in the bag and pulls out the pack of briefs, stares at them for a moment, and then tosses them aside. He digs deeper and pulls out the shirt and pants pajama sent, and sighs. “Really?”
“They were cheap. We’re flying out tomorrow morning, didn’t think you needed silk and cashmere.”
Holden flips him off before shrugging on the shirt, buttoning up the front, and rolling up the sleeves. He’s still got the towel around his waist and for a hilarious moment, Bill thinks the other man is going to drop the towel to step into the pants, right there in front of him.
Holden doesn’t; he slips back to the bathroom and comes out a moment later with the pajama pants hanging low on his hips. “You suck at buying clothes.”
“Sue me,” Bill retorts. “You’re the one who flew out to California without a suitcase.”
Holden sits at the edge of the bed with his back to Bill. “I didn’t anticipate staying the night. Figured I’d catch a quick flight back. Or buy clothes for myself. Or…” Holden shakes his head, then hides his face in his hands.
Bill turns on the bed. “What happened?” No sense in beating around the bush.
“I had a panic attack.”
“Holden.”
“Bill.”
“Edmund Kemper hugged me and I had a fucking panic attack, alright?”
Bill nearly slips off the bed in surprise. In an instant, he’s on his feet and coming around to Holden’s side. “Excuse me?”
Holden doesn’t look at him. “You heard me.”
“I don’t think I did, Ford.”
“Edmund Kemper told me he could kill me and do some interesting things before anyone would come to his room, and then he hugged me.” Holden drags in a breath and lets out a shuddering exhale. “He made me his medical proxy and tried to kill himself.”
“To get you out here.”
“Yes.” Holden spits out the word like it burns him. “Yes, I fell for it. Rub it in.”
“Christ, Holden.” Bill scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “So Kemper hugged you, then what?”
“I ran and collapsed in the hallway, and now we’re here.” Holden finally sits up a little straighter and when he looks up at Bill, his eyes are red-rimmed and wet with tears.
“Fuck.” Bill sits beside him and starts to drag the other man close before he stops, hands just inches from touching Holden. He stares at his own hands, surprised at himself; Holden looks equally shocked.
“You can,” Holden murmurs. “It’s fine.”
Permission granted, it’s like Bill’s body moves into action without thinking. He pulls Holden close against his chest and wraps his arms around the other man in a tight hug. Not quite bruising, not suffocating, but enough to keep Holden near him and enough to feel the warmth and beating life of Holden’s body against his.
Bill closes his eyes. “I won’t say I told you so.”
“Maybe not right now, but later.”
“...Okay, maybe.” Bill can’t outright deny it. Against his arm, a smile burns against his skin where Holden’s face is pressed to his sleeve.
They sit like that for who knows how long, silent save for the ambient noise around them. Holden relaxes against Bill and Bill holds him tighter. They don’t say a word, although Bill’s thoughts are running a mile a minute.
The thought of Kemper putting his hands on Holden has never sat well with Bill. Not when it was casual touches, teeming with violent and—if you ask Bill—sexual tension. Not when it was careful, gentle fingertips and not when it was Kemper’s whole palm against Holden’s throat. Bill has always chalked it up to the rational distaste of a god damn serial killer putting their hands on a fellow agent.
Now, with Holden in his arms, which he never thought would happen, Bill is forced to admit that maybe his distaste was more than just what’s considered rational.
Eventually, the only reason they break apart is because of their stomachs growling.
Holden leans away and Bill wordlessly rises. He digs out a local takeout menu from the bedside table and places an order for some Chinese food, not bothering to ask what Holden wants and Holden doesn’t volunteer any information.
They don’t speak, but things feel okay.
Holden is fine until night falls and they’re in the queen bed together. It was all that was available to book at the last minute, and it means their elbows brush with every minor adjustment. They’re both on their backs, staring at the ceiling, and Bill has been waiting for Holden’s breathing to even out so he can get up for a smoke, but they turned off the television an hour ago and Holden hasn’t fallen asleep yet.
“Bill,” Holden says into the empty air.
“Come here,” Bill replies, already lifting his arm.
Holden rolls over and tucks himself against Bill’s side. His head fits perfectly near Bill’s neck and his hair tickles Bill’s cheek; his hand splays on Bill’s chest right over his heart. Holden is a warm line of weight against Bill, and even though his arm will be asleep by the morning, Bill curls it around Holden to keep him close.
“You’re not seeing Kemper again,” Bill growls.
Holden doesn’t argue. He just shifts closer, practically nuzzling against Bill’s neck.
“None of the subjects are going to touch you.”
“We can’t guarantee that.”
“I’m going to do try my fucking hardest,” Bill snaps.
Holden turns his head to look up at Bill. “Why?”
Bill bites back a groan. “Because it’s not appropriate. Because we don’t need a repeat of what happened with Kemper.”
Holden doesn’t look away.
“Because you’re mine,” Bill snarls.
In contrast to the sharp, rumbling tone, the way Holden leans forward to kiss him is achingly gentle. It’s careful and cautious, everything Holden has never been since they started working together. It’s at once jarring—for so many reasons, too many reasons for Bill to name—and comforting.
Holden raises a shaking hand to cup Bill’s stubbled cheek and deepens the kiss. Bill’s hand at the small of Holden’s back clenches in his pajama shirt. Holden whines quietly into the kiss and moves closer, invading Bill’s space. Bill memorizes the taste and feel of Holden’s tongue against his own. He memorizes the feeling of faint beard burn scrubbing at Bill’s chin, even though Holden’s never grown a beard in the time Bill’s known him.
“I was terrified,” Holden hisses as the kiss breaks. “But I’m not. With you.”
“I should hope not,” Bill says.
“No, I mean.” Holden leans back, closes his eyes. “I had a moment after Kemper that I thought the idea of anyone else having their hands on me...would be too much.”
Bill doesn't have a chance to answer because Holden kisses him again, a sweet thing.
“I’m not scared of you,” Holden says, then lays his head on Bill’s chest again.
Bill doesn’t reply except to press his lips to the top of Holden’s head. There’s nothing more he can say.