/Have ya'll heard the good news? Bill Hobart is gay and loves cats. Heres the fic that both seven-dragons and of course mindyourownbusinessblake sugested: Bill Hobart's cat tries to eat Charlie's fish. Then it got angsty because of course it did. Modern!Au.
Of course it would be Bill Hobart's cat that got lose.
Of course it would be Bill Hobart's cat that climbed into the window of the cutest boy on the block.
Of course it would be Bill Hobart's cat that tried to eat said cute boys prized goldfish
Of course it would.
…
Bill Hobart's father hated cats. And Dogs. And Bill. All things really. But Bill has a distinct memory of being twelve and asking for a cat, and why not? They'd learned about them in school. They were hunters, they lived in packs. Bill thought they sounded cool. His father, not so. Said that cats were for fags and sissys. And Bill wasn't a fag or a sissy was he? And Bill had replied no, of course not. (And been beat anyway).
That was something like twenty years, probably more, ago now. Bill was no longer twelve, but in his thirties. Also, he was, as his father described, a fag. Or at least, he had homosexual inclinations. He'd only acted on them drunk. While his father had been alive, he's managed a stream of girlfriends, but most of them ended up finding him a bit too violent (not in that way. He'd never hit anyone he was dating. Only people who deserved it. Like criminals.)
The cat had been a sort of 'fuck you' to his dad, adopted after the funeral, where he showed an appropriate amount of sadness, and put his flowers on the coffin. The cat, or, kitten, was about as large as Bill's hand when adopted, and named Haemon, after the son of Creon who kills himself in Antigone. (thanks year ten drama!) Which Bill found to be not only funny, but also a tad sad. Who wants to name a kitten after a boy who kills himself after his cousin, who is also a fiancee, tries to kill herself because her brother is left rotting in a field by her uncle rather then buried? Someone with a sense of humour, probably.
The cat was adopted when Bill lived in Melbourne, and given how new he was to Ballarat, a couple of years ago now. Despite his looking around for a nicer place to live, for the time being, he accepted this rather worn building, in a fairly gentrified part of down town to move into. The sort of building that was the last of the cheap housing. He's not got much money these days, but the promise of a promotion sent him sniffing down here for the work. So what if he was materialistic. And the building was pet friendly. A bonus. Haemon hadn't much liked the car drive, making Bill aware the whole time. But fuck. They needed the money. The upkeep on his father's house was too much for one man. He was renting it out currently, to pay for his mother's care.
His mother, Jenny Hobart, had been beaten within an inch of her life when Bill was sixteen, and had brain damage as a result, as well as needing care that Bill couldn't provide as well as work. Unable to shake the heavy blame from his stomach, Bill had decided on the best care he could realistically afford. Which was most of his money. Apparently Bill should re take his maths course. But he loved his mother, and he wasn't about to make her life worse, so he'd take this with both hands.
And he'd been doing fine at his new job. The Ballarat station was nice enough. The boss, Frank, was nice. The other officers were weary, but nice. He'd even learnt a little about who he was replacing. Matthew something or other, the old super, hard arse with two soft spots: His niece Rose, a journalist who Bill hasn't met yet, and Charlie, his...Well Bill wasn't sure. Boyfriend? Room mate? It seemed rude to ask. There was some debate as to if he had a soft spot for the volunteer ME Lucien Blake. But again: It seemed rude to ask. The ME certainly had no soft spot for him. And fair enough, Bill thought, as he tugged on his coat, needing to go find his escaped cat. Bill had done little earn it.
He was a man whose reputation for being heavy handed proceeded him. And most of the time he was fine with that. A carbon copy of his father in that respect. But again: He was fine with that. His father had been a highly respected officer, it seemed likely that Bill would upkeep the Hobart name.
Ducking out the door, he saw the good-for-nothing cat duck inside an open, fly screen-less window of his neighbour. This was the one neighbour who had hoped the cat wouldn't find a way to annoy. This neighbour was a bit younger then Bill, but very cute. The sort of boy Bill wouldn't feel too bad about getting drunk and making out with. He had no idea what his name was, but the boy was soft around the edges and had pretty eyes.
Bill felt a tiny bit of compassion for the boy given his apparent insomnia. From his window, no matter what time of night, there was always a flickering light coming from his TV, and if he positioned himself in his kitchen just right, he could see him sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket watching infomercials on the shopping channel. A sad place Bill has been more then once.
Sure, Bill could have knocked on the door and asked for his cat back. But that would have been what a smart person did. No, Bill Hobart decided the correct thing to do was to follow the cat in through the open window in the small apartment like his own.
He studied the living room carefully, looking for possible cat hiding places. There was a couch, an ancient couch, that looked like it came from the Salvos, as well as an I-Phone 4 sitting on the left arm rest. It pings with a message when Bill is looking at it and he nearly jumps out of his skin. It's from 'Rose 'heart'' a girlfriend? Hm. The message reads 'did u get any sleep?' He looks away then, because as fascinating as that would be, he really isn't here to snoop.
There is a sideboard table next to the couch with a couple of pictures on it. One of the cute boy, and a girl. The boy has a temporary tattoo with the bisexual flag on it on his left cheek, and the girl next to him with brown hair pulled into a ponytail has a pink flag (lesbian? Bill really needed to brush up on his flags.) on the same cheek. So it was taken at pride then. Both are smiling, happy to be there. The date in the bottom of the photo declares it was taken in 2008. He leaves the photo behind, and continues to investigate. There is a pink blanket with a silver edging on the couch, he pats around it with his hand. No cat emerges.
On the coffee table, there is a day planner.
-pick up laptop from the shop
-Appointment with L B
-buy more tea
busy day ahead of him, then, Bill thought, moving on, trying to pretend he's not snooping. As he moves into the kitchen, he notes another few things, while checking for the blasted cat. There is packet of thin cut salt and vinegar chips on the bench, half eaten and secured with a Bah-Noodle. He can't decide what's sadder. The fact that someone actually brought these glorified pipe cleaners, or that he knows what they are and actually referred to them in his head as a Bah-Noodle. You lead a sad life, Bill, he thought to himself, peering around the sink with clean dishes on the sideboard. Several tea cups and spoons. A bowl with an orange stain at the bottom. Instant spaghetti or baked beans. Bill knows this because he has similar stains on his microwave safe bowls. You lead a sad, sad, life, Bill, he reminded himself, before moving on.
"I'm not ready to make nice, I'm not ready to back down! I'm still mad as Hell-" What the fuck Bill thought, as he stopped in front of a closed door. Shit, the kid had a set of pipes on him, then, Bill thought, letting out a deep breath. He was in the shower, he thought, listening to the water rushing and the voice coming out over the top. The Dixie Chicks? Strange choice, but Bill isn't judging. He does, after all, know the song. He pauses, and the song fades out, and then he launches into a rendition of Lubbock of Leave it. Bill scoffs to himself, and hurries on his way. It's alright, cute boy, your secret was safe with him.
The next room he went into was an office of some kind. A desk with a charger but no laptop, probably the one at the shop. There's a tablet on the table, but it's not open and Bill is NOT here to snoop so he doesn't try and open it. There's a framed set of ribbon bars on the table a mix of ones he doesn't recognise, and some he does. Police ones, actually. One for dedicated Service, as well as a military portrait of a serious faced man with cheek bones Bill could only dream of. The small plaque under that says 'Matthew Lawson 1965-2015' Shit. Last year then. He wonders what the cute boy's relationship with the man was. The medals themselves weren't in there, he wonders where they were. Maybe he wanted to wear them? He doesn't know.
There were other pictures that answer his question. A recent picture, or it looked recent, of the cute boy with a much older Matthew Lawson at some kind of fete. The cute boy is holding a goldfish in a plastic bag while receiving a kiss on the cheek from the serious looking other man. A wedding picture of a man with a beard and a woman with short brown hair, was that Doctor Blake? He wonders, examining the photo. The cute boy has an arm hooked inside of Lawson's, both are standing to attention behind Blake. On the other side, there is a shorter auburn haired girl with her arm in the arm of the brunette from the pride picture standing behind a third brunette who he assumed was Mrs Blake. Or: Jean. And that brunette, was that Doctor Harvey? Damn. He hadn't known she was gay. Small world.
So: Cute boy was dating Matthew Lawson? Who was Matthew Lawson? Better question: Who was cute boy? After a bit more not-snooping, he noticed a certificate on the top of the bench, claiming that Charlie Davis had a degree in something maths related. Interesting. He'd have spent more time examining the certificate but Charlie had shifted tunes again, this time to something that he didn't recognise. But he saw the word mathematics in the cursive and decided to leave it at that for now.
He turned again, and noticed a medium sized fishtank with a large filter. Curiously enough, the fish was not in the large tank but swimming in an open topped bowl. And of course, there was Haemon, watching the innocent, golden coloured fish with big blue eyes. Bastard cat. Before Bill can grab him, Haemon has put a paw in the water, narrowly missing the fish. Bill pounced, yelling unintentionally. He wrestled Haemon into his arms only to turn and see Charlie Davis looked at him, almost naked and very pissed.
Well shit.
"Hey, neighbour." Bill said, lamely, as Charlie hurried past him to grab the fishbowl and mumble to himself about Matthew being all he had left. And it all falls into place. This was Charlie Davis, soft spot of the old police super Matthew Lawson, who he was dating, and Rose must be his niece. Oh. Shit. He bit down on his lip, hard, not sure what to do, and keeping a vice like grip on Haemon. "I uh. Came in for my cat, and uh."
"You mean you broke in?" He demanded, wrapping one arm around the fishbowl and adjusting the towel around his waist. Bill notes a ring on Charlie's ring finger, and upon looking back up, a sort of green mark around his neck from a silver necklace with another ring on it. Honestly good on Lawson for getting some of that, he thought, as he took in Charlie's well toned arms.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Charlie said, clicking his fingers in front of him.
"Huh?" Bill replied. Oh so dignified, he thought to himself, pulling the bastard cat closer.
"You broke into my house."
"Yes."
"Name?"
"Bill Hobart." He answers without thinking. Charlie pauses
"As in…Matthew's replacement?"
"...Yes?" Pause. Charlie looks like he might say something, but thinks better of it.
"Get out, and take your mange-y cat with you." Bill half wants to say that Haemon does not have mange, but but he doesn't, and heads for the front door, while Charlie follows after him, glaring the whole time, and still clutching the fish bowl close to his chest. "Get the fuck out, did I fucking stutter?" He asked, when Bill turned again. Bill decides not to say goodbye after all, and goes out the front door, trying to suppress a bit of a jump when Charlie slams the door after him.
On his way back around the front to his place, he wonders what type of chocolate you send to say 'sorry my cat and I broke into your place and nearly ate your fish.'