Hey Guys! Whew... this one's a biggie. It was originally meant to be a mini Billverly oneshot, and now it's not so mini (even if it is still a Billverly oneshot). I had fun writing it, and I think it's sweet. Also don't worry, the next chapter of Let Me Explain What Happened at Prom is coming as soon as life decides to take a chill pill. Anywho, enjoy!

The Captain of the Guard

"You're a fucking idiot William Denbrough." Beverly said, pressing the icepack against his eye. Bill winced and Beverly sighed, letting off a little bit of pressure. "I cannot believe you would do something that colossally stupid." Bill tried to speak but Bev cut him off, "god, you really are a fifteen-year-old boy because your brain functioning is seriously limited."

"B...B…B…But she called you a s…s…s…"

Beverly cut him off before he managed to finish the word, "I know damn well what she called me Bill. I also know damn well that her on again off again boyfriend happens to be Victor Criss." Beverly gasped, as if she had suddenly had a brilliant epiphany, "you know what else I know? I know that I am a big girl can take care of myself."

"I know d…d…damn well that you can t…t…take care of yourself Bev, h…h…hell I've seen you t...t…take out ten bottles with a s…s…slingshot in t…t…thirty seconds. But you weren't going to d…d…do anything."

"Because I didn't want to get my ass handed to me on a silver platter." She put down the ice pack, reaching for Bill's wrist. She spoke as she examined it, making sure that nothing looked too infected. "We should call Eddie, he'd probably be able to offer more help than me. That is, after he finished telling you about all the flesh eating infections you could contract." She reached for the ace bandage next to her and started to wrap his hand.

"Are you m…m…mad at me Bev?" Bill asked, his voice so hushed it was barely a whisper.

"Of course I'm not mad at you Bill." The ace bandage slipped out of her grasp and bounced off her bed onto the floor, she let it fall. "You were a regular knight in shining armor back there, rushing to defend the innocent." Bill cracked a small smile, "brave, noble, handsome even." She picked up the ace bandage and rammed it into Bill's good arm, "but I don't want to have to be the one to run to the nearest phone while you bleed profusely out of your neck because Henry Bowers went after you with a switchblade after you pulled one of your heroic stunts."

Bill said nothing for a second. Finally, he looked up at Beverly with a slightly stupid, very sweet puppy dog smile, "you t…t…think I'm handsome?"

Beverly cocked an eyebrow, "that's the only thing you got out of that?"

"You t…t…t…told me that I was a knight in s…s…shining armor, then n…n…not to get myself k…k…killed. Then you said I was h…h…handsome." He laughed a little to himself, "congratulations, you're the first p…p…p…person to ever t…t…think that."

"Richie thinks that. Richie has straight up said that he thinks that." Beverly held up her hands, gesturing wildly, imitating Richie's animated way of talking, "remember his, 'EVERYONE'S had a crush on William Denbrough at some point,' spiel."

"They call him the T…T…Trashmouth for a reason, Bev. I d…d…don't think anything s…s…serious has come out of his mouth in the last t…t…ten years." She shrugged passively and began to wrap his hand again, more carefully. "W…w…what's that supposed to m…m…mean?"

"It means there's just a smidgeon of truth behind all of Richie's bullshit."

Bill rolled his eyes sarcastically, "ahhh y…y…yes Richie Trashmouth T…T…Tozier, the next S…S…Socrates."

Bev let out a little laugh, "so he does have a sense of humor!"

"H…h…h…hey!" Bill cried, feigning offense.

"Oh come on you know it's true." Beverly laughed a little, puffing out her chest, sticking out her bottom lip, and speaking in an exaggerated deep voice, "oh I'm William Denbrough and I have to be a manly man all the time." Bill flipped her off and Beverly laughed, loosely and freely, throwing her head back, "tsk, tsk Bill, flipping off a lady, that's…"

Bill cut her off, "you k…k…know you're not a l…l...lady."

"Damn straight," She said, narrowing her eyes and nodding her head, "I'm a woman." She finished wrapping Bill's wrist and moved her hand to examine her work. It was sloppy at best, the bandages coming apart and Bill's nose still bleeding slightly. She sighed, starting to reach for the phone, "I'm calling Eddie, Eddie will know what to do, we're just going to have to pretend that we don't hear what he has to say about flesh eating bacteria and bleeding to death and your insides coming out of your nose or whatever…"

Bill placed his hand on top of Beverly's right before it reached the phone, causing Beverly to trail off. They sat there for a moment, both of them staring at Bill's hand, which was resting gently on top of Beverly's now. The moment was somehow awkward and comfortable for both of them, and they wanted to live in it. Bill broke the trance, saying, "d…d…don't. I feel f…f…f…fine Bev."

Beverly pulled her hand away, maintaining eye contact with Bill, "you know your stutter gets worse when you're nervous." Bill's mouth twitched, as if he didn't quite know whether to laugh. She smiled slightly, giving Bill permission smile back. After a moment, Beverly started to laugh, tentatively and breathily, Bill laughed in response.

Beverly put her hand back and rested on her palm, smiling contently. She inched her hand back a bit, feeling something with the tips of her fingers. She closed her hand around it and picked it up, bringing it around and examining it. It was a small, well-worn, red leather notebook. Bill reached over her, trying to grab it, "B..B…Bev…."

Beverly cut him off, jerking the notebook away and out of his grasp, "what? I want to read it, is it your diary or something?"

"N…n…no," Bill stuttered, wringing his hands nervously, "you can read it if you w…w…want to. They're just my s…s…stories, they're kinda s…s…s…shitty though."

Beverly raised an eyebrow, cracking open the notebook, "I'm not taking any of your bullshit today Denbrough. If those stories are anything like your Dungeons and Dragons campaigns they belong in the New York Times, not in a worn out leather notebook in a fifteen-year-old boy's bedroom." She flipped through the pages, finally settling on one that was titled messily in black pen. The Captain of the Guard.

Bill tried to grab the book away from her once more, nervously clamoring, "you d…d…don't want to read the one, I w…w…wrote it a long time ago. It's probably littered with g…g…grammar mistakes and clichés and..."

"Hush Bill," Beverly said, swatting his hand away, "I'm trying to read." Bill, realizing it was useless to resist, focused his gaze on the floor and started blushing furiously. Beverly started to read.

The captain of the guard was a noble man. Highly respected throughout the land, everyone knew of his selfless actions and willingness to risk his own life to defend the innocent. Although he spoke little, when he did he spoke with great power and wisdom, and his message was clear despite his stutter. "I have to say," Beverly remarked with a small laugh, "the captain of the guard reminds me of somebody I know." Bill blushed harder. Beverly continued to read. Bill looked up at her. It was beautiful, enchanting even how intently she was reading, how intently she was reading something he wrote! The way a strand of her short red hair fell in her face, the small smile, the blush of her cheeks.

His right hand man was a man of few words as well. Strong, dependable, confident, even-tempered, and well versed in history, he was responsible for researching the nations they were to visit and helping to develop battle strategy. "Mike!" Beverly exclaimed with a sudden burst of excitement, clearly very pleased by the introduction of another one of their friends.

She eagerly continued to read. Their scout was a tall, lanky half-elf with curly hair and pointed ears. Meticulously organized, he mapped all their adventures and cataloged any magical items they might find. "Oh Stan," she said with a small smile.

Then there was the page. A small, mousy, nervous man well versed in medicine. The other members of the party were unfailingly protective of him. Beverly threw her head back, letting out a loud, carefree laugh. "W…w…w…what?" Bill asked, twitching nervously, "what's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing," Beverly shook her head, unable to wipe the smile off her face, "it's just… somehow so perfect, Eddie as the page." Bill covered his face with his hands, a little embarrassed but mostly pleased, and very proud. The fifth member, who only sometimes accompanied them, was the court Jester. He was a tall beanpole of a man with messy, black hair. His hands were covered in bandages, and he seemed to be at least partially blind. When he was around, he was constantly cracking jokes, an innuendo on hand for every occasion. He never failed to single out and annoy the page, who, although on the surface seemed to be irked beyond belief, secretly enjoyed their playful relationship.

"This is somehow all so perfect Bill." And then there was the bard. A man who was not chubby but simply big, filling up every room he entered. Despite his hulking figure, he was very gentle, preferring to retire to his poetry, daydreaming, and song writing. He was, on top of all of this, rather brilliant and resourceful. He could make their sleeping arraignments out of almost anything he found lying about the forest floor. He completed their party. Beverly raised an eyebrow, "so if the bard is Ben. Where am I in this so called party?"

"I never made it f…f…further than t…t…that you d…d…d…don't need to read anymore."

"Then why can I see pen markings on the next page?" Beverly asked with a playful eyebrow wiggle, "I'm invested now Billy you can't just leave me out to dry." Bill lunged for it as a final, desperate effort but Beverly pulled away, shaking a finger in Bill's face and making an exaggerated tsking noise. Bill shrugged, finally accepting that there was nothing he could do to change her mind. Beverly smiled smugly, winking at Bill before returning to her reading. And, as every party does, this party had a very specific purpose. Their purpose was to protect the queen. This queen did not require any sort of protection, and was very capable on her own, but was too occupied with policy and public speaking to act as her own bodyguard. Beverly's face morphed into an expression that Bill could no longer identify, and he hastily looked away, tracing the plaid pattern of his comforter. The queen had fiery red hair that she had chopped at her jaw. The hair framed her face, giving her a look that had a sort of effortless beauty and elegance. She refused to adhere to the standards of the time, and instead of dressing in the customary, opulent ball gowns, she preferred to wear simple, practical dresses and a small tiara. And her appearance truly embodied her personality. She was progressive, free, and emotional yet intelligent. She was everything the people needed, and for this, they adored her with an almost inconceivable passion. Beverly's unreadable expression started to ease into one of gentle shock. When Bill risked a tentative glance back up at her, it seemed to him as if she knew the queen ought to be her, but couldn't quite comprehend that it truly represented the way Bill saw her. She finally realized that Bill didn't see her as a slut or a plaything, but rather a queen, regal and sensible, widely loved. She was… enchanted by this perception of her, and it was as if the writing had cast some sort of spell on her. She wanted, no, needed to keep reading… And the captain of the guard was no exception. The queen was like the stars in his eyes. Beautiful, regal, elegant, untouchable. He spent his days thinking about her incredible sensitivity and nights pondering her razor-sharp intelligence. His life was, in a sense, devoted to her. In short, he was deeply in love with her. He loved her so much that every time he saw her it was like his weak, pathetic heart stumbled, and he fell a little bit more in love with her. But she was unreachable, untouchable. The captain of the guard knew that he had only one chance with this queen, and that was an upcoming ball, dedicated to the celebration of the day their nation had gained independence. It was a formal ball, and each was expected to dress elegantly. The captain of the guard had dressed himself in his best, a well-tailored maroon suit with a tailcoat, and had put a small, white rose in the inside pocket of his coat, meant for the princess. He scanned the ballroom, looking for her, hoping that her face would grace his line of sight. When he finally spotted her, time seemed to slow around her, and nothing else mattered even the slightest bit. She was dressed in a stunning, sleeveless, flowing yellow gown with an orange fur coat that perfectly complemented her hair color. The outfit was complete with a pearl pin in her hair, satin yellow shoes, and elbow length yellow gloves. Her hair was teased so it fell about her eyes, framing her face. She, even in the winter, appeared to assemble some sort of summer flower. The captain of the guard approached her with too much urgency, his heart pounding, his breaths irregular. He turned to face her, her lips parting just enough, her eyes fluttering. He took a deep breath, readying himself, before carefully extending the flower. The text trailed off there, the only thing left on the page a couple of crossed out, incoherent scribbles. All she managed to utter was a weak, "oh." She took a deep breath, "Bill, I…"

"I know, I know, It's s…s…s…s...stupid isn't it. I mean, who writes f…f…fairytales a…?"

Beverly cut him off by placing a hand on his shoulder, eyes still fixated on the page. "No, Bill," she looked up at him, meeting his eyes, a brilliant smile lighting up her features. " I think it's incredible." She laughed a little to herself, "I… I just wish I knew how it ended."

"It was a c…c…c…cliché." Bill murmured to himself.

"Bill, you write so brilliantly nothing you write is a cliché." Bill wrung his hands nervously, as if debating whether or not to retort. He decided against it, and the two of them fell back into a pleasant silence. "Hey Bill?" Beverly asked, finally breaking the silence. Bill looked up at her, "do you think you could write me an ending?"

"N…n…n…now?" Bill stuttered nervously.

"It's not that hard," Beverly said, getting to her feet, "let's pretend that I'm the queen and you're the captain of the guard. What would you do next."

Bill's inhaled, his expression a mix of shock, fear, and happiness. After a moment, the happiness won and he rushed to the windowsill, reaching his hand out. Once he pulled it back in, he held in his grasp a small, delicate white flower. He extended it to Beverly with a nervous exhale. Beverly reached for it, letting her fingers linger on top of Bill's for moment, the contact sending nervous trills through both of their bodies. Bill, as if suddenly realizing he was touching her, jerked his hand away. "Then he'd p…p…p…probably kiss her h…h…hand." Bill took her hand, placing a kiss so gentle on it that Beverly could scarcely feel it.

"And then she'd say, thank you for the flower, good captain Denbrough. It's quite beautiful."

Bill flashed her a winning smile, "he'd s…s…smile and say something c…c…charismatic like, a beautiful flower for a b…b…b…beautiful lady."

Beverly laughed, "she'd giggle, blush, and look at the captain, as if expecting something from him. He'd almost read her mind, and in response he would say…"

Bill jumped in with a deep bow, "m'l…l…lady, would you care for a d…d…d…dance?"

Beverly dropped into an equally deep courtesy. "To which she would courtesy, and easily reply, but of course, it would be an honor to dance with you captain." Bill extended his hand and Beverly rested hers on top. The pair made eye contact for a moment as Bill placed his hand on the small of Beverly's back while she put her hand on his shoulder. The two of them started to dance. It was slightly awkward at first, their steps out of sync and out of rhythm. After a moment of sheer silence and concentration, Beverly let out a small laugh, Bill was soon to follow, and soon the pair were laughing hysterically. Bill gained confidence, and through his peals of laughter, he started to twirl Beverly. Soon, out of breath and smiling like fools, the two returned to their awkward, tentative rhythm. Beverly took a step towards Bill, "and when the song finally ended, the pair couldn't bear to pull away from each other, so they would stand, motionless, staring into each other's eyes."

Bill laughed good-naturedly, "you s…s…should be the w…w…writer not me."

"Shh I'm trying to think." Beverly said in response. After a moment, Beverly took a deep breath, before starting to speak again, "finally, the captain would bear to break the silence, and he would say…"

Beverly trailed off. Bill's eyes flickered with a moment of fear. He knew what it was Beverly expected him to say, and he knew that he would mean it, but it had been a secret that he had kept inside him for so long that it was hard, painful even to force out. "He w…w…w…would say, I l…l...love you, your m…m…majesty."

Beverly's face changed. Even though she had expected it, it caught her by surprise. Now it was her turn, her turn to be nervous, her turn to make the admission. She swallowed hard, "to which to she would reply, I love you too captain."

"I love you Beverly," Bill said after a moment. It came out easier this time, more naturally and without stuttering.

"I love you too Bill." The two stared into each other's eyes, vulnerable, lost in each other, and helplessly in love. "Well I guess that marks the end of our story." Beverly said quietly, almost sadly.

"N…n…not yet," Bill said with a sudden rush of courage, "there's one m…m…more element of a h…h…h…happy ending." He placed his hand on Beverly's cheek, as if asking for permission. Beverly nodded slowly and at long last, their lips met.