Chapter three
"I quite agree with you," said the Duchess; "And the moral of that is- 'Be what you would seem to be'- or, if you'd like to put it more simply- 'Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.'"
"No, Marty- until you pay me the money you owe me, you're fucking nothing to me. You're a fucking parasite. Pay me my god-damn money, and I'll stop treating you like a fucking idiot. If you don't pay me back, I'll take it out on those crooked fucking teeth of yours, get me?"
Walter was secretly keeping count of the number of fucks William could cram into the heated phone call. William was pacing the entryway, now, his coat still halfway off of his shoulder as he had become too involved with his own agitation to continue stripping off his winter garments. His scarf slipped off his neck to hit the floor to go unnoticed as he continued, "What the fuck are you talking about? Just pay me my fucking money! I swear to god, I knew you were going to try and fuck me over- Just pay it back, or I'll make your life a living hell. I can't drop this kind of cash like nothing, you fucking moron. I don't give a shit where you get it, rob a fucking orphanage! But pay your fucking dues, I'm fucking serious!"
Eleven. Since he had enter the house. Not including the bits and bobs of other colorful cursing that he had thrown in for decoration. Walter was coy about his amusement, as he moved forward to help his friend with his coat, and William nodded with thanks as he continued the cell phone conversation, "No, Marty. I don't fucking care, Marty. This conversation is over, Marty. The next time we talk, you're head'll be in a fucking vice." He hit the end button on the phone, stowing the blocky article in the pocket of his hanging coat with a sharp sigh.
"Is everything alright?" Walter questioned, mentally tallying the score up to thirteen.
"Maybe if Marty would get his head out of his ass. I don't want to talk about it," William shook his head, running his fingers back through his hair, "I swear to god, people piss me off."
Walter nodded understandingly, "Well, come on in. Elizabeth is getting set to take Peter to his program, we should stay out of the way." Walter beckoned for him to follow, leading the way into the living room.
"Oh- Jeez, I'm sorry, I didn't think Peter would hear any of that…"
"He didn't," Elizabeth called from the kitchen, emerging as she stuffed a Tupperware container of homemade sugar cookies into her oversized bag, "But you may want to tone it down a little in the future, Will."
"Sorry, Liz."
"Walter, will you be sure to get your undershirts off the line?" She did not wait for an answer as she called, "Peter! Your uncle Will is here!"
"It's on the list," Walter conceded, as his son peeked out from the hallway, wide-eyed.
William smiled at Peter, "Hey there, Peterbutter! How's it going? Come on out, give us a hug," A smile lit up Peter's face, and he raced from cover, bulleting across the living room as William scooped him into a hug, "Jeezy creezy! Look at how big you're getting!" William smiled to Walter, "He looks more like you every day."
"We've got to get going," Elizabeth interrupted, striking a stray lock from her eyes as she glanced down at her timepiece, "Peter, tell your uncle Will goodbye."
Peter's face, however young and bright, seemed to constrict with concentration. William looked to Walter, whom shook his head, "Hey, it's okay, Peterbutter. You just keep working on it, it'll come." William ruffled the boy's hair, and settled him back on his feet.
"Peter?" Walter questioned, and Peter looked over at him, "How about a goodbye for daddy?" Peter ran to him, and Walter hauled him up into a hug. They stared into each other's faces for a few moments, before they smiled, and Peter planted a kiss on his father's cheek. Walter set him on his feet, and he scampered to his mother.
Elizabeth was frowning, "Stop doing that," she told Walter, and lead Peter out of the house.
"Is he still having trouble speaking?" William questioned, as Walter slid his hands into his pockets.
"Yes. Elizabeth is worried, the doctors are worried. But I didn't say my first words until I was six, I don't see what the problem is. I don't think he's slow, do you?"
William shook his head.
"It'd be something of an irony, if he were slow," Walter shrugged, "Judging his stock. I don't think Elizabeth could take it, if Peter were slow."
"I don't think he is," William repeated, "he's a sweet boy."
Walter nodded, "To be honest, I think the programs are too slow for him. But perhaps that's simply me being boastful."
Walter didn't like the way Elizabeth kept the house. Everything had a place, and everything was always in its place- he didn't like how it felt as if no one lived there. But he was hardly home, so he had long figured that he had no say in the way things went. He liked their beach house better, as he had boxes upon boxes of things stored there. It didn't feel like he owned much of anything, anymore.
William fiddled with a small, soldiered iron boat anchored to a granite base on the mantle, as Walter delved into the liquor cabinet, and Walter didn't bother to tell him not to, "It seems like things are back to normal enough, around here," he mused.
"Speak for yourself," Walter replied with a smirk as he emerged with a bottle of bourbon, "Your favorite?" he questioned, and William chuckled, nodding. Walter smiled, "I'll get some ice."
"Blasphemy," William replied seriously.
"I like ice," Walter reasoned.
"How's Henry, then? Where'd he run off to, I haven't heard from him in ages," William called into the kitchen as Walter was rummaging around for the spilled ice trays among the frozen cauliflower, "since graduation, and that was what, seventeen years ago? We're getting old, Bish."
"I was always old," Walter grumbled, pinching the rims of two glasses in his fingertips as he tiptoed back into the living room, settling his gathering on the coffee table. A ring of moisture raised the cover of an Avon magazine, "Henry's dead."
William's brows shot up on his forehead, "Oh?"
"He was up doing some work on the effects of the oil drilling in Alaska. They said it was an accident, the poor fool."
They were silent for a few moments in faux remorse.
"Biologists." William scoffed. Walter laughed, and poured them their drinks.
The patter of rain on the patio roof was faint, through the open bay doors as Walter watched his undershirts shrivel into stringy white shapes on the line, "I'm on restriction, you know," he commented at last.
"What's that?"
"Restriction from going out. It's not a rule, but I know what Elizabeth means by it. I think it's just best that I stay in, for a couple of days."
William frowned, "Why?"
Walter chuckled, "It's a lax punishment. I could be losing half of everything, for the stunts I've pulled."
"Just the ones she knows about," William agreed with a wink into his glass.
"I think I'd miss Peter the most," Walter said, "He'd be fine without me, so long as he had Elizabeth. She's a wonderful mother."
William shifted, on the couch beside him, "Planning on going anywhere, Bish?"
"Nope." Walter took another drink. He smirked as he pulled up one of Peter's striped beanie caps, pulling it snugly over his head. His dark curls clawed up from the brim, nearly over his eyes, and William laughed.
"That looks terrible."
"You look terrible. I'll murder your face." Walter ducked away as William made a grab for the hat. He paused suddenly, as he remembered.
William's brows furrowed, "What's up?"
"Belly, do you remember…" Nearly a year had passed, since their hiking trip. Walter thought of it often, more often than he should have, "No, never mind."
A smile spread onto William's face- not one of amusement, but something that seemed like slight shyness, if even flattery, "The hiking trip, right?"
Walter blinked in shock.
"You're still thinking about those two drunk people, and how we could have killed them."
"It- It was idle chatter, Belly, just and interesting conversation-"
"You bring it up every time we talk like this. I still think we could have gotten away with it," William said. He polished the lip of his glass with his thumb, as he often did, when he was musing, "I still think we can."
Walter swallowed, before realizing that he had not yet taken a drink.
"Do you want to?" William questioned, looking up from his hands, "kill someone, I mean?"
Walter stared at him, the skin on the back of his neck tingling, "I just…" he knew that if he looked away now, William would know anyways, "…yes."
"Then let's do it."
xXx