Sorry for the delay. I hope some of you are still interested and still love Villy as much as I do. If only Y&R could get writers who feel the same. :(

I do love Villy. I will always love them, especially Billy and Amelia's part of the love story. My story is a Villy story. I make no apologies for that. I feel there is a goldmine of material and and story with these two, for an indeterminate amount of time. So please, if you are looking for Villy love, know that you will find it here. It may come slow, but it will happen.

Thanks for all the support. Happy Reading

Rhonda

Balm

Chapter 10

Billy couldn't have known that the third morning in a row he woke to a bright hospital room and not some cold, dismal hole in the world would mark the day he remembered everything. All of it. How he came to be in both the dismal hole and the hospital room that smelled unexpectedly of coconut. And every miserable and beautiful part in between.

He wasn't even trying to remember the gaps in his circumstance when his eyes first squinted against the light, having reconciled the amnesiac part of his monitored condition, satisfied with not knowing what caused the deep, rumbling fear that was greater than his pain. It was the last two days instead that he forced himself to recall, and what he recalled was Victoria, her eyes like twin mirrors of hope, the soft touch of her fingertips against his wounds, the scent of coconut her touch left behind. She had been there both days. And she'd brought Katherine Rose yesterday, and he'd talked to Johnny for nearly an hour.

And Delia was gone.

Victoria was gone, too, no longer beside him like last night or like that first morning, her hand warm inside his. It wasn't his mother either, draped across the couch on the other side of the room. It was Jack acting as babysitter this morning, his body an almost perfect forty-five degree angle against the chair at his bedside, head thrown back, mouth open, his suited legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, his hands folded at his belt. He was sleeping, but his eyes were scrunched in anguish, and Billy silently added his brother to the growing list of those who suffered because of him, those who always seemed to suffer because of him.

The hospital room wasn't quite as bright as the past two mornings, and between the blinds Billy saw the reason why, gray clouds spread across the sky like a woolly blanket. It would snow today, or maybe it was snowing now, tiny flakes too small to see from where he lay. It had been cold lately. His mother had told him that yesterday before launching into a tirade about a groundhog seeing its shadow and the ridiculous practice of using a rodent to predict weather. It had been an excruciating exchange, he remembered clearly, partly because she was trying so hard to act like things were normal, partly because his pain meds were wearing off, but mostly because the conversation had conjured a memory of Johnny holding up a picture of a brightly colored groundhog. He'd made it in preschool, and he was so proud, his little face one big smile that crumbled into laughter when Billy reenacted the ridiculously formal Groundhogs Day ceremony using Katie as the groundhog. That was February 2, during one if his scheduled visits, twelve days before he forgot everything. That he could remember plain as day, but not how he'd ended up in the hospital.

He felt suddenly trapped. In this bed, this hospital, in his own foggy brain. He needed to get up. He needed to get out of there. Six more weeks of winter, that's what the groundhog had predicted. The snow that fell today could be one of the last of the winter, and he'd yet to take his son sledding or build a snowman, teach him how to make snow cream. He had screwed up so many times, let down the people he loved over and over again, and now, when all he wanted to do was make things right, he couldn't even kick himself free of the blankets that covered his useless body. The more he tried, the more frustrated he became. He grunted loud and kicked hard, but his struggle only sent Johnny's green dinosaur tumbling to the floor.

"Hey, hey, hey." Jack's voice saved him from following the stuffed toy over the edge. One strong hand pushed him gently back against the raised bed while another rescued the prehistoric creature and returned it to its borrowed owner. "What's going on? You okay?"

"I'm fine," Billy dismissed and turned the dinosaur over and over in his hands, unwilling to face his brother until the embarrassment had subsided. "Guess it was your turn to baby-sit, huh?" he said after a few minutes, determined to change the subject

"I'm not baby-sitting, little brother. And you're not fine."

"I will be. It's just a few cuts and bruises." Billy's lie hung between them for several seconds, long enough for Jack to reexamine him, to once more take in the full scope of what his brother had endured.

"I haven't done a very good job protecting you, have I?" It was a statement, a confession, though Jack posed it as a question, with a soft voice and the weight of those watery, sincere eyes inherited from their father squarely on Billy.

"It was never your job, big brother." Billy cleared his scratchy, emotion-filled throat with a forced laugh that ended as a sad smile. "Besides, I think we all know I have you beat when it comes to not protecting the people you love."

Neither had said her name, but Delia was the sad undertone. She would always be the sad undertone of every conversation, the measure of regret in every situation. Billy saw her now, in his mind, in his memory, a flash of a moment that stirred others inside him. He had seen her. On her birthday. Twelve days after the groundhog saw its shadow. He'd visited Victoria and the kids and left with a smile on his face and the first real hint of hope in his heart. He'd gone to see Delia then, gone to her roadside memorial, to tell her something. He remembered seeing her there, talking to her, her smiling face so real, so happy.

"Look, Billy," Jack started, and just like that the memory was gone again. "There's something we need to talk about."

"I need to talk to you about something, too. About Victoria. See, I'm…I'm not sure if she's coming today, and I don't… I know things are complicated and…everything…but…"

Jack watched him struggle for words that didn't exist, a way to explain what was between his brother and the woman he'd helped raise. The truth was he needed to talk to Victoria, too. He'd called last night after leaving the airport, but Johnny had her preoccupied and she sounded exhausted. He'd come here instead. It was his turn, and he needed to see his brother, his brother who was already sleeping and smelled like a tropical island.

"Please, Jack?" Billy asked again. "Can you call her? Just see if she's coming? Don't beg her or anything, but…"

"I'll call her," he promised, and Billy nodded his gratitude just as a nurse walked through the door, a chart and IV bag in her hands. "I need to take care of some things at Jabot," Jack added, taking his cue to leave, "but I'll be back later. To talk."

"Go home," Billy called after him, a smile on his face for the first time this morning as he ignored the seriousness in his brother's promise. "Take a shower."

"Well, you seem to be feeling better today," the nurse observed when they were alone. It wasn't the usually nurse, the pretty brunette who'd helped him call Johnny.

"I'll be feeling even better if you let me get out of here."

She smiled at his attempted charm, but didn't look at him or cave to the infamous smile she'd been warned about. "You know what the doctor said. We have to get you out of the ICU first. But…," she added when his face fell in the corner of her eye, "Dr. Walker did say he wanted to get you out of bed today. Start moving. Baby steps and all."

"Baby steps," he muttered and defeated, settled back into his prison. He let his eyes close against the grey light and repeated the last two days in his head once more as the nurse went about her duties, as he waited to see if Jack would come through for him.

"If you're wondering if I plan on making an appearance at the office today, the answer is yes." Victoria held her front door open and matched her father's stern expression until his face spread into a wide grin that made his eyes disappear.

"Hello, my sweetheart," he said and placed a kiss on her forehead before entering her home.

"Hi, Daddy."

"I'll have you know I am not here to drag you into the office."

"Oh?" She let the door close softly behind her and folded her arms across her chest, as much in defiance as the foolish notion it would help hide the fact that she was still in her robe at nearly 10 o'clock in the morning.

"On the contrary. I came to see you. To see how you're doing. And to maybe spend some time with my grandchildren."

"I'm fine," she said quickly, "and well Johnny, he's at preschool and I just put Katherine down for her morning nap, so you sort of came all the way out here for…" Her voice trailed off along with her train of thought, well before she accidentally mentioned that Johnny had been late to preschool, partly because of his late night last night and partly because of the reason her father had already stopped listening to her. He was staring intently at the gift bag on the coffee table, and she watched him pick it up and study the chimpanzee with a bandaged head and a thermometer in its mouth, the words "Get Well Soon" printed in big bubble letters just below the blue tissue paper that bloomed from the opening.

"It's for Billy," she explained softly and braced herself for some new version of the "Billy is useless" speech. "It's from the kids. They wanted to get him a get-well present."

The great Victor Newman smiled again, even chuckled as he gently returned the bag to the exact spot where he'd found it. "That's very kind of them. Sweet children. I'm sure he will be very appreciative."

"Look, Dad," she started out of habit and then stopped. He hadn't insulted Billy, or her for supporting him. He wasn't even paying attention to her anymore. Hands in his pockets, he wandered over to the basinette where her daughter lay sleeping and smiled a softer, proud smile as he stared at the infant. Few people ever saw him this way, but moments like this one, moments when his true heart was on display, they were the reason she was always able to put the ugliness behind them, the reason why she loved him despite everything. In his way, with his desperate, abandoned heart she knew he loved her, too. He loved all of his children, loved them the only way he knew how. Even the ones, the one, who didn't deserve it.

Guilt, undeserved guilt, mingled with the dull ache of the emotional hangover from yesterday, intensifying the pain like gasoline on a flame. Adam was alive. The man who had torn her family apart and nearly put Billy in a grave alongside his daughter was alive. Only a handful of people had grieved him a year ago, but her father, his father, had been one of the few. Did he know his son was alive? The son he'd stared at as a baby just as lovingly as he stared at her daughter now? How could he know? Should he know? Didn't he deserve to know? But would his knowing ruin the whole plan and put Billy's life in limbo again? And by association her children's lives? And hers?

The shrill ring of her phone pierced her core and stopped her train of thought before it derailed into chaos. It was Jack, and she suddenly felt she was holding a live grenade in her hand, as if her father would know her newly-acquired secret or could read her every thought. He didn't turn around, though, his focus still on the sleeping baby. "It's Jack," she confessed. "It's probably about Billy."

He looked at her then, sweetly, but kept a hand on the side of the basinette. "Take it, my sweetheart. I will stay here and keep an eye on my beautiful granddaughter."

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not. Take your time. You can even finish getting dressed if you want," he added with a teasing raise of his eyebrows. "So you can come into the office."

She laughed in spite of herself and the guilt. "There's a bottle if she…"

"I've done this before, you know?"

She nodded and headed upstairs, swiping her thumb across her phone's screen as she gave one last glance to the duo downstairs. "Hi, Jack. How is he?"

She was behind the privacy of her bedroom door when Jack finished the rundown of Billy's condition. No change. That was a good thing. The conversation reached a mutual dead end afterward, a pit of silence as the other waited to see who would broach the subject of last night first. She imagined he felt as she did, that talking about it, saying the unimaginable words out loud, somehow how made the reality all the more real.

"Sorry I couldn't talk last night," she finally said when she could take the silence no longer.

"It was probably for the best. How is my nephew by the way?"

She heard the amusement and love in his voice, and she smiled. Her children had that effect on everyone, Newman and Abbott alike. "He's good. I think he's just having a hard time not seeing his dad. But, um, thanks to you and whatever magic you performed last night, it seems he won't have to for much longer."

"About that," Jack said, and she heard him exhale the amusement from his voice. "I need to explain—"

"No," she interrupted. "You don't have to explain anything. Detective Harding filled me in last night."

"He did?"

"Well, the gist of it anyway. And honestly, Jack, I don't think I need to know the rest. My children are going to have their father. That's all that really matters right now."

"You might change your mind." His cryptic words were followed by a pounding, a knocking at his door and an eerie nothingness. "There's someone at the door," he said. "Can we finish this another time?"

"Sure, I'll see you at the hospital later?"

"You're coming to the hospital today?" he asked, remembering Billy's plea.

"Yeah. I mean…if you think it's okay. If he's up to it."

"Victoria, I think that's exactly what he needs today," Jack responded with a smile on his face, though a different emotion shadowed his eyes. He was face to face with the woman on the other side of his door, the frazzled, sleepless woman he had avoided for hours. He couldn't avoid her now, and he knew despite what Victoria had said, the full truth couldn't be avoided for much longer.

The pink, swaddled creature squirmed in her sleep, stretched her arms until they nearly encircled her downy head. She was a ballerina, in fifth position. Victor watched her little chest rise up and down and placed his aged, weathered hand on her stomach to feel the easy, gentle breathing that knew no danger or fear.

"You remind me so much of your mother. You know that?"

The baby continued to sleep, and Victor closed his eyes until all he saw was Victoria as a tiny, squirming pink baby so many years ago that it felt like yesterday. He used to do the same thing with her, place his hand on her as she slept, to feel her breathing, amazed that such beauty and perfection could come from abandoned nothingness. He hadn't deserved her then. He hadn't deserved any of his children or grandchildren, but God how he wanted them and loved them, sometimes rightly, sometimes wrongly.

He opened his eyes before emotion consumed him, and to his surprise, little Katherine was looking up at him, big blue eyes like her mother's. She kicked her legs excitedly and waved her arms at him, no longer a ballerina, but a grandchild begging to be picked up. He obliged happily and nestled her in the crook of his arm.

"Hello, my sweet girl. You didn't expect to see your old grandpa, did you? No. No, you didn't." The baby cooed at his every sugary, exaggerated word, and Victor laughed, engulfed in joy. "I came to see your mommy. Yes, I did. I did. See, she's my little girl. Oh, I know she's a grown woman, but she will always be my little girl. Even when we disagree. And the two of us, we disagree a lot."

Victor laughed at his own musings, but then grew sincere, quiet and spoke directly to his granddaughter who had grown drowsy once again. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for her. Even when we disagree. I can't stand to see her heart broken. No. That's why I helped your father. Even though he doesn't deserve her. Or you. Or your brother."

The tear he had been holding back pooled hot, blurring his vision so that if he wanted, he could convince himself it was Victoria in his arms, and he was a younger man with a chance to do it all over again, do it right this time. But he wasn't a young man, hadn't been a young man in a long time, but as he had learned in recent days, there was always another chance to do better than before.

"You'll keep my secret, won't you now?" he asked the sleeping baby. The regret passed as it always did, the joy returned, and Victor sat with his granddaughter, placing his hand on her little chest once more as he waited for her mother to return.

Her appearance at the office lasted longer than she intended. She'd missed a lot, been absent too long, and stepping off the elevator felt like stepping into quicksand. But it also felt great being back. It felt incredible, in fact, to be needed, to be in charge, to lose herself in meetings and numbers and crises that she knew how to fix, instead of being at the mercy of jargon-filled strangers in white coats. And her new project, the re-launch of Beauty of Nature driven by the development of the healing balm, had her adrenaline pumping like it hadn't in a long time. Of course, every mention of the balm, and any number of other arbitrary words and phrases, reminded her of Billy and turned the day into an one long question of when was too soon or too late to sneak out to see him, an internal struggle of whether she needed to see him desperately or feared having to see him.

It was late afternoon when she did pull herself away from the office, only to stand outside his door and practice turning the handle for ten minutes. He was alone. The first nurse she passed inside the ICU doors told her that. The nurses always told her if he was alone or if someone was with him, and though she often wondered if they did that for everyone or just her, she was always grateful for the information they passed along.

Over the last few days, she'd gotten used to going straight in, used to seeing him in the bed, used to the machines and the injuries, used to the unspoken, intimate truce between them. But today her heart was in a knot, twisted and beating erratically deep inside her chest. She knew more than he did about how he'd ended up here, and she also knew the resolution. She knew about Adam when he couldn't remember, and she knew the measures taken to protect Billy. She worried that he would suspect something just by looking at her, and more than that, she worried about his reaction when his memories did return and the truth did come out. But when she pushed the worry aside and finally leaned her weight against the heavy door, it wasn't his condition or his memory that alarmed her.

"What do you think you're doing?" she scolded. He was sitting up in bed, all the covers thrown from his body and his bare legs swinging over the side of the bed.

"I have to get out of this bed, Vick. I have to. The nurse said she'd come back, but that was an hour ago. I have to get up now before I lose it." He was talking fast and pulling at the tangle of wires like a drug addict needing a fix.

"I know, okay," she said softly and pulled his hands from the wires. "It's tough. Believe me, I know. But the last thing I need is for you to get hurt. Again. Think about the kids, Billy. Think about how much they want to see you. In one piece."

He conceded with a sigh and didn't protest when she eased him back against his pillow and helped swing his legs back onto the mattress. His hospital gown inched up as she did, revealing a large cut on his upper left thigh. There were two smaller ones and a few bruises on his shin, too, but it was the four inch gash on his thigh that caught both of their eyes.

"I…didn't know about that one," she said when he caught her staring. She covered it up quickly with the hospital-issued blanket first and then the pink one from home. "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah," he murmured, his eyes staring directly into her. "It hurts a lot." She knew he wasn't talking about the cut on his leg or any of his wounds, but something deeper, something they both felt. Loss. Regret. Indeterminate heartache. She wanted to look away, but couldn't. She never could with him. He showed her mercy, though, and grinned slyly, his tongue firm in his cheek. "Guess you'll have to add it to the routine?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes as she took a seat, but in her head she did add it the list of wounds to apply balm to. One more wound, one more potential scar. She couldn't help but wonder how he'd gotten that one, if she'd ever know, if Billy would ever know. She assumed Adam knew, and for the first time since last night, she regretted letting him escape without the full story.

"You okay?"

"Me?" Victoria asked, jerking her head up to meet his eyes. "Yeah, I'm…I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Something's wrong."

"I'm…just tired," she half-lied and flashed a wide grin to convince him. "I didn't get much sleep last night. That's all. You know how it is."

"Oh" was all he said as his face fell and he looked away from her, his good hand pulling furiously at the loose plaster on his cast. Victoria furrowed her brow and replayed her words in her head, trying to figure out what she'd said wrong. She had smiled, too much perhaps, and mentioned not sleeping. In Billy's mind that meant only one thing, one thing that in her case couldn't have been farther from the truth. He didn't need to know about Stitch, though, that her relationship was over, and that she definitely hadn't been up all night making wild, passionate love. He didn't need to know that, but at the same time and for some reason she wouldn't admit to, she didn't want him thinking that either.

"Johnny," she said pointedly and Billy looked up. "Johnny was up. He kept me up. He, um, he's sort of making a habit of it lately."

Her explanation did the trick, and he sighed an apology and reached his good hand behind him, pulling out a familiar furry green dinosaur. "I think he needs this back. Will you, uh, will you take it to him?"

"Yeah. If you're sure?"

"I'm sure. Tell him it helped me a lot, but I want him to have it back. And tell him to let his Mama get some rest."

Victoria smiled and accepted the offering, their fingers brushing as their son's favorite comfort toy exchanged hands. She surprised him by trading it for the blooming tissue paper at her feet. "He, um, he and Katherine have something for you, too."

"Oh yeah?" He grinned when she sat the bag on his stomach and went to work pulling out the tissue paper and throwing it at her. It was just like every Christmas morning they'd spent together, until that last one, and just like on every one of those mornings, she folded each wrinkled piece into a neat square as she waited to see his reaction to the gift.

"It's a phone?" His forehead wrinkled, and he held the object like it was his first time seeing one.

"I made sure it was okay with the nurses," she assured him, though he wasn't really listening. "And it's fine as long as you still get plenty of rest. None of your contacts were transferred, so no work, no distractions. I mean it. I just thought it would help. Talking to Johnny and all, especially since your old one is gone."

He saw a flash of a phone, not the one in his hand, but the one he used to hold in his hand. His phone. He saw it lit up, barely illuminating a suffocating darkness. He saw names scrolling past, alphabetically, stopping when he saw a "v." "V" for Victoria. He had tried to call her, somewhere, some time he couldn't remember. And then the phone was gone, the memory vanished like the groundhog burrowing back into its hole and he was in the hospital and Victoria was there, talking to him about their son and a new phone.

"Johnny showed me the games you two were playing before the accident, and we downloaded those onto it. There's also some new pictures of the kids, and I can send you more everyday. Johnny insisted on taking some of his own," she laughed and nervously ran her fingers through her hair. "I didn't look through them, though, so I can't promise they're not all of his toys."

He found the pictures, and the first one was enough. It was his kids, their little faces smushed together. Johnny was grinning so big, and Katie, serious little Katie, was looking at him like she was trying to figure him out. He could tell they were on the sofa at home and that Katie was in her mother's arms, her head against Victoria's nearly bare shoulder, bare except for the strap of her nightgown and a sliver of the robe that had slipped down her arm as she took the picture. He could see her delicate jaw in the top corner of the frame as well, the curve of a smile on her face. He didn't need to see the rest of the pictures now. He had his family. Minus Reed and of course Delia, he had his family, for just a minute, frozen in time.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," she whispered back. "And I was thinking that as soon as you get out of the ICU and into a regular room, you know without all the machines and the rules, I can maybe bring them to see you. Both of them."

"You don't…you don't have to do all this, Vick. You don't owe me anything."

"I don't want to have anymore regrets, Billy. Not when it comes to the kids at least." She touched his hand, and he grabbed on for dear life. The spark scared her and inspired him. He remembered a letter, a letter full of regrets and apologies, things he'd begged God to let him say to her face. Those words, they were all on the tip of his tongue now, ready to leap from the page, forgetting the past, forgetting all the forgotten pieces, seizing this moment as his second chance, his destiny, their destiny. But it wasn't meant to be. She jumped back as if stung, and he felt the sting stronger than she had until he realized they weren't alone.

"You ready to get out of that bed, Mr. Abbott?" The young nurse he was accustomed to seeing didn't realize she had interrupted anything until she was fully inside his room, fully immersed in their broken moment. She was young, but not too young to recognize immediately that something had happened between patient and visitor, something intense. She blushed a deep crimson when she realized her presence was what had ended it.

"I need to make a phone call," Victoria announced loudly.

She stood even quicker and was already at the door by the time the words were fully spoken. Billy didn't protest her leaving, didn't try to stop her, but she did pause for a moment when the nurse called out to her. "There's a lady looking for you in the waiting room," she said sheepishly. "She tried to come back, but she's not family. I told her I'd let you know."

Victoria thanked her and smiled, softly to reassure her she'd done nothing wrong. But when they were alone, Billy saw the nurse still felt uncomfortable.

"You're late," he teased. "I was this close to going for a walk by myself. And now I don't even think I want to go."

It worked. The nurse grinned and reclaimed her authority in the room. "Doctor's orders, Mr. Abbott. You're getting out of this bed, whether you like it or not. Up and at'em."

"At'em?" Billy repeated.

"That's what my mom always used to say," she said as she helped him into a robe, taking extra care to get the sleeve over his cast. "I am not a morning person, which is why I usually work the night shift. I switched today, though."

As she talked, the two syllables beat like a drum in his subconscious. They didn't mean what they were supposed to mean, didn't seem to even sound like they were supposed to. When Diana pulled him onto his feet, though, the drumbeats recessed, and the pain came forward like a charging bull. His legs felt like Jello and he almost wimped out and fell back onto the bed. The tiny nurse was his crutch, and he knew this wasn't going to work if she was the only thing supporting him.

Then he saw the walker, the shiny metal, the tennis balls on the feet, and he started to object, quit again. She anticipated it and warned him with a glare and then a conspiratorial smile. She had learned his buttons and knew how to push them. "What do you say we surprise her? Meet her in the hallway?"

It was like riding a bicycle, he told himself. One foot in front of the other. Baby steps. He could do this. He had to do this. To get out of the ICU. To get to leave the hospital. To get his life back. With each step, his confidence grew. Diana kept asking him how he felt, if he was tired, and he kept saying no without thinking about the question. Victoria was somewhere in this hallway, and that was his motivation. Every time she said they'd gone far enough for today, he ignored her and shuffled on, the metal walker measuring the next step he needed to take. When they reached the set of double doors that marked his escape, though, the fatigue set in. He couldn't make it back, and that embarrassed him more than the walker. But neither Diana nor the nurse she asked to grab a wheelchair let him feel that way. They told him over and over how great he'd done, how he'd gone farther than any other patient with his injuries.

Their words meant little to him, and he stared straight ahead at the double door while the wheelchair was fetched. They swung opened in front of him, suddenly, violently it seemed, and a couple, a man and a woman walked through. Billy didn't see them, though. He saw Victoria instead, on the other side. She was talking to someone, talking intensely to someone, arguing. She shifted, and he caught a glimpse of the other woman. The other woman. The woman he had lived with, one half of a nightmare he had managed to forget for days.

The drumbeat started in his head again. At'em. At'em. At'em. Only it was At'em. It hadn't been at'em all along. A flood of memories came at him, pushed him into the waiting wheelchair like a tidal wave. A doorway. A secret. A car ride. A mausoleum masquerading as a house. The dark. A cell phone. A man. A man masquerading as another. A man who was dead.

"Adam," he breathed to no one. "It was Adam."