Sonny's leaning on the railing, staring out the first signs of morning. "Yeah. I'm just deciding on whether I need an exorcism, a shrink, or cash in and see if I can star in a revival of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest."
Sonny rolls his shoulders, like he's trying to shrug off an annoying eight. "But I'll settle for a margarita."
Cautiously, Will steps behind him. "I'll make both of us one." he starts, starting to lay a hand on Sonny's back. But before Will can, Sonny sidesteps out of the way, leaving Will just standing there with his hand out.
"I don't need to be coddled. I'm still a bit vulnerable over here. Package deal with rape and murder, I guess." Forcing his hands into his pockets, Sonny walks downstairs.
Will waits for a moment, struggling to find his balance, then follows him to the kitchen. "Let me make them. I'm the professional."
"I am perfectly capable of making my own goddamn drink."
It stings when he snatches the bottle of tequila out of Will's hand. Like he just slapped him. "Fine, make your own fucking drink. Live your own fucking life too, while you're at it."
Will turns on his heels, and when Sonny grabs Will's arm, Will lashes out with his own slap.
At the sound of his hand hitting Sonny's face, the clock strikes again, the doors slamming.
Gleeful cold once again settles in the house.
"Have you ever been raped?"
Will forcefully pulls his arm out of his grasp. "No."
"Haven't been strangled to death, either, have you?" Forgetting about the margarita, Sonny takes a long pull straight from the bottle. "Let me just fill you in. It'll put you in quite a mood."
The anger bleeds out of Will. "Don't drink it straight up like that. You're gonna make yourself sick."
"I'm sick now. I need a boiling hot shower."
"Then go take one. You'll feel a lot better. I'm gonna make some coffee. Would you please just let me?" Will snaps before Sonny can argue. "Maybe it'll help calm both of us down."
"Fine. Do whatever you want." Sonny stomps up the stairs.
Will stays put for a moment, just sitting because his legs are still shaking. Then he takes the lapel watch out of his pocket, studying the face. The second hand keeps ticking away. But the time never goes past midnight.
Putting it away, he gets up to brew the coffee.
He carries it up, along with neatly cut pieces of toast. A common snack his grandmother made whenever he was sick. Sonny's sitting on the side of the bed, wearing a very beat up pair of sweats. His hair's still wet, skin red from aggressive scrubbing. Will sets the tray down beside him.
"Do you want me to leave?"
"No." When Will pours a mug of coffee, Sonny takes it, trying to warm up his hands. Despite the heat from the shower, he still feels the chill in his bones.
"I wasn't just seeing it or remembering it. I could feel it. The terror, the pain, being violated. The mortification. More than that--like it's not bad enough already--part of me was still in tact. That part, the strong part, was utterly useless, watching a terrified woman being raped and strangled to death. I seriously can't explain it."
"You don't have to. I felt it too. Not as strongly or clearly as you, but...when you looked at me, when she looked at me through your eyes, I felt the sadness, the remorse. So much guilt. Drink your coffee."
Sonny lifts the mug compliantly. "It's good. Pretty strong."
"Strong coffee and toast. Works like a charm." Will crawls into the bed behind Sonny, kneeling and kneading Sonny's shoulders.
"She was so much stronger than him. It's not entirely his fault. He was raised soft. But he loved her, Sonny. I've never been more sure about anything. Even without knowing how terribly she died, he still blamed himself. For not being there, not giving her every part of himself."
"He abandoned the baby."
There's such a decisiveness in Sonny's voice. "He did. He absolutely did." Will replies. "And though that was so wrong, just like taking his own life and orphaning their baby was, he had a better life because of it. He was surrounded by people who loved him, who cherished his mother's memory. He never would've had that, not at the DiMera mansion."
"He had every right to it. Tom should've seen to that."
Will rests a cheek on top of Sonny's head. "You can still forgive him."
"I can't forgive what I don't understand."
"Of course not. How is a man like you supposed to understand a man like that? But I do. I completely understand a man who'd run off with someone instead of standing up to his parents. One who'd take her back to a house full of resentment and darkness instead of building a real home. One who'd let himself fall apart enough to drown himself instead of live with the pain and raise his baby with the love and compassion that he never got himself. He wanted to be more than himself. With her, he would've. You shouldn't hate him, Sonny. You should feel sorry for him."
"I might. It's hard. So much of her despair is still in me." Alice's, Sonny thinks, and so much of his own.
"Can you close your eyes?"
"I don't think so."
"Try? I need to get changed." Will slides off the bed, then lifts the tray and sets it aside. "Try for a bit. I won't be gone long."
Sonny doesn't try to stop him. It's probably for the best he's alone right now. He lays back, staring at the ceiling as the morning birds start singing.
Alice had been so broken, he thinks. Heart and body.
He's feeling exactly the same way.
He must have dozed off, because when he opens his eyes again, the sun is out. Still early, he decides, but Mrs. Devereaux and her cronies would be showing up not too long from now armed with mops and brooms and who knows what else.
Maybe that's exactly what the place needs. It's still his place. He's not giving it up. Whatever happened in the past, whatever it told him, he's not giving it up.
And God help him, he's not giving Will up either.
