After breakfast, Billy and I took a look around the nearest town. We took it slow and easy, something we rarely had a chance to do from the moment we'd met. Well, unless you counted the walk we took while we waited for the cervix dilation drug to take effect, and I'd rather not.
It was one of the smaller towns, a suburb of a suburb and I liked how removed it was from the city I'd lived near and worked in for most of my life. Holding hands, we window shopped and adhered to the warning alarms that the doctors set to remind me to flush out the catheter until the cure was confirmed and it could be removed. A small irritation for the freedom I felt at Billy's side.
By the time our appointment time arrived, we were relaxed and feeling optimistic. I had asked the realtor to show the houses in a particular order, my least favorite to my favorite and she complied. Billy, had liked the same parts of the first two houses that I had, their solitude and the quaintness of each. As we drove down the long drive toward the final house, he told me he was feeling like the house we lived in currently was going to be the one we stayed in, right up until he was rendered speechless by the first sight of the last house.
When I video chatted with him during the tours with Mom, it was from the interiors, usually after I'd toured part of the house and sometimes during my treatments. As we drove up to the huge white farmhouse, set far back from the road, he'd gone as silent as I had the first time. The lawn wasn't perfect, it sloped from the sides of the porch. The house itself was a classic white farmhouse, but the interior, when we finally stepped inside, was updated subtly and perfectly.
Billy held my hand as the realtor gave the tour she'd given Mom and me the day before, and just as I was stunned by the entirety of it. I loved my house, but this house? This house was a dream house. And the bedrooms? Dear God. Between those and the bathroom, which caused Billy to let in an audible breath, and I knew precisely what he was thinking because I'd thought it too, all of it, him and me and no clothing in that claw foot tub.
When we went out back, he was again rendered speechless, the porches, the hanging bed, the entertainment space. All of it was beautiful. And I wanted it, but did he?
Billy had more questions for the agent about this house than he'd had for the doctors about my condition. And I listened, smiling as I realized that he did want it as much as me and he wanted if fully furnished just the way it was and soon. I bit my lip to keep from smiling, but the agent's eyes met mine and I lost the battle. Full blown grin and she knew. This was our house. All that it came down to was terms.
"You're terrible at sales negotiations." I offered when we were headed back after I'd flushed the catheter again. He shot me a look and saw my smile that took away the brunt of the criticism. "We have nothing to go to the table now, she knows we want it too much."
"You want it too?" His lips were tempted to smile, but he was fighting it, a losing battle at this point. I nodded and he let go. "That house, fuck, Ronnie."
"Oh, Billy, I firmly plan on it." His eyes shifted to me and I smiled at him. "Every surface, every room, every porch and every pillar." I saw him shift slightly in his seat. "Tell me you weren't thinking that very thought while we had our tour."
"What I wouldn't give-" he muttered, and I decided to help him out.
"There," I pointed at a side road I noticed when we came through. "If you take me standing against the side of the truck-" I had to hold on to the handle of the door when he yanked the steering wheel to take advantage of what I was so clearly demanding.
Note to self: remember condoms when you choose to finally have sex after abstaining during a LONG period of health crisis. Spotting on your dark slacks is NOTCEABLE. I was dabbing at the stain and trying to NOT laugh while thinking of walking an actual walk of shame through Vought as Billy looked even more relaxed than he had all day. Of course he did. He came on MY pants not his.
"Sorry bout that, love," he offered, dimple peeking at me. "Forgot til it was almost too fucking late." Same, honestly. Thank God he'd had a moment of clarity. His hand creeped over to take mine. "Love you, Ronnie."
I smiled and raised our hands to my face to kiss his knuckles. "I love you, too. Do me a favor?" A murmur told me he was listening. "Remind me if I go dark again?"
"Until you get sick of me, Ronnie, I will." I smiled, but then corrected him.
"What if you get sick of me first?" I held his hand as he turned into the parking lot of the clinic.
He parked and turned to me. "Me get sick of you?" I nodded. "Not fucking possible." He leaned closer and kissed me, hard and hungry and I knew he meant it. Completely.
The tests were promising, we were told, when we were settled back in my room in the clinic. So far, so good. Another night without being hooked up to the whirling machine, but the heart monitor was still deemed necessary as were a few others. Music to my ears, a symphony if we were in our new home, alone without any noises other than the ones we were able to force from one another and the sounds that came from nature surrounding us.
I woke, sweat soaking my body and shocked that I didn't wake Billy as I jerked back to full wakefulness. It had hit me, that one thought that had been tucked into a corner of my mind, poking me but not near enough to really tell me what I should be focused on. The thought of worry that made such little sense in this entire madness. And now, lying on a bed, in a clinic owned by Vought, at the mercy and whim of their scientists and doctors, it hit me hard and fast.
Why would they keep the variants that didn't work? Why keep the actual vials of poison on hand? They had no working necessity. They had no purpose for research. There was no singular reason to keep failed experiments on hand, when the data for such research would have been enough.
And why would it have taken so long to figure it out? Why would it have taken an intern, an intern who was willing to 'think outside the box' and realize that Homelander would combine two vials to create a worse mess than one would do? Why would Vought need the time that it took for them to 'find the antidote'? It hit me harder than the reality of the negligence in their keeping the variants had, and I had to swallow back the bile and fight to keep my heartbeat from hitting a fever pitch. Of course. They needed time to set up surveillance on us. All of us, Billy, me, Mallory, anyone who had taken the time to visit me and who had a part to play in keeping them on the straight and narrow. I was simply bait.