Disclaimer: I don't own The Rocky Horror Show.
A/N: Bill is supposed to look like a young Paul Weller (the musician)... if Weller never bathed and grew his hair a bit longer.
Also, Tim's illness is deliberately weird. Rickets is extremely rare in the developed world and it sounds like something out of an old novel. Originally this was going to be A Christmas Carol with Magenta as Scrooge. I don't know what happened. This is a bit of a trainwreck, plot-wise. Sorry.
Bill lived in an apartment building deep in the darkest part of town. Half of the neighboring structures were (officially) vacant. This was the dead district, the sickening slums. Only the most twisted people inhabited it willingly. The more respectable citizens either don't know about it or pretend it doesn't exist… even when their sons and daughters are buying drugs in grimy alleys from people like Bill.
Speaking of which…
When Laura arrived on her old lover's doorstep, he was busy talking to a young man. As she stood there, shivering, Laura could hear them whispering. Quickly, she recognized the younger voice. It was the nephew of a much-hated local high school teacher, Eddie Scott. He'd always been something of a troublemaker. Still, Laura never knew he'd go this far.
She pressed her ear against the door, listening carefully.
"…without the money," Bill grumbled.
"Look, dude, I can pay later!" Eddie replied, urgently.
"People always say that. It never works out, laddie."
"Sir…"
That's when Laura opened the door. It wasn't locked. It didn't need to be - few people were bold (or stupid) enough to barge in on Bill.
He looked just as he always had. Thin frame, ruddy face, glaring eyes. His inky black hair was greasy and overgrown, reaching his shoulders. Though he stood at least six feet away from the door, Laura could smell him. He reeked of sweat and smoke and liquor and god knows what else. Clearly he hadn't bathed in a while. She'd forgotten about that little habit of his… yet it didn't make him any less attractive. He had an air of style to him, in an almost victorian way. That angular nose. Those half-starved cheekbones. And the thick eyebrows framing his dark, bitter eyes.
Eddie looked exactly as he always had. Of course, Laura had never known him very well. She probably hadn't even had a full conversation with him… no. They'd been in a few classes together, that's all. Suddenly, however, she was glad to see him. He was a fragment of her old life - the one she had to leave behind.
"What did you want?" he asked, frowning at her.
"Money."
"Can't you earn it on your own, you lazy bitch?"
"Not this much." She sighed, then added: "You're rich, Bill! Surely you can afford to give me some."
"How do you think I stay rich, girl?" Bill asked sourly.
There was a pause. Then, Laura said: "Is that why you took your gifts back?"
"Yes. It's not as if you had a place to wear any of that."
"I would've to pawned the jewelry. And the dresses been very useful. After Timothy was born-" "So that's what you named the baby? I thought you were going to call it 'Clark' or 'Richie', or maybe something biblical. What kind of name is Timothy? Sounds British. You know, I fucking hate the British."
"I know," Laura said, smiling politely. "What's new with you?"
He calmed slightly, somehow, and replied: "Very little. Watches are selling for less these days, so I'm branching out into drug dealing and the occasional housebreaking. The latter has increased my monthly income by about 50%. Wallet snatching still brings in $4,800 per month on average."
Only someone mad as a hatter would talk about crime in such a way. It reminded Laura of her Grandfather's dull monologues on the stock market. At least Bill was calm.
"Why are you here, again?" he asked, grinning oddly.
Laura sighed. "Money, dear. Remember?
"What for?"
` "My son… he's sick, you see. He has rickets."
"That still exists?"
"Yes."
"The little brat."
"He didn't give himself rickets."
"You're the one who gave it to him, we all know that," Bill replied nastily.
"Did not! His body has trouble processing getting D. That's not anyone's fault."
Bill chuckled, quietly. "I'm messing with you, Laurie. Even I know why children get sick."
"So will you help pay for his treatment?"
"You should ask the father for help, whoever he is."
"I can't. Nor can I ask my parents. They wouldn't understand."
"'They wouldn't understand'. You're such a teenager."
"Bill…"
"Laurie…"
Then stood there, staring at each other. She moved deeper into the room (which was theoretically the flat's 'living room'). It was dirty, dark, and unpleasant. The only furnishings were an ugly green sofa and a table piled with takeout containers. The only light source was a naked bulb that hung from the ceiling. Mud stained the floor, empty candy wrappers were tossed here and there. There even appeared be blood splattered on the wall, beside the couch. Laura shuddered. Surely that hadn't been there before.
Why couldn't he bother paying for a cleaning service, at least? Was he really that much of a Scrooge?
"You missed me, didn't you?" Bill asked, eventually, a nasty smirk on his face. "That's why you're here."
"No, I'm here because I need help paying for my son's medicine and I didn't know who else to go to."
"I've already said I'm not interested. Why haven't you left?"
"I don't know." Well, she sort of did. There was something so repulsive about this room, and its owner. Laura couldn't tear herself away from any of it... or could she?
Unsure what else to do, Laura rushed home.
Please Review!