Morning star
Author: wanderingsmith
Started date feb 20, 2017
Summary: "Goodnight is very good with
hair."
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and
nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As
it is thought, so let it be said; you make the
toys, I play with 'em..
AN: don't ask me where this came
from. the core just appeared out of nowhere
when I was fighting to set up a new computer
at work... getting it fleshed out has been a
rollercoaster. and I'm done waiting for it to
live up to its aura, lol.
"Goodnight is very good with hair."
The child turned her dust-speckled, suspicious,
expression away from Goody to aim it at Billy,
"How would *you* know? Does he have a wife?"
"No. He has me." Billy took a last step and slowly
crouched down besides Goody, then turned his head
so that she could see his bun, finding himself
squinting at the sunlight after being indoors for
so long. He hadn't thought to bring his hat for
his short airing.
"Oooh… may I see it?"
However glad he was to hear the child's tone lose
its defensiveness, Billy still hesitated, taken
aback. He turned back to look at Goody, not
entirely sure why the notion felt so odd.
Goody smiled reassurance for the almost visible
confusion in Billy's expression. Considering
Goody'd only ever seen his hair down when they
were alone, it wasn't surprising that such a
request would throw him off, but the poor child
certainly meant no harm. Most of the children of
the town had watched Billy with awed curiosity,
before the battle, completely un-fazed by his
impassive persona. Quite a few of the adults had
also been awed, for that matter; Goody's smile
widened at the pleasant thought. Billy's blank
expression had kept the townsfolk from trying to
get friendly, but Goody wasn't sure the man would
have appreciated wide-scale attempts at
friendliness, anyway.
When Billy finally nodded, half at Goody, half at
little Danica, and turned his head, Goody reached
over and gently pulled out the first pin, and then
the second with a very slight flourish, making
sure his hand was out of the way for the hair to
uncurl and flow, almost reaching to the rough
planks Goody was sitting on, with the way Billy
held himself hunched, these days.
He'd always loved the sight of light playing on
those silky strands of darkness, not least because
it seemed part and parcel of Billy's hidden inner
self, almost as hidden as his reactions, in
public. But these days, the mad reality of their
continued survival made everything even sweeter,
more precious to enjoy. He knew he was smiling in
adoration, but he couldn't care who saw him,
anymore. The preacher had been one of those caring
for the two of them through their fevers: he knew
exactly how close they were, and still had only
had kind words for them. Goody would not hold back
something as simple as a look. At least not in
this town. His playful side was even trying to
tempt him to ruffle the neat strands with his
beard, though he knew well enough that that would
be too far, even between a husband and wife.
Having forgotten their audience, he twitched
slightly when the little one spoke up, turning his
head to see her staring wide-eyed, not quite with
his adoration, but an awe that he entirely agreed
with, at the long sheet of hair that wisped up in
the lazy breeze when Billy turned back enough to
see the two of them, "It's *beautiful*!"
She even stepped closer to them, avoiding Goody's
leg, to reach out and gently stroke it, both men
staying quiet and unmoving, waiting for her. When
she finally gave Billy a bright, gap-toothed
smile, Goody almost teared up to see him
hesitantly return it before he nodded at Goody and
spoke with that same gentle tone he'd used before,
one that usually was reserved for Goody's bad
moments, "Goodnight is the one that brushes and
puts it up every night."
She followed his look to Goodnight, her frown
back, though less ferocious than before, biting
her lip, and he smiled back gently, sitting back
calm and un-threatening, willing to wait her out,
thought wishing he'd thought to ask that the
rocker be moved into the sun rather than sit on
these hard steps.
She finally gave a reluctant pout and shy "Okay",
and Goody smiled a little deeper, nodding a ghost
of a creaky seated bow, "Merci, mon cher." He
reaches over to put the pins into one of Billy's
hands, kept close to his body, and let her
hesitantly come to stand in front of him at her
own pace, with many half-suspicious half-confused
looks at him. He'd have pulled his leg in to not
crowd her, if he could.
As Goody held his hand out for her to choose to
lend him the brush she'd, at a guess, been making
a poor attempt at using and been caught by Goody's
bored eyes, based on the tail-end of conversation
he'd heard as he stepped into the open doorway,
Billy carefully sat all the way down near them,
keeping the flinch of pain from his face but for
his eyes spasming shut.
The warm sun on his face helped him feel stronger
and Billy amused himself debating the merits of
the pain of shifting over, against the advantage
of being able to lean on the railing instead of
holding himself upright.
"Can you make it like his?"
His eyes opened at the question, glad the child
looked so much calmer and more at ease, now. His
eyes met Goody's relaxed expression, something
else to be glad for, and winked at him before
carefully rising, "I'll go find something." Mrs.
Cullen would no doubt lecture him when she found
out he'd gone further than sitting at Goody's
side, but Billy felt strong enough, and he'd felt
better moving than sitting.
If he hadn't known exactly how badly Billy reacted
to mothering, Goody would have insisted his
injured mate stay the hell down.
Instead he clenched his jaw and settled for
watching that Billy was indeed able to walk well
enough, and then made himself calm and get to the
work he'd volunteered for.
He remembered spotting this elfin petite among the
gaggle that had trailed Billy while they worked;
mostly because the sun turned her long pale-blond
hair to an almost white banner when she ran among
the dull browns and lively reds of most of the
town. It now looked like Goody's. For that matter:
Goody's after they'd been on a river-less trail
for more than a week! It would take more than the
no doubt pain-inducing angry jerks she'd been
jabbing at it to undo the dust-mats and knots.
Luckily, Billy had provided Goody with plenty of
practise at it, over the years. Much of it
following dealing with just such mulish glares as
this dirt-covered urchin had been giving him,
memory of which had Goody grinning to himself as
he slowly and gently brushed away at hair much
shorter, but just as soft, under the filth, as his
lover's.
Though little Danica needed to practise that glare
if she planned to be as scary as Billy, Goody was
glad her patience was obviously closer to a
sharpshooter's: Billy would have been jerking to
escape and snarling at him in Korean by the time
he could actually take a stroke from top to tip
without being stopped by a knot. And though his
back was most earnestly displeased with him, the
sun on his skin and the fresh air, as well as the
soothing work, were doing wonders for his mind
when his unwilling new friend broke their silence,
though very very quietly, "My mommy's dead."
His breath and hand froze for a moment before he
forced himself to acknowledge that she hadn't
shifted after speaking, and made himself get back
to the calm movements. "Yes. She is, ma petite."
Along with too many others, including her father,
though that was several months before, from what
he recalled.
"Do you know what's going to happen to us?"
Goody thought of the three children, a
barely-walking two-year-old girl, this wandering
seven year-old, and a now too-old for his years
twelve year old boy that had lost what mix of
parents they'd had. Not having been in any
condition to spend time chatting with the tired
townsfolk, he only knew what his small squad of
caregivers had mentioned in their efforts to
distract him.
He smiled sadly, "I fear I do not know the answer
to that, ma petite. But try not to worry yourself
too much. The good people of Rose Creek seem to
care for their own, and even us strangers, quite
well. Little ones like you won't be forgotten."
Even if she'd been left to her own devices enough
to be crouching besides the street in front of the
saloon attempting to brush her own hair, she
wasn't starved, nor truly unclean under a day's
worth of dust, which also covered the worn, but
whole, child's playing frock she wore; Goody
trusted she had a bed and some watchers, though
likely they were busy trying to repair the town or
care for injured folks. He knew from dealing with
Billy that hair like theirs would get in terrible
condition shockingly fast when left loose as hers
was.
"Do you have children?"
Safely hidden behind the child, Goody flinched,
and he had to work to keep his movements steady.
No simple memory, but an old *feeling* of being a
failure echoing past years where he'd never even
thought of it, quieting his voice, "No, ma belle,
I do not."
"Does mr. Rocks?"
The first reflex, to smile at the child's straight
thought process, stalled when he realized he
didn't know how Billy actually felt about it. "No.
No, Billy doesn't have children either." -at least
insofar as Goody knew. Which he was fairly sure
meant no; Billy had, over the years, stumbled
through telling him about a great many things he'd
lived through, just as Goody had managed to find
the words for his own nightmares.
He had to adjust his stroke when the child turned
her head halfway and tilted to look at him with
one eye, "Don't you like children?"
Goody blinked in surprise before catching himself
and trying to smile kindly, knowing he should have
expected the question, at this point. But the
many-layers of the answer were far too complicated
and dangerous to speak to anyone but Billy, let
along this small child only worried of where the
adults around her were going to put her. "The life
Billy and I lead isn't.. really one to force
children through."
"Oh." Goody hoped the conversation was over,
especially when he saw Billy limping back slowly
from the direction of the general store, amid
shocked stares at his never-seen wild hair, though
her continued eye on him warned of a different
scenario.
"But aren't you going to stay here, now?" She
finally turned that watchful eye away from Goody,
turning it instead on Billy when he stepped
closer, and Goody looked up at his friend, seeing
surprise flash across his eyes before they locked
with Goody's questioningly.
Goody shrugged, a silent promise to explain the
subject to Billy later, "For a time, certainly."
Neither of them could pretend that riding would be
anything but short-lived torture to be borne only
for survival, at the moment, but he was not about
to give the already traumatized child false ideas.
Goody reached out to take the short knitting
needles in Billy's hand, glaring at him from
behind the child's head so he would sit his
injured ass down before the shake Goody could see
in his limbs sent him crashing down. It wasn't as
though Goody would be able to do anything but
throw himself before him as cushion. Which would
result in them both being bedridden for yet more
weeks. Assuming they didn't break their necks. And
survived the truly epic screaming lectures they
would earn themselves.
Billy rolled his eyes at him, but was at least
wise enough to sit down. Right besides Goody. And
if Goody happened to have an arm with an empty
hand out where Billy's hips were and happened to
slow their precipitous descent, albeit with a
flinch at the pull to his back, well, young Danica
was looking at Red, trailing a deer-laden horse
and four of the other littles of the town. The
foolishness of two grown men were of no interest
to her.
Once Billy was safely on his sweet rear, Goody
stiffly got back to his duty, brush now set aside
on the planks besides him and the pins between his
teeth, trying to convince the child's shorter and
wispier than Billy's locks to wrap into some
simile of a neat bun.
*Not* helped by her suddenly turning to look at
Billy with a blood-thirsty grin Goody could
faintly recall his cousin Will wearing when they
thought it would be an adventure to ride Mr.
Pattison's new colt, "Would you teach me to throw
them like you do?"
Billy's head spun to Goody, though his panicked
expression changed to a flinch at the un-wise
movement. Unable to answer with pins in his teeth
and his hands full of slippery hair, Goody raised
his brows to indicate his lack of ideas for a
response. The women, and likely the men as well,
would almost certainly pitch a fit at a girl-child
throwing sharp implements at the teaching of
someone who used knives to kill.
Yet. Mrs. Cullen had led the riflemen during the
battle. And several other women had been hidden on
other roofs and behind doors with riffles. The
young miss Criley had even taken Red's first perch
to fire her own bow from, though with her parents'
outraged discouragement. And he'd learned to shoot
around her age.
"Well...?" The grin had faded even faster than it
had appeared at their silence, and Goody carefully
got the main pin in place, hoping they hadn't
managed to make the child's day worse.
"If you still wish, when I can throw again, we
will speak."
Second pin safely decorating his work, Goody
looked up at Billy, thinking of his earlier
realization that they'd never spoken about
children. His lover didn't look particularly
comfortable with the situation, but Goody knew he
would never lie about something like this, which
meant he was willing to stay here even once they
were in better shape. And willing to spend time
teaching a child a skill Goody knew was no easy
trick.
Looks like they were going to be staying here a
while.
AN:Meaning
of Danica: Morning Star, Origin: slavic
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