kingdomsofrain | picture prompt meme

She looks like a bloody nightmare, herself. For a moment Bill wonders whether he's slipped back into the dream and this is one of the not Nancys or both of the not Nancys, the sign of his ills and the would-be bringer of his end. Course that can't be; he's as awake as he's ever been, and this is... He's in the bed they share. He's in her place, their place. He never dreams about their home, so this can't be a dream, can't possibly.

Still, the way she looks, the way she's looking at nothing. It ain't right. Almost ain't human.

"Jesus. Jesus..." He's still clutching her wrist, half because he's too caught up in staring at her face to remember to release, half because he's afraid to let her go, afraid she'll either attack him (all the while following him with those eyes, and look at her eyes now, stretched wide, unseeing maybe but there's blame in them, isn't there? isn't there?) or fall back into ash.

"Oi, Nancy!" Now his hand goes to her jaw, tilting her face toward his own, trying not to look too hard into those open eyes. "Nancy, come now, wake up."

His touch jars her enough that she pulls back, trying to yank her wrist from his grasp, and recoiling against his touch. But that's what she needs, for the air to force itself back into her lungs, and for her to look up at him, red hair mussed from sleep.

Slowly, she looks around- she's in their place, Bill is here, and he looks- good god he looks worried sick in that way of his. Worried. Concerned. And now she's gone and certainly hurt him, upset him.

Nancy crumples into tears, forcing herself to look away from Bill. He couldn't see her like this. She didn't want him to know what she'd dreamt of, why she was so upset. They'd never spoken about it, after all. Better to just sweep it under the threadbare rug and continue on.

She turns her back to Bill, covering her eyes with her hands. It was shameful. It was all her fault.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, eyes squeezed shut. For waking him, for hurting him, for driving him to try to murder her. For bringing them back here to the same room where it had happened six years ago, blood still stained the floor. Sorry for not being stronger. Sorry she wasn't the woman he deserved.

"What're you—"

What's she got to be sorry for? He's genuinely puzzled, because isn't she the one thrashing about like her life depends on it (don't dwell on that; something too close for knowing, there)? Sure, she's woken him up, but that's not worth saying (isn't now, though it would've left him irate before all of this, and maybe it'll be the same sometime in the future).

He wants everything to be all right with her. He wants to feel like things are right between them. Which of course they are. How could they be otherwise, the way she'd come to him, the way they'd drawn together just as soon as found each other? The world feels rightside-up when he's with her, so how could anything be sour?

(Of course he knows the answer, though he does his best to hide it, ignore it, pretend it's all been cured. Because it hadn't happened the way he'd thought, right? Because she's here, here beside him and not... Not in places unthinkable. So it must be all right, though his own dreams tell him it isn't, though even trying to avoid the fact he knows, knows what Nancy's dreaming of. The way she'd recoiled from him; that'd said enough for him to let go of her, lacking words, lacking even complaint.)

"Christ almighty, you got nothing to be sorry for."

If he thought about it, he'd know that wasn't true, exactly. Given what she'd done to him, what she'd said. Right now, that's all far away and immaterial; right now, what matters is the immediate situation and the woman who won't look at him, the woman he can't bring himself to touch just yet.

Somewhere in the tears, Nancy huffs out a bit of a hysterical laugh. It's one Bill would recognize, surely never a good sign from her. She wraps one arm around herself, then places the other securely on her lower stomach, her auburn curls covering her face, concealing her tears.

She had everything to be sorry for.

"I--" a jagged sob tears through her words "--Tell me- tell me you love me, Bill." She looks up at him with her bright green eyes, ringed red with tears. "Please- I need to hear it-- I need to know--" know what exactly? That he loved her? She knew that. He loved her, he needed her, he didn't need to say it. But lord she had wanted him to. For near ten years now, she supposed, she'd never gotten him to say it. She'd almost gotten the idea out of her head.

But she needed to know right now that he was there, that he loved her. That he wasn't going to do that to her again. That maybe he'd forgiven her.

He almost puts his foot down then and there, almost refuses to say anything at all because nobody, not even Nancy, tells Bill Sikes what to say or do (especially not when it's so... so un-Bill Sikes a thing to say).

But that laugh. But the way she keeps drawing in on herself, away from him. The way he knows somehow he shouldn't touch her, can't go near her, somehow she's far away and he's never known how to bridge this kind of gap. She ain't right, and this is worse than usual, worse than much of what he's known from her and far apart from how she's been since his return. He can't touch what's happening. Can't speak to it, even if he guesses even if he knows at the back of his mind what's the cause.

Maybe, though. Maybe he can give her what she wants. This much (it's the least he can do for her, the least he owes her, and he does owe her, even if he doesn't care to think it, even if she also owes him, he knows it now) he can do. Try.

"Nance. Nancy, come on, now." He starts to move toward her, finds himself unable to cross the distance and instead sits watching, puzzled still. "Who do you think you're talking to? Course I– Of course I do. That is I.

"Nancy. Christ, with everything that– Sure. Sure I love you, Nance. Sure."

I love you, Nance.

All the air is gone from the room, and Nancy's uneven lips part into a smile. It looks so silly, so manic, with the way her eyes are, her hair unbrushed and mussed from a fitful sleep.

It doesn't matter that she had to ask him to say it. What matters is he said it. he loves her, just as she always knew. She had her proof now, concrete, solid proof, that he still loved her after all of this time, after all of... all of everything.

(She tries to see him, still. But never close enough to let him see her. She doesn't want to upset him, to ruin his life. Oliver Twist deserves the best in life, and that means she has to stay far, far away from him.)

Nancy nods, her motions frantic. "...Hold me? Please?" Gently, comfortingly. She needed to be reminded of how soft his hands could touch her, when her body seemed to only remember the violence. "I'm sorry- Christ= I love you, Bill. I love you so so much."

Again there's the split reaction: partly bristling against being instructed, mostly knowing it it's what he wants to do and what she needs and if he can say he loves her, of course he can hold her. Her questions breaks the distance between them, and he moves toward her, wraps his arms around her own and draws her toward him.

It's amazing how aware he is of her body, of the... Not the ways it's changed (the ways he'd changed it), but of the ways it can be broken, has always been in some way fragile. Bill has long known the ways that bodies can splinter, but he's never closely felt the fact until now. It's unsettling. It's terrifying, and he almost wants to draw away from her before something happens. (Because it could, couldn't it? Something has happened before, and who's to say that.... No. No, he won't think it, and it's not possible. Never again.)

He makes himself stay where he is. Focuses on keeping his grip light. Don't hurt her (too late for that), but don't draw away and leave her, either. Not after she's asked for you. Not when you need to be close to her, too.

"Shh shh, hey, there's nothing you've got to be sorry for. Ain't anything wrong, Nance." He runs his fingers through her hair, lightly, trying not to pull at her. "Look, I'm here. I'm right here. And I love you. You know that, don't you?"

Nancy has changed. Her face is scarred, her lips now crooked and twisted up in one corner. She walks with a slight limp-she was no longer what she would consider pretty. But when Bill looked at her, she felt beautiful again. She felt like she fit between his large hands, next to him in bed. They always seemed like they fit together so perfectly.

She's aware now, more than ever, what his hands are capable of doing to her. She'd nearly been murdered by his hand, so much so that even he believed her dead. Bet had been sure of it, too, until she'd heard Nancy moan through her broken nose.

When Bill touches her, holds her, and this time when he puts his arms around her, she doesn't withdraw from him. She places her head against his chest, letting him cradle her against him. Her arms wrap around him so she can hold herself close. Her breathing was still unsteady as she let herself cry.

Through it all, she just wanted to laugh and smile. She was here with Bill, in his arms, and he fucking loved her. She nods into his chest. "Yes- I know you do. I love you, too. More'n anyone or anything." She squeezes him. "God almighty- I was so scared, Bill. Please stay with me- I can't lose you again."

At least she doesn't cringe away; the thought barely strikes him, but he feels its relief breathes a little easier.

There's silence for a while, and it's... It ain't bad. Somehow makes him feel closer to her, like words aren't needed or words won't suffice (or maybe words are just too dangerous). Silence in other people usually makes Bill wary; there's no telling what they're scheming when they're clammed up like that, not sharing their thoughts with everyone around. This is different, though. Quiet like this, Bill Sikes could get used to.

When she speaks he catches momentarily on a thought, a grimacing feeling. 'I can't lose you again.' It's a prickly idea, and one he can't get too far into. At the surface he feels its warmth, feels how she needs him the way he needs her, but there are also those stranding questions of how and why, why they'd been apart in the first place. Why she was scared (oh don't, don't think on that, don't think on that at all). No good in going down that way.

"You won't. I'm not going anywhere." He realizes he's holding onto her tighter than he'd intended (a rare recognition; if he thought about it, he'd be shocked he noticed), and he loosens his hold again. "And neither are you.

"You're my best girl, Nance. Always have been, and you always will be."

She doesn't mind the tightness of his embrace. It serves to remind her that he's there, that they're together. That this isn't a dream she'll wake up from, alone and shivering in their bed. She nuzzles against his chest.

Through her tears, Nancy's got to smile. Her smile is lop-sided, but genuine. Looking at him, thinking about him had always made her feel so funny. Her toes curled, her stomach fluttered, and she couldn't help but smile. She'd lost that, for a time. But now- now it was back in full force.

She presses a kiss to his chest.

"You're my first, my last-" She presses her hand to her mouth as another sob wracks through her. She hates it, still crying like this, smiling like a bloody fool. But here she is- unable to tell one emotion from the other as she zips through them. Nancy raises one of her hands to gently stroke his cheek again, making it so he has no choice but to look at her.

He knew what her job was- how she made her living. But that didn't matter- no one else but him mattered, because he was all that there was. She was his, and she had been since she was near twelve. But he was one of two she'd willingly and of her own will taken into her bed. The other... Well, he never needed to know about Jack.

Even so, Nancy takes her other hand and runs her fingers through his graying hair, pushing it back from his face. "My only."

He knows what she means. Knows whatever she's done, he's the only man who's ever meant anything. The rest is business, what a person's got to do to live. Early on, Bill had gotten worked up about it time and again, but eventually he saw how much it didn't matter. How it was just Nancy doing her part. How the way she came back to him was proof she loved him best (didn't love the others at all, he was sure of it). It's all survival.

What they've got goes beyond that. It's always been more than survival. Survival's what he'd done all those years he was away, thinking her dead, thinking himself without place. Survival's rough and it's tenuous, awfully tenuous, and most days all you do is ache.

With Nancy, sure the days can be rough and there's always some damned thing or other to gnaw at him, but there are also times where the atmosphere settles out and things feel... well, right, almost. Like they are where they ought to be. And the world outside doesn't matter so much, sometimes seems like it can't get in at all. So he doesn't have to keep up his defenses anymore. So he can be alone with the one person he truly (don't think about that time, the past, that doesn't matter) trust.

That's what existing with Nancy is. It isn't just survival; it really, actually living. Not that Bill would put it that way; not that he even thinks it precisely that way. He feels the truth, even if he refuses words for it.

He leans forward to kiss her, firm without being insistent. "Ah, Nance. Always knew I could count on you."

Some would say, a hundred years in the future, that Fagin had groomed her for Bill. He'd laid the trap out perfectly, set the scene for Bill and Nancy to find each other. It hadn't helped at all that Nancy had taken quite a fancy to Bill early on, always seeking to impress him, to sit next to him at group gatherings. It was only natural that they find each other. They were meant to be, if you asked her; Bill had saved her. That's what mattered.

What mattered more was that they had conquered death- each one believed the other dead and still they found each other, drawn together stronger than any magnet.

Truthfully, Nancy liked Bill the most when he let down his walls. When he let her hold him, touch him and care for him. And moments like this, when he held her, touched her hair and was soft and warm. This was the Bill she loved more than anything, the Bill that the world never got to see, and so they never understood. But if they could see- well, she was sure they would.

She kisses him back, parting her lips slightly. Her cheeks are wet against his, but now her tears were slowing, and she placed her hands on his cheeks softly stroking. "I'm your girl. Always and forever, Bill." Their foreheads are pressed together now, sharing breath. "No matter what."

If Bill ever suspected that Fagin had something to do with him and Nance, he'd have been split in two. On the one hand, he would've wanted to run away from the whole thing, spurn Nancy or do whatever he had to in order to keep from the old man's grasp. He didn't want any part of those machinations (never mind that he himself had long been a part of them, though he'd never recognized it, never could see it that way).

On the other hand, she was Nancy. And he can hardly think of a time when just a glance from her hadn't meant something. Can hardly remember what it was like when she wasn't around, and as soon as she'd gotten old enough to catch his attention, well. She was different from anyone he'd met, always surprised him in ways no one could, and always, always made him feel welcome. Made him feel more like himself.

As she does now. Her forehead against his is more reality than he'd had all those years she was gone. Brings him back to the man he is, close to the man he can be, sometimes, with her. (He doesn't think about the difference, doesn't recognize it, and doesn't realize his anger's further away when she's so near; he only knows he feels more steady with her. Centered.) His own hand is at her waist, and right now he feels he could sit like this forever, her hands on him, just the two of them, and never mind all those wretched dreams.

"I know it. I know it. All these years... You're the one thing I've got. The only thing that matters."

She loved him. She loved him so much, and she would scream it from the rooftops if she saw the benefit of it (there was no benefit). Bill had saved her, he protected her. He was handsome, and when he looked at her- when he touched her- was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. She loved how he'd pull her over to sit on his lap, how he'd let her hold him close when she saw he needed it. The way he said her name.

"It's you and me," she tells him, "Bill Sikes and his girl Nancy. Always has been, always will be. The Devil himself can't keep us apart." She kisses him again. "It was all a bad dream."

Not... Not what had happened that night so long ago. That she knew was real, had happened. But they were here together again, they'd paid their dues. He wouldn't- he wouldn't lose control like that again. He couldn't.

“And God knows the Devil’s tried.” Meaning Fagin, of course, but there's a twinge at the back of his mind that says there was another devil involved, the devil that almost did the real work of it, though he refuses to listen to that thought refuses to give it any heed or credit because it's nothing, it's nothing, it's in the past. It's... What's done is done, and it can't ever happen again. Won't happen. Nothing on this sad excuse for an earth could prompt him into causing her pain. Certainly, nothing could make him go so far as… It isn't worth thinking.

That night’ll never be repeated, that’s what matters.

He draws her body to his, willing his head to stop churning, focusing instead on her warmth, how right she feels up next to him, how strange it is to find so much comfort in being close to someone. How he can feel the beat of her heart against his own, how her skin is softer to the touch than anything, how at times like this she makes him forget the weary old world. And those scars... Though he doesn't like the flash of memory they carry, she looks none the worse for them, wears them well and glows in spite of everything. She is - right now, she certainly seems to be - the only thing he needs in life.

"Christ, I love you."

This time, when Nancy laughs, it's a giggle. It's in her toes, the tip of her nose. He kept saying those words! Bill kept repeating himself, telling her over and over again he loved her- this was three times now, if she wasn't mistaken. Three times more than she'd ever heard from him. It only took death to bring the words out of him, but they'd come out.

It was worth it.

She leans in, kissing him deeply. Her eyes are shut, and she puts her everything into the kiss. All the love she's had for him these five past years, all of it. "I love you too, Bill Sikes. My Bill- and I'm all yours."

The giggle gets him smiling, a remarkably genuine warmth from Bill Sikes. He likes to hear her like that (or he likes it right now, while the moment suits his fancy), free from care or strain. Likes to know he can give her those moments. And it makes him feel even more how good their life together is, how much it's a world of its own, untouchable by all else.

(Broken only from within, but that's a thought at the far back of his mind, and not one he's going to touch.)

Then that kiss. He likes that kiss as well, missed this closeness that pressure from her and how had he managed to go being separated for so long? Must've been hell. Was hell. "My faithful girl." She gets another kiss in return, and this time there's more pressure, while his hand goes to the back of her head, strokes her hair. "Anyone tries to take you away, I'll see they don't walk another ten steps in this life."

Words like this, gruff and violent, were words of love from Bill Sikes. Just as he'd kissed her with his knuckles or the back of a hand time and time again. They meant every bit to her as much as his proclamations of love. People didn't understand them, how she knew that's how he said he loved her. But that was because they didn't know Bill like she did. Never even bothered to take the time to really get to know him.

But not Nancy. Nancy knew him.

And faithful- there's a word she'd thought he'd never use again to describe her. But she was loyal. She was Bill's until the end and then back again. She hadn't had to think twice about returning to him, when she saw him that rainy day. She nuzzles against his neck. "You can expect the same from me- I'd do anything it'd take to stay with you."

Minutes ago, she had been crying, terrified of him. But now he was soft and lovely again, as he always was. Nancy parted her lips against his in her next kiss. Slowly, she starts to unfold herself from Bill, if only so they can transition into a more comfortable position on the bed, face to face.

picture prompt meme

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the unfuckingthinkable happens

next step: marriage

this is about the closest to possible it'll ever be

jfc all it takes is death apparently

just the uh little things

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nancy gets all the love yous tonight

screa

oh nancy

oh my god