a/n: Again Sweet Home Alabama Au with a lot of tweaking. She/her pronouns for reader. Reader is butch, has a truck and I do occasionally describe the clothes of reader in this one which I usually avoid doing. I changed the timeline a bit, the plot is different because y’all probably didn’t get a civil union because you got Billie pregnant. I finally have the entire plot all laid out, my allergy appointment is this Friday so hopefully in general I’ll be writing faster. - Oh and there might be smut eventually.
It felt strange to be driving back home after all this time. The trees and farms Billie Dean passed started to put her into a kind of trance. It was the wind from the open window, the lazy cows grazing and laying in the fields, it was like forgetting a favorite movie before you put it in the VHS player and everything came back to you during the opening credits. This feeling increased when she turned the radio on and heard a familiar voice on her once favorite radio station.
summary: You meet Billie in mourning. She’s too professional, and you’re too angry, and it takes too long to see her again. And again. And again as your lives tumble together.
w/c:2.6k
notes: small amount of sexual content at the end. barely edited but i wanted to get another chapter out there and get over this writing slump i’m in <3
Saanvi gave you the opportunity to kiss her. When she said goodnight to you next to her car, she hesitated.
“I had a good time tonight,” she says, her eyes soft and curious as she watches you. You swallow and nod, nervousness bubbling through you.
“Yes, I did too,” you say, rolling on the balls of your feet, but you feel stiff and formal, so you take a breath and smile. “I know it might not seem like it because I’m really nervous right now, but I did.” It’s the truth, but it feels forced because you rambled like an idiot. Still, Saanvi just chuckles and nods.
“Okay. Why are you nervous?” A blush rushes to your cheeks, and you clear your throat, glancing away, unable to keep Saanvi’s intense eye contact.
“I, uh, it’s just been a while since I…you know, so I don’t want you to think I don’t like you because I do.”
“Oh?” You want to curl up in a ball at that teasing little noise. Maybe it’s your fault for not just telling her the truth or for giving her an opening to poke fun, but you hate it. It’s flirting. You know it’s flirting, and you feel like there are walls closing in around you, so you take a half step back.
“So,yeah, goodnight,” you say, high pitched like you’re running out of air. Saanvi frowns.
“Is everything okay?”
“Of course,” you say automatically and then catch yourself. “I mean, no, but yes. I’m sorry, I probably sound nuts right now. I just…” you take a deep breath to slow down and briefly meet Saanvi’s eyes. She’s listening, which you suppose is better than scaring her away. “This is the first date I’ve been on since my wife died,” you say like the last gasps of a slow leak. The silence is impossible to tolerate, so you hazard a glance at her. She doesn’t know what to say, and the careful sympathy in her eyes is too much. “So, I’m sorry you had to be the one to experience that,” you laugh, rubbing the back of your neck, another blush coloring your cheeks.
“Don’t be,” she says. “I really enjoyed experiencing it.” Then she smiles softly and opens her car door. “Give me a call if you want to do it again sometime. Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight,” you reply hoarsely as she slides in her car and closes the door.
And now you’re leaning back in your chair at Insomnia, chewing on your thumbnail. Your hot chocolate has gotten cold, and your eyes are getting dry, but you just can’t seem to move. The cooler by the register hums, you can faintly hear the cashier’s music—whose name is Vivian, you finally learned—from her headphones, and you think your leg might have fallen asleep, folded up against your chest on the chair.
You couldn’t quite bring yourself to go home yet with Norah waiting for a debriefing in your living room. She would understand of course if you just wanted to be alone, but you think you might need her later when everything hits you. Right now you’re just numb.
“Y/N?” The voice comes to you slowly and from a distance. You blink, your eyes refocusing and rolling up to find Billie Dean Howard standing worriedly in front of you. She’s in a forest green cocktail dress, and her hair has come uncurled from what you’re sure was a long night out. Still, her makeup is perfect and smokey. Though you can still see that black eye lingering underneath.
“Billie?”
“I said your name three times,” she says, not quite sitting down across from you but looking like she wants to. You swallow and let your knee down from your chest.
“Sorry, I’m a little distracted tonight,” you excuse, looking up at her. She presses her lips together but doesn’t push.
“You didn’t leave a voicemail,” she says then, and the reminder distracts you from your numbness.
“I didn’t think you wanted to hear my voice anymore,” you admit. Billie swallows, her eyes fluttering away, and you think it’s a strange reaction for her, almost embarrassed.
“I’ve decided I don’t mind it that much,” she says, setting her purse down on the table. You raise your brow.
“You’vedecided?” She hums, pulling out the chair and sitting down. “That’s very magnanimous of you.”
“As much as you infuriate me,” Billie begins, lacing her fingers and resting her arms on the table, “I’d rather it not be magnanimous at all.”
Now that surprises you, and you let it show on your face. You’re not sure you want to ask why, so you don’t. Best to leave small miracles alone. And it’s odd because, thinking about it, you do feel sort of grateful. Billie occupies a place in your life. You’re not sure what that place is, and you’re not sure if you’re just too scared of another loss to let her go, but she’s there now. She’s here.
“I don’t hate you,” you say in a moment where you’re not sure what else to say, and Billie looks stunned, brow raised as she straightens her back.
“Thank you?” she replies, blinking, and a smile tugs at both your lips. Then you school yourself and run your finger along the rim of your hot chocolate. You’ve had a lot of time to think about this.
“I don’t,” you insist more seriously, and her own smile falls. “I hated the idea of you.”
“Past tense?” she clarifies skeptically, and you blush, looking down.
“I hated you for bringing Kate back into my life when I was trying to move forward. You dragged me—kicking and screaming—back to the worst months of my life, and I don’t know how to forgive you for it. But as much as I want to, I don’t hate you.” You swallow and shake your head, unable to meet Billie’s eyes.
“Why?” Billie asks after a loud silence, her voice hoarse.
“I don’t know. It’s annoying,” you admit, and when you find Billie’s face, she’s smiling. Trying to hide it but still smiling. Then she tilts her head at you, eyes flitting over your features, so raw and open.
“I feel the same,” she breathes. Like a release. Like a realization. Like acceptance. It sends a strange shiver down your spine, the way she looks at you. You feel like you’re peering into a cavern, only glimpsing the outermost of Billie’s thoughts. Her depth scares you sometimes, you realize. Every time you come close to thinking you might know something about her, she shifts and hides.
“So now what?” you ask, and Billie laughs, a little chuckle, more like a huff, her eyes drifting to her hands as they rest on the table between you.
“I don’t know,” she sighs, and the way she releases it into the world is like a prayer. That’s one way you and her differ. She has faith in the unknown, relinquishes control and lets it flow through her like a river. But it scares you. You like order, and you think you may need it to feel safe.
“What happened to your eye?” you ask eventually, and she raises her brow, sitting up straighter.
“I’m not sure you’ll believe me,” she chuckles, long nails ghosting over the bruise that dips below her eye and swells above her lid.
“I wanna know who has the balls to punch the Medium to the Stars in the face,” you say, smirking as you lean forward on the table. It’s the first time you’ve used medium instead of psychic in front of Billie, and it isn’t lost on her. It’s a gesture of good faith, and Billie decides to run with it.
“Your wife,” she says with a deep breath, meeting your eyes with a steady, almost challenging look. You know it isn’t a joke. She wouldn’t joke about something like that right now. Still, your heart skips a beat. “Turns out she thought I was sleeping with you and wasn’t happy about it.”
You have so many questions you don’t even know where to begin. But the concept of Kate decking Billie is too bizarre and too funny, and then you’re laughing. Billie’s confused for a moment, watching as you laugh harder and harder. You clutch your stomach as it cramps and wipe tears from your eyes when they well up.
“What, she was jealous from beyond the grave?” you try to clarify, sniffling and catching your breath. Billie doesn’t answer, doesn’t need to. You pause. “Jealous?” you ask again in an attempt to process the idea. Billie sees your focus drift away, and clicks her tongue—shifting—to steady you and get your attention.
“As strange as it sounds, Kate’s grieving too. She has to watch you live without her,” Billie shrugs, eyeing you. You chew your lip.
“Huh.”
“What?” she asks, cocking her head.
The thought of you and Billie together, well, it really isn’t an idea you’ve entertained before. You suppose you’ve been a bit distracted by hating her too much. You meet her eyes, deep and brown and guarded. Always guarded. You don’t blame her. She’s beautiful. You suppose. The slope of her nose is lovely, and her jaw is sharp, and you would kiss those full lips. Maybe. You swallow, looking down at your fingers as you fiddle with your pants.
“She was never that jealous when she was alive,” you manage, looking up. Kate trusted you more than she trusted anyone else. Besides, she liked it when you made out with other women at the bar. Billie folds one leg over the other, her heeled foot dangling so delicately.
“Death changes people.” You think that’s the truest thing Billie’s ever said. The you that existed before Kate died is gone. You don’t even recognize that person anymore.
“How did she…I mean did she follow you? I don’t—I don’t understand.” Billie’s nostrils flare, and you sense her next words won’t be ones you particularly like.
“After our last…disagreement, I went to your house to talk to Kate. She took the opportunity to, shall we say, express her frustrations with conversations she overheard between you and Margot.”
You recall what you talked about with Margot in the house. Billie. You talked about Billie. The thought sends an odd shiver down your spine because there’s no way Billie could have known that without talking to Kate. The shock must read clearly on your face because Billie chews her lip.
“Spirits can’t usually affect the physical world so directly. But with enough willpower and emotional charge,” she sighs, motioning to her eye, “It’s possible.”
For a moment, just for argument’s sake, you believe Billie. You believe her. You suck in a breath like you haven’t had a single gulp of air all day. Hesitantly, you lean forward in your seat, nearly standing as you reach for Billie.
“Can I…” It’s a blind request. You barely know what you’re asking for, so overwhelmed you can’t focus. Still, Billie nods faintly, and you stand.
You step closer, and Billie’s legs are still folded as she looks up at you, so quiet and careful. Gently, you reach out to touch Billie’s brow. She doesn’t flinch, her eyes just watching, as you trace your thumb along the outline of her bruise. Her skin is soft and smooth and warm, and she blinks slowly as your finger smooths a line under her eye. With a featherlight touch, you cup her temple with your other hand, looking down at her from above, and examine the blues and purples and faint yellows of her black eye.
“Kate did that to you,” you say hoarsely. Billie’s throat bobs. She’s still as a pin, her eyes soft and…open as she watches you look at her.
“Yes,” she responds, voice thick.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.” You quickly pull your hands away, but Billie catches one of them and squeezes, reassuring, before letting you go. You swallow, ducking your face as you sit back down.
“I’m sorry,” you say, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know why I did that.”
“You wanted to touch Kate,” she says easily, and the intimacy of it hits you like a truck. But you didn’t touch Kate. You touched Billie. Your cheeks flush. Billie lets the silence linger for a minute as you settle. You’re amazed at how good she is at that, at knowing. “So what is it this time?” Her voice is lighter now, almost teasing, and you screw your lips up, holding back a smile. You both know you’re a mess. Well, maybe Billie is too with how frequently you see each other here. Why is Billie at Insomnia?
“I went on a date,” you shrug, and Billie’s eyes darken for a flickering moment. “First one since…you know.”
“How was it?”
“Weird,” you shrug, shivering. “It was very, very weird.”
“In a bad way?” Billie asks curiously, and you hesitate, rubbing the back of your arm.
“I don’t know.” Billie hums, and the sound warms you. “But now that I know how much Kate hates the idea, maybe I should just call it quits.” Billie laughs, warm and melodic, and you smile with her. Though, the thought is troubling you more than you want to admit right now. “Billie?”
“Hmm?”
“Maybe we should see each other here on purpose some time.”
Her smile is amused and flattered, and she looks at you with eyes you can’t decipher, ones that make you squirm.
“I’d like that, Y/N.”
…
Billie takes a long, hot shower that night in an attempt to wash Lauren off of her. When she grabbed your hand at Insomnia before you could retreat in shame, all she wanted was for you to feel comforted and reassured. But the smell of Lauren still lingered on her fingers, and she just felt dirty.
Seeing you there was not ideal for her mental state, to be frank. She feels oddly scrambled now. Still, what came out of it was more than enough to be worth it. A sort of equilibrium. She’s not convinced she can say friendship quite yet, but she finds herself hoping she’ll be able to soon. It’s the first time she’s admitted that that’s what she wants. Friendship. Isn’t it?
Billie closes her eyes and runs her hair under the hot water.
You touched her so tenderly she can still feel the pads of your fingers on her skin. Billie traces where your fingers traced, her eyes closed. She has to remind herself you were touching Kate, not her. Still, her skin burns so suddenly it scares her.
And Billie has had spirits invade her head so loudly that they almost feel like intrusive thoughts, but she would probably classify her experience with Lauren as the genuine article. The way you kept appearing in her mind was overwhelming and confusing, and the only thing she’s thankful for is that she wasn’t thinking about you when she came. Though she wasn’t exactly thinking of Lauren either.
She rinses and turns off the water and scrubs a towel through her hair.
You’re beautiful. Billie’s shocked to be noticing it for the first time. But you are. Your eyes are bright and revealing, more so than she thinks you realize. Your laugh is infectious, and your hands are delicate, and Billie, god, maybe she wants them onher.
As she dries her body, a warm ache grows between her thighs, and she chews her lip.
It’swrong.
You’re still grieving, and somehow Billie’s being caught in the middle. She can’t want you like that. She doesn’t. Still…
Carefully, quietly she slips a hand between her legs. She’s hot and slick, and she sighs, easing back on her bed. She thinks about the way you chew your lip and wonders if you’d be just as enamored with her black eye as Lauren was. Well, you were, but not in the same way. And then there’s Catherine. Crashing through her head like a demolition crew. Her fingers still against her swollen clit, heart pounding.
Billie’s eyes open, and she stares blankly at her ceiling.
