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moriavis · 1 year

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Maybe in another life kisses - Holden Ford/Bill Tench

How is this the longest of my fills so far? Repressed men are ridiculous. This is unedited, but I hope you enjoy it!

This is post S2 because of delicious angst. <3

~*~

Bill tossed back his scotch and wiped his mouth against his forearm, turning his attention to the left where the TV was playing the news, the sound lost beneath the bustling of the bar. Going home would be the smart thing, but he couldn't stomach going home to an empty house. He was too drunk— his loneliness would be unbearable. Hell, there were people at the bar and the solitude was still crushing him.

"Hey," he said, waving his hand to get the bartender's attention. "Pay phone. Where's it?" The bartender pointed back toward the bathrooms, and Bill slapped down a ten on the bar before he staggered to his feet. No one was using the phone, and Bill allowed a quiet gratitude to filter through him as he dialed a number.

"Holden Ford. How can I help you?" Bill smirked at the distracted tone of Holden's voice; he was probably working on another case. He'd been itchy since Atlanta, not that Bill could blame him.

"It's me," he said. "I wanted to know if I could crash at your place tonight. I've been drinking."

"Bill?" Holden's attention seemed to sharpen. "Are you okay? Do you need me to pick you up?"

"Nah, just wanted to know if you were out. I can get a cab."

"Bill, yeah. Of course you can come to my place."

"Okay." Bill closed his eyes against the dim, pulsing lights of the bar. "I'll be there later." He ended the call without bothering to say goodbye and then looked at the small community corkboard for the taxi services that were always advertised in the local dives.

Once he made his call, Bill made his way out of the bar, taking a deep breath of the cool night air. He was a god-damned idiot. He should've just found a new job and moved like Nancy had so desperately wanted. The problem was the work was so damned important— the most important thing he'd done so far, maybe the most important thing he would ever do, and it was so hard to balance with the needs of the people around him who couldn't understand.

The taxi pulled up, and Bill gave the cabbie Holden's address, cracking the window and resting his head against the glass so he could enjoy the breeze. Fortunately the driver seemed to pick up on his mood and didn't offer any chit-chat; Bill tipped him extra for that.

Holden was waiting outside his apartment building, arms folded against his chest, and the tense expression on his face relaxed when Bill walked up to him. "Glad to see you're in one piece."

"Keeping the light on for me, buddy?" Bill had sobered up a little during the drive, but he was still way past tipsy, and he accepted the shoulder Holden offered as they walked through the door together.

"You know it." Holden guided Bill through the hall to the elevator, supporting Bill's weight. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"Nope." Bill leaned against the back wall of the elevator and closed his eyes again.

Holden made a brief, assenting noise, a sound that Bill had grown familiar with through hours of interviews. "Anything you need to talk about?"

"Don't give me your bullshit." Bill reached out and punched Holden lightly on the shoulder. Holden made one of those affirmative noises again, and for the first time Bill wondered if he'd made the right decision. Holden understood vulnerability in a way that not many did, knew how to twist it, how to make it work for him, and Bill couldn't help but wonder what sort of crazy connections were going on in Holden's head now. If Bill was giving Holden something he could use against him.

They made it safely to Holden's apartment, and Bill sighed as he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over one the coat rack before he settled on the sofa, laying his head back and resting his forearm over his eyes. He listened to the sounds of life and movement around him— Holden opening and shutting a cabinet, the run of the faucet. He wasn't surprised when Holden brought him a glass of water, but he held it between his palms instead of drinking it.

"You ever think," Bill asked quietly, "that doing the work we do isn't worth it?"

"No," Holden said immediately. "I think what we're doing is incredible. We save lives. We try to find closure for grieving families. Making a sacrifice is worth it."

Bill's mouth twisted in a pained smile, and he looked up, surprised to see Holden standing so close to him. "Nancy and Brian left the house.Didn't leave me a note. Didn't…" he shrugged, unable to find a way to continue that sentence.

Holden sat on the coffee table in front of Bill, close enough that their knees were touching. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"I couldn't go home to an empty house," Bill confessed.

Holden smiled. "You could move in with me."

Bill snorted a laugh and shook his head. "We're a sorry pair of assholes, aren't we? Can't even hold down relationships like normal people anymore."

Holden was quiet for a long time before he spoke again. "Most people don't see the things we do. They can't understand why it's important, why we can't turn away and let someone else do it instead. To be honest, if it weren't for you and Wendy, I'd probably go nuts."

"Yeah. Someone's gotta keep your head screwed on straight." Bill reached out and patted Holden's knee, already bridging most of the space between them before he realized what he was doing. "Sorry."

Holden shook his head, clenching his hands around the edge of the coffee table to keep them still. "It's normal, I think. You know, when Debbie and I broke up, I… thought about you. You're so confident and solid, and I thought— if I could be more like Bill, maybe people wouldn't see me as a freak."

Bill stared at Holden, backlit by the kitchen lights. His face was unreadable. "We're all freaks," he said. "I'm just better at hiding it."

"Thanks." Holden's tone made it clear he didn't believe what Bill said, and he stood, forcing Bill to crane his head back if he wanted to keep looking. "Forget about tonight, just drink your water. The guest room's open."

Bill drank his water, and Holden vanished into the kitchen with the empty glass. That strange, bubbling loneliness was trying to make itself known again so he followed Holden, watching him wash the glass and put it back in the cupboard. "You said to forget about tonight? Why?"

Holden shrugged, still turned away from Bill. "We're having a conversation about shitty things at two in the morning on a Friday night. Nothing good ever comes of those."

Bill reached out for Holden's arm, silently urging him to turn around. Relief lit through him when Holden didn't jerk away. "If you're giving me a 'get out of jail free' card, figure I should do something to deserve it."

Holden frowned, tilting his head up just a little to look at Bill; Bill had never been happier about their two inch difference in height. "What are you talking about?"

Bill shook his head. "You talk too much." He leaned in, letting the heat of Holden's body warm him, and then paused. When was the last time he and Nancy slept close enough to feel those small markers of intimacy? He couldn't even remember.

"Bill?" Holden's voice was rough, panicky, and he grabbed onto Bill's arms like he was desperate for a lifeline, and Bill pressed forward, closing the last gap between them.

Bill had thought about kissing Holden a couple of times, if he was going to be honest with himself. When he was bratty, when he put himself in danger, there was always a weird thought in the back of his head that if they kissed, he'd probably like it. It was just a thought. He'd always had Nancy.

Now though, in Holden's dimly lit kitchen, Bill pretended. What would it be like to work with this weird, smart man and then come home with him at night? Maybe they'd switch off on who made dinner. With their salaries combined, they could share a house with a deck, and spend an evening with steaks on the grill when there was nice weather. He'd convince Holden that golf was a respectable sport. And at the end of each day, they could kiss just like this, lingering together after the chores were done.

Holden's bottom lip quivered against Bill's, and Bill curled his hand around the nape of Holden's neck, keeping him in place. There wasn't a place for 'what if?' in real life, so Bill poured every bit of softness and possibility between them.

Holden made a sound as if he'd been punched, and the tight grip he had on Bill's forearms changed, his hands clinging to Bill's shoulders instead. For a second, Holden kissed Bill harder— and then he turned his face away, flushed and shaking as he leaned against the sink. "That's not fair."

"No," Bill agreed. "It's not." Bill let Holden go and walked away, focusing on each step until he made it to the guest room and shut the door.

Then he locked it. Not for his sake, but for Holden's.

~*~

#mindhunter #bill tench #holden ford #bill x holden #there's no portmanteau for this relationship??#writing mindhunter fic in 2023 #what is my life?

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