Billie was awake enough to stay upright, sitting on the chaise lounge at the far end of her bathroom. Her eyes were open just slightly, and she was leaning completely against the back of the chair, her head lolled to the side. Her body was relaxed, as if she were asleep. Tom knew she just didn't have enough energy to keep herself upright.

Tom rummaged loudly around in the bathroom, knocking things over and grumbling as he tried to clean up a bit. There were beer bottles all over the bathroom counter, clothes strewn all over the floor. The mirror was smudged with something unintelligible, and he didn't want to even begin to guess what it was.

He didn't want to think about who had been here with her. Trashing her home, and leaving her for near dead—curled up on the floor, unattended for who knew how long. He briefly wondered if she'd had more than just alcohol. He hated to think the worst, but he wasn't really sure what to think anymore.

Tom pulled the trash can out from under the sink, and did a long sweep with his arm, pushing multiple cans and bottles right into the bin. They rattled and crashed loudly, and he swore softly as he watched beer spill onto the counter and down his leg. He felt like he was losing it. Being here, seeing her like this. He couldn't help her amongst all the trash, the debris, the obvious evidence that the last few days of Billie's life had been completely out of control. He felt an impulsive need to tidy up, before he could take care of her.

He couldn't stop thinking about what could have happened if he'd arrived later. Or if he'd just come a bit sooner.

Tom swept a pair of pants, clumped with what was definitely a man's shirt and jeans, to the side of the bathroom, glancing up at Billie as he did. She was watching him, but he wasn't sure how much she was registering.

"What happened, Billie?" He said under his breath, trying hard not to let anger and frustration get to him, but his voice was hard. He turned, reached into the shower and turned on the faucets. Water sprayed from the rainfall head, and he was at least glad to see that the shower looked clean. Billie's throat moved, and she blinked, but didn't say anything.

The short, sequin shift dress she was wearing was bunched at her thighs, stained down the front from most likely her own sick. She had her hands bunched in the fabric, and Tom knew she was awake because her fists were tightened in the material. As if she was afraid of letting go. Her white blond hair was in knots around her face, the normal curls matted together. He absently wondered when the last time she'd slept or eaten had been.

He hesitated in front of her.

Knelt down onto his knees, and then slowly, quietly, let himself feel his own heart break. Crack right down the middle.

For the woman who he had let walk away...and when she had needed him the most.

Tom felt all anger, all frustration over the stressful and nightmarish trip to find her, drain quickly from his body.

He lifted his hands, let them come up to her knees. She didn't respond, but Tom looked at her face then, and watched Billie close her eyes. Saw tears slip from the corners of her dust blue eyes, and slide down her pale, colorless cheeks.

He wanted to hold her, but was afraid to.

Billie took a shuddering breath, and then was still, as if she'd forced it all down, deep inside her.

Tom leaned forward, and slid his hands over hers. She was tense, her knuckles white, clutching the silky fabric. He ran his hands over hers, his thumbs over her knuckles, fighting the urge to envelope her in his arms. He had a feeling it would upset her more than anything.

"It's okay, Billie. It's going to be okay." He whispered softly, not knowing what else to say but knowing he had to say something. Billie swallowed then, and he felt her relax slightly under his hands. Her fists trembled, and then she swallowed hard.

"I'm going to be sick." She croaked softly. "I'm sorry." She managed, sliding off the chaise and crawling her way toward the toilet. Tom tensed, watching her as she nearly dragged herself across the bathroom floor. He shut his eyes for a second, bracing himself as he heard her start to throw up.

A moment later, he was next to her, pulling her hair from her face, a strong hand at her wretching back. She obviously hadn't eaten anything in awhile. There was nothing in her but alcohol, and even then, there wasn't much at this point. Billie sobbed softly, trying to catch her breath as she leaned an arm on the toilet seat, her forehead against her arm.

Tom waited. Waited for her sobs to stop, waited for her breathing to return to normal. His stomach clenched, hearing her.

"Come on, love. Let's get you cleaned up." He stood, picking Billie up under the arms. She was more alert now, the vomiting had woken her up somewhat. She was able to carry her own weight, but her eyes were half closed, dazed and she was trembling.

Tom clenched his jaw, and reached to the nape of her neck, tugging the long zipper down at her back. The dress slid easily from her slender frame, falling to the ground in a soft whoosh of fabric. He looked away, realizing she wasn't wearing a bra, and had only a tiny slip of a lace thong on under her dress. Of course, he'd seen her naked before, but not like this. There was nothing sexual or remotely sensual about this.

Billie leaned against him, her hand coming up to clutch his shirt, as he walked her toward the shower.

"Can you stand in the shower?" He asked, opening the glass door. Billie nodded, but didn't speak.

He stuck his hand in the water, making sure it was a good temperature. Billie leaned against the wide glass wall of the shower, her eyes closed, and Tom wondered briefly if she was still awake.

He kicked off his shoes, tugged his shirt over his head and shed his jeans, leaving his boxers on, as he scooped her up and walked into the hot spray.

Billie gasped awake suddenly as the water hit them both. Tom grimaced as she flailed slightly, and he tightened his grip on her for a second, before setting her down carefully.

Billie's blue eyes shot open, disoriented and full of panic, as the water poured over her shoulders and the back of her head. Tom watched as water ran down over her slender shoulders—thinner than he remembered, and over her breasts. He could see her ribs, and her clavicle stood out at a sharp contrast against her skin. Despite the heat of the shower, goosebumps dotted her skin.

"It's alright. It's just me. And the shower." Tom put his hands up, and Billie grabbed his arms, steadying herself. Her chest heaved as she took deep breaths, her eyes searching his face. Recognition but distrust filtered over her features.

"How...oh, Tom." She blinked, her voice soft, brimming with emotion. Tom pulled her against him, their bodies hot, wet, and comforting as they came skin to skin. Billie pressed her face into his chest, her hands gripping hard into his sides. He wondered if she was holding onto him so hard simply because she would fall if she didn't.

Tom wrapped his arms around her, pushing his hands fiercely through her hair, kissing the top of her head as Billie shook in his arms.

"Tom. Tom. Please, don't leave me. Please, don't go." She had a vice like grip on him, shocking strength for how small she felt against him.

"I'm not going anywhere. Shh." He whispered.

Tom did the best he could to get her cleaned up. She seemed more lucid than she had all night, but she was still not completely there. She faded in and out, closing her eyes at times, relaxing and then tensing completely at others. Still, she was clean, and not covered in vomit anymore, so Tom took that as a plus.

He dried her off, wrapped her in a towel, and carried her back into her bedroom. He was dripping all over the place, but he didn't care. Billie curled against him, seemed to be content to stay in his arms. Tom hesitated at her bed, noticing the rather unkempt look of it. The comforter was in a ball on the floor, the sheets in a tangle at the foot of the mattress. He desperately wanted to change the sheets. Couldn't fathom putting her in that bed.

Back at home, Billie had made his bed every morning, even when he'd told her she didn't need to do that. He took a deep breath, and set her down in the armchair in the corner. She curled against the back of it, as if it were him, as if she had no idea where she was or what was going on. Satisfied that she would be okay there for a bit, Tom went back into the bathroom.

He stripped out of his wet boxers, and pulled his jeans back on, and then his tshirt.

He did a bit of noseying about in the house, down the second floor hallway, opening doors until he found the linen closet. He yanked out sheets and blankets, and then returned to her bedroom. Billie was where he had left her, curled in the chair, the towel wrapped tight around her. Her slender legs tucked under her like a little kid.

Tom changed her sheets, and made her bed. Actions he'd done hundreds of times before, but somehow this felt different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. He balled the old sheets and comforter up, throwing them in the corner so he could wash them later, and smoothed the clean blankets on over the sheets.

A few minutes later, Billie was tucked in her bed. She looked impossibly small on the huge king mattress. She didn't stir after she moved to her side, her knees tucked near her stomach, her hands pressed up by her face. Tom hesitantly laid down next to her, letting himself breath, and his muscles relax for the first time in hours. He glanced at Billie, watched her slow, steady breathing.

He would stay here, next to her, until she woke up. Until she was Billie again.

Before nodding off, Tom pulled his phone from his pocket and texted Sam and Rachel.

Billie is alright. I'm with her now. It's been a long day. He sent the message and waited.

Oh god, Tom. Thank you. She's really okay? Rachel's response was almost instantaneous.

She's okay. Everything is fine. It was a lie, but he couldn't tell Rachel the truth. Not now.

Thank you, Tom. I owe you. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Get some rest.

Tom swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and fell into a deep, listless sleep.

*****

It was early morning when Tom woke up. Still dark outside, but the edges of light were slowly turning the black night into a gray blue morning. He had slept in a strange position, one arm bent over his head, and he ached as he moved slowly, trying to bring feeling back into his fingers. He'd slept in his clothes, lying on top of the covers. He had a duffel bag out in the car with extra clothes, but he'd been far too exhausted last night to do anything but fall asleep next to Billie.

He stretched slowly, the muscles in his long legs bunching as he flexed his feet. His shoulder ached from being bent all night and he winced as he moved. He turned then, and was met by a pair of clear blue gray eyes. She watched him intently, not missing anything. He wondered how long she had been awake.

"I thought maybe you were a dream." Billie's voice was soft, tender, as if she had just discovered she had one, and was still getting used to it. Tom blinked, and turned completely to his side to face her. Their bodies lined up parallel to each other, a good foot or two between them.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you." He replied, with a small, cautious smile.

Billie looked away, down at her hands which were folded together near her chest. She had the blankets tucked up against her, but realization hit Tom that she was naked underneath that. He'd put her in bed wearing only a towel wrapped around her, and now he could see the towel lying toward the foot of the bed.

Tom shifted and felt guilt rise in him.

"Are you alright? How do you feel?" He asked gently. Billie nodded.

"I've been better." She swallowed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you...saw me like that, and you had to take care of me. I'm..." She trailed off, unable to meet his eyes. Tom reached forward, moving slowly, and took her hands in his.

"You scared the shit out of me, you know." He swallowed hard. Billie slipped her fingers through his and then brought his hand up to her face. She kissed his knuckles and let out a small, shaky sob against him.

"I scared myself too. I'm so-sorry." She managed. Tom slid across the space between them.

Billie let him hold her, let him wrap his arms around her. She curled against him, still under the covers. Tom ran a hand down her shoulder, over her arm, and then up to wrap around the side of her neck. He slipped his hands into her hair, stroking her gently. Billie relaxed in his arms, breathing slowly. One hand was pressed between them, another rested at his waist, warm against the bare skin where his shirt had ridden up.

Tom fought the urge to kiss her. Fought the urge to just pull her underneath him, and make her his again. It was the most base of all feelings. An easy, if not permanent fix, to everything. He knew it wouldn't truly help anything but he also knew how easy it would be, to bury himself in her and make them both forget their names. He knew just the things to do to make her putty in his hands, help her forget. But he couldn't do that. Not now.

This wasn't about him. What he wanted, his needs. He was here to take care of her. Make sure she was alright. He was here for her—not for his own agenda. He had one goal, and one goal only.

"What are you doing here?" She lifted her face, her eyes searching. Tom pressed his lips together.

"Your sister was worried to death, Billie. No one could get ahold of you. So, she sent me to come see if you were alright." He said quickly. Billie paused, blinked and then nodded.

"Oh, I see." She was quiet, obviously still tired. Tom took a deep breath. He pulled away, gently and tugged his phone from his pocket.

"You should call her. She'll want to hear from you, you know." He held out the phone. Billie nodded, reached up and brushed at her eyes with a sniffle before pushing her hair from her face. It was a riot of curls, messy from going to sleep with her hair wet. Tom clenched his fist for a second, pushing away the urge to run a hand through the waves.

"Okay. Thank you. Could you give me a minute?" Billie asked gently, and Tom nodded. He got out of bed, feeling stiffness in his muscles still, and then slipped from the bedroom. He hesitated outside the door, waiting for a just a moment.

"Hi, Rach." Billie started crying immediately. Her cries with soft, almost light in the sadness, and she let herself sob freely. He knew the feeling. The feeling of letting go, after finally talking to someone who knew you at your best, and your worst. He tensed, leaning back against the hallway wall, closing his eyes as he listened to the one side of the conversation.

"Yeah, I'm okay, I'm fine. I'm so sorry, Rach. I really am." She cried.

"I just...I couldn't..." Billie sobbed. "I'm so alone, Rach." There was a pause. "I was so alone and I just didn't...care anymore. I just didn't want to feel..." Her words were muffled, slurred slightly.

Tom felt something rise in his chest, and his throat tighten. He let his head fall back against the wall, and he reached up, covering his mouth with his hand, holding in his own sob.

"Why did you...send him? How could you send him, Rachel? How could you send him here? How could you do that to me?" She wasn't yelling, she was soft, defeated and broken. Billie was crying hard, and there was the muffled thump of a fist coming down on blankets and bedding.

Tom turned then, his whole body tense. He shook his head, tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he rubbed a rough hand over his face. He heard her cries, and quickly made his way down the hall, away from the bedroom. Away from her. He needed to take walk. Or perhaps a very long run. It didn't matter. He needed to get out of this house.