[ There's very few things that their shared magick - or whatever fae traits - hid from him about Phoenix's time here. The stuff with Agatha was one of them, so naturally, Billy doesn't anticipate his arrival. ]
[ He's a little anxious at having his own shop - something that feels wildly beyond the possibility of a sixteen-year-old even if the logic behind it felt sound. After all, if money wasn't real, if places can be bought on skill and talent alone, wasn't it a good way to get to do more of something he liked doing? ]
[ Thus, the teenager is mid-fixing a self to the wall when she storms in (with magic, even, be proud of him! He doesn't even lose focus when she comes in). His attention takes a moment to turn to her and when he does it's with a raised brow: ]
You sure you want me to put you in something after everything? [ The quip is out of his mouth before he can stop himself and then an added: ] Please tell me you two aren't a thing again.
[ the corners of her mouth twitch in a smirk at the mention of 'everything', knowing her must mean the road outfits. but when he continues, she's quick to drop the act, instead pretending to assess his work on the shelf very closely.
but ignoring his addition entirely would be more telling than not. she purses her lips and shrugs one shoulder. wait. she shakes her head firmly, trying to put aside the memories of the time they had spent together as their alternate selves. ] No, we are definitely not a thing. [ she gives him an accusatory look. why would he assume that? and what does he mean again? he was never there to witness it. she huffs, eager to move on. ]
To be fair, that '70s look wasn't so bad... But that's not actually why I'm here.
[ The quip is immediate. The last thing he wants is to find out that Rio and Agatha were continuing their... whatever it was. He moves to sit behind the counter when she shoots him a look and shrugs his shoulder as if to say 'had to ask'.
Then frowns.]
So why are you here? We both know it's not for clothes.
[ is it? a relief. agatha looks down at her shoes. sometimes she wanted to defend what they had. but that would mean defending rio. and she was supposed to be angry -- is angry (but not like she had been, not after the scattered moments, the misremembered memories). ]
Not even sure why you'd-- [ but she cuts herself off with a huff. ]
The other version of you that was here for a bit showed me a memory... He wanted you to see it. [ might as well get to the point. ]
[ The funny thing is, he knows how she feels about Rio. He knows it's complicated. A sassier Billy would arch an eyebrow as if to ask if she's really questioning him about it. And he is a sassy Billy, but the look he levels her with is more knowing.]
[ And then it's her turn to hit her with something and Billy straightens in his seat, blinking. He remembers most of his time as Phoenix - there's some moments he doesn't. More personal things he'd rather not think about that he has to exhale when he speaks. ]
[ His back burns as if the magic there is tingling, but he ignores it. ]
[ he looks at her like that and she's caught somewhere between annoyance and amusement. maybe it's kind of comforting, too. he knows her and he stays. she can count the amount of people who have done that on one hand. ]
[ deceptively, she seems still. but her fingers of her left hand rub patterns into her sleeve, fidgeting with the buttons in the cuffs. a flash of sympathy in her eyes is ruined as she clicks her tongue against her teeth. ]
It's something you haven't experienced yet. Which is-- weird to think about. After the Road. [ after her death. but that's harder to say. ]
[ He can't help it, Billy had barely sat down in his seat and now he's up. Gray eyes alert with caution. He doesn't say that he's remembered everything else now, though it comes to his tongue - another time maybe.
And what he knows of Phoenix is a meddler with good intentions. Isn't that how he has the shop? ]
"Life goes on, for some of us anyway," [ Billy parrots her own words back at her. Though it's not meant unkindly as he moves around the counter. ] Or the afterlife.
[ He does acknowledge her and her position. His fingers curl at his sides and he opens his mouth to say something, decides against it, and then tries again -] What is it, exactly?
[ he gets up and it's almost alarming, how frantic he is. does he already have an idea of the gravity of the situation? he seems nervous? scared, even. agatha doesn't bother asking him to sit, but she keeps watching him.
he uses her own words against her and she snorts. right. ]
... nothing bad. But it might be better if you just let me show you.
[ It's the curiosity, the uncertainty mostly, that drags him around the counter and to a few steps away from her. Agatha wouldn't come here without purpose. Phoenix, like him of course, when he sets his mind to something doesn't back down. It's a terribly naughty quality when used against yourself, honestly, he thinks. ]
[ Nothing bad Agatha says and he believes it, because he doesn't think either of them would do something terrible. ]
Okay. [ There's some hesitance in the response and after a beat he continues on:] Do I need to do something...?
[ he moves closer. agatha raises an eyebrow. but otherwise doesn't insist on this. if he doesn't want to see it-- well, she won't ever see phoenix again. perhaps the issue could be dropped.
but she doesn't want that to be the outcome. phoenix might have been different in some ways but he was the same on the inside. and she finds that she doesn't want to let any version of him down. ]
No. Well-- maybe you should sit down. Close your eyes.
[ Maybe she should let Phoenix down, wouldn't that be funny? Billy's attention is on her, a little skeptical but not distrusting. Mouth doing that uncertain twitch of consideration.
And then wordlessly, he sits down on the floor and closes his eyes. ]
[ he isn't sure. that much is obvious. but agatha gives him a nod, watching as he sits. eventually, she sinks down there with him. it's familiar. of course, her mind goes right back to the trial.
his eyes are already closed. but she keeps hers open. irises glow purple and a spark of magick blooms at each of his temples, before burrowing beneath his skin, fracturing off like lightning bolts.
the memory is almost grainy, like old film. a side effect of being transferred. it starts at the top of the stairs. the body (the recorder) they now both inhabit goes down them, calling for his parents. there's a rush of air as he -- you -- sits down. the confession comes, along with a swell of fear. he is not their son. he is a pretender.
(agatha's own fear even lurches forward, even though she knows the outcome of this.)
confusion and grief overwhelm within the memory. feelings that he's sensing from his parents, and his own roiling emotions. before anymore words can be spoken, his mother tugs him into a hug. the grief lingers, heavy enough to feel like sinking into the earth. but there's a bright spot outshining all of it, tugging them all back up: love and understanding.
the confession does not come with the heavy cost of truth. he is not their son. at least not wholly. but they love him all the same.
once it's done, agatha pulls back and out of his mind. she lifts her arm, attempting to hide watering eyes behind wiping at her nose. ]
[ It's funny when you think about a similar scene a near year ago. The distrust that had ebbed that one isn't a container for this moment. Another him supposedly giving her something isn't the reason for the trust, it's his relationship with Agatha herself. How far they'd come since his Trial even if he feels trapped in this place. ]
[ There's a sharp intake of breath at the undeniable feeling of magic on his skin and before he can ask his vision shifts. No longer the darkness of eyelids, he finds himself on the staircase of his family home. Not truly, of course, the grainness of the transported memory from Agatha is proof of that even if the emotions feel as real as they did the day it was given. ]
[ In some ways, he doesn't have the bandwidth to take in the fear of Agatha's response. Not in the moment. Not as he lives through a moment that has plagued him from the moment he arrived here, in the months that had followed. Am I William or am I Billy? Can I give up being William if they never had the truth? His throat constricts the more it goes on. ]
[ And when it ends with the mixed warmth of love and acceptance and the coldness of sorrow and grief, Billy takes a sharp intake of breath. His eyes do not snap open, instead remaining more firmly closed, and he shifts in his position. Brings his knees to his chest and presses his head to them as he takes a deep shuddering breath. He does not yet cry, but he wants to. The added pressure of the knowledge that Agatha is trying not to do the same does not help. ]
[ There's quiet and stillness, not entirely unlike the one that usually envelops him in moments like this. But instead of emptiness, perhaps, it's sobriety. Softer instead of intense and when he does finally speak it's without looking up, voice thick, and it's two simply words: ]
[ she breathes deeply through her nose, trying to steady herself. it's easier the second time around. she'd managed to block out the depth of the emotions, which had come as a surprise when phoenix had originally passed it to her. it was already overwhelming enough, feeling the way that billy did. but those specific emotions--
now, there's perhaps a twinge of jealousy. a kind of odd yearning tangled up with bitterness. of course, she tells herself, the world is different now. plenty of parents were cold back then. others had managed just fine (why does it still affect her like this?). she tries to focus on her happiness for him instead. ]
... you ought to be thanking yourself.
[ after all, the only thing that separated them were memories. to her, the core was the same. she ignores the implications of that, given her own experiences with the memory shifting. ]
[ It's the fact he can see the reminder of his own power in it, that he doesn't doubt the authenticity. Not that he doubts Agatha, especially given her reaction, but Billy has spent so long being afraid of a different reaction... Has thought he'd never even get that one now.
He's yet to open his eyes. ]
Someone had to deliver it.
[ He's not letting her deny the thanks. Half rubbing his face against crossed arms to gather himself... At least the statement earns a snort. ]
You only ever cared about my connection to Wanda. [ Pointed, sharp. It doesn't last. ] They're the best people in the world.
[ It's no wonder he still really only sees them as his parents, if they can love him so much still. ]
[ she'll let him thank her, even though the reality is it's something she does without thought. her rare moments of selflessness are often instinctual. for them to be acknowledged at all makes it feel like there's a transaction; some lingering form of manipulation on her part. ]
...well. You're welcome.
[ just as odd as a 'thank you' in her mouth once you take away the sarcasm and pride. she's glad he asked. because it means that someone trusts her. even if it's just another version of him.
she scoffs at the comment about wanda, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes at the accusation. he isn't wrong at all. ]
I told Phoenix this, too... before. But I'm glad that you have them.
[ Billy's lips curl a little in mild amusement. It's like getting something out of a stubborn horse, but he's not going to say that. Another beat passes. The hand drops from his face as he opens his eyes. Gray eyes still light from moisture as he arches a brow.
It's true. The motion says - She'd cared about Wanda and Billy Maximoff. Not Billy Kaplan, who feels more like the son of the Kaplans than he did of Wanda and Vision. He swallows. ]
[ Must have gone over well, since he didn't have them. Not really, not truly. Just another life he wasn't sure he was stolen from or reincarnated from. Isn't that funny? ] Thanks, I'm glad I have them, too. They're as much, if not more, my parents than anyone else.
[ the eyebrow raise earns a dismissive flap of her hand. but he's right, so she doesn't argue.
it's there again but faint. that little prickle of jealousy. and maybe it's somehow both. jealousy for his parents who have a child. and envious of him for having them, something stable and soft. but agatha's quick to swallow it down.
she doesn't tell him what she told phoenix. that seeing this makes her more certain that she made the right choice. ]
We're gonna figure it out. Other people have disappeared, so... -- maybe there's something that triggers it.
[ Wow, Agatha, can't believe you'd be jealous of a sixteen-year-old. Or, well, actually I can. ]
[ Should he tell her one day that he hears her now? No, absolutely not, but it does mean that all of the things she thinks she's hiding he does hear. That he feels that jealousy and dips his head down and tries to ignore the rest that comes with it. ]
[ Because, no, some days he's not sure she made the right choice. ]
[ The response is one that makes him look up, confusion etched in his features. It's a shift from the statements moments ago so he has to ask - ]
she gives him a scathing glance, as if she's irritated that he's asking her to spell it out for him. and bites back a comment about his mind reading being good for nothing if she has to explain everything all the time.
and then softening a little as she realizes he has no way of knowing, with how quickly she changed gears. she throws her hands up and they land back on her thighs with a slap. ]
How to get home. Obviously. There's gotta be a way. Just because our benevolent leaders haven't shown their hand yet, doesn't mean they won't. [ a fact she'll be even more convinced of once she's realized that rio is gone. ]
[ He should know what she's talking about and he doesn't - not really. It's an unexpected sentiment from Agatha who, beyond all that, would die as soon as she returned home. He knows it for a fact. So does she.
Selfishly. He wants to get home more than anything. The only thing he can focus on remains the same as ever - Tommy. Always Tommy. ]
If there's a way, I can't take it without ensuring anyone who wants a way back themselves has it.
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no subject
[ He's a little anxious at having his own shop - something that feels wildly beyond the possibility of a sixteen-year-old even if the logic behind it felt sound. After all, if money wasn't real, if places can be bought on skill and talent alone, wasn't it a good way to get to do more of something he liked doing? ]
[ Thus, the teenager is mid-fixing a self to the wall when she storms in (with magic, even, be proud of him! He doesn't even lose focus when she comes in). His attention takes a moment to turn to her and when he does it's with a raised brow: ]
You sure you want me to put you in something after everything? [ The quip is out of his mouth before he can stop himself and then an added: ] Please tell me you two aren't a thing again.
no subject
but ignoring his addition entirely would be more telling than not. she purses her lips and shrugs one shoulder. wait. she shakes her head firmly, trying to put aside the memories of the time they had spent together as their alternate selves. ] No, we are definitely not a thing. [ she gives him an accusatory look. why would he assume that? and what does he mean again? he was never there to witness it. she huffs, eager to move on. ]
To be fair, that '70s look wasn't so bad... But that's not actually why I'm here.
no subject
[ The quip is immediate. The last thing he wants is to find out that Rio and Agatha were continuing their... whatever it was. He moves to sit behind the counter when she shoots him a look and shrugs his shoulder as if to say 'had to ask'.
Then frowns.]
So why are you here? We both know it's not for clothes.
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Not even sure why you'd-- [ but she cuts herself off with a huff. ]
The other version of you that was here for a bit showed me a memory... He wanted you to see it. [ might as well get to the point. ]
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[ And then it's her turn to hit her with something and Billy straightens in his seat, blinking. He remembers most of his time as Phoenix - there's some moments he doesn't. More personal things he'd rather not think about that he has to exhale when he speaks. ]
[ His back burns as if the magic there is tingling, but he ignores it. ]
What?
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[ deceptively, she seems still. but her fingers of her left hand rub patterns into her sleeve, fidgeting with the buttons in the cuffs. a flash of sympathy in her eyes is ruined as she clicks her tongue against her teeth. ]
It's something you haven't experienced yet. Which is-- weird to think about. After the Road. [ after her death. but that's harder to say. ]
no subject
And what he knows of Phoenix is a meddler with good intentions. Isn't that how he has the shop? ]
"Life goes on, for some of us anyway," [ Billy parrots her own words back at her. Though it's not meant unkindly as he moves around the counter. ] Or the afterlife.
[ He does acknowledge her and her position. His fingers curl at his sides and he opens his mouth to say something, decides against it, and then tries again -] What is it, exactly?
no subject
he uses her own words against her and she snorts. right. ]
... nothing bad. But it might be better if you just let me show you.
no subject
[ Nothing bad Agatha says and he believes it, because he doesn't think either of them would do something terrible. ]
Okay. [ There's some hesitance in the response and after a beat he continues on:] Do I need to do something...?
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but she doesn't want that to be the outcome. phoenix might have been different in some ways but he was the same on the inside. and she finds that she doesn't want to let any version of him down. ]
No. Well-- maybe you should sit down. Close your eyes.
no subject
And then wordlessly, he sits down on the floor and closes his eyes. ]
no subject
his eyes are already closed. but she keeps hers open. irises glow purple and a spark of magick blooms at each of his temples, before burrowing beneath his skin, fracturing off like lightning bolts.
the memory is almost grainy, like old film. a side effect of being transferred. it starts at the top of the stairs. the body (the recorder) they now both inhabit goes down them, calling for his parents. there's a rush of air as he -- you -- sits down. the confession comes, along with a swell of fear. he is not their son. he is a pretender.
(agatha's own fear even lurches forward, even though she knows the outcome of this.)
confusion and grief overwhelm within the memory. feelings that he's sensing from his parents, and his own roiling emotions. before anymore words can be spoken, his mother tugs him into a hug. the grief lingers, heavy enough to feel like sinking into the earth. but there's a bright spot outshining all of it, tugging them all back up: love and understanding.
the confession does not come with the heavy cost of truth. he is not their son. at least not wholly. but they love him all the same.
once it's done, agatha pulls back and out of his mind. she lifts her arm, attempting to hide watering eyes behind wiping at her nose. ]
no subject
[ There's a sharp intake of breath at the undeniable feeling of magic on his skin and before he can ask his vision shifts. No longer the darkness of eyelids, he finds himself on the staircase of his family home. Not truly, of course, the grainness of the transported memory from Agatha is proof of that even if the emotions feel as real as they did the day it was given. ]
[ In some ways, he doesn't have the bandwidth to take in the fear of Agatha's response. Not in the moment. Not as he lives through a moment that has plagued him from the moment he arrived here, in the months that had followed. Am I William or am I Billy? Can I give up being William if they never had the truth? His throat constricts the more it goes on. ]
[ And when it ends with the mixed warmth of love and acceptance and the coldness of sorrow and grief, Billy takes a sharp intake of breath. His eyes do not snap open, instead remaining more firmly closed, and he shifts in his position. Brings his knees to his chest and presses his head to them as he takes a deep shuddering breath. He does not yet cry, but he wants to. The added pressure of the knowledge that Agatha is trying not to do the same does not help. ]
[ There's quiet and stillness, not entirely unlike the one that usually envelops him in moments like this. But instead of emptiness, perhaps, it's sobriety. Softer instead of intense and when he does finally speak it's without looking up, voice thick, and it's two simply words: ]
Thank you.
no subject
now, there's perhaps a twinge of jealousy. a kind of odd yearning tangled up with bitterness. of course, she tells herself, the world is different now. plenty of parents were cold back then. others had managed just fine (why does it still affect her like this?). she tries to focus on her happiness for him instead. ]
... you ought to be thanking yourself.
[ after all, the only thing that separated them were memories. to her, the core was the same. she ignores the implications of that, given her own experiences with the memory shifting. ]
You didn't tell me they were absurdly nice.
no subject
He's yet to open his eyes. ]
Someone had to deliver it.
[ He's not letting her deny the thanks. Half rubbing his face against crossed arms to gather himself... At least the statement earns a snort. ]
You only ever cared about my connection to Wanda. [ Pointed, sharp. It doesn't last. ] They're the best people in the world.
[ It's no wonder he still really only sees them as his parents, if they can love him so much still. ]
no subject
...well. You're welcome.
[ just as odd as a 'thank you' in her mouth once you take away the sarcasm and pride. she's glad he asked. because it means that someone trusts her. even if it's just another version of him.
she scoffs at the comment about wanda, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes at the accusation. he isn't wrong at all. ]
I told Phoenix this, too... before. But I'm glad that you have them.
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It's true. The motion says - She'd cared about Wanda and Billy Maximoff. Not Billy Kaplan, who feels more like the son of the Kaplans than he did of Wanda and Vision. He swallows. ]
[ Must have gone over well, since he didn't have them. Not really, not truly. Just another life he wasn't sure he was stolen from or reincarnated from. Isn't that funny? ] Thanks, I'm glad I have them, too. They're as much, if not more, my parents than anyone else.
no subject
it's there again but faint. that little prickle of jealousy. and maybe it's somehow both. jealousy for his parents who have a child. and envious of him for having them, something stable and soft. but agatha's quick to swallow it down.
she doesn't tell him what she told phoenix. that seeing this makes her more certain that she made the right choice. ]
We're gonna figure it out. Other people have disappeared, so... -- maybe there's something that triggers it.
no subject
[ Should he tell her one day that he hears her now? No, absolutely not, but it does mean that all of the things she thinks she's hiding he does hear. That he feels that jealousy and dips his head down and tries to ignore the rest that comes with it. ]
[ Because, no, some days he's not sure she made the right choice. ]
[ The response is one that makes him look up, confusion etched in his features. It's a shift from the statements moments ago so he has to ask - ]
Figure out what, exactly?
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she gives him a scathing glance, as if she's irritated that he's asking her to spell it out for him. and bites back a comment about his mind reading being good for nothing if she has to explain everything all the time.
and then softening a little as she realizes he has no way of knowing, with how quickly she changed gears. she throws her hands up and they land back on her thighs with a slap. ]
How to get home. Obviously. There's gotta be a way. Just because our benevolent leaders haven't shown their hand yet, doesn't mean they won't. [ a fact she'll be even more convinced of once she's realized that rio is gone. ]
no subject
Selfishly. He wants to get home more than anything. The only thing he can focus on remains the same as ever - Tommy. Always Tommy. ]
If there's a way, I can't take it without ensuring anyone who wants a way back themselves has it.