Blink (Billy Hargrove x OC)

#31 Onwards

▶️ Oh Daddy by Fleetwood Mac, only through the first part, up until the *

Silver.

Silver was the color of metal in the lab.

Silver was the color of the metal that made up the harmonica Tom always played.

Silver is the color of Billy's medallion, that he always wears.

Silver was the color of Papa's hair.

"I'll take care of you." He said with eyes like a wolf, as he hungrily patted my shaved head. "When you're with me, you have nothing to fear. These powers you have, no one will ever be able to touch you."

Papa was always very convincing, and always very confusing. He offered me poison disguised as comfort, hunger to study me like a specimen disguised as love.

I was a specimen.

Still, I gave him my best effort when he flashed me a rare smile. I blinked myself dry, I blinked for him until I collapsed under the stress and pressure. I blinked for him until I'd wake up in his arms, as he carried me back to my room.

And though I called him Papa, he was never my father. He never taught me about anything other than my powers, and even those he told me only what I needed to know. Surely, he didn't love me like a father would.. He didn't care if I was too tired or hungry or scared to go on, he said 'trust me.' And I did. But, in the end, I guess he only cared about me as one of his experiments, when he wanted to. And that surely, wasn't love. Still, something in me wanted to make him proud, wanted him to be happy and not cross with me. Something made me want him, and I didn't know what it was at the time, but I wanted him to love me.

He could never understand the true ways of my world, so when I escaped and moved on, I never looked back.

And then there was Tom. I have far too many memories of him, so after he died I stored them all away neatly in a little filing cabinet in my mind, and locked them up, then threw away the key. But somehow, that key has magically appeared in my hand again. And I remember. I remember how we used to watch TV together, with my tiny body curled up against his bigger one. 

I remember how he used to say that Bob Dylan knew what was going on, how he loved 'the King's' protest songs and how he would belt them out. In time, I learned them and I too would sing along to 'Masters of War', 'The Times They Are A-Changin' and 'A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall.' I remember how grumpy Tom was at times, but I didn't care because I loved him more than anything in the world. 

After all, he was the very first to ask me my favorite color, and my opinion on the Russians and if I thought they had a secret plan to blow us all up and take over the world. Tom was my world though, so as long as they didn't blow him up I would've been fine. He said he wasn't a good teacher, he got frustrated so easily, but over time that turned into patience. As a scholar and a lifelong learner, he had it in him all along. We'd pore over books about different governments, different places in the world, different people, different philosophies. His laugh was deep and rolling, like thunder. He was strangely comforting during the storms.

His hands were big.

 He would rub my back when I was stressed or worried and try to braid and brush my wild hair in the mornings and after showers.

One time, after watching sitcom after sitcom, I went up to Tom and asked "what is 'I love you?' Why do they all say it to each other on the TV?"

He smiled sadly as if remembering the ghosts of past loves.