Most Likely You Go Your Way and I'll Go Mine
Recipient: sassywitch
Author: rawiyaparand
Pairing: Billy/Dom, mentions of Ali and Evie
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: For sassywitch who requested an angsty Monaboyd. I hope this makes you (un)happy. Title courtesy of Bob Dylan. Special thanks to lisabellex, waqaychay, and Sadie for the betas.
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"I hate you."
Billy sits up in his bed and rubs his tired eyes. Reaching over to turn on the night light, he catches a glimpse of the clock: 7 a.m.
"I hate you," the voice on the other end of the line repeats.
"Dom? Can you hate me in a few more hours; I've had about two hours' sleep."
"For the longest time, I couldn't quite put my finger on the emotion that I felt, but I know now: it's hate. I truly hate you, Billy."
Billy glances at the petite woman still sleeping beside him and stands up, quickly leaving the bedroom. "What the hell is going on, Dom?" he whispers harshly into the phone.
"I hate you, Billy. It's hate that I feel. Deep down, all the way down. I'm not going to call you anymore, but I thought you should know."
"Are you drunk, Dom?" He already knows the answer to the question, but he feels the need to ask it again. Maybe he's hoping that Dom will say yes, he is smashed and that everything he says is due to the alcohol. But Billy knows that it's not the case.
"It's not fair what you've done to me. You have me suspended in this place. In this no-man's land, and no matter what I do, I can't get out. The worst thing is you don't even realize it. You don't realize how much power you have over me, and I hate you for it."
"Dommeh." Bill sinks into the leather couch, his gut clenching.
"I need to be free of you if I want to get on with my life. As long as I think that there's...I can't do this, not anymore. Maybe you're blind, or stupid, or cruel. I don't know; I don't care. Either way, I hate you for it. I...I can't talk to you anymore. I can't have you in my life like this. I...I thought you should hear it from me at least. Goodbye."
Billy holds the phone to his ear for several minutes, listening to the dial tone, but not hearing it. A hand on his leg wakes him from his reverie, and he turns his head to find Ali gazing worriedly at him.
"It's nothing," he answers, before she can ask. He can't keep her gaze though; he feels guilty. She's such a good person. Such a loving woman. And he loves her. Truly.
But.
"I'll take Griffin to your sister," she says after a few minutes of silence. Billy nods and watches as she goes back to the bedroom.
~*~
It's less than twenty-four hours later, and Billy is unlocking Dom's front door with his spare key. It's the first time he's used it, though Dom had mailed him the key hours after taking possession of the house almost two years ago.
He toes off his shoes and drops his bag to the floor, and pads barefoot through the hallway. There's something different about the house and he realizes what it is when he reaches the living room.
He's missing.
Every photograph of him is missing, undoubtedly placed in the cardboard box marked ¥Boyd'. Billy kneels down in front of it, rips the tape off, and peers inside with a gasp.
Every photo, every gift, every memento of him is in it. The ratty t-shirt that Dom refused to give back is in there. The Beatles c.d. he found in a second-hand store in Sweden and shipped Priority Post. One sandal. Everything. It appears that Dom is trying to exorcise him from his house, from his life.
Billy closes the box and leans back on his heels. This is his fault and he knows it. He knows how things got this way. But it was something he had to do. For Dom's sake. For his sake.
He's not sure how long he's been sitting in the living room when the front door opens and slams shut. Standing up, he turns to face the hallway and braces himself.
"The fuck you doing here?" Dom slurs, a beer bottle in his hand.
Billy glances quickly out through the large windows, and is relieved to see the headlights of a taxi reversing out of the driveway.
"We need to talk, Dommeh."
"Don't you call me that. You have no right to call me that. Only my friends can call me that. You're nothing to me. Now take your shit and get out."
Dom stumbles down the hallway towards his bedroom, Billy following several paces behind.
"I'm not leaving until we talk, Dom," he says from the bedroom door.
Dom glares at him. "We talked, Billy. I called you. Told you I hated you, never wanted to see you again. Meant it, too. Now leave."
"If you think that I'm just going to give up on our friendship, Dominic Monaghan, then you're drunker than I thought," Billy says his voice rising in anger. "Don't I at least deserve the chance to try and make things better? To try and fix things?"
Laughter bubbles from Dom's lips as he shakes his head.
"What friendship is there left to save? Some fucking friendship we have. You never come to visit any of us; you stay away from the U.S. Are you worried that you might run into me somewhere? Is that why? You don't return my calls€ You don't email€ If it wasn't for Orlando, I wouldn't know whether you were alive."
"Dom," Billy whispers. He can't say that the younger man is lying, because he's not. It's true. All of it.
"You know why I can't come, Dom. It's even harder now with Lost being so popular."
"That's right. Heaven forbid that our photos get taken together. Heaven forbid that some stuffed up prick at New Line Cinema thinks we're more than friends."
"You don't need any negative publicity, Dom. Your career is taking off. Rumours like this could hurt your career."
"You're so fucking noble, Boyd. Staying away from the U.S., from me, for my career. For my sake." Dom throws the bottle at the wall, watching as it shatters into pieces. Somewhere between Billy's entrance and now, he has sobered up completely.
"Ah just think it's for the best, Dommeh. Your career is just getting started, Dommeh," Dom mocks in a Scottish accent. "None of this is for me. You know that I don't care what people think, what people say. Gay, straight, bi: my career would be just fine. This is about you. You're worried about your career; you're worried what people will think of you."
Billy is taken aback. He has never seen Dom this angry before. Never at him, at least.
"And stupid me believing that maybe one day you'd open your eyes and see how I feel about you. Or react to how I feel about you, because if you can't tell that I love€loved you, then you're the blindest person on earth."
Billy flinches at the use of the past tense.
"So, I sit and I wait. It's what I've been doing for nearly six years now. I wait for you to react to me. I keep everyone at a distance because I don't want to hurt them when you finally do come for me. But you never do. You go on happily with your life in Scotland, with her, and I'm left chasing after a ghost."
Dom runs his fingers angrily through his long, sun-streaked hair, and Billy suddenly realizes that he doesn't actually know how long Dom has had it this length. He doesn't even remember the last time he saw Dom in person.
"She loves me, you know. She does. But I can't return the feeling because as long as I think there's some chance for us, I can never let anyone in. What's worse, I see myself in her. I look at her, I see how much she loves me, see how much she wants me to love her back, and realize that's exactly how it is between the two of us. She's me and I'm you. The only difference is, Ali is real to you, but you're not real to me."
Billy steps into the room cautiously. "I don't understand, Dommeh."
"The only way that I can love her is to get over you, and the only way that I can get over you is to have you out of my life. I€I need you out of my life, Billy. That's the only way that I can be happy. She'll make me happy. She makes me happy."
Dom sinks down on the bed as if the weight of his decision is too much for him.
"I€I don't want you out of my life," Billy says, as he kneels in front of his friend.
"You don't get a vote on this, Bills," Dom's voice breaks. "You got to make all the other decisions. This one's mine."
"You're my best friend. I'm not just walking out on our friendship." Billy feels like he's drowning, like everything is slipping away and no matter how hard he tries, he can't get to the surface.
"We haven't been friends for a long time, Billy. Please. You've got to go."
"We have been friends. We've always been friends. I'm sorry for not calling, but I honestly thought that was what would be best for you. Believe me, Dom. It's you that I've been thinking about, you that I've been trying to protect. I love you, Dom. Don't do this to me, please."
"If you love me, Bills, you'll go. You'll take your box and leave. It's the only way that I'll be able to get on with my life."
"No. I'm not leaving. I'm not going until we work this out." Billy hears how petulant his voice sounds, how it borders on begging, but he doesn't care. He can't leave.
"Please, Billy. For me. If I can't have you as my lover, then I don't want you at all. I know it sounds selfish of me, but that's the way it has to be. We can't be friends. It doesn't work. I'm miserable."
Billy watches as a tear drop forms in the corner of Dom's eye, then rolls out, leaving a wet trail down his cheek.
"Are you sure this will make you happy, Dom, me leaving?"
Dom shrugs his shoulder. He's not sure. He's not sure of anything anymore. "You need to go now."
Billy nods and stands. He doesn't say anything as he exits the bedroom, his footsteps quiet as he makes his way down the hall.
He pauses briefly at the entrance to the living room to glance one last time at the box that contains so much of himself, so many memories of them.
The door barely makes a sound as it closes behind him.