Summary:
The length of a second is often left underappreciated. In a time and age where everyone is having less and less time for everything, the second has become like a drop in the ocean. Those who appreciate the length of a second are those who do not have an abundance of them anymore. When an action or reaction has to happen within an impossibly small timeframe, the individual seconds become endlessly more valuable. One more or less held the very power to change the entire direction of a story. It can hold the difference between winning and losing, between being too late and right on time, and between life and death. A second in which two people might decide that they don’t have the time to count down before twisting the dual key-set to destroy a Russian-built machine.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- They walk out into the hallway and the further they get, the more dread Billy feels. He doesn’t want to go home. Has no idea what he’s going to need to expect. He’s been gone for a while without any explanation. His car is wrecked and lost. But more worrying than anything is the fading bruise on Max’s forehead, which is a death sentence as far as he’s concerned. There is going to be some retribution, that is for sure and with Billy’s still healing body, he is not sure how much he can handle. He knows they’re outside and for once hopes it is both his dad ánd Susan. Perhaps Susan can talk at least a little bit of sense into him. He breathes in shakily and Max looks at him with pitiful eyes. God, he hates it when she pities him.
Daylight shines brightly through the doors ahead and Max speeds up. She gets ahead of Billy and disappears out of the door into the outside world. Shitbird’s not even holding the door for him. Can’t she see he’s struggling? Billy huffs an annoyed breath but pushes through and pushes open the door. The door falls closed behind him and he is left staring, jaw slack.
Max stands by the car, already placing the paper bag on the backseat of the BMW Beamer. A fucking BMW Beamer that he knows far too well. Low and behold, there is the owner perched on the hood, leveling him with an unreadable stare, arms folded across his chest. Billy looks around bewildered but there is no sign of his dad.
“He’s not coming, Billy.” Max says and he fixes his attention on her, silently demanding an explanation. She opens her mouth to speak but Steve Harrington cuts her off.
“I’m picking you up.” He says matter-of-factly. “Can’t be a big surprise to you your dad isn’t here.”
“What do you mean by that, Harrington.” Billy spits back but it lacks his usual fire. Nevertheless they stare each other down from afar. Steve’s face is bashed up but healing. Altogether he looks better than Billy does for the fact alone that he’s taken care of the rest of his appearance whereas Billy hasn’t done anything to his hair in those two weeks and he can’t even bring himself to feel ashamed about it.
“Get in the car.”
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