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The days went by, and William kept carving notches in the wall of their room at the inn with his knife. Logan was content to leave the counting to him; if William wanted to be boring even in this place, whatever it was, far be it from Logan to stop him.
By now, they had their routine rehearsed so well that it was almost like a dance. Logan woke up last as usual and wandered into the bathroom to find William there, already bathed and draped in a towel as he shaved at the mirror. The first few days, his jawline was peppered with cuts, but the two of them had been there long enough that the straight razor in William’s hand was now familiar. The reflection of William’s eyes met Logan’s, and he gave him a small nod. Some days—like today—there was already a hot bath drawn for Logan when he got there. Logan didn’t ask. He never asked, and William never told.
William finished dressing in the bedroom while Logan bathed, and when he emerged dripping wet and walked naked into the room for his clothes, William became very interested in polishing his knife. As he stepped into his pants, Logan stole a glance at the wall and breathed a soft noise of amusement. After two months here, he'd thought William would be over his ridiculous real-world modesty. There was simply no place for it anymore.
At first, when they were both new to this place, they went everywhere together, each terrified of losing the other. As much as William pretended to hate Logan, Logan knew he'd never abandon the one familiar person he had in here. Now that they knew the lay of the land, though, they often parted ways after taking breakfast together in town. Logan didn’t know where William went during the day. He suspected Abernathy Ranch at first, but William barely even glanced at Dolores anymore when she came into town. Logan wondered what made William give up on her. Maybe she was only interesting in the real world, when she was a malfunctioning robot. Whatever William had seen in her outside, it must not have been there in this place.
As for Logan, he spent a month seeing the Confederado storyline out to the end, and the next month fucking his way through as much of the population of Sweetwater as he could. William said he was crass, but Logan dismissed him; it wasn't like he had anything better to do.
The two of them finished dressing and headed out of the inn, into the dusty streets of Sweetwater. The same few people walked them each day—on occasion, someone new would blow through town, but it was always a host, never a guest. Logan knew this because he had kept track of the “irregulars” as they came and went. They turned out to be a revolving door of the same few names and faces, always running the same errands and wanting the same things. Even the weather was the same every day. William began walking in the direction of their favorite restaurant, and as Logan fell into step behind him, he squinted in the harsh morning sun. Logan was beginning to think that, out of everything they’d left behind, he missed rain the most.
On some mornings, they talk. Sometimes, it was about their daily plans and goings-on in this place, but sometimes they talked about things on the outside too, or swapped theories about where they were and how to get out of there. On this particular morning, though, it seemed William didn’t feel like talking at all. He was quiet as he led Logan into the restaurant, nodded at the host, and took their usual table in the corner.
Logan hoped William would find his words with some food in him, but his mood didn’t seem to improve even once their breakfast arrived. As he drizzled syrup across his bacon, Logan stared across the table at William. William didn’t notice; he was too busy staring at his plate, pushing chunks of his biscuit around in his gravy.
"So," Logan started, his mouth full of bacon, "what are your plans for the day?"
William shrugged and took a sip of his coffee.
"Don't know," he said as he replaced the heavy mug on the counter. Slowly, his mouth spread into a wry smile as he continued, "Maybe I'll go on that treasure hunt you stopped me from doing outside."
Logan harrumphed and rolled his eyes. "You're boring, Billy."
William shrugged again and quirked an eyebrow, his eyes raising to meet Logan’s. "Oh? Then what are you doing today?"
Logan didn't have an answer right away. He fell quiet as he looked outside the grimy restaurant window, watching the horses and carts go by outside in the street. The sheriff wandered past, his gold badge glinting in the sunlight, and that gave Logan an idea.
"I've never been to jail," he said with a smirk. He expected that to get a rise out of William—that was half the reason he said it—but his companion simply grunted in acknowledgement and took a bite of his gravy.
"Have fun with that."
Logan frowned and picked up his last strip of bacon.
"Yeah, I will," he said, his tone just a bit petulant. He hesitated and then asked, "If I'm not back for dinner tonight, would you come bail me out?"
William grunted again, his blue eyes vacant as he gazed out the window.
"Sure, darling."
Logan blinked. His cravat suddenly felt a bit too tight, but he resisted the urge to tug at it as he sat in silence waiting for William to explain or to say something else. The seconds dragged on, and eventually, Logan gave up.
"I'm headin' out," he said. He stood up and dusted off his coat, adjusting his hat for good measure before reaching into his pocket for a few crumpled dollar bills. He placed them on the table next to his plate and turned to leave. Logan took his time walking away, but William never said anything. He never even seemed to notice Logan going.
On his way out of the restaurant, Logan bumped into Teddy, and as he offered Logan a shy smile and hat tip, Logan half-considered spending the day fucking him again instead.
Getting in jail was easy; all Logan had to do was start a brawl with the gamblers in the Mariposa. He was kind of depressed to find that getting out of jail was even easier. He’d been prepared to pick the lock or to try and sweet-talk one of the wardens, but it seemed the jailer was unlocking the door to his cell just as soon as she’d put him in there.
“What can I say?” she purred as Logan stepped over the threshold, his confusion plain in his wrinkled nose and furrowed brows. “I’m a sucker for brown eyes.”
Logan smirked and gave her a wink, even though his heart wasn’t in it.
“Thank ya, ma’am,” he said, with just a bit of a cowboy affect. He’d noticed it slipping into his voice more and more the longer he stayed there. “You’re so sweet, I might have to come back and visit ya.”
Logan grinned at the jailer, and she grinned back. Then her expression grew serious and she pulled her revolver on him.
“Get outta my jail before I change my mind.”
Logan did.
The buildings of Sweetwater were cast in rusty rose-gold light when Logan stepped out of the jail’s front door, re-securing his holster around his waist. The sun was burning orange-white in the west, at the perfect angle to throw mile-long shadows down the streets behind all the people still out and about. Logan paused and leaned against one of the pillars outside the jail for a moment, sighing to himself as he took in the view. Even after two months of sunsets, and even with the knowledge that he might be trapped in this strange place forever, it still looked beautiful.
After a few minutes of admiring the view, Logan straightened up and began the walk back to the inn, taking a slow, ambling pace. He wondered if he’d find William there already, or if his companion was still out on his own adventures. It briefly occurred to Logan that William might have brought company back to the room with him, but he dismissed that thought just as quickly with a low chuckle. If William was over Dolores, there couldn’t possibly be anyone else in town that he’d be interested in.
Logan stopped by the inn’s bar on his way up to their room to grab a bottle of whiskey—no occasion, of course, but with nothing else to do, they might as well drink. Maybe it would be enough to cheer William up if he was still acting like a zombie.
He climbed the creaky wooden stairs to their floor and began whistling as he walked down the hallway, his shoes sinking deep into the plush carpet. Once he reached their door, Logan paused and knocked.
“Billy, you home?” he asked. Normally, he’d burst right in, but something about the empty look in William’s eyes that morning told Logan that it was better to be careful around him today.
“Hey, Low,” came William’s muffled reply through the door. Logan frowned to himself—it had been a long time since he’d heard anyone call him that, and the last person he expected it from was William. Logan pushed the door open and stepped into their bedroom.
“Hey, Bi—” Logan’s automatic greeting was cut off when he realized what he was looking at. William lay sprawled across his bed, his shirt half-unbuttoned and untucked, one arm slung over the edge of his bed loosely holding a bottle of whiskey. Logan paused and glanced from the bottle in his own hands to William’s.
“Thanks for waiting for me,” Logan deadpanned, scowling at William as he headed to the corner to take off his shoes. “It’s a good thing I didn’t need you to bail me out.”
“Yeah,” William agreed, but even with his back turned, Logan could tell William hadn’t heard what he said.
“In case you were wondering,” Logan continued, “it’s harder to get out of jail in Monopoly than it is in this place. I didn’t even have to do anything, they just let me out after a couple hours.”
“It’s ‘cause we’re in Sweetwater,” came William’s answer. After shrugging his coat to the floor, Logan turned to look at William, eyebrows raised in silent questioning as he began unbuttoning his waistcoat.
“Gets harder the further out you go, remember?” William regarded Logan with a flat stare, tilting his head to one side. “If you wanted a challenge, you shoulda gone to Pariah.”
Logan huffed and crossed his arms. William was right, but he wasn’t about to give him that—not when William was still acting like this.
“What’s your deal?” Logan asked instead. “You’ve been acting like someone pissed in your boot all day long.”
To Logan’s surprise, William laughed.
“You don’t remember, do you?”
Against his better judgment, Logan stepped closer, his curiosity getting the best of him.
“Remember what?” he asked.
William looked away from him to scrounge around in his coat, lying rumpled on the bed next to him, and then he pulled something out of the pocket and raised his hand to show it to Logan. Logan took a couple steps closer to examine it before he realized what it was.
The photo of Juliet looked remarkably well-kept for something that William apparently carried outside with him every day. It seemed to have faded a bit in the sun, but the picture was still clear: Jules standing in Times Square with a smile, bundled up in a black coat. Even now, Logan couldn’t help smiling to himself as he remembered taking that photo on their first trip to New York.
“Remember?” William asked again, and Logan scoffed.
“Yeah, I remember Jules,” he said. “She’s my fucking twin sister, Billy. Not gonna forget that one.”
William scoffed right back at him. Logan’s eyes moved from the photo to William as the latter raised his bottle and took a swig of it. After a few long seconds, William lowered the bottle, and with a wheezing cough, he said, “Today’s our wedding day.”
Logan didn’t know what to say. For what felt like years, he just stood there, his eyes flicking from William to the photo to the notches on the wall back to William again.
“What?” he finally asked, his voice much softer than usual.
“It’s June 14th,” William replied, staring at the photo now. “She and I were supposed to be married today.”
“Billy…” Logan chewed his lip as he stared down at his companion. After a moment’s consideration, he carefully took a seat on the mattress next to William. William didn’t react, beyond shifting a bit further away… or closer. Logan couldn’t really tell.
“Do you think she’s looking for me?” William asked. Logan had seen William in all sorts of emotional moods before, but never one like this. When William looked back up at Logan, he seemed genuinely desperate for Logan to reassure him. It wasn’t a position that Logan was used to, and it took him a few seconds of thinking before he spoke.
“I’m sure she is,” Logan murmured, and he even chanced an outstretched hand to pat William’s shoulder. “She loves you, William…”
He angled his head, trying to catch William’s eyes. When William looked at him, Logan offered him a smile, kind and gentle the way he used to smile when he was a kid.
“Don’t you remember how pissed off Dad was at first about the two of you?”
William nodded, and that sad darkness in his eyes seemed to lift a bit.
“Jim said she could do way better than a nouveau-riche little cunt like me,” William answered. The use of his dad’s first name stung, but Logan ignored it, instead giving William an encouraging nod.
“But she stayed with you anyways.”
“Yeah,” William agreed with a sigh. His expression fell again as he gently dropped the photo. It drifted down onto his bare chest, where it lay as he turned to stare into the flame of the oil lamp at his nightstand.
“She’s waiting for you, Billy,” Logan said. He didn’t know if that was true, but by now, Logan was used to selling lies—his voice was smooth and warm, radiating confidence. “I promise.”
William breathed a soft laugh.
“Sometimes you remind me of her,” he mumbled, still looking away from Logan.
Logan swallowed, and against his will, he felt his heart begin to beat faster. He didn’t say anything; for once, he didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched between them, and it seemed to Logan that the flame of William’s lamp was making the whole room swelteringly hot. Finally, Logan couldn’t take it anymore.
“Gimme that,” he muttered, leaning across William and reaching out towards his extended arm. William grumbled and shifted beneath Logan, but he didn’t stop Logan from taking the whiskey from his warm, clammy fingers. Logan leaned back with his prize in hand, and William finally returned his attention to him. Logan noted that William’s expression, while mostly annoyed, looked curious, too.
“If you’re gonna be drunk and depressing all night, I’m not gonna be sober for it,” Logan explained. He flashed William a grin, flat and sharklike and completely insincere, and put the bottle to his lips, throwing his head back for good measure. Logan let his eyes fall shut as he swallowed one mouthful, then two, then five—he only stopped when he felt William’s hand on the bottle, carefully tipping it back down.
“Easy,” William mumbled. Logan panted as he stared at him and belatedly realized that he’d never finished taking off his waistcoat. Suddenly self-conscious, he pulled it off and let it drop to the floor next to him. He was still sitting on William’s mattress.
Fuck.
“I-I,” Logan started, and Christ, he wouldn’t have skipped dinner if he’d known he was going to be pounding whiskey in William’s bed. He hesitated, and after a few seconds of choosing his words, he said, “You should sleep.”
William swallowed and shifted over on the mattress again, not looking at Logan. Logan realized this time that William was making room for him.
“What,” Logan laughed, “you want me to keep you company?” He hoped his voice sounded more confident and teasing to William than it did to his own ears. But teasing or not, William just nodded, still looking away from Logan.
Logan breathed a long sigh, his shoulders falling as he stared at the spot of bed next to William. It wasn’t very big, but to Logan’s tipsy eyes, it looked much more welcoming than his own empty mattress just a few feet away.
“Tell anyone and you’re dead, Billy,” was what Logan said, but he wasted no time in settling down next to William, his head resting inches from William’s on the single pillow.
William sat up to finish off the whiskey, and as he did, he turned to offer Logan a half-hearted smirk.
“Who is there to tell?” he asked. The photo of Juliet had fallen off his chest and landed, apparently forgotten, on the mattress next to William. As William threw the bottle back and drank, Logan gently took the photo and set it on the ground with his waistcoat. If it got crinkled or torn, William would never forgive him.
William set the empty bottle down on their floor with a dull clink, and then after checking to ensure that his pistol and knife both lay ready at his nightstand, he dimmed his lamp and lay back down. Logan would never admit it, but he was grateful William hadn’t completely killed the light—there was no electricity yet in Westworld. The darkness there at night was so heavy and absolute, it reminded Logan of deep water and other things best left forgotten.
“Night, Logan,” William mumbled, rolling onto his side to face Logan. Logan could feel his face flush with the alcohol, and he quickly rolled over too so he wouldn’t have to stare at William all night.
“Yeah, whatever,” Logan said. “Get some sleep, Billy.”
William had always been an easy sleeper, and apparently drinking only made it worse.
“Name’s not Billy,” he breathed, and then he was gone, one arm falling heavy over Logan’s waist. Logan held his breath, his heart pounding in his ears, until he was sure William had fallen asleep.
“Good night, William,” Logan whispered. He closed his eyes and counted William’s breaths, slow and deep, until he finally began to drift off himself.