16.

March 29, 1922


Bill looked up from his sweeping as the front door clanged open and the already-noisy room erupted into cheers. Sean barely had time to remove his cap and coat before a score of hands were clapping him on the back and drawing him forward toward the bar, and the crowd had united in a chorus of "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" before the third lass had left red lip-prints on his blushing cheeks.

"Tis his birthday," said Bernard.

Bill raised an eyebrow. "My own is twenty-eighth August," he said, "In case you wanted to plan ahead." That got him a few laughs, and he set his broom aside and made his way down to the knot of people gathered around Sean's place at the bar.

"It's your birthday, then, is it?" he asked, pulling a glass from the rack. He filled it to the mark with Sean's favorite brew and dropped a coin from his pocket into the jar. "Have one on Caledonia," he said, and Sean's face blustered into a wide smile.

David and Dom had moved down to Sean's stool and slung their arms around his shoulders, one on either side. Sean's beer sloshed with their affectionate jostling; he wiped his face and lifted his glass in proclamation.

"It's my birthday, boys," he exclaimed. "Here's to the best group of mates money can buy." That got him a ruffled head and Dom's elbow in his ribs, but the crowd cheered nonetheless, and glasses and bottles went up around the room. Bill poured himself a shot of whisky and dropped another coin in the jar just before the call of slainte!, and tossed it back in one swallow to the sound of blessings in both English and Irish.

In the corner the fiddler was rosining his bow. "What will you have, Astin?" he called. "Not all of us can afford to fill your thirst."

The hour was already late, and a Saturday at that, but just the mere mention of song brought an instant scraping of chairs and rustle of skirts and hair ribbons. A few suggestions were called out, but Sean only bent his head back until his pint was empty and brought the glass down onto the bar top with a heavy thud.

"I care not what the tune is, as I can't much tell one song from another anyway—" it was true enough; Bill had never met anyone as truly tone-deaf as Sean Astin— "I have only a request for the singer." He threw a hand backwards to thwap into Dom's shoulder with something resembling a pat. "Give us a song, Monaghan, 's been too long."

The suggestion was met with the usual vociferous approval, and Dom responded with the usual affected protestation. Bill glanced around the room—the girl Hannah was not in attendance tonight, and for a moment Bill felt an inexplicable flash of satisfaction. He turned his attention to wiping off the bar top.

Spurred on by the din, Dom made his way to the table by the wall, and with the grand display of the truly intoxicated he leapt up onto it ("Oi, mind the furniture!" shouted Bernard) and spread his hands wide until the noise subsided.

"Very well," he said, as if assuming a heavy burden. "Very well. I will do as you ask, my dear friend Sean—but only if my own demand is met as well. Tis the right of the artist, is it not?"

"Aye!" shouted a dozen voices.

Dom gestured with his thankfully empty glass. "My stipulation is this: I will only sing if I am given a suitable duet partner." He lifted his chin, fifty heads turned, and Bill took a step back from the bar as he realized that every one of them was looking at him.

Miranda spoke behind him. "Looks like your cue, love."

"No," Bill spluttered, flummoxed. "I—Me? No, I don't—"

"Go on then, Glasgow!" yelled a voice, and several more chimed in. A moment later, the entire room was chanting his name.

Bill could feel his ears burning; the flush only intensified when he met Dom's eyes sparkling at him over the sea of heads. He hesitated, but Miranda's hand was on the small of his back and her voice was low and insistent in his ear.

"Go on, Bill. He's waiting for you."

His fingers scrabbled to untie his apron as he moved around the bar. Someone plucked it from his hand the moment it was off, and the crowd parted before him and helped him along with a few encouraging slaps on the back. Dom stood with his glass at his feet and his arms across his chest, grinning triumphantly as Bill approached the front of the table. Dom's smirk became a genuine smile; the whisky in Bill's blood mixed with a rush of adrenaline and a smile of his own spread across his face.

"Help an old man up," he said, and stuck out his hand.

Dom leaned over and hauled Bill up onto the table, managing not to bowl them both over in the process. He turned his head to the crowd and called, "Our Billy is a shy soul, lads—who's going to offer him some courage?" There were a few hoots and whistles, and a lad behind them passed up two glass bottles. Dom pressed one into Bill's hand and clanked it with his own.

The bottle was sticky in Bill's palm, filled nearly to the top with cool, dark liquid. He sniffed it once—fresh wine. Dom was watching him, and so was the rest of the room. Bill felt himself smile. He raised his bottle to Sean, cried "slainte!", tipped his head back and upended the bottle into his mouth.

He could barely hear the room's cheers over the sound of his swallowing, his heart pounding louder as he drank and drank and drank until the bottle was dry. He let go with a gasping breath, wiping his wet mouth on his sleeve, and smiled at the catcalls and applause. Beside him Dom's grin had changed.

"Not bad, Glasgow." And then, louder, "Right! Now what shall we sing for you, Seanie?"

"Whatever y'choose, Dom," came the reply. "Let Glasgow decide!"

Bill looked down at the fiddler. "I know none of your songs, I fear."

Lee merely smiled and tucked his fiddle beneath his chin. "I know one of yours," he said, and winked as he struck his bow.

The first few notes sprang out into the pub, and no one was more surprised than himself when Bill threw back his head and laughed until the sound bounced off the ceiling. Dom didn't hide his amusement as he drew a breath and began the first verse.

Oh come all ye folks who weary are
O' life, its cares and trouble,
Who anything will do and dare
So you may burst the bubble;
I have a plan within my head
That's new and nothing risky,
Whene'er you want to nick the thread,
Just try our Glaisca whisky.

The patrons whistled and laughed, delighting in Bill's chagrin. Bill couldn't quite remember how much he'd had that night but he didn't remember drinking enough for the feeling that was beginning to tingle in his cheeks. The energy coming off Dom was more potent than tumbler or bottle, and Bill soaked it up and poured it back out in the shape of the second verse.

The poison stuff the doctors sell
You scarcely can get any,
But Glaisca whisky bears the bell
It's flavoured wi' so many;
And poison selling's so fenced around
To buy it is but risky;
But ye may cut throats, or hang, or drown,
When primed wi' Glaisca whisky!

The crowd clapped in time, stomping with the tempo of Dom's feet on the table and the steady hammering of Bill's heart. Girls sat on the nearest lap and nodded along, offering a flash of smile or a whoop of encouragement. A large proportion were sending appreciative glances up at Dom's sweaty face, his muscled forearms knotting as he beat out the rhythm, but as Bill watched he realized not a few looks were being directed his way as well. He tried to take another swallow from his bottle, forgetting that it was empty.

So try our Glaisca whisky
Aye try our Glaisca whisky!
It gives us pleasure wi' our death
So hey for Glaisca whisky!

In the middle of stifling a laugh, the fiddler's bow skipped a note and broke over into a different key. The mistake set off a giddy recognition in Bill's brain—he looked down at Lee, caught the beam of amusement and nod of agreement, and before he could stop himself Bill crossed both his arms and ignored Dom's gape of surprise as Bill promptly changed the song and stole the spotlight.

Sittin with a wee lass a-holdin on my knee
Up among the heather in the Hills o' Bonifee
When a bumblebee stung me, weel above the knee,
Up among the heather in the Hills o' Bonifee

There was a shriek of delight from the lasses; Bill caught Miranda's eye from the back of the room. She leaned on the bar and laughed aloud; he gave her a smile in return. Then Dom's elbow in his gut made him stumble with a small oof! and he shoved back and fell into step as their feet moved together and Dom picked up the harmony.

I said unto my lassie, will ye come and spend the dee
Up among the heather in the Hills o' Bonifee?
Where all the lads and lasses lie a-makin out so free
Up among the heather in the Hills o' Bonifee

Bill darted behind Dom and leapt around him on the table, which was now shaking from their impromptu steps. Someone called his name and he turned to see David holding up a second bottle, plugged with a wire cap and sloshing full of dark liquid. Without missing a beat Bill tossed his empty bottle over and caught the replacement, and was plucking out the stopper with his teeth when Dom's arm fell across his shoulders and drew in as they belted out the finish.

Now when I kiss my lassie I'm as happy as can be
Up among the heather in the Hills of Bonifee
Wi' her hand beneath my kilt, and well above the kneeee—
Up among the heather in the Hills of Bonifee!

Bill listened to the cheering, eyes falling closed as he drew a long pull from his bottle until his lungs threatened to burst from the strain. He knew that when he looked up Dom would be watching him, face red and chest puffing, his eyes lit to blue with drink and delight. Bill's own smile was just as easy when he handed Dom the bottle and watched him bend back his head to swallow every drop.



Note: Yes, I know Sean Astin's birthday isn't March 29. I'm pulling the AU card on that one. :)