Chapter One - The First Day
Twenty-six bloody hours on board of a delayed plane. A delayed plane in which the cabin crew is continuously doing their best to make sure everyone is as comfortable as possible and has plenty to eat and drink. Because even though the plane lacks fresh air and patient travelers, it has stocked well in the sustenance department, and most people have decided to make the most of it by ordering another drink.
Flying business class for the first time in his life has left Dominic a little awestruck. He is surrounded by people carrying briefcases and laptops, reading and signing impressive stacks of paper and worrying about the plane's delay with their switched-off mobile phones close at nervous hands.
Dominic knows he stands out. He is dressed less than casual in his torn, baggy jeans and worn t-shirt with rude print... His hair is still virtually non-existent because of his last job, and he absent-mindedly scratches his rugged five-day stubble with his long fingers. His impressive stack of papers, that he has given up on reading hours ago, lies open on his tray table and the man to his right keeps throwing casual glances at it, probably thinking it is a contract or some other business deal...
Dominic grins softly to himself. If everything goes alright the coming two years, it might well be the business deal of a lifetime, he thinks, closing the thick movie script and trying to stuff it into his backpack, eventually making room for it by taking out the Who's-who booklet with random information about his new castmates that he had scanned through very briefly hours ago. He neatly folds it in half and squeezes it into his back pocket.
He sits upright and looks out of the small window, ignoring the stares of the guy next to him, whose eyes, he feels, are boring holes into the side of his face. Please, don't talk, Dominic begs silently, closing his eyes, rubbing his temples with his thumbs, trying to keep a rapidly developing headache at bay.
"Holidays?" he hears a voice next to him, and Dominic reluctantly opens his eyes again, slightly annoyed for being forced into conversation. He feels the blood pounding in his head and lets out a shuddery breath. God, he is going to have one hell of a jetlag...
He turns his head around and, for the first time during the entire flight, looks straight at his neighbour. He shakes his head, a small smile creeping across his lips. "Business then," the man ventures anew, and Dominic discerns an Australian accent. "Are you sure you don't want to take a year off, go backpacking through the beautiful Kiwi mountains?"
Dominic sees a knowing smile spread across his neighbour's face. Apparently that's what he himself had done in New Zealand. "I have a job waiting for me in Wellington," he says softly, almost reverently, because he still can't believe this is happening to him.
"Ah, Welly," the man speaks again. "Great place, good pubs. You're going to enjoy yourself there, mate, mark my words." Dominic offers another smile and nods, casting his eyes down to his knees and eventually settling for staring out of the window again, thinking of things to come.
With a short push of his foot, Dominic closes the door of his hotel room and unceremoniously drops his two bags on the floor. The guy from three-foot-six promised him he would make sure all his other belongings would be delivered safely to this very room within the hour, and he had better get some sleep, as tomorrow is going to be a big day.
Dom toes off his sneakers and stumbles towards the bed on which he plops down, lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes briefly, secretly longing for a strong pair of hands to work the knots out of his back. When he opens his eyes again he notices how his eyelids feel heavy and grainy, almost burning with their exposure to too much recycled air on the plane, and he lowers his body, stretching his back, absolutely sure that lying down and the prospect of a long, deep sleep never felt this good.
Yet, his internal clock is on a rampage and his brain is like a record on repeat. Random thoughts and emotions and fears and plenty of anticipation slowly but steadily make their way into his consciousness and start to tumble and dance and make his head spin, and as he closes his aching eyes once more he knows sleeping is going to be impossible for a while.
He tries to concentrate on that spot of peace and quiet deep within him, to tap into it and force his thoughts to stop tossing and tumbling, but apparently his body and his mind have other plans with him and it doesn't take long before images of home and the people he left behind flicker through his fragmented, buzzing brain. Mum, dad, the cast from his last job, the farewell party, his mother's tears that he brushed away just seconds before he got in the taxi that would take him to the airport, the ever-present feelings of insecurity and homesickness that hit him the moment the plane took off, it is all there, doing a dance for dominance in his brain.
Dominic hauls his exhausted body off the bed with a tortured grunt and drags himself and his carry-on into the sumptuous bathroom. Maybe a hot shower will help calm the whirlwind in his mind, will ultimately help him fall asleep. He pulls at his t-shirt and tosses it through the open bathroom door, and just as he is bending over to turn on the water, there's a knock at the door.
"Right," he grumbles, fastening the top button of his jeans again, and making his way to the front door. There's no peephole, but he opens the door anyway, expecting to be presented with the rest of his luggage.
"Dominic Monaghan?" comes the question from a smallish guy who looks at him with captivating eyes. He nods more or less automatically and tries to remember the list of castmates and their pictures in the booklet he crammed into his back pocket earlier, but comes up short. "Had a good flight?" comes the next question and then the accent gives him away.
Glasgow.
Fuck me, Dominic thinks, still staring dumbly at the most beautiful green eyes he has ever seen. Fuck me, it's Pippin! He throws the door open wide and shakes the Scot's outstretched hand. "Sorry," he says, gesturing for the other man to come in. "Jetlag is already catching up with me. Come in, come in."
"Billy, right?" Dom asks and picks up his discarded t-shirt from the floor, quickly pulling it over his head. He looks at the diminutive guy standing in his hotel room, and is met with a genuine smile.
"Billy Boyd," Billy clarifies. "And yeah, Merry..." He jabs a pointed finger into Dominic's chest. "I am going to be your Pippin." Dominic doesn't really understand why, but the way he was just playfully poked in the chest tells him it is okay to pull the Scot, who is essentially a stranger, into a giant bear hug. He has a feeling it won't be the last one, either.
"I'm Dominic," he says when he releases Billy and the two men take a close look at each other. "But call me Dom, okay? Only my aunties and my grandmother call me Dominic, and my mother used to call me that when I was a little kid and had fucked something up." He giggles a bit and the little laugh lines in Billy's face wrinkle up and suddenly Dom finds himself staring at them, mesmerized by that gentle face and the gorgeous emerald eyes.
He shakes his head, trying to clear away the jetlag-induced fog in his head and waves his hand in the general direction of the chairs by the window. Billy sits down and lets his gaze slide around the room, noticing that his room looks exactly the same, apart from Dom's unpacked luggage still on the floor.
"Drink?" Dom asks and Billy nods fervently. He starts to search for the minibar that is usually hidden under desks and drawers, finding the small door and taking stock of what is behind it when he opens it.
"Well, would you look at that?!" he exclaims, and suddenly both men are on their knees on the floor, crouching to get a better view of the bar's contents. "European beer," Dom sighs and takes out two bottles in both hands, handing one to Billy and ducking his head again to see what else he can find.
"At least this joint knows how to stock its bars," Billy mumbles happily, grabbing the bottle opener from the table and proceeds to expertly uncap his refridgerated treasure. He hands Dom the opener and moves to sit again. They both take a few generous swigs, watching each other intently, and Dom realises with a start that he doesn't mind silence around Billy. Or, surprisingly, Billy doesn't mind silence around him. They have known each other for a grand total of five minutes and he just knows that with Billy there's not going to be such a thing as an awkward silence. Then they both speak.
"Mancunian, right?"
"Met anyone else already?"
They laugh. Dom briefly realises how scared he had been, in the weeks before he was going to fly out to New Zealand, but even more so when he had twenty-six fucking hours today to contemplate all the new people he was going to meet, the cast, the crew, not to mention Peter Jackson, whose Heavenly Creatures he adores, and how safe he already feels around Billy. Thank God, is all he can think.
"Yeah, I'm from Manchester," he grins, when their laughter has changed into subdued grins. "And you're all the way from Glasgow, if I read the Who's who correctly, right?" Billy nods, picking up his bottle again, swirling the remains around, before polishing it off. "Ah well," Dom says again. "Some things just can't be helped," and he narrowly escapes a well-aimed cushion coming his way.
"But seriously, Bill," he says, pulling two new bottles from the small fridge and handing one to Billy who opens it immediately. "Met anyone else already?"
"An elf," the Scot answers, and when Dom raises his eyebrows in confusion, Billy proceeds to tell him about one Orlando Bloom, also a Brit, with whom he flew out here yesterday. Apparently the guy has a room some five doors down the hall, but he had been sleeping off his jetlag for the best part of the day. "Great guy, though," Billy concludes. "Incredible energy. We celebrated my birthday together - with champagne, of course. I just turned thirty, Dom. I am an old man now."
Dom grins and lifts his bottle slowly, tipping it against Billy's on the table, in silent salute to the Scot's ordeal. "You are the oldest of the four hobbit actors, aren't you?" he then asks and shifts so that he is able to pull the crumpled Who's who from his back pocket. Billy gets up and moves to sit on the armrest of Dom's chair, waiting for him to get to the cast list out. They both scan the extensive list of names, birthdays, agents, countries and continents even.
"Yup," Dom chuckles. "Definitely the oldest of the hobbits. Which is funny, as, according to the book, you are going to play the youngest." He folds the booklet again and tosses it onto the coffee table, picking up his neglected bottle and drinking from it greedily. He is finally settling into some sort of daze, his legs are heavy with the alcohol and his head is buzzing rather pleasantly, a nice comfortable slumber should be right around the corner.
"And the youngest is going to play the oldest," Billy adds, aiming to exhaust the subject even further. He tries to reach for the Who's who again, but then he notices the sudden change in his newfound friend.
"Tired now?" he asks and Dom nods. Billy gets up, steals another beer from the minibar and heads for the door. "Get some sleep," he smiles, stepping out into the corridor, briefly winking at Dom, who places his empty bottle on the table and turns around to give Billy a small, silly wave of his hand.
"Sleep well, Pip," Dom grins. "It was nice meeting you." And as soon as Billy closes the door behind him, Dom starts pulling at his shirt once more, unzips his jeans and does a stupid little dance while he tries pulling them down his hips and walking over to the bed simultaneously.
He sleeps almost instantly.
It's the middle of the night and Dom is very much awake. Bloody jetlag. He lies on his back with his eyes wide open, piercing the darkness, trying to see the ceiling which he knows is there but cannot make out. He should have left the curtains open a bit.
He hates it when he can't get into rhythm. He hates waking up at the most ungodly hours of the night, because certainly, now that he is awake, life will start catching up with him again. Getting sleep means he first has to still the tumble of emotions in his head, and sometimes he can rely on some alcohol to fix that problem for him. Now he only has the intense darkness and his own breathing to rely on and, unsurprisingly, what little bit of tranquility he had left in his mind after just waking up is disintegrating rapidly.
He knows that within minutes all his nagging insecurities and doubts, but also his boiling excitement and enthusiasm will re-surface, and Dom knows from experience that because of that, sleeping will be totally out of the question for now.
He pulls on the pair of jeans he'd been wearing all day and walks over to the balcony door. Some fresh air might do the trick. He grabs his t-shirt as well, but, once he opens the door and steps out onto the rather impressive balcony, he realises New Zealand nights in September are fairly pleasant, or maybe he just got lucky and at least this one is, and so he doesn't bother with pulling the shirt over his head. He tosses it back into the room and walks towards the railing, tilting his head, looking up.
Stars. Countless stars. Dom only sees a few at first, but once he gets used to the inky blackness of the sky, he discovers many more. It does look totally different here than at home, he thinks and stares some more, unable to tell any of the constellations apart. Back home he would be able to point out all the obvious and the obscurer ones, but here it is completely unrecognisable and it causes another surge of homesickness to crash through his systems. Feeling slightly detached from the world, Dom stares at the expanse for a few more silent minutes, mesmerized by the beauty of it all, relishing the spring air on his face and chest.
?He turns around and leans against the railing, suddenly slammed in the face by everything that he dreaded would hit him once his brain caught up with his body. He's here now, at the other side of the world, further gone then Down bloody Under, he is completely on his own, not knowing anybody at all, even though Billy seems like a nice guy, and the familiar ache that is called homesickness settles even more firmly in his stomach.
Then he quickly thinks of the whole reason why he is here, because that very thought is going to have to counter-weight all of his insecurities. Dom smiles fractionally when he remembers how overwhelmed he was the minute he found out he had been cast as Meriadoc Brandybuck. How he wanted to dance and scream and call all his friends at the same time, but ended up just hugging his mother a little bit too tightly, fighting his tears.
Yes, he's here now and there's no turning back. He knows he's scared, but who wouldn't be in this situation. Dom tries to swallow his nervousness and anxiety away and turns around again, deciding he will come to terms with his fears when the time is right and he takes a deep breath.
He needs to sleep. He needs to be refreshed tomorrow when he is going to meet the other hobbits and Peter Jackson and Phillipa Boyens and Fran Walsh and so many others. Because no matter how insecure he is, he also wants to make the most of this. He wants to make this experience count, he wants to make it last. He wants his time here in New Zealand to be significant, as he is going to be part of something so totally overwhelming. He wants to become a better actor. A different one. Because for some odd reason Dom knows the adventure he is about to start here is going to change him, is going to make his life take a completely different turn.
He looks up at the stars one more time, thinking they are different but actually very beautiful, and then he contemplates going inside again, trying once more to get some sleep, suddenly not so afraid of lying awake anymore.
Just when he pushes himself away from the railing, he is stopped by the distinct sound of a lighter being flicked, and when he turns his head around to locate the source somewhere across the small fence that separates the balconies, he is just in time to see the tiny flame disappear, leaving nothing but the glowing red tip of a burning cigarette.
Chapter Two
Expanding Universe Index
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