Chapter Twelve - A Fine Strategy
Dom pulls his Merry shirt over his head and starts fastening the uppermost buttons, a huge grin plastered all over his face. He peers out of the little trailer window, watching the bustle already going on outside as early as six o'clock in the morning, and he happily wriggles his freshly applied hobbit feet.
It had been a week before Dom was allowed to work again. Seven days before he could once more join his friends and make sure that he, too, carried the workload, doing his utmost every time the camera started rolling. As he had begun to feel better, he also became more aware of how tired Billy was when he came over to his place, late in the evening, to check up on him and make sure there were groceries in the fridge. There had been people of the production team who took care of him as well, but Billy had proved a true and faithful friend, causing Dom to feel all the more guilty once his symptoms started to disappear and he still wasn't allowed to leave his house.
He couldn't really remember the first three days of that week, and he had, rather fondly, started calling them his "hazy days�" The hazy days had left Dom with an almost permanent fog lodged firmly inside his brain, which had only lifted a little when, one night, a concerned, slightly disorientated, but always too-beautiful-for-anybody's-good Elijah had sat on his bed, watching him, worrying, a wistful expression almost constantly clouding his face.
Dom remembers one or two nights in which he woke up to the somehow soothing sight of Elijah sitting cross-legged on his bed, always in the same corner, always ravaging his nails with his rampant nervous energy.
After it was generally assumed that Dom was firmly on his way to recovery, Elijah had not shown himself again, although there had been one, rather memorable, exception. During the fifth or sixth night - Dom doesn't quite remember - he had woken up, noticing Elijah standing in the frame of his open bedroom door, his shoulder resting against the post, his face dark since the sparse living room light was coming from behind him.
Doubting if Elijah had noticed him waking up, Dom had tried to move, but Elijah had jumped and turned around instantly, sliding back into the shadows of the hall, leaving Dom lost in confusion, wondering why the boy wouldn't want to stay and talk to him.
He remembers the voices - Billy and Elijah and Viggo talking quietly and then the sound of the front door softly but unmistakably clicking into place, and he simply knew that it had been Elijah who had just left his house.
"What are you going to do properly, Dom?" Billy asks and Dom returns to the here and now. He finishes pulling his waistcoat on and turns to look at Billy, who is straightening out the hem of his hobbit breeches.
"I think I'm going to make proper work of Elijah," Dom announces, and there's pride in his voice, as if he only just now made up his mind, realising that it is the right thing to do. "I think he likes me."
Billy's head shoots up from its almost upside down position and there's a look of understanding between the two Brits.
"You certain, Dom?" Billy asks, breaking the silence, his voice warm and encouraging. "Did something happen to make you say this? Did he say anything?"
He knows he shouldn't be daydreaming like this and try for a little more discipline as they're due on set in less than five minutes, but Billy's questions take Dom right back to that night when he'd been so completely out of it. If he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough he can feel Elijah's arm around his shoulders and smell the boy's musky, shower-fresh scent that lingered in Dom's nostrils long after Elijah had left the room.
He shivers and rubs his arms, smiling when he recalls the words they had exchanged, the subdued whispers, the both of them so afraid of saying the wrong thing. He had asked Elijah if he would be willing to try and be more than friends and the boy had just continued stroking Dom's leg through the duvet, over and over again; a tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows and a gentle, distant smile dancing around those full, sensual lips.
He had never actually answered the question but when Dom hadn't been able to keep his eyes open any longer, overcome again by exhaustion and fever, Elijah had reached out his hand to graze the soft pads of his fingers gently across Dom's stubbly cheek.
"Please, get better, okay?" he had asked on a whisper and when Dom had opened his eyes one final time that night, he couldn't help but see guilt in the wide, blue eyes. "Please, you just sleep now and get better and stronger and..."
Elijah's voice had trailed off; his thumb lingering fractionally on Dom's lower lip, brushing against it softly, and Dom had leaned in to the tender touch. Far too quickly Elijah had retracted his hand, leaving Dom to feel strangely bereft and cold. Or maybe that had been the fever, returning to him with a vengeance.
"We'll talk more when you come back to the set again, okay?" Elijah had said quietly. "Just concentrate on getting better first. That's so much more important now."
The frown had deepened when the boy rose from the bed, sweats and t-shirt all rumpled and loose around his body, and Dom had just smiled at him through his feverish haze, hoping it would chase the guilt in Elijah's eyes away.
The very moment he had closed his eyes, Dom's mind had wandered off, thinking of how soft and cool Elijah's fingers had just felt on his skin. He'd wanted to kiss those fingers, one by one, and then those lips, brushing against them with his own, teeth nipping that bottom lip, probing gently with his tongue.
"Dom!!"
It's Billy again and, startled, Dom looks up, shaking his head, grinning sheepishly at the Scot.
"Sorry," he mutters, grabbing his book and today's script, ready to finally face a new day on set. "Sorry, I was just thinking..."
"Right," Billy cuts in with a derisive snort. He gives his newly acquired scarf a little tug, prodding the thing into place. "Thinking. Don't give me that, my friend. You were miles away."
"Yeah, sorry," Dom smiles some more. "But being ill and lying in that bed with nothing to do has given me the time to do some soul searching, you know. Time to understand some things."
"What things?" Billy prompts and shrugs Pippin's coat on, stuffing his script in one of its pockets, looking into the mirror appreciatively, quite ready to step out of the trailer.
"Well, for one thing," Dom answers, grabbing the doorknob, waiting for Billy to come up behind him and then opening the door. "I have come to realise how much I actually like that little yank..."
"Isn't that old news, Dommie?" Billy wants to know and drums out a pattern on his friend's back as they descend the trailer's metal stairs.
"It probably is, Bills," Dom says and turns around suddenly, causing the Scot to bump into him. "But... no matter how stupid it may sound... I think I'm in love with him... Actually - no. I know I'm in love with him. And I'm going to tell him. I want him to know."
"Dom," Billy offers as the two of them are walking across the field towards the soundstage, arms around each other's shoulders, almost connected at the hip. "Don't you think he already does?"
Dom slows his pace and takes a long look at his friend, then starts to walk on in earnest, squaring his shoulders. "You're probably right," he allows and squeezes Billy's shoulder playfully. "And although he's not quite willing to admit it yet, I think the feeling is mutual. He just needs a little convincing, that's all."
"So tell me," Billy says, plopping down nonchalantly at the lunch table in the same marquee Dom collapsed in a week before. "What made you so self-assured all of a sudden? Is it something Elijah said? And what happened that night, Dommie? Because I know that you didn't tell me everything."
Dom looks at Billy for the longest time, fiddling with his cutlery, trying to decide if he is going to tell his friend about 'their' night. Elijah is still so uncertain about everything that had happened, still feels so guilty for what he had done, how far he had gone. Dom had seen it written all over Elijah's face again this morning, when they'd had their Feet applied.
"I don't know, Bill," he starts, hesitating. "It's kind of personal, you see? I'm quite sure Elijah wouldn't want me to tell you these things... In fact - I'm quite sure even I don't want you to know everything that happened. "
"Then please," Billy cuts in, digging into his pasta dish. "By all means, don't tell me. If it's between the two of you, you should keep it between the two of you. Just tell me one thing..."
Looking up from his plate, Dom fixes Billy with a curious look.
"What"
"Will you both be careful?"
Dom smiles, secretly relieved Billy is letting the matter rest so easily, silently impressed with the heartfelt thought behind that last question.
"Of course," he says and winks.
"And will you please take your time?" Billy asks again, putting his fork down, giving his friend a firm look. "He's bloody eighteen, Dom."
"I know. And I promise," Dom answers. "In fact," he adds, "I am planning to take this very slowly, let him set the pace, let him come to me."
"A fine strategy, my friend," Viggo suddenly cuts in as he steps across the bench, sitting down beside Billy. He puts his plate on the table and offers Dom a cheeky grin.
"Sorry," he grumbles in his warm tones, manoeuvring his impressive sword until it remains upright against the edge of the table. "I couldn't help but overhear those last words of yours. Elijah, right?"
Dom rolls his eyes, muttering something about a grapevine and Viggo being at the core of it, then pinning the Ranger with his harshest mock-accusing stare. The two of them look at each other for a few seconds more, before they break down in uncontrollable giggles.
"Yes, Elijah," Dom admits, after he has had the chance to catch his breath. "But don't you dare spill the news to him, Ranger."
Viggo lifts his sword, briefly touching his chest with the hilt.
"Your secret's safe with me, master Meriadoc," he says solemnly. "You have my word."
"Shouldn't that be 'sword'?" Billy interrupts. "And isn't the filming of the Council of Elrond months away?"
Both Dom and Viggo glare at the Scot, who looks back at his plate, innocently digging into his pasta again, barely able to keep the smirk off his face.
"Anyway," Dom concludes. "I'm going to do this by the book, just as I said this morning. I have a feeling our Elijah will be susceptible to the old-fashioned approach so I have decided I'm going to court him properly. I'm thinking dinners here, picnics and movies and sunsets on the beach... If he still says no after all that, I will accept it in good grace and spend the rest of this shoot getting over him..."
As if on cue, when lunch is over, it starts to rain. To protect their priceless costumes as much as possible, Wardrobe is running around with large raincoats in the most hideous green colour imaginable for the four hobbits to put on, and Dom grins softly to himself when he notices how Elijah almost entirely disappears inside his coat. When he catches the boy yawning profusely, his nose all scrunched up and his eyes shut tight, Dom suddenly realises how tired Elijah must be.
Wrapped up in their thick cotton robes and ugly green raincoats, the four of them wait for Pete to finish his instructions. When he dares another quick peek, Dom suddenly notices how the boy looks so much younger than his meagre eighteen winters right now and he secretly wishes he could wrap his arms around Elijah to warm him up and offer him a safe place to close his eyes - if only just for a few seconds - and then whisper the promise of a hot bath and a soothing massage in the soft shell of his ear; but instead Pete goes on and on about the pitfalls and intricacies of the upcoming scene and Dom tries to abandon his distracting train of thought.
When he is finally able to shake off the image of a naked Elijah lying on his bed, clad only in a towel around his waist, with Dom's hands slipping underneath to roam the curve of the boy's tight arse, he quickly looks around, the hint of a guilty smirk on his face, and he catches Elijah's eyes.
He smiles and winks and Elijah offers his gap-toothed grin in return, causing the two of them to temporarily forget the drizzle that is chilling them to the bone and the weariness that is evident in the circles under Elijah's eyes.
As soon as Pete asks them to take five, so that the final preparations for the scene can be made, Dom walks all the way over to a second marquee and drops down in a chair, mercilessly confronted with the aftermath of his recent illness. He pulls his hood off and rubs his eyes with both hands, trying to ignore the soft pounding in his head. It's nowhere near as bad as it was the week before, but he also knows that he is not back to his old self yet.
"Here," comes a voice from behind him, and when he looks up, it's Elijah standing next to him, two Styrofoam cups in his hands, steaming hot with something that has to pass for tea.
With a grateful smile on his face, Dom accepts the hot drink and takes a few tentative sips before he actually dares to look at Elijah. There is no other chair around in the tent, so Elijah just stands next to Dom, his body rocking back and forth slightly, hands clamped around his own cup, trying to keep them warm.
"You okay?" Elijah asks after a long minute and turns his head to look at Dom. "Feeling any better?"
Dom nods. Smiles too. Sips more of his tea and tries to push his earlier fantasies aside, realising that this is not the time to dream of a naked Elijah without the towel, when he can be talking to the real thing.
"And you?" he asks. "Caught you yawning."
Elijah smiles, almost apologetically, and takes another sip.
"I'm just tired," he shrugs and stares at Dom's face before he offers another smile. "But it's entirely my own doing, I tend to burn the candle at both ends..."
"Really?" Dom risks a little smirk. "When I first met you, you seemed the poster boy for professionalism, the one who wouldn't put a foot wrong. Early nights, fruitful days, that kind of stuff."
Elijah snorts, barely managing to swallow his tea, ultimately gracing Dom with his most incredulous look. He shakes his head and smiles. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Dominic Monaghan."
"Indeed," Dom jumps at the opportunity. "But we could change that..."
Elijah's face clouds a little, realising he's been set up.
"You mentioned something similar before," he mutters, voice trailing off. "And to be completely honest with you... the thought's a little scary."
"I know," Dom acknowledges, fiddling with his now empty cup. "I know it scares you, but you can't deny you're intrigued. Deep down you just know that you won't turn me down like that."
Elijah rocks from foot to foot, pulling the hood of his raincoat down and looks over his shoulder, hoping for some form of rescue coming from the soundstage. Technicians are still struggling with an uncooperative dolly, however, and when he scans the marquee he notices that Fran has joined her partner and the two of them are now tied up in a heated discussion.
He turns back and stares ahead of him, swallowing, trying to make up his mind. He crumples the cup with a firm gesture and looks at Dom who is still waiting quietly for him to react.
"I don't do on-set relationships," Elijah finally says, voice soft but determined. "You only end up hurt."
"R-right," Dom struggles to get the word out. "But... aren't you going a bit fast here? I mean, who said anything about a relationship?"
"Don't act like that with me, Dom."
"Act like what?"
"Like I'm jumping to conclusions."
"Am I?"
"You are."
There's a call from Caro, urging all actors back on the set, and Elijah's body is instantly tense and humming with energy. Glad to be saved from more awkwardness between himself and Dom, he turns around, flips the hood back over his wig and starts walking towards the marquee.
Dom jumps up from his chair and needs three strides to fall into step beside Elijah. When he touches his arm, just to make him notice or maybe even to stop him from walking so fast, Elijah gives him a sideways glance, then flickers his eyes down to his arm, then up to Dom's face again.
"Please, Lij," Dom breathes, letting go of the boy's arm. "At this rate we'll never have this discussion, and I want us to have it. I need to tell you things, ask you things. I want you to understand things... Understand me."
"I understand you perfectly, Dom," Elijah says and stops walking to avoid them moving within hearing distance of the people in the marquee. "I know what you want, and the fact that I have given it to you already makes it fucking complicated for me to say 'no' to you now."
Dom swallows hard and stares at Elijah's perfectly made up face, surrounded by the fake, dark curls. His eyes are huge and glittering, and although the words falling from his mouth just now sounded harsh and definite, Dom can see a hint of insecurity in the endless blue. He takes a deep breath.
"When I was ill - that first night..." he starts, "you came to me, you were there for me. I remember how we talked. I remember you told me we would talk once I'd returned on set."
Dom knows there's a pleading look in his eyes but he doesn't give a damn right now. "Don't tell me I imagined all that, Elijah. Don't tell me that was some figment of my feverish imagination. That all of that never happened."
Elijah scuffs his large hobbit foot in the dirt, looking at Dom, then lowers his lashes again.
"Everything we said that night happened, Dom," he finally concedes. "And I meant everything I said. But I also meant what I said just now. On-set relationships never work. Ultimately, they only cause you pain. Trust me. I know..."
"You touched my face that night, Lijah," Dom says, his voice thick with emotion. "And I know you watched me from the hallway a couple of nights later. I saw you. I saw you move back into the shadows once I stirred, but you were there. You were watching me."
Elijah doesn't say a word, just continues to look at Dom's face, pointedly ignoring Caro's second call.
"I don't know about on-set relationships," Dom continues. "I don't have enough filming experience to know. But I do know that you and I can no longer deny the connection that exists between the two of us."
Caro calls for a third time, and both boys start moving reluctantly towards the soundstage, knowing they cannot draw this out much longer.
"And don't tell me any different," Dom throws in. "I know I'm right."
They move past the marquee, where Pete and Fran have more or less finished their discussion, and the printer is noisily coughing up what seem to be the latest script changes.
"Lij," Dom mutters, just before they reach Billy and Sean, grabbing the sleeve of Frodo's brown velvet overcoat to make Elijah stop one last time. They look at each other, and suddenly Dom is at a loss for words. He opens his mouth once, twice, but nothing comes out.
Elijah lifts Dom's hand from his arm, decidedly places it back at Dom's side and straightens his coat.
"Right, lads," Pete says and walks up to the four of them with a huge grin. "The chief executive has just added some last-minute script changes and you'll be handed those in a second, but I reckon we are finally ready to roll some tape here."
Dom throws one last look at Elijah before Pete starts to move them all into position personally, but to his disappointment the blue eyes are not looking his way. Then Pete grabs his arm and guides him two steps in front of Elijah.
"Now, Dom," he starts and turns around to accept a new, plastic-covered script from Caro's hands. "You and Billy have been given some revised lines, so I would like for you to look them over quickly, okay?"
Temporarily pushing his frustration to the back of his mind, Dom takes the sheet of paper and checks his lines, easily spotting some minor changes, while Pete moves on, no doubt to tell Billy the same thing.
Suddenly, he hears his name being whispered close to his ear and there's a small gust of warm breath in his neck. He shivers underneath his many layers of clothing when he realises it is Elijah's voice. A small hand presses against his lower back.
"Billy tells me," Elijah whispers, "that you like Asian food. Find a spot, hmm? Take me there. Tonight. Eight o'clock."
Dom tries to turn his head around, but suddenly the hand pressing against his spine shifts to the back of his head and steadies it, preventing him from looking over his shoulder.
"Wear something nice, okay?" the voice whispers again, releasing Dom's head. "And pick me up, I can't really drive on the left yet."
Then the pressure, the voice, the warmth is gone and Dom stares off into the distance, not reacting to anything but Pete's loud call for Action!, at least five minutes later.
Chapter Thirteen
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