Chapter Thirteen - An Interesting Case
"I am going out of my mind," he mutters to no one in particular after a short silence.
He jumps up again and yanks impatiently at the clasp of his belt. "Totally, fucking out of my mind."
Blindly, he slides the belt through the loops of his jeans and tosses it across the room, missing the armchair he was aiming for. Not really noticing, he continues to scrabble at the tiny buttons on his shirt, shrugging the thing off his shoulders, then turns around and eagerly pulls his t-shirt over his head.
"Either that guy is the world's fucking biggest tease," he continues to mutter to himself, pacing the space between the couch and the coffee table, tearing the zipper on his trousers down, "or I am more persuasive than I thought." He pushes his jeans down his legs, takes a deep breath, and finally picks up his clothes from where they lie scattered all over the floor.
Bounding out of the living room, he scales the stairs two steps at the time and then stops in front of the bathroom. While he briefly rests his forehead against the door, bumping it softly against the wood a couple of times, he tries to control his breathing by slowly counting to ten.
At twenty, he reaches out to twist the doorknob.
Dom dumps his clothes in the hamper, fishing out his belt again, and grins stupidly when he catches his reflection in the mirror. He grips the sides of the washbasin with both hands and stares at himself some more.
Playfully, he raises his eyebrows and lowers them, bares his teeth and growls, winks once with his left eye, then with his right, and finally relaxes his face and just looks at himself, breathing more and more steadily every time he blinks.
He drops his head, gazing at the white porcelain beneath his hands, and waits for the steady pounding of his heart to slow down. It's almost five minutes before he can actually hear the silence in his house, and when he looks up again, staring into his own blue grey eyes, the smile that settles around his lips is quiet and genuine.
"Dominic Monaghan," he starts slowly, lengthening the syllables of his own name. "I do believe you've got yourself a date."
He turns around and opens the glass door of the shower cubicle, fiddling with the dials, waiting for the spray to turn hot and hard before he pushes his boxers down and steps inside.
Once the water is pounding down on his back, and both hands are resting against the white tiles in front of him, Dom realises that his analysis of Elijah is worth nothing after what happened today. His heart had stopped when Elijah mentioned he didn't do on-set relationships. Essentially, it had meant the end to everything.
He can still hear himself argue with Elijah that maybe this thing isn't about relationships, but the boy had seen through him straight away, leaving Dom to wonder about those meagre eighteen winters all over again.
Then, as if on cue, Elijah's cursed afterthought almost splits Dom's head in two once more.
"Ultimately, they only cause you pain. Trust me. I know."
Those words had haunted Dom all through his drive home, and he had been grateful that he didn't have to do the driving himself, but could just sit and stare at nothing, re-thinking Elijah's words.
It had taken Dom about three miles in the car to admit that of course the boy must have somewhat of a social life back home. After all, it is bloody Hollywood we're talking about here. It had taken him another ten miles to acknowledge that that social life could have involved sexual encounters as well. However, now that he finds himself standing in the shower, trying not to short-circuit about the fact that he is going to enjoy a real date with Elijah, Dom discovers that it will take him a lot longer than the duration of a twenty-mile-drive to accept the fact that he is very fucking jealous of whoever Elijah has been involved with.
He shrugs, squeezes a dollop of shampoo from the plastic bottle and massages it into his hair. Not that there is a lot of it, but at least he is no longer the skinhead he used to be when he first arrived in New Zealand. He closes his eyes when he rinses the soap out of his hair and in a flash he sees a bunched up Elijah with his cold hands clutched around a cup of tea, smiling at him when Dom calls him the poster boy for professionalism. More of today's words enter his thoughts and this time he smiles.
"There's a lot you don't know about me, Dominic Monaghan."
Dom realises there is more truth in that statement than he initially thought. The way Elijah had gone from his adamant "I don't do on-set relationships" to his throaty "Wear something nice" had left Dom's head spinning with confusion and lust.
He tries to find clues as to why Elijah would change his mind like that, but the boy's last words are like a broken record in his head and he doesn't even fight it when his hand slides down his chest and stomach. His long fingers slip around the base of his half-hard cock and with two or three upward strokes he finds himself rock hard and in desperate need to at least take the edge off.
"'Wear something nice', he says. 'Wear something nice...'"
Dom drops down on the edge of his bed and stares blankly at the clothes in his wide-open closet, muttering Elijah's words under his breath. The wank chant they were just a minute ago, when Dom had breathlessly watched his spunk mix with soap before it disappeared down the drain, had mysteriously changed into a curse.
"How the fuck am I supposed to know what you consider 'nice'?" he grumbles and pulls a couple of shirts from their hangers, placing them next to the black trousers he'd already laid out on the bed. "I think this is nice... But I'll be damned to know if you think this is nice..."
"Isn't it completely beside the point what he thinks?" a strange voice suddenly cuts through he silence.
"Jesus! Viggo!!" Dom cries out and jumps up from the bed, spinning on his heels and grabbing the door of the closet for balance. "H-how the fuck did you get in here?!" he pants, his heart beating furiously in his throat.
Viggo quickly lifts both hands in a placating gesture, turning one hand around and opening it, revealing a key. "Sorry," he says in his typical soft voice, offering a smile. "I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that."
"Damn right you shouldn't," Dom fumes a little more, collapsing on the bed again. His heart is still pounding in his chest, but a slightly amused glint is already returning to his eyes.
"I still had your key because of last week," Viggo explains, "and I thought I'd invite myself to help you get through the inevitable nerves of the pre-date arrangements. But I can go if you'd rather be on your own, really. I'll just leave the key on the kitchen table."
"No," Dom sighs, rubbing his face with both hands. "No... you can stay. You just scared the hell out of me. Go play the stealthy Ranger on set, okay? Not in my house, for God's sake"
Viggo smiles and drops the key on the chest of drawers as he sits down on the bed, pushing some of Dom's clothes to the side. They look at each other briefly, when Dom suddenly registers Viggo's words. He cocks his head and squints his eyes suspiciously.
"What do you mean, pre-date arrangements?" he asks, on his guard again. "How the hell do you know about that?"
"Well," Viggo smiles some more. "For one, I have eyes in my head. I saw Elijah step up from behind you when Pete was handing out new scripts. I saw how he touched you and whispered in your ear. And I sure as hell saw that typical glazed, sappy look in your eyes that refused to go away all afternoon. It was still there when I saw you bounce out of the Feet trailer, and I recognised the rush in your voice when you urged your driver to get you - and I quote - 'the fuck home' before you slammed the car door."
"Jesus, Viggo," Dom grumbles, blushing slightly, unable to stop a smirk from escaping. "You're not really a Ranger, okay? You're not really from Middle Earth, and you're not really about to become the King of Men. There's no need for you to keep up with what everybody's doing and saying and thinking."
"I know," Viggo concedes, chuckling. "But you are such a damn interesting case."
"Is that supposed to make me feel any better?" Dom asks incredulously, jabbing the American between the ribs. "Go pester Orlando for all I care. Because that guy is clearly insane. Now there's an interesting case."
Viggo laughs out loud.
"Don't worry, Dom," he grins. "I've got Orli covered."
"Why doesn't that surprise me," Dom mutters and swats at Viggo's thigh. "Idiot Ranger"
"Thank you," Viggo says, standing up again, lifting a few shirts from the closet, holding them up for closer inspection. "But to get back to the topic, I also talked to Elijah for a few minutes after he'd emerged from that same Feet trailer and-"
"Did he say anything?" Dom cuts in, realising too late how eager he sounds, dropping his gaze when Viggo waggles his eyebrows in silent amusement.
"You know Elijah," he chuckles, unearthing a pair of jeans from the messy chair in the corner. "Elijah always says things. Mostly way too many, and way too fast."
Dom rises to his feet, ready to cut in again, exasperation clear on his face.
"But," Viggo continues, ignoring Dom, walking around the bed to pluck a dark blue jacket from the back of the chair. "He never mentioned you or your plans, if that's what you're talking about."
"Then how is this significant to your bloody investigation?" Dom objects, unable to filter the sarcasm out of his voice as he fails to see the relevance of Viggo's words.
"I talked to Elijah for maybe five minutes," the American explains. "He talked to me about at least ten different topics and managed to smoke two cigarettes while he was doing that, starting on the third when he got into his car."
Dom falls silent again, slowly understanding what Viggo is trying to say.
"Dom," the Ranger says calmly, sitting down again next to the Brit, clothes in his hands. "I know Elijah is a bundle of energy on the best of days but I have only seen him this nervous only once before."
He quietly places the items of clothing in Dom's lap and fixes him with an intense stare.
"He was here the first night you were ill. Do you remember that?"
Dom can only nod, his throat suddenly too dry to even swallow, let alone speak.
"He had this bewildered, restless look in his eyes, and was pacing a hole in the living room carpet, asking himself over and over again if he should go in and talk to you, almost unaware of Billy's presence or my own for that matter.
"I remember joining the two of them the moment Billy handed him his coat, shoving him outside onto the deck, telling him to get his act together because he wasn't making any sense. He chain-smoked his way through a brand new pack of cloves on that deck, Dom. I know, because I joined him outside while Billy was upstairs, checking up on you.
"I have no real idea what is going on between the two of you, Dom, you must believe that. But Elijah was nervous that night - almost to the point that he scared me a bit with his intensity. Billy told me later that eventually he'd gathered enough courage to go into your room to try and talk to you, but whatever went on in your bedroom, is anybody's guess. Except yours, probably."
Dom stares at the floor, plucking at imaginary threads on the t-shirt that is on top of the clothes still clutched in his hands. He thinks back to the night in question and feels the lingering burn of Elijah's fingers on his cheek again. The soft pad of his thumb on his lip, pulling it down just a little, letting it go with a sigh. He closes his eyes for just a split-second and then simply feels Elijah standing in the doorway, like he'd done a few nights ago, when he stood staring at him from the shadows of the landing.
"Anyway," Viggo continues, pulling Dom back from his memories rather harshly. "I just added one and one and concluded that the both of you are about to do something bold. Now... Tell me I'm right."
"You're right," Dom mutters.
"Great," Viggo beams and grabs Dom;s shoulders, pulling him up. "Now get dressed, Master Meriadoc. As you can see, I have picked out your attire for the evening."
Dom looks at himself in the full-length mirror that is attached to the inside of his closet door. He turns around and peers over his shoulder at his reflection, silently impressed with what he sees. He turns back again and pulls at the hem of the jacket he's wearing, straightening it, smoothing out a tiny crease.
He lifts his hands, hesitates for a second, then makes up his mind and pops the top button of his dark grey shirt. After some deliberation he opens another two, revealing lightly tanned skin, then turns his back on his reflection as Viggo walks into the room again, thumbing through the yellow pages, wearing a sly smile.
"Okay?" the American asks, giving Dom a quick once over.
"God, Viggo," Dom answers, crouching down and fishing for his shoes from underneath the bed. "If this film won't skyrocket like it should, I predict a future in fashion for you. I mean..." he stands upright again, shoes dangling in one hand, the other raking through his hair. "I think Elijah might even like this."
"Dom," Viggo rumbles, brushing invisible lint from the boy's shoulder. "Don't you think it's more important that you like it?"
Dom's brilliant smile fades a little and he stares at Viggo for the longest time, then shrugs, sits down on the edge of the bed, and puts his shoes on.
"You're right," he admits. "I'm sorry. I guess it's hard to keep things in perspective tonight."
"That's all right, Dominic," Viggo smiles back, holding out the thick phonebook. "Now that we have established the 'how'... Have you considered the 'where'?"
"Erm..." Dom almost splutters. "Damn." He twists his hand to look at his watch, only to realise it's still on the ledge in the bathroom. "What time is it, Vig?"
"Seven thirty," the Ranger provides with a smile. "Plenty of time still to search for a nice place and get a table. Unless you prefer something really fancy, because then they might be fully booked, as it is a Friday night."
"No, nothing too posh, please," Dom says and cringes. "I'm sure Elijah would hate that." When Viggo raises a critical eyebrow, he chuckles. "And I'm sure I'd hate it too."
Dom shuts off the engine and grabs the handle to open the door. He'd repeatedly told himself to not make a fuss, not be too nervous, not be a girl about it. He just needs to ring that bloody doorbell and get that boy to this little Thai restaurant he'd found within five minutes' walking distance from Cuba Street. He and Billy had walked past it once, and after Dom had quickly peered inside, he had decided to check the place out whenever the occasion would present itself.
Well, Dom thinks as he walks up the narrow garden path to Elijah's front door. The occasion certainly has presented itself ...
Without allowing himself to think his actions through any more than he already has on his way over, he rings the bell and waits for Elijah to answer the door, his heart beating in his throat.
It takes a while, but then there is a noise behind the solid oak door and before Dom can actually start to worry all over again about the way he looks, Elijah has swung the door wide open. He looks tiny in the large doorframe, and Dom notices the boy is in jeans, barefoot, hair mussed. His eyes are even more unbelievable because of the beautiful gauzy blue shirt he's wearing, badly buttoned over a tight, dark blue t-shirt.
"Hi," Dom starts slowly, uncertain of what to make of Elijah's appearance. Did I miss something here? Was it all a joke? A set-up? He swallows, nervously waiting for a reply.
"Hey Dom," Elijah answers with a watery, sleepy smile on his face. Then realisation suddenly hits like a freight train, and his expression changes instantly.
"Oh fuck - I'm sorry - I fell asleep," he gasps, and there's a furious blush on his cheeks and a slight panic in his wide eyes.
"You fell... What?" Dom bursts out laughing, crossing the threshold and closing the door behind them. He watches Elijah move quickly across the hall, motioning blindly for Dom to take a seat, then disappearing into the bedroom.
"Just shoes and socks!" the boy calls out as Dom plops down on the old leather couch and looks around. Before he's had the time to pick up a magazine or check out a new batch of CDs, Elijah comes bounding out of his bedroom again, socks in one hand, blue Chucks in the other, only to disappear into the bathroom this time.
"And fight with my hair!" comes another loud statement. Suddenly, the boy sticks his head around the door, looking at Dom. "Or do you want me to dress up?"
Dom smiles, shaking his head. "That shirt is just perfect," he offers. "I have never seen you wear it before."
"It's new," Elijah says, a vague smile playing around his lips as he glides his hand over the soft, silky material. "Bought it here. Cost me a fortune, too. Mom's gonna go crazy when I tell her about it. But I simply fell in love with it the minute I saw it in the store; I just had to have it. It's a nice colour."
Babbling, the boy disappears into the bathroom again, leaving Dom in stunned silence on the couch. Mom's gonna go crazy? He cocks his head at nothing in particular, just turning the words over and over in his brain.
"Okay," Elijah says, sticking his head around the bathroom door a second time. "Just one last thing to take care of and I'm all yours." He moves to close the door, then opens it again before it actually hits the frame. "Erm... metaphorically speaking, of course," he adds with a crooked smile. "Anyway. I'll be out in a second."
The door closes for real this time and Dom shakes his head, grinning softly to himself, moving to sit on the edge of the couch, staring at the messy piles of papers and magazines on the floor.
That's right, he remembers, still grinning. No coffee table.
He glances over the various little stacks of papers in front of him and before he can really do anything about it, his eyes fall onto a small pile of letters, one of them hastily, clumsily mashed back into its envelope. There are words on the partly uncovered sheet, and, his curiosity getting the better of him, Dom reads
to stop calling us. Every time the phone rings, the sound of it gets on my nerves. I wish you were with us, Lijah, because you always know what to say to *that bastard* or to him (sorry, Mom tells me I shouldn't say that of him) and every time he gets you or Zach on the phone he leaves us alone for so much longer than when he gets Mom or me. Okay, filled another page. God, this letter is going to be
His head shoots up when he hears Elijah emerge from the bathroom, hair all fashionably spiked, and Dom's stomach clenches and unclenches with the sudden renewed anticipation of the evening. Elijah doesn't seem to have noticed what it was that Dom was just reading; instead he grins a bit and stuffs his smokes in one pocket and his mobile phone in the other.
"Just let me get my keys," he winks. "And I'm set to go."
"This is kinda weird, you know that?" Elijah giggles, producing his cloves from his pocket. Their lovely, very petite Thai waitress just left them alone after showing them to their table, tucked away in a quiet corner by the window. Dom turns his look away from the enormous Buddha statue to his left and smiles at Elijah.
"What is weird?" he asks, leaning over to grab a small glass ashtray from the neighbouring table, sliding it towards his friend, gracefully accepting the beers and the menus that their waitress places in front of them. He waits for Elijah's answer as he observes her silent retreat.
"You. Me," Elijah mutters around a clove that he lights with a flick of his lighter, gesturing between them with his free hand, causing Dom to smile at him. He immediately lowers his cigarette and his lashes. "You and me," he repeats, barely looking at Dom. "Going out without the others. It's all so... formal. We have never done that before. It's weird..."
Dom grins at the hint of a blush that starts to creep up on Elijah's face. The boy sucks on his smoke a second time and Dom stares at him with renewed fascination. There's this nagging suspicion in the back of his head informing him that it might not be the best of times for what he is about to ask, but fuelled by adrenaline and his first beer of the day he goes ahead and asks it anyway.
"Tell me something," he starts and Elijah's eyes lock with his own. "How can it be that on the one hand I can make you blush like a schoolgirl when I just bloody smile at you, while on the other hand you have shown me enough of yourself for me to understand that you're absolutely not a novice when it comes to things like this. That you're not the innocent, easily impressionable boy that you like people to believe you are. Is it all an act, or are those signals for real?"
Elijah takes a large swig of his beer and opens his menu, only to stare at the text inside, making Dom wonder if he's reading anything at all.
"They're for real," Elijah says quietly after what seems like an eternity. "Or at least I think they are." He stares back at the various dishes on the menu, silent again, leaving Dom to ponder that cryptic reply.
"Confused?" the Brit asks after a while, grabbing his own menu to at least give his twitchy hands something to do.
Elijah nods, not lifting his eyes, just reaching out to tap the ashes off his clove.
"Is that why you changed your mind so suddenly?"
Another nod and then the boy closes the menu, drops it on top of his neatly folded napkin, picks up his cigarette from the ashtray and looks Dom straight in the eyes.
"I don't know what it is with you," he starts, the initial uncertainty gone from his demeanour and his voice. "But you have effectively robbed me of all the defence mechanisms I usually rely on when I want to remain detached and objective. As I said this afternoon, I really don't do on-set relationships. I meant every word of that, and yet I find myself sitting here, acting the easily impressionable, blushing innocent with you, flirting and trying to coax a smile out of you every chance I get. I can totally understand why you're asking me if this is the real Elijah, because I am wondering about that myself as well."
Dom offers a soft smile, secretly relieved that his first question has not turned out to be his last for the evening. He stretches his arm across the table and rubs the back of Elijah's hand, hoping the boy won't flinch with the rather intimate gesture. Instead, and rather unexpectedly, Elijah twists his hand and closes his fingers around Dom's.
"Actually, I do know what it is with you," Elijah says suddenly, gently squeezing the hand that lies warm and pliant in his own. "You're just different from anyone I have ever known. Sometimes I think you and I are really very much alike, with our passion and our honesty but also with our insecurities and impatience. And then I look at you, when you're on set playing someone else's character, or when you're lying in bed in the dead of night, and I wonder what it is that draws me to you.
"You must believe me when I tell you that on-set relationships are really not very smart, and yes, I do speak from a certain amount of experience that I might tell you about one of these days. But the fact remains that I can't fight you.
"I was so relieved you weren't on set for an entire week last week, because what happened between you and me that first night, threw me completely off guard. I am sure I freaked some people out, like Billy, who kept asking me how I was doing and kept offering me daily updates on your health each morning during Feet. Then I talked to Viggo a couple of times and maybe I must warn you about that man, because he is very perceptive. I'm quite sure he knows exactly what is going on, although I never actually told him.
"I even resorted to going back to your house, having a beer with Billy and Sean and Viggo, and then excusing myself to the bathroom only to climb the stairs and peer into your bedroom just to watch you sleep. I thought that maybe I would figure out what I wanted by simply looking at you and waiting for the answers to unfold themselves in front of me."
"And?" Dom asks, very quietly, resting his chin on his free hand, looking Elijah straight in his wide, glittering eyes. "Did they?"
"Nah," Elijah grins. "I ended up thinking about what you were wearing underneath that comforter. And that you have the most interesting pair of ears I have ever seen. And that I still think blowing you ranges among the stupidest things I have ever done in my life. But that I am not averse to maybe, one day, doing it to you again. Or have you do it to me. Which, I guess, is an answer in itself."
Slowly, Elijah lets go of Dom's hand and straightens his back, picking up his discarded menu. From out of nowhere, it seems, their waitress appears at the table once more, pen and pad in hand.
"Are you guys ready to order?" she asks, and offers them her brightest smile.
Chapter Fourteen
Expanding Universe Index
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