Chapter Six - Nervous
"Black," he mumbles, patting his pockets, searching for his cigarettes. Then he checks himself and looks up. "Please," he adds and briefly smiles at Dom. "Hangover," he clarifies and pushes his knuckles into the sides of his head. Dom nods, turning back to the mugs, pouring coffee. Lightweight, he thinks, trying hard not to grin out loud.
Placing the mugs in between them, he takes the chair opposite Elijah and watches him extract a rather crumpled pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter from his back pocket. "You mind, don't you?" Elijah states more than asks, and already lifts himself from his chair. Dom nods, sipping his first coffee. "I'll be on your deck, then," the boy mutters and picks up his mug.
Dom follows him outside and watches how Elijah moves to sit cross-legged on the deck, ignoring the chairs. He lowers himself to sit next to the boy, who is already lighting up, blowing smoke away from Dom.
"You're that addicted then, huh?" Dom asks and stares at a peaked nipple that is clearly outlined underneath Elijah's t-shirt. Elijah drinks from his mug and carefully places it back in front of him. He giggles a bit, inhaling again. "Nervous," he says, exhaling. "Always nervous."
"Why?" Dom wants to know and stretches his legs, barely missing Elijah's mug, frowning slightly as this is an answer he never expected. To Dom, 'nervous' equals 'insecure' and in this particular case that is something he has trouble wrapping his brains around. With looks and money and success like Elijah has known it for an odd decade or so, why would he be insecure? He cocks his head slightly to look at the American, but the boy merely shrugs.
"I don't know," he says softly. "I've always been like this." Suddenly, he puts his mug down and balances the cigarette on his lip, stretching his hands out in front of Dom. "See?" he mumbles, retracting one hand to remove the smoke from between his lips. "I bite my nails and I smoke. I must have issues." He grins almost sarcastically but says no more, and Dom realises he's not made any wiser.
"What do you smoke anyway?" he asks, again noticing the strange, sweet smell. Elijah smiles, exhaling audibly (which makes Dom shiver) and throws him the pack. "Cloves, Indonesian import," he says and tosses Dom the lighter as well. "They're probably cheaper here," he mumbles, almost as an afterthought, seemingly calculating any financial advantage he may have from buying his stash on this side of the world. "Try."
Dom grins and picks up both items from his lap. "No thanks," he says and hands them back to Elijah who shrugs and stuffs them in his pocket again. "You're probably right," he chuckles, taking a long drag from the clove. "It's a filthy habit to begin with."
Suddenly, he moves to rest his back on the deck, legs still crossed, watching the blue sky in which big white clouds move fast with the strong wind. "You're flexible," Dom utters in astonishment, deeply impressed by the way Elijah's thighs do not even twitch off the deck with the sudden movement. "Ever tried yoga?"
Elijah turns his face and throws Dom a questioning look. "You?" he asks and inhales again. Dom mumbles something in the affirmative, again mesmerised by the tantalisingly erotic way in which Elijah's nipples are hard little nubs underneath his t-shirt.
"Cool," the American says, smiling, almost shy again. "Sounds like something I might need..." At the thought of more common ground, Dom looks up and stares straight into Elijah's unearthly blue eyes.
Like cornflowers, he thinks. I've never seen them this shade of blue before, maybe only in the morning...
He smiles. "I'll teach you some exercises one day, okay?" and lifts his mug again, watching a slight blush creeping onto Elijah's cheeks.
"Okay," the boy mutters and inhales. "I'd like that."
They are quiet for a while, Elijah still lying on his back smoking his cigarette, Dom sipping his coffee and steadily watching Elijah. The boy has closed his eyes again and hums a soft tune, aiming one lungful of smoke at the sky after another.
"Last day before filming starts,:"Elijah suddenly says after he has opened his eyes again. "How do you feel about that?" When Dom looks at him he notices how the cornflower blue is slowly changing into a different shade - but that could well be his own eyesight playing tricks on him.
Dom considers the question and shrugs a bit. "Okay, I guess," he says. "I'm excited, really - glad we're finally going to start. Do some real filming." Elijah smiles at him and sits up. He crushes his clove and reaches for his mug, taking a large gulp then scrunching up his nose in disgust when he realises his coffee has gone cold.
"Hang on," Dom grins and gets up, picking up both mugs and disappears into the kitchen. When he returns with two fresh mugs, Elijah is just lighting up a second cigarette, pretending he doesn't notice Dom's frown, and accepts the coffee with a grateful smile.
"So... tell me," Dom starts, slightly hesitant, but bolder when he notices how Elijah's eyes lock onto his own and watch him intently. "Why were you so closed off those first few days?" He shifts uncomfortably, surprised with his own courage to actually ask this question, but impatient to hear the answer.
"Closed off?" Elijah asks and sips more of his coffee, absent-mindedly scratching his chest through the fabric of his t-shirt, eyes still focused on Dom's. "What do you mean?"
Dom looks at him and briefly wonders if he should continue. He knows he has already been terribly forthright with the boy before, and because of it Elijah had almost bailed on him, his shyness returning with a vengeance until Dom had eventually convinced him to stay. But then he remembers his annoyance and fascination with the boy's behaviour and decides that all he really wants to know is what goes on in Elijah's head.
Here goes nothing then�
"You know... The day I met you I saw how you sat through Pete's entire speech with your eyes closed. He invited us all for drinks and you never even came out into the garden..." Dom swallows and looks at Elijah, searching his face for a reaction. "You seem to be asleep half of the time, or you're listening to music... In any case - sometimes you are not really communicating with us..." Dom's voice trails off, not sure if he has gone too far.
"Does that bother you?" Elijah asks and puts his mug down.
Dom raises his eyebrows and curses himself for giving away how surprised and maybe even slightly annoyed he is with Elijah's question. He wanted an answer, not a question in return. Especially not a question that reveals to Dom how well Elijah is already seeing through him...
"It's not very polite to answer a question with another question," Dom says, offering a helpless grin, desperate to move the attention away from himself. "Didn't your parents teach you that?"
"My mother most certainly did," comes the answer, and Dom feels the hint of steel that accompanies the words. "And you are right," the boy adds and lowers his eyes. "I'm sorry."
Dom shudders inwardly. He knows Elijah effectively put him in his place by apologising so promptly and he feels like he's the teenager in this rented garden. He also realises he should be careful with remarks about Elijah's parents - there was a little bit too much ice in his voice when he mentioned his mother. And why didn�t he mention his father?
Dom is sure that Elijah tried to mask the coldness in his words, but he caught onto it nevertheless and simply stores the information away for the time being until he has the necessary time and solitude to study the words properly.
He watches Elijah's face, the eyes cast down for a second, then looking up, brilliant steel blue gems in a setting of sooty black lashes, and Dom realises that Elijah can make or break the world with those eyes.
I'll be damned if he doesn't know exactly what they do to people, Dom thinks and his breath hitches almost inaudibly, wondering how he could have been so misled in thinking Elijah is an innocent teenager. How old did you say you were again?
"It was a combination of things, really," Elijah's voice suddenly breaks the silence between them. "I hate flying westward - it always fucks up my system. So I was really tired a lot those first days..." He looks up and offers Dom a hesitant smile. "And maybe you have noticed that I am really homesick, which makes me call certain people in the middle of the night, which in turn makes me lose a lot of sleep, and there we are again..."
Dom feels a pang of jealousy when he realises that - unlike himself - this teenager, this young Hollywood veteran, can so easily admit to being homesick. He is also surprised, though, by a warm kind of familiarity settling in his stomach, because all of a sudden the both of them are not so different anymore.
"On top of that," Elijah continues, oblivious to Dom's thoughts. "I had already been given the key to my new place so I spent those first few days in the house, to fix it the way I like it and to get my gear in from LA. I can honestly say I truly hate American Customs..." He giggles his already infamously girly giggle and Dom can't help but grin.
"And to tell you the truth, Dom," he crushes the remains of his second clove and gives Dom a bashful smile. "I was fucking nervous when I had to meet all you guys. Closing my eyes was just the easier option at times..."
Dom is trying to process Elijah's words, but again there is way too much information there. He decides he needs to store this bit of conversation away as well, and examine it later, but is then mightily distracted when he watches Elijah stretch like a big lazy pussycat.
Elijah's rumpled blue t-shirt rides up with the movement, revealing that beautiful boy-soft sea of white skin that had made Dom hide in a shower cubicle weeks ago, and before he is actually completely aware of it, Elijah has caught him staring. The blue gaze is unyielding and intense, and Dom suddenly feels the same way he felt when Elijah's eyes almost literally flayed him in Peter's living room, the first time they met.
Then, ever so slowly, Elijah's hand moves into Dom's peripheral vision and he becomes vaguely aware of how the boy pulls at his t-shirt, straightening it, patting his newly covered tummy once-twice for effect, and only then takes his eyes away from Dom's, a distant smile playing around his lips.
In a flurry of motion and sounds, as if they had agreed on the moment beforehand, they both get up suddenly and stand on the deck, watching each other again for a second too long. Elijah smiles softly again, and Dom wonders if it is simply a reassuring smile or something completely different. He definitely has a lot of thinking to do when he can find some time alone...
"So," Elijah starts, voice clear, no trace left of the weird silence they just found themselves in or the solemnity with which the American just confessed his homesickness and his nervousness over meeting them. "Can I grab a quick shower? We need to be at Pete's in little more than an hour."
"You didn't even have breakfast yet," Dom complains, indicating the coffee mugs in their hands.
"So?" Elijah counters. "Neither did you."
Dom suddenly realises Elijah is right, and as if on cue, he hears a rumble in his stomach. They both grin and move into the kitchen where Dom reaches into one of the cabinets in search of food. He opens the door of the fridge and rummages around until he's found the things he needs to make some toast and eggs.
"Want some?" he asks, while he unceremoniously bangs a frying pan down on the stove, and looks over his shoulder like he did when Elijah had entered the kitchen a good twenty minutes ago. The boy shakes his head. "Nah - I'm good," he mumbles and fiddles with a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt. "I am aware of the fact that I have the most horrible breakfast rituals. Thanks, though..."
Dom shrugs, popping a piece of toast into his mouth. "Go grab that shower then." He moves past Elijah, runs up the stairs and into the bathroom and pulls out fresh towels for his guest. "Here you go, Hollywood pretty boy," he smirks, thrusting the towels into Elijah's hands, then pointing at some bottles inside the shower cubicle. "All kinds of bubbly soap for you on the ledge. Knock yourself out."
Before Elijah can react Dom has already shut the door, leaving him standing in a strange bathroom with far too many fluffy towels in his arms, no lock on the door and the Hollywood pretty boy ringing in his ears.
Dom clears away the things with which he fixed his breakfast and pours himself one final mug of coffee. He didn't sleep well, and even though he knows he holds his alcohol a lot better than Elijah, there is some sort of a hangover lurking in the back of his head. He sits down on the red velvet monster and thinks back to the moment last night when his heart stopped beating for seconds on end.
Elijah's phone had startled the hell out of him, and he had spun around to rush out of the guestroom as fast as possible. To make it all worse, he had viciously jammed his knee into the doorpost, desperately trying to make sure the wail that was kicking and screaming to leave his mouth stayed put until he had locked himself inside the bathroom and he could bury his face in a thick white towel.
Rummaging around in a drawer as quietly as he could, searching and finding a plaster to put on his bleeding knee, he had heard the muffled sounds of Elijah talking on the phone, and he had tried his very best not to eavesdrop again. When he had bent upright again, carefully trying to stretch and flex his leg, he couldn't help but notice how Elijah's voice had gone from quiet to upset to soothing and back to quiet again. He had wondered about the call then, when he had been standing there in his bathroom, his hammering heart slowly calming down with the deep breaths of air he'd been taking; and he wonders about the call now.
Dom shrugs reflexively, thinking of the night he caught Elijah calling with this Hannah on the balcony of his hotel room. Maybe he should ask Elijah about those phone calls one of these days.
Dom empties his mug, places it on the table and stands up, wincing at the pain in his knee, yet totally relieved Elijah hadn't started about it at all. Apparently, he had made his escape in time.
It is their final day of rehearsals for the first scenes they are going to shoot from tomorrow onwards. Dom plops down in his chair, watching Billy and Sean make a run for the still imaginary Buckleberry Ferry for the umpteenth time, as they are still uncomfortable with the prosthetics on their feet.
Dom likes his feet, he's used to them by now, he has found his balance, doesn't slip anymore. Not on slippery, muddy roads - not even when they have to run for their lives, trying to escape from these Ringwraiths - and Dom really wants to know what those bastards are going to look like.
He spots Elijah on the other side of the track and hears the boy's brilliant belly laugh fly across the field when Sean forcefully bumps into Billy who, in turn, flails straight into the AD.
Instead of joining in the choir of cheers when Billy ends up, face first, in the mud, he can't help but think of the way his morning had ended - of those few seconds that he had needed to walk from the top of the stairs to his own bedroom to get some clothes and wait for Elijah to finish his shower. He had passed the bathroom in one-two-three strides when it happened.
Over the sound of the water beating down on the black and white tiles in his shower, he had heard Elijah utter one short, angry growl - a tight, desperate grunt.
And as he considered himself an expert in such matters ever since he had met Elijah four weeks ago, Dom had known exactly what it was.
Chapter Seven
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