(no subject)
Title: Discard
Author: buckle_berry
Fandom/pairing: LotRPS; Elijah Wood/Dominic Monaghan
Rating: PG-13 for angst
Disclaimer: I made this up.
A/N: Many thanks to pettydetails for a whipcrackin' beta.
I don't need, I don't need to hear you say
If we weren't so alike
You'd like me a whole lot more
In the end, it was Billy who kept the Fellowship together. Elijah shuffled through the inbox of his Palm during a break between interviews. He smiled to see "tartan update" in the subject line. Billy's emails were full of news and insults, pictures of him at rehearsals or kidding around with Ali. It was easy to hear his voice in the black and white text. Elijah hit "reply to all", eyes automatically running through the names in the "To" field. Sir Ian and JRD were both working in London, Viggo on a promotional junket in LA. Orlando was on location somewhere hot and sunny, as per usual. Bean was spending some time with a vocal coach to work on his American accent for his next film (why that didn't involve actually being in America, Elijah would never understand). Sean was at home - on hiatus, he would say with a smile, his favorite place for a vacation. Elijah's gaze caught on the last name on the list, and he sighed. Momentarily his fingers hovered over the keypad, but in the end the only button he hit was "discard". He abandoned his Palm on the couch and went in search of somewhere he could smoke.
The current junket was in New York. The apartment in the Village always seemed like an unjustifiable extravagance until he actually had to work in the city. A space of his own - really his own, rather than another characterless hotel room - was an unaccustomed luxury. He thought with satisfaction of the mini fridge and two-ringed stove as he stopped the cab at the whole foods store two blocks from his street.
A day of caffeine and nicotine left him a little restless, and cooking might calm him down enough to sleep. He slipped on his headphones and scrolled through menus on his iPod until he found what he was looking for, something discordant to suit his mood. The store was busy with late evening shoppers, and he browsed the shelves quietly, confident that even if recognized, no one would bother him here.
Elijah waited in line to pay, scrabbling in his pockets for the bills he remembered shoving there earlier. A movement ahead of him caught his eye, and he startled. The guy next in line was a few inches taller than Elijah, with too-blond highlights in his bedhead hair and a grey hood hanging down the back of his sweatshirt. Elijah felt his heart stop beating for the few harried seconds it took his brain to remember that there was no one to recognize here in New York, not now, not any more. He exhaled, flow of blood returning to his veins with a sweep of nausea. He'd pay with plastic.
The nausea followed him back to the apartment, making the prospect of food singularly unappealing. Instead he pulled out a beer from the fridge and walked to the window, pushing it open far enough that he could sit on the sill and lean outside.
The view was hazy with humidity; traffic nose, interspersed with bass sounds from a bar or a house party, drifted up from several stories below. Force of habit left him with a clove in his mouth, and he tried to let his mind wander, but it always wandered back to the same place. Two years now, or almost. He had been told time would make it easier, and that was true. He could sleep now, and eat. He could laugh and really mean it. He could sleep with other people and not feel any guilt; occasionally, he might even enjoy it. He could find someone new, and he could care about her. He could say he was in love with her, and he would believe it.
But time doesn't take it all away - Elijah was pretty sure they'd never mentioned that. They might have explained the records from the past you can't listen to any more, but not the new records you're sure he'd like. Elijah could have worked out for himself that there were places (hotel rooms, night clubs, entire cities) you can't go back to, but no one had warned him that brand new places bring that needling sense of loss too.
Billy had told Elijah about the twist of jealousy you feel in your gut when you see your ex with someone new. But Billy had never explained that suddenly Elijah would be jealous of old friends - mutual friends, the friends whose relationship with him stayed the same whilst Elijah's disintegrated into a painful disarray. He exhaled slowly, a long, smooth stream of smoke. Maybe Billy didn't know everything after all.
Elijah finished up another couple of beers before deciding food was definitely a lost cause. He called Debbie, called his agent - nothing had changed in the schedule for tomorrow - called Pam, and left a voicemail - "just checking in, I love you." The light outside was dying, and reluctantly Elijah closed the window, shutting the city out, shutting himself in.
He wandered in and out of the apartment's few rooms, picking things up and putting them back down again, folding a sweater he had left on a chair and putting it into a drawer. His Xbox was hooked up in the bedroom; he flicked through a wallet of games, finding nothing he wanted to play. TV was a lost cause before he'd even tried it, and he rubbed a hand through his hair. He had to sleep. Billy would suggest a night cap, so Elijah uncapped the syrupy bottle of Jack in the kitchen and poured a quick shot. He tipped it down his throat, grimacing at the alcoholic burn.
Switching off the lights on his way, he walked back through to the bedroom. It was quieter on this side of the building; he looked out of the window, seeing nothing but streetlights. Elijah stripped to his boxers, clothes littering the carpet, and took out his contact lenses before slipping under the cool sheet. Turning onto his side, he tucked one hand under the pillow and blinked into the darkness.
*
In Oahu, it's too early for hard liquor. Evangeline heads to the kitchen to boil the kettle instead. Dom kicks off his shoes and sprawls out on the bedroom floor. He used to take his laptop to the set, but there was never any time to use it. He flips it open and clicks on his inbox, smiling to see Billy's name in the "received mail" column.
In the kitchen, Evangeline lifts two mugs down from a shelf before hesitating.
"Is it tea you want, Dom?"
No answer. She walks through the hallway and into the bedroom.
"Tea, Dom?"
He looks up, confused, and doesn't respond. Concerned, she crouches next to him and places a hand on the back of his head.
"You ok?" She indicates the computer with her eyes, an unwritten email message showing on the screen. "Bad news?"
Dom looks away and shakes his head before meeting her eyes again with a smile.
"No, it's fine. Everything's fine."
He closes the laptop and sits up, pressing a kiss against her cheek.
Author: buckle_berry
Fandom/pairing: LotRPS; Elijah Wood/Dominic Monaghan
Rating: PG-13 for angst
Disclaimer: I made this up.
A/N: Many thanks to pettydetails for a whipcrackin' beta.
I don't need, I don't need to hear you say
If we weren't so alike
You'd like me a whole lot more
In the end, it was Billy who kept the Fellowship together. Elijah shuffled through the inbox of his Palm during a break between interviews. He smiled to see "tartan update" in the subject line. Billy's emails were full of news and insults, pictures of him at rehearsals or kidding around with Ali. It was easy to hear his voice in the black and white text. Elijah hit "reply to all", eyes automatically running through the names in the "To" field. Sir Ian and JRD were both working in London, Viggo on a promotional junket in LA. Orlando was on location somewhere hot and sunny, as per usual. Bean was spending some time with a vocal coach to work on his American accent for his next film (why that didn't involve actually being in America, Elijah would never understand). Sean was at home - on hiatus, he would say with a smile, his favorite place for a vacation. Elijah's gaze caught on the last name on the list, and he sighed. Momentarily his fingers hovered over the keypad, but in the end the only button he hit was "discard". He abandoned his Palm on the couch and went in search of somewhere he could smoke.
The current junket was in New York. The apartment in the Village always seemed like an unjustifiable extravagance until he actually had to work in the city. A space of his own - really his own, rather than another characterless hotel room - was an unaccustomed luxury. He thought with satisfaction of the mini fridge and two-ringed stove as he stopped the cab at the whole foods store two blocks from his street.
A day of caffeine and nicotine left him a little restless, and cooking might calm him down enough to sleep. He slipped on his headphones and scrolled through menus on his iPod until he found what he was looking for, something discordant to suit his mood. The store was busy with late evening shoppers, and he browsed the shelves quietly, confident that even if recognized, no one would bother him here.
Elijah waited in line to pay, scrabbling in his pockets for the bills he remembered shoving there earlier. A movement ahead of him caught his eye, and he startled. The guy next in line was a few inches taller than Elijah, with too-blond highlights in his bedhead hair and a grey hood hanging down the back of his sweatshirt. Elijah felt his heart stop beating for the few harried seconds it took his brain to remember that there was no one to recognize here in New York, not now, not any more. He exhaled, flow of blood returning to his veins with a sweep of nausea. He'd pay with plastic.
The nausea followed him back to the apartment, making the prospect of food singularly unappealing. Instead he pulled out a beer from the fridge and walked to the window, pushing it open far enough that he could sit on the sill and lean outside.
The view was hazy with humidity; traffic nose, interspersed with bass sounds from a bar or a house party, drifted up from several stories below. Force of habit left him with a clove in his mouth, and he tried to let his mind wander, but it always wandered back to the same place. Two years now, or almost. He had been told time would make it easier, and that was true. He could sleep now, and eat. He could laugh and really mean it. He could sleep with other people and not feel any guilt; occasionally, he might even enjoy it. He could find someone new, and he could care about her. He could say he was in love with her, and he would believe it.
But time doesn't take it all away - Elijah was pretty sure they'd never mentioned that. They might have explained the records from the past you can't listen to any more, but not the new records you're sure he'd like. Elijah could have worked out for himself that there were places (hotel rooms, night clubs, entire cities) you can't go back to, but no one had warned him that brand new places bring that needling sense of loss too.
Billy had told Elijah about the twist of jealousy you feel in your gut when you see your ex with someone new. But Billy had never explained that suddenly Elijah would be jealous of old friends - mutual friends, the friends whose relationship with him stayed the same whilst Elijah's disintegrated into a painful disarray. He exhaled slowly, a long, smooth stream of smoke. Maybe Billy didn't know everything after all.
Elijah finished up another couple of beers before deciding food was definitely a lost cause. He called Debbie, called his agent - nothing had changed in the schedule for tomorrow - called Pam, and left a voicemail - "just checking in, I love you." The light outside was dying, and reluctantly Elijah closed the window, shutting the city out, shutting himself in.
He wandered in and out of the apartment's few rooms, picking things up and putting them back down again, folding a sweater he had left on a chair and putting it into a drawer. His Xbox was hooked up in the bedroom; he flicked through a wallet of games, finding nothing he wanted to play. TV was a lost cause before he'd even tried it, and he rubbed a hand through his hair. He had to sleep. Billy would suggest a night cap, so Elijah uncapped the syrupy bottle of Jack in the kitchen and poured a quick shot. He tipped it down his throat, grimacing at the alcoholic burn.
Switching off the lights on his way, he walked back through to the bedroom. It was quieter on this side of the building; he looked out of the window, seeing nothing but streetlights. Elijah stripped to his boxers, clothes littering the carpet, and took out his contact lenses before slipping under the cool sheet. Turning onto his side, he tucked one hand under the pillow and blinked into the darkness.
*
In Oahu, it's too early for hard liquor. Evangeline heads to the kitchen to boil the kettle instead. Dom kicks off his shoes and sprawls out on the bedroom floor. He used to take his laptop to the set, but there was never any time to use it. He flips it open and clicks on his inbox, smiling to see Billy's name in the "received mail" column.
In the kitchen, Evangeline lifts two mugs down from a shelf before hesitating.
"Is it tea you want, Dom?"
No answer. She walks through the hallway and into the bedroom.
"Tea, Dom?"
He looks up, confused, and doesn't respond. Concerned, she crouches next to him and places a hand on the back of his head.
"You ok?" She indicates the computer with her eyes, an unwritten email message showing on the screen. "Bad news?"
Dom looks away and shakes his head before meeting her eyes again with a smile.
"No, it's fine. Everything's fine."
He closes the laptop and sits up, pressing a kiss against her cheek.