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monaboyd Jul. 2nd, 2005 10:24 am)
peeshwank.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Jul. 2nd, 2005 10:24 am)Author: Peeshwank
Pairing: Monaboyd (Who else?)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Not even going to try…just strap yourselves in.
Disclaimer: Exists only in my imagination. I need therapy. Don’t hurt me.
Notes: Due to some real life distractions… dying hard drive, preparing for a major re-location across states, new job search, etc. I’ve delayed posting this. However, having been inspired by my Monaboyd nominations, I finally decided to go ahead and set it free. Whether it flies, or plunges to its death remains to be seen. Thank you to those who gave it a once over and declared it “presentable”. I had some reservations about this one, and needed a second, third and fourth opinion…I couldn’t decide whether it worked or crossed the line into teen melodrama.
You will find a short, humorous conversation with my muse upon the subject posted at my humble LJ. If you are at all curious about what inspired this one, please check it out. Peeshwank’s LiveJournal
Pee.
To avoid a "client error" I have to post in two parts. Let's see if I figure out how...
On to the fic: Part I
Be My Lifeline: Don’t Let Me Fall
TREMBLIN'
It's in your kiss, I brush your hair back from your eyes
I need to know what you hide
I see it in your face, why can't you look me in the eyes
I see through your dark mind
Hold me, keep me warm, don't let me fall
Cause I'm tremblin', on account of you
Stripped, cold and blue, tremblin' without you
I'm cold again, heavy rain has fallen over me
I need to shelter in your arms
Hold me, keep me warm, don't let me fall
Cause I'm tremblin', on account of you
Stripped, cold and blue, tremblin' without you
I'm tremblin, without you
Day by day you fade ( you fade away )
Someone I can't recognize ( I don't know you anymore)
Afraid of what I'll find
In you
I'm tremblin', on account of you
Stripped, cold and blue, tremblin' without you
I'm tremblin', on account of you
You stripped me away, left me cold and blue
Tremblin, on account of you
on account of you
on account of you
The Forresters (band)
****
Dom has no intention of killing himself. He is certain of that.
Or at least almostcertain.
Definitely-somewhere well to the right of the median on a bell curve-certain.
Not that the thought of suicide hasn’t tip-toed across his mind like a thief.
But only briefly.
Because he almost definitely does NOT intend any such thing.
Yeah.
Definitely….
He can, however, understand why someone might get the wrong impression, given the circumstances.
Someone like Elijah, who has taken one look at his current situation, let out a squawk reminiscent of goose being throttled and vanished back inside the window in a windmill of frantic limbs and hysterical babbling.
No, Dom does not want to kill himself. He just wants to get away for a nice, quiet smoke…away from the cameras, and the reporters... and even his friends.
Especially his friends.
Especially one particular friend.
Yeah… “friend.”
Therein lies the whole problem, doesn’t it?
“Friend”…as in, “Sorry, you can’t be my lover anymore, Dommeh my dear, but you can still be my ‘friend’, so that is all fine and dandy, in’it?”
Dom isn’t sure, and he deliberately steers his thoughts away from the subject because, as he recalls, he definitely does NOT want to kill himself. And that particular topic sends him waffling….
No. Not suicidal. Just seeking a moment of solitude and a cigarette.
Granted, choosing a ledge eleven stories above the muddled congestion of Los Angeles to have a smoke was bound to lead to a certain amount of misunderstanding on the part of everyone else. Dom supposes they have to be forgiven for thinking that he might, actually, be a bit on the edge…so to speak.
Dom leans back against the mottled pink granite of the building façade, grateful for the sturdy support at his back. It makes him feel secure when all within and without seemed chaos. Though the air at ground level is nearly still, thick and heavy with that L.A mix of smog and humidity that leaves you feeling your very pores are gagging, here, eleven stories up, a light breeze is frolicking. Indecisive, it whips first from one direction, then the next. It ruffles Dom’s pleated trousers, and playfully lifts the corners of his velvet blazer, whipping underneath as though searching for ticklish spots. It tugs at his silk tie, mischievously trying to slip free the loosened knot. Now and then, a stronger gust gives him a bit of a push, as though double-dog-daring him to jump.
“Mein leben ist nur ein haufen kacke…” Monaghan mutters to himself, trying the German on for size. But no, saying it in German doesn’t change a thing. His life is still crap. He sighs.
Gazing down between the polished toes of his Louis Vuitton loafers, he catches a glimpse of matchbox-sized cars and a Playskool cityscape. Such a long way down. Such a long way to fall. But, like they say, it isn’t the fall that will kill you. It is the landing.
Emotionally, Dom already falling, tumbling out of control. Whether he survives the landing is still in question in his mind. After all, last time he checked, he doesn’t own a pair of wings.
And it’s a long way down.
****FLASHBACK****
It was a wonderful opportunity. The release of the new supplemental DVD for the LOTR trilogy, Filming LOTR: The Journey There and Back Again, brought with it a need for worldwide promotion. The major actors were contacted and asked if they would assent to putting on a bit of a dog and pony show for the press, including a chance for the four hobbits to make an appearance at a swank promotional gala in Los Angeles. Would they agree to an all expense paid weekend in Los Angeles in exchange for an afternoon of suited and booted hobnobbing with some big name media moguls?
Were they kidding? A chance for the hobbits to reunite for a few days of cavorting on someone else’s tab? Hell, yes!
And for a while Dom was able to fool himself that he was merely imagining things… after all, it had been fun. Two days filled to the brim with the sort of sun, surf and high jinks that always resulted when the four of them were together. Time spent catching up with each other’s lives, a mini-reunion that had culminating that afternoon in a chic affair at a downtown, high-rise five-star hotel.
But from the moment Billy Boyd had stepped off the plane, Dom had known that something was off kilter. Billy seemed skittish and nervous, his laugh just a bit too bright, his smile a bit too brittle, his body full of twitches and shuffles that were generally idiosyncratic of the more highly strung Dominic. Billy’s hug at the airport was almost perfunctory, and he pulled away just as Dom was beginning to settle into the comfort of the embrace. And when Dom tried to plant a kiss on Boyd’s mouth, he turned his head, offering a cheek instead. At first Dom was willing to dismiss it as due to their being in middle of LAX airport. After all, he knew Billy had never been as comfortable with their physical relationship as Dominic and tended to shy away from overly public displays of intimacy between the two of them. However, all further attempts at physical familiarity met with similar resistance. Entwined finger were gently extracted. An overly friendly hand on the rear was swatted aside. Knowing touches were aptly dodged. And Dom’s patented come-hither glance, which had always lured Billy into the bedroom previously, seemed to fall on blind eyes. Every attempt on Dom’s part to arrange for some private time for the two of them was expertly countered by Billy, who managed to arrange to have either Elijah or Sean present at every possible moment. As the hours wore on, the nagging unsettled feeling blossomed into full-fledged panic. Dom was hurt, bewildered, and increasingly angry.
The situation came to a head that afternoon. Following a two-hour question and answer session, there was a mixer. Hobbits and Hollywood notables. While Astin talked politics and sought connections, and Elijah roamed about snapping digital pictures, Dom set his back against a wall and watched Billy. Billy looked delicious, neat and tidy in his tailored wool twill stripe suit, working the room like a professional with that cheerful half smile curling the corners of his bow mouth. Wineglass in one hand, he dutifully drifted from one cluster of VIPs to another, engaging in the required social pleasantries with aplomb. Knowing Billy’s dislike of the spotlight and small talk in general, Dom was fairly certain that Boyd’s gracious enthusiasm wasn’t been genuine, but it hardly mattered, as the wee Scott left dozens of newly charmed patrons in his wake.
Once this had been a game with them. They could catch each other’s eye across a room bustling with people, and a single gesture would speak volumes. Hips might brush in passing, or a quick grope under the table all without drawing attention from the surrounding crowds. Hands would touch over a plate of canapés. A wink could be an invitation to a quick tryst in the washroom. And when they grew tired of the hubbub, the two of them would retreat to a corner, and hunker down to exchange rude commentary about the other people at the party, observations that would have Billy giggling and Dom snorting champagne out his nose.
But during this party, Billy did not look at Dom. And no matter how Dom maneuvered, there always seemed to be someone in-between them. By the time things drew to a close, Dom was decidedly out of sorts.
The four hobbits took their leave and headed back upstairs to their rooms, but Dom, tired of being shunted aside, grabbed Billy by the wrist before he could exit the lift.
“We need to talk.”
Billy paled and tried to pull away, but Dom would not release him. Apparently deciding it would look silly for the two of them to start scuffling in the elevator, Boyd took a different tactic and called out to halt Elijah before he could leave.
“Hey, Elijah. Want to check out the wet bar in my room? I had it especially stocked.”
Elijah’s face lit up with delight. “Yeah? Cool!”
But Dom was not about to be thwarted this time, he caught Elijah’s gaze, and very distinctly said, “Lij, get lost. Now.”
And all that time spent together in L.A. must have been worth something, because Wood didn’t even try to contradict him. He just glanced between the two of them, offered Billy an apologetic shrug and backed away, a worried expression weighing down his brow. “If you guys need to talk…you know…” He gestured vaguely. Apparently Dom hadn’t been the only one to realize something was not quite kosher.
“We know,” Dom assured, “Thanks, Doodle.”
“Feck.” Billy lowered his gaze, staring down at his polished oxfords as Elijah disappeared down the hall.
Dom studied him; the down turned face, the slumped shoulders, the cold hand, lying limp and dejected in Dom’s grip, fingers curled protectively around the palm. “I mean it Billy,” Dom murmured, not even trying to keep the bruised confusion out of his voice. “I really think we have to talk. Don’t you?”
And Billy nodded. “Yeah, I know. I just…. There never seems to be a good time.” He rocked slightly, his body language broadcasting distress loudly and clearly. “I don’t want to do this.”
Dom’s heart seized just a bit in his chest, but he forded ahead determinedly, “If I let go of you, are you going to run away?”
Head still bowed, Billy let out a deep sigh. “No. It’s time. It cannae be put off forever.”
“Put what off? What’s going on? Did I do something? Are you mad at me?”
Billy glanced up at that, expression stricken, and he lifted his free hand towards Dom cheek, before catching himself and withdrawing again, his fingers clenching into a fist. “No, Dom. Not mad. Never mad…I just…” He’d given a quick shake of his head. “Not here. We’ll talk in my room.”
Dom released Billy’s wrist and Boyd set off down the hallway, footsteps slow and labored, body bowed forward as though under a great weight. Dom followed, approaching the doorway to room 1106 with all the enthusiasm of condemned man being led to the guillotine.
***
A car, passing hundreds of feet below, sounds its horn, startling Dom and refocusing his attention on the snarls of busy traffic and pedestrians scuttling about below. He suddenly recalls that he really doesn’t really like heights. Makes him dizzy. Makes him feel like he might fall -like gravity is defying the laws of physics to actually reach out and snare him, twist around him and suck all his self-will away, and when it has him at its mercy, just pull him down to his death.
An emotional plunge is one thing…
A literal one?
Messy, Dom has to admit. And very dramatic. Eleven stories up? Yes, a messy death it would be. No bungee cord this time.
Ah…the little voice inside his head rouses at that. The one he’s been trying to keep gagged and stuffed in the trunk of denial. That’s the whole point, isn’t it Monaghan? That’s why you’re out here… isn’t it. For the drama? Shake him up. Rub his face in it. Want to see him suffer, don’t you? Hurt him like he hurt you?
No, Dom snarls back. Just want to get away for a bit of a smoke! He takes a deep drag on his Rothmans as though to prove the point. But his hands are shaking, trembling like he has the D.T.s. And the cigarette tastes like shit. And he is scared…really, really scared.
What the fuck is he doing?
“Here you! What the feck are ye doin’?”
Dom closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip. Well, if he wants drama, he is about to get it, in all its Technicolor, Dolby surround-sound, Scottish fury.
“Hey, Bills…”
“Don’ you ‘hey’ meh, you bloody-minded bampot! What do ye think yer playin’ at? You get yer arse back in here, Monaghan! Do ye think ah dunnae ken what yer doin’ throwin’ a gumplin out here, ye gaet?”
Dom winces, and hunches his shoulders. Billy’s voice is actually quivering, pitched higher than usual and his Scottish roots are definitely showing. Oh, he is upset all right.
Dom risks a quick peek. Billy is leaning out a window several feet away, the very same window through which Dom climbed a short while ago. Boyd’s grip on the sill is knuckle white. His face is flushed, eyes red-rimmed and full of shadows, and there is just a hint of sharp teeth between lips pulled in a tight grimace. He looks haggard and defeated, every year his age.
Did that to you, didn’t I Bills? Making things difficult?
Dom excels at making things difficult.
As Dom watches another face appears at Billy’s shoulder. Sean Astin, looking scared out of his wits, all round eyed and round mouthed. “Holy shit!” he yelps, then wraps a solid arm around Billy from behind and yanks him, protesting, back into the hotel.
Yep. Dom has to agree. Holy shit pretty much sums it all up.
And even though he isn’t present in the hotel corridor Dom can practically hear the conversation that ensues. Elijah will be hyperventilating and asking what they should do. Should they call the police? Should they call the fire department? Should they call Viggo? Sean will be absently patting whatever part of Elijah’s body is handy while addressing himself to Billy, telling Billy he needs to “chill out.” That he is going to scare Dom right off the ledge … that, like a frightened animal, Dominic needs to be approached with caution and soothing words.
And Billy.
Billy will be clenching his fists and spitting out invective in a Scottish dialect so strong neither Sean or Elijah will understand half of what he says, and what they do catch probably won’t make any sense to anyone born south of Hadrian’s Wall, or what is left of it. Dom almost wishes he could see it. Boyd’s general cheerful demeanor means that Dom rarely has the opportunity to witness him red faced and spitting mad. Then again, seeing as Dom is the cause of Bills current apoplexy, perhaps keeping a safe distance is wise.
When Billy finally reappears in the window, his demeanor has shifted from affronted Scottish passion to paternal calm. Apparently, Sean’s argument has made an impression.
Dom ducks his head, suddenly overcome. He knows them all so well. He feels his shoulders shaking, and isn’t sure it is with tears or mirth - the two seem somehow intermingled, part of the emotional morass that is swallowing him whole.
“Dom,” Billy says, in the same low deliberate tone parents use when trying not to scream at recalcitrant children. “You should come inside now. You’re scaring Elijah.”
Dom studies his friend’s still face. What about you Bills? Am I scaring you?
Of course he is. Bill is a consummate actor, but he can’t hide from Dom. Dom who notes the slight tremble of Bills’small hands, the pinched look around his mouth, the darting of his green eyes.
Of course Billy is scared. He is terrified, and Dom is being cruel.
The breeze catches the end of his mango-orange tie and flips it up to slap him across the face. Apparently, even the wind agrees.
Billy had it sussed the first time. Dom is bang out of order, and he needs a good tongue lashing…not gentle coaxing with the promise of sweets.
Dom has no intention of jumping. He never had. This is all a farce. He isn’t going to kill himself, no matter how much he feels like he is dying already; no matter how torn up and shredded his insides feel, he isn’t going to throw himself to his death.
“I’m sorry, Bill…” he mumbles, voice rough and strained from depleted emotion. He tosses his cigarette away, watching it spiral downward, trailing ashes, fading from sight. Fading like his hopes.
Ashes to ashes.
“I didn’t mean…” he trails off, unable to continue.
Out of words.
He’s spent them all back in the hotel room. All his precious words. Every shiny one, brought forth and thrown at Billy in hopes of making him see. And Billy has rejected them all.
Dom no longer knows what he means or doesn’t mean. Nothing is making much sense right now. He doesn’t like feeling this way. He hates it. But what alternative is there? A quick plunge to a messy end? That isn’t a solution. Not really. And he isn’t likely to bring Billy around with a childish stunt like this. If anything, he’s just convinced Boyd of how unstable he really is…convinced him that a relationship with Dom is just too risky. Convinced him that he had certainly made the right choice. Ali is the one that can provide the stability he needs. Dom is a loose cannon. A screw-up. An unpredictable fuck-all. Not worth a toss. He’d be lucky if Billy wants anything more to do with him after this spectacle.
Dom’s control begins to slip. That’s the thing about wearing one’s emotions on one’s sleeve; they have a habit of sneaking up on you and bludgeoning you over the head. His lower lip quivers in distress, and though he tries to fight back the tears, they easily breach defenses worn thin, flooding his eyes and staining his words. “I’m sorry about all of it.”
“Whisht. It’s all reet, Dommeh. It will be okay,” Billy’s voice is soft and comforting. So gentle. No anger now, just concern and solace. “Just come back inside now. I’m here. Just come inside with us.”
But Dom is beginning to realize this might be a bit difficult. He has started to shudder, his legs threatening to fold; his breath is coming in gasps that are leaving him light-headed. Overwrought, he recognizes with the part of his brain that isn’t falling apart. Overwrought is a good word. A serious, weighty sort of word, but semantic appreciation aside, Dom also realizes that a ledge eleven stories above Los Angeles is a very bad place for an emotional breakdown. However, it doesn’t appear that the rational part of him is in a position to dictate terms.
Just a few minutes before, Dom had felt secure, gathering strength from the solid masonry at his back. But now, he finds himself rendered helpless. He shuts his eyes tight and fights for balance, mental and physical. “I’d love to…to join you,” he grates past the fear tightening in a garrote around his throat. “But… I can’t seem to get my legs to move.”
“Of course you can, daftie," comes Billy’s immediate, calm reply. “You got out there just fine. You can get back. Just slide this way.”
“I can’t, Bill! I can’t!” Is that his voice, squeaking in panic? Arsch mit ohren…
“Aye. Yes, ye can,” Billy continued to reassure. “Open your eyes. See. I’m right here. You can almost reach me. Gi’ me your hand.”
Dom fights to regulate his breathing, bringing it back under control. Pull yourself together Monaghan, he admonishes himself. Put those yoga techniques to some good use. You are making a complete arse of yourself.
He manages to pry his eyes open again, but fuck-it-all, if he isn’t still eleven stories above the street…
Billy is indeed reaching towards him, pale fingers outstretched as he leans as far as possible without tumbling out the window. “Come on, Dom,” he pleads, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. “Gi’ it a try…”
Dom looks down at his feet. Deliberately does NOT look at the streets hundreds of feet below. Wills his feet to move. Move. Slide towards the window and Billy’s waiting hands. Wills. Commands. Entreats. Threatens.
Nothing.
He locks despairing gazes with Billy and shakes his head. “I’m sorry…” His failure to help himself serves as further proof in his mind of his own unworthiness, and he feels the tears welling once more.
“Dinnea get fretty,” Billy cautions with a frown. He glances around, seeming at a loss for a moment. Then a look of determination settles upon his pixie features, and Dom realizes that Boyd had just made a decision, a difficult one. Dom has seen that look before, generally just before Billy steels himself for something difficult or not entirely sane, like surfing a particularly large wave, or facing down a belligerent drunk three times his size. It is Boyd at his most elemental, the one Dom can easily imagine as a kilted, bare-chested extra in Braveheart, all tattooed and painted in Pictish runes, screaming like a banshee as he charged at the English. A Billy that occasionally features in his most heated fantasies. And as Dom learned early on, it is also a Billy who will brook no opposition.
“Right then,” Billy announces, with an efficient nod of his head. “We’ll get this sorted. Just stay right there.”
Where would I go? thinks Dom. He isn’t able to move towards safety, and the alternative…well, Dom glances down at the traffic below…dramatic statement aside, the alternative really isn’t very enticing.
What is Billy up to? That question and the ongoing fight for control keep Dom occupied while Billy disappears inside. At one point, he inks he hears shouting coming from the hotel room. Astin? And the short clipped syllables of Billy’s reply. And something that might be further hysteria from Elijah.
Boyd, what are you planning, you wanker?
****FLASHBACK****
Billy was pacing, which in itself was alarming. Dom was the pacer, not Billy. Billy was stillness and quiet contemplation and deliberate, focused motions - not random, fidgeting meandering around a hotel room.
“Bills?”
Billy paused in his aimless trek to pick up a black ceramic ashtray off the dresser and turn it fitfully in his hands. The gold lettering of the hotel name embossed across the glass winked in the light.
“Aye.”
“What’s going on?”
Billy considered for a moment, tapping fingers against the smooth surface of the ashtray, then carefully set it back down. “I have something to tell you.”
“I gathered that.” Dom’s attempt at humor was writhing in death throes even as it left his lips. He shuffled his feet in the too plush carpet. “Bad news, I take it?”
Billy sighed. “Not bad, exactly. Good news, really. Just…” He’d picked up the ashtray again, then set it down almost immediately. “You’re not going t’ like it.”
“Yeah.” He’d gathered that too.
“Dom… I…” Billy had been chewing his lip. He’d run a hand through his receding hairline. Nibbled on a nail. Picked up the ashtray again.
“Fuck this…” Dom crossed the room in three swift strides and taken the ashtray out of Billy’s hands. “Just tell me.”
Billy met his gaze for just a moment, then his green eyes flicked away, seeking escape. “I’ve…I’ve asked Ali to marry me.”
There was a soft thud as the ashtray hit the floor between their feet.
Right. Okay. Don’t panic, Dom told himself from behind shut eyelids, even as his world began to spiral out of control. It might not be all that bad. “What did she say?” he managed, and though his voice was rough and strained, he was surprised at the hint of mild interest coloring his tone. Ha… ever the actor.
“She said yes.”
Dom’s hands clenched into fists. Okay… maybe it was that bad.
Billy. Billy, he ranted silently. This isn’t what you want! She isn’t really what you want!
It always dismayed Dom that he could know Billy’s heart better than Billy himself seemed to - could know Billy was lying to himself; trying to build his idealistic life of laughing children, a dutiful wife, a white picket fence and a dog on a foundation of wet sand. But Billy wouldn’t listen, Dom knew. They’d chased that conversation in circles before, numerous times.
Still, he’d hoped…
Hoped so many things…
That Billy would grow more comfortable with their physical relationship.
That he might even agree to live away from his beloved Scotland to be close to Dom.
That society would come to accept relationships such as theirs so that they could come clean without fearing for the future of their careers.
That Ali would prove to be a temporary refuge.
That Billy would come to his senses and realize he belonged with Dom, and that they were meant to be together, always and forever.
That if they loved each other enough, they could overcome any adversity life sent their way.
Yet, it was not as though he hadn’t known this could happen. After all, Ali was a lovely girl, wasn’t she? A likable, sweet, safe girl, yes? Didn’t own an odd assortment of poisonous pets, did she? Didn’t make off color comments to the press in hopes of getting a rise. Never discussed her gouch in public, did she now? Not one to crave the spotlight, was Ali. Nice girl, Ali. Good wife and mother material - things Dom could never be, no matter how much he wished for it.
No, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it coming, but some things you just couldn’t dodge, no matter how quick and nimble.
But he had hoped…
Dom forced his eyes open and found Billy watching him with an anxious, yet hopeful, expression.
Bitterly, Dom realized that Billy hoped he’d be “reasonable” about the situation…offer a “Ta, that’s lovely,” and pat Boyd on the back, making everything okay, the fuckin’ tit. But some things Dom couldn’t do, not even for his Bills.
“So…”
“So…?”
“What do you want me to say, Billy. Congratulations? I’m supposed to be happy for you? You don’t need my fuckin’ permission.”
“Dom…”
“Congratulations, Boyd. Many happy blessings. May the road rise to meet you and all that. ” The words tasted malignant and wrong, and chilled the air between them as he’d forced them passed his lips.
Billy at least had the grace to look guilty. He squirmed under Dom’s gaze. “I know this isn’t easy…”
“Is it easy for you?”
“No…”
“Good. I don’t like suffering alone.”
Billy grimaced.
“What do you want from me Boyd? Am I just supposed to shrug, and walk away? It was fun while it lasted? Ta, mate?”
“Dom please, don’t be like that.”
“How do you want me to be? Cause however I was apparently wasn’t good enough for you, was it? Tell me what you want me to be and I’ll be it. I’ll be whatever you want, Billy.”
Billy shook his head, looking distressed and stepped closer to place gentle fingers over Dom’s mouth, stilling his voice, “It’s not about that. It’s me. Not you, Dommeh.”
“Don’t call me that.” Dom hissed, stepping back, trying to distance himself from Billy and the pain. “You’re not allowed to call me that when you’re breaking my heart.” He wrapped his arms around himself, fighting a sudden chill that had nothing to do with a draft. “You’re going to regret this Billy. I know you are, even if you’re too stubborn to see it.”
“Ah, Dom…” Billy moved closer again, cautiously, as though fearful. Was he afraid Dom would flee? Break? Kick him in the nuts?
Dom found he couldn’t read Billy in that moment and the knowledge left him shaken.
But he held himself still as Billy’s hands settled on his shoulders and clung there. He felt them tremble slightly. So, he wasn’t the only one feeling off balance. Which was reassuring.
Billy’s green eyes were staring into his intensely, begging for understanding. “You had to know it was headed this way. I want a home. I want family.”
“I know…I just...” Dom felt tears rising and fought them down ruthlessly. “I could be home. I could…”
Billy sighed heavily, and ducked his head. “I will always love you, Dom. This won’t change that.” And he had given a slight tug, trying to coax Dom into a hug.
At first Dom resisted, holding his body stiff in Billy’s arms, but slowly he melted into the embrace, returning it with interest. Maybe something could still be salvaged. If he couldn’t have Billy exclusively, it didn’t mean he had to give him up completely, did it?
“This doesn’t have to change things really, does it?” he tentatively ventured into Billy’s shoulder after he deemed the hug had gone on quite long, which was really never quite long enough. “I mean…we can still be together, right?” He felt Billy begin to pull away, and he clutched harder, suddenly overcome by the idea that their physical closeness was not the only thing he would lose it he let Boyd go in that moment. “We’ve… you’ve…she’s been there for a while, and we still…”
Billy was actively trying to free himself at that point, shoving away from Dom. “Dom…”
“Please,” Dom whispered, despite the fear was rising up, tightening around his throat in a chokehold. “Please, don’t… His voice was breaking as he pleaded; though it wasn’t yet clear what he was asking to be spared. “Please…”
“Dom…” and Billy finally freed himself, stepping back to put space between them, shaking his head. “I’m sorry…”
What, Bills? Sorry about what? Don’t do this…
He needed to ask. He needed to know, even though doing so threatened to yank his foundations from beneath his feet and leave him floundering in a pain he couldn’t begin to contemplate.
But he needed to ask.
Needed to know.
Needed go forward from this moment.
His head seemed to be floating somewhere above the rest of his body, as if he wasn’t been quite attached anymore, like a helium balloon in some child’s uncertain grip. This isn’t happening, he told himself. This can’t be happening.
“What are you saying?”
And Billy was having trouble facing him then, ducking his head and moving to put even more distance between them. “I can’t…we can’t…”
“Can’t what? We can’t what?” Dom felt the hysteria rising. He teetered on the edge of an abyss. One last chance, Bills. In his mind flashed the scene of Frodo dangling over the lava flows of Mount Doom. Gonna pull me up here, Bills? Gonna save me? Please, Billy. Please…
“I can’t do that to her!” Billy suddenly barked. “Don’t you understand? This is it, Dom. It has to be over!”
No! No! Not that! Not over! We can’t be over!
“You can’t do that to her? What about me, Billy? What about what you are doing to me?”
“Dom, I’m sorry. I will always be your friend, but we can’t be lovers anymore.”
“Billy, no…! You can’t mean that! We’re good together. You’re part of me. I can’t just give that up!”
“No, this has to end…” Billy seemed to be speaking as much to himself as Dom, but he said it with finality and turned away.
Dom felt as though every breath he’d ever drawn, from the first wail years ago in the hospital delivery room up to the last choked sob of denial, had just been punched out of his body. Screaming in silent torment, he fell. There was no bottom.
He might have yelled. He might have begged. He might even have tried seduction. Judging from his pounding head and clogged nose, he most certainly had cried. None of it was very clear. It had all run together in a nightmare of blistering words, frantic accusations and crippled desires.
But Billy had remained resolute, and Dom supposed the cost must have been high. Cold-hearted bastard was not a role Billy fell into easily. Dom never quite bought his performance as a low-life in Urban Ghost Story. It always made him want to giggle. But frankly, Dom didn’t much care how Billy was weathering the storm. All Dom could focus on was the pain in his chest where Billy had ripped his heart out before handed it back to him, torn and dripping.
He did remember stumbling out, dazed and shell-shocked. Just needing to get away. To flee. The window at the end of the hallway had seemed to offer the perfect avenue of escape. A place to retreat from Billy. From himself. From thought and pain and the need to make decisions. A doorway to somewhere else that wasn’t filled with broken glass and shredded dreams.
At first it had resisted his efforts, welded shut over the years with layers of paint. But a handy bottle opener snagged from his hotel room had done the trip, and he had managed to pry open the window. For a short time, he found solitude.
But in the end, it had all come crashing in upon him again.
****
Billy reappears at the window, bracketed by a flustered Sean and a pale Elijah who is gnawing fitfully on his fingers. Supported by Astin’s strong grip, Billy hoists himself up onto the sill, and maneuvers cautiously onto the building ledge
“Bills,” Dom stutters in agitation. “What…what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“What the feck does it look like I’m doing? I’m coming ta get you. Though I’ve amind to duff ya one first.”
“No, no!” Dom objects, heart crawling into his throat and threatening his breathing. “You are not! Get back in there!” He’s rather amazed at how quickly his alarm over Billy’s precarious situation overrides concerns for his own safety. He actually manages to let go of the death grip he has on the stone behind him long enough to wave a frantic shooing gesture in Boyd’s direction. “You could fall!”
Apparently Dom isn’t the only one with reservations, for disapproval is written clearly across Sean’s face. But he remains silent, and his tight-lipped expression suggests he is still smarting from whatever verbal backlash he might have provoked by trying to argue with the stubborn Scot.
“Shut your gob, Dom! “ Billy snaps, “Don’t you say a word to me about falling. You don’t have the right.” There is an edge to Boyd’s voice that lets Dom know he has been wrong. The anger isn’t gone, just sublimated for the moment. Dom isn’t off the hook yet. Wisely, he shuts up.
“Besides,” and the tone is back to calm and collected. “I’m nae going to fall. I’ve got a security line.” Boyd pats his chest, and Dom realizes there was something wound and tied around Billy’s torso.
“What’s that?” he ventures, thinking that surely a question won’t get him in too much trouble.
“A fire hose,” Billy pronounces in the proud manner of a parent whose child has just won the third grade spelling bee.
“Yeah, it’s a fire hose,” offers Elijah, in a voice that sounds years younger than it should. “A freaking fire hose!”
“A fire hose?” Dom repeats, just to make sure he’s actually heard it correctly. “You’re attached to a fire hose?”
Using the window casement, Billy is slowly pulling himself upright. Sean and Elijah are both trying to steady him. “Yeah. Tied it myself. A bowline knot. Learned how on Master and Commander. Saw this bit in a movie once. Brilliant, aye?”
“Brilliant? Daft, more like! What movie was that? Duck Soup?” Dom realizes he sounds more than a bit hysterical himself. “You can’t be serious. Please, Bills. You hate heights. Go back inside. I’ll be fine.” He presses himself against the masonry at his back. Maybe if he pushes hard enough it will do some sort of molecular shift and he will fall through to the other side, save them all a bunch of fuss. “Just call the police or something.”
“We all ready have,” adds Sean in a strained voice. “They should be here… any minute…” This last is drawn out with just enough emphasis to suggest it is something he has already mentioned to Boyd more than once.
“Aye. I’m sure they will be, but I’ll not leave you out here alone.” Unlike Dom, Billy has angled his body away from the street, pressing his belly to the building’s façade. With arms spread wide against the granite for balance, he begins to inch along the narrow shelf of stone. His strained expression and trembling hands speak eloquently of the effort it is taking for him to force himself to move away from the relative safely of the window.
“No! Stop!” Dom protests once again, trying to sound authoritative, despite the shake in his voice. This is all going to cock. “What if something happens? You are only doing this because of me. Go back inside, please.” He drops his voice, striving for a level of intimacy that is rather hard to obtain eleven stories up on a window ledge with a white faced Elijah and fretting Sean looking on. “Billy, if something were to happen to you because I pulled a stupid stunt like this… I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t stand the thought that you might get hurt because of me.”
Billy stills at that, resting his forehead against the side of the building for a moment before slowly and very deliberately turning to make eye contact with Dominic. The fire in those green eyes is as physical as a slap, and Dom recoils, flattening himself against the facade of the building.
“You can’t stand the thought of something happening to me because of something you’ve done? Is that it, Dom?” The voice is deceptively soft, so soft Dom is forced to lip-read above the sounds of traffic below and Elijah’s distressed words of caution. But thought the tone is soft, pleasant even, Dom isn’t fooled. Billy is furious.
“Uh…I…” What to say? “I didn’t…I mean…yeah…I …I love…” No, not going there. Still too painful. For both of them. Maybe best just to shut it.
“Well, then…” and there are razors and blood mixed in with the words, “maybe you have some idea of how I am feeling right at this moment, you stupid fuck, with my best friend and lover threatening to jump off a building because I told him to bugger off!”
Ouch… “Uh… I didn’t actually threaten to jump.” It is pretty lame, but it is the only thing Dom can think to say in the face of such raw pain.
Billy’s eyes shut and he turns his face back to the hard granite of the building. His fingers curl like talons against the stone. “Maybe not, but you could still fall, Dommeh. And I’d have to live with that.”
“Bills….” Dom struggles for words. Settling finally for the totally inadequate, “I’m sorry….”
“Sorry won’t fix this.”
Yep, inadequate. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t really want you to say anything, right now. I just want you to get your arse back inside this building.” He rolls his forehead against the stone and lets out a slow half moan. “Och, this is giving me the boak.”
Dom watches worriedly. “Please go back. This isn’t doing either of us any good.”
But Billy seems determined to have it out with Dom, here, eleven stories above LA – fear of heights be damned. “Did you think this would change things,” he asks, turning his fierce gaze once again upon Monaghan. “That somehow you could force me to change my mind?”
“No, I… it wasn’t like that. I didn’t think…”
“No, you didnae think, Dom. You never think.”
Dom flinches and turns away, wounded.
“You’re a selfish, blaggering bastard, Dominic Monaghan. Is this supposed to be some ultimatum? I have to give up Ali, or you’re going to top yourself at the first opportunity?”
“No,” Dom flushes, finding a bit of flame of his own to counter Billy’s ire. “It was never about that!”
“Then what is all this about? What are you doing out here?”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
If glares were physical they would both have been cut to ribbons in that moment.
“Hey guys? Guys?” Sean Astin’s worried shouts cut through the heat. “You’re standing on a ledge half way up the side of a building. This is definitely not a good place to pick a fight. You wanna fight, come back in and then you can beat the hell out of each other, okay?”
“Yeah, we won’t even try to stop you, promise,” adds a very frightened sounding Elijah.
Billy and Dom’s gazes are still locked, but Billy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, signaling a lessening in hostilities. ““He’s right, ya ken. This is no place for an argy-bargy.”
“Well, shove off then!” Dom snarls in return. “ I didn’t ask you to come out here. In fact, I plainly told you to get your arse back inside!”
“I’ll get my arse back in there when you get yer arse back in there!”
“What if I don’t want to? What if I like my arse right where it is?”
Billy’s arches an eyebrow a fraction towards his receding hairline, his mouth curling in what looked suspiciously like a half smile. “What?”
And Dom feels his own anger fading swiftly. This whole situation is becoming downright ridiculous. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Boyd. I don’t know what the hell I am doing. I…I thought I knew, but now I’m just confused, and…” He lets his eyes drop. “It hurts, Bills. It hurts so much.”
Billy lets out a heavy sigh. “I know. But you know I never wanted to hurt you. And sorry doesn’t fix that either, does it?” He inches his fingers along the side of the building, finds Dom’s hand and clutches at the cold fingers. “Come inside, ya daft bugger. Yer taking years off my life, and I can’t afford to loose any.”
And with Billy’s fingers wrapped around his own, Dom finds he can make small shuffling movements along the ledge towards the open window and safety.
“That’s stoaturs, Dom,” Billy encourages, while Elijah whoops in the background.
“Oh, thank God!” is the comment from a much-relieved Astin, “I was trying to figure out how to explain all this to the cops!”
There have been a few moments in Dom’s life which might have lead to accusations of precognition, had he ever bothered to mention them. Times which left him puzzling whether there might just be something to the idea that all of life is preordained, and free will is just a farce…but that is not the kind of thinking one can easily live with and hope to be very productive, so it wasn’t something he chose to dwell upon. Still, one didn’t forget knowing you were going to drop a wineglass the instant before it actually slipped from your fingers. Or realizing your hat was going to fly off your head and over the railing of the ferry just before it did. Or the certainly that that woman walking across the street was going to slip on the ice and tumble to the ground. Because, the thing was, knowing hadn’t made any difference. The glass had still shattered. The hat had still sunk beneath the waters. The woman had still skinned her knee. Knowing what was to come and instant before the event occurred has never given Dom any time to change things.
This is no exception.
Even before Billy takes an awkward step, his high-gloss oxfords sliding on the concrete ledge, Dom knows his friend is going to fall. Knows it with the same certainly that he knows his own name.
Knows and reacts.
He is reaching even before Billy looses his footing. His hands close around Billy’s shoulders, trying to pull him back onto the ledge just as Billy’s treacherous left foot betrays him by slipping. Billy’s eyes widen as he feels the loss of balance, and his fingers sink reflexively into the velvet fabric of Dom’s blazer, seeking anchor. For a moment the two of them teeter, clutching at each other in a grim parody of desperate lovers or weary fighters. But with Dom leaning forward, and Billy already ensnared by the determined wrench of gravity, their combined weight works against them. Rather than being able to stabilize his friend, all Dom manages to do is ensure that when Boyd goes arse over kettle, he takes Dom with him.
Pairing: Monaboyd (Who else?)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Not even going to try…just strap yourselves in.
Disclaimer: Exists only in my imagination. I need therapy. Don’t hurt me.
Notes: Due to some real life distractions… dying hard drive, preparing for a major re-location across states, new job search, etc. I’ve delayed posting this. However, having been inspired by my Monaboyd nominations, I finally decided to go ahead and set it free. Whether it flies, or plunges to its death remains to be seen. Thank you to those who gave it a once over and declared it “presentable”. I had some reservations about this one, and needed a second, third and fourth opinion…I couldn’t decide whether it worked or crossed the line into teen melodrama.
You will find a short, humorous conversation with my muse upon the subject posted at my humble LJ. If you are at all curious about what inspired this one, please check it out. Peeshwank’s LiveJournal
Pee.
To avoid a "client error" I have to post in two parts. Let's see if I figure out how...
On to the fic: Part I
TREMBLIN'
It's in your kiss, I brush your hair back from your eyes
I need to know what you hide
I see it in your face, why can't you look me in the eyes
I see through your dark mind
Hold me, keep me warm, don't let me fall
Cause I'm tremblin', on account of you
Stripped, cold and blue, tremblin' without you
I'm cold again, heavy rain has fallen over me
I need to shelter in your arms
Hold me, keep me warm, don't let me fall
Cause I'm tremblin', on account of you
Stripped, cold and blue, tremblin' without you
I'm tremblin, without you
Day by day you fade ( you fade away )
Someone I can't recognize ( I don't know you anymore)
Afraid of what I'll find
In you
I'm tremblin', on account of you
Stripped, cold and blue, tremblin' without you
I'm tremblin', on account of you
You stripped me away, left me cold and blue
Tremblin, on account of you
on account of you
on account of you
The Forresters (band)
****
Dom has no intention of killing himself. He is certain of that.
Or at least almostcertain.
Definitely-somewhere well to the right of the median on a bell curve-certain.
Not that the thought of suicide hasn’t tip-toed across his mind like a thief.
But only briefly.
Because he almost definitely does NOT intend any such thing.
Yeah.
Definitely….
He can, however, understand why someone might get the wrong impression, given the circumstances.
Someone like Elijah, who has taken one look at his current situation, let out a squawk reminiscent of goose being throttled and vanished back inside the window in a windmill of frantic limbs and hysterical babbling.
No, Dom does not want to kill himself. He just wants to get away for a nice, quiet smoke…away from the cameras, and the reporters... and even his friends.
Especially his friends.
Especially one particular friend.
Yeah… “friend.”
Therein lies the whole problem, doesn’t it?
“Friend”…as in, “Sorry, you can’t be my lover anymore, Dommeh my dear, but you can still be my ‘friend’, so that is all fine and dandy, in’it?”
Dom isn’t sure, and he deliberately steers his thoughts away from the subject because, as he recalls, he definitely does NOT want to kill himself. And that particular topic sends him waffling….
No. Not suicidal. Just seeking a moment of solitude and a cigarette.
Granted, choosing a ledge eleven stories above the muddled congestion of Los Angeles to have a smoke was bound to lead to a certain amount of misunderstanding on the part of everyone else. Dom supposes they have to be forgiven for thinking that he might, actually, be a bit on the edge…so to speak.
Dom leans back against the mottled pink granite of the building façade, grateful for the sturdy support at his back. It makes him feel secure when all within and without seemed chaos. Though the air at ground level is nearly still, thick and heavy with that L.A mix of smog and humidity that leaves you feeling your very pores are gagging, here, eleven stories up, a light breeze is frolicking. Indecisive, it whips first from one direction, then the next. It ruffles Dom’s pleated trousers, and playfully lifts the corners of his velvet blazer, whipping underneath as though searching for ticklish spots. It tugs at his silk tie, mischievously trying to slip free the loosened knot. Now and then, a stronger gust gives him a bit of a push, as though double-dog-daring him to jump.
“Mein leben ist nur ein haufen kacke…” Monaghan mutters to himself, trying the German on for size. But no, saying it in German doesn’t change a thing. His life is still crap. He sighs.
Gazing down between the polished toes of his Louis Vuitton loafers, he catches a glimpse of matchbox-sized cars and a Playskool cityscape. Such a long way down. Such a long way to fall. But, like they say, it isn’t the fall that will kill you. It is the landing.
Emotionally, Dom already falling, tumbling out of control. Whether he survives the landing is still in question in his mind. After all, last time he checked, he doesn’t own a pair of wings.
And it’s a long way down.
****FLASHBACK****
It was a wonderful opportunity. The release of the new supplemental DVD for the LOTR trilogy, Filming LOTR: The Journey There and Back Again, brought with it a need for worldwide promotion. The major actors were contacted and asked if they would assent to putting on a bit of a dog and pony show for the press, including a chance for the four hobbits to make an appearance at a swank promotional gala in Los Angeles. Would they agree to an all expense paid weekend in Los Angeles in exchange for an afternoon of suited and booted hobnobbing with some big name media moguls?
Were they kidding? A chance for the hobbits to reunite for a few days of cavorting on someone else’s tab? Hell, yes!
And for a while Dom was able to fool himself that he was merely imagining things… after all, it had been fun. Two days filled to the brim with the sort of sun, surf and high jinks that always resulted when the four of them were together. Time spent catching up with each other’s lives, a mini-reunion that had culminating that afternoon in a chic affair at a downtown, high-rise five-star hotel.
But from the moment Billy Boyd had stepped off the plane, Dom had known that something was off kilter. Billy seemed skittish and nervous, his laugh just a bit too bright, his smile a bit too brittle, his body full of twitches and shuffles that were generally idiosyncratic of the more highly strung Dominic. Billy’s hug at the airport was almost perfunctory, and he pulled away just as Dom was beginning to settle into the comfort of the embrace. And when Dom tried to plant a kiss on Boyd’s mouth, he turned his head, offering a cheek instead. At first Dom was willing to dismiss it as due to their being in middle of LAX airport. After all, he knew Billy had never been as comfortable with their physical relationship as Dominic and tended to shy away from overly public displays of intimacy between the two of them. However, all further attempts at physical familiarity met with similar resistance. Entwined finger were gently extracted. An overly friendly hand on the rear was swatted aside. Knowing touches were aptly dodged. And Dom’s patented come-hither glance, which had always lured Billy into the bedroom previously, seemed to fall on blind eyes. Every attempt on Dom’s part to arrange for some private time for the two of them was expertly countered by Billy, who managed to arrange to have either Elijah or Sean present at every possible moment. As the hours wore on, the nagging unsettled feeling blossomed into full-fledged panic. Dom was hurt, bewildered, and increasingly angry.
The situation came to a head that afternoon. Following a two-hour question and answer session, there was a mixer. Hobbits and Hollywood notables. While Astin talked politics and sought connections, and Elijah roamed about snapping digital pictures, Dom set his back against a wall and watched Billy. Billy looked delicious, neat and tidy in his tailored wool twill stripe suit, working the room like a professional with that cheerful half smile curling the corners of his bow mouth. Wineglass in one hand, he dutifully drifted from one cluster of VIPs to another, engaging in the required social pleasantries with aplomb. Knowing Billy’s dislike of the spotlight and small talk in general, Dom was fairly certain that Boyd’s gracious enthusiasm wasn’t been genuine, but it hardly mattered, as the wee Scott left dozens of newly charmed patrons in his wake.
Once this had been a game with them. They could catch each other’s eye across a room bustling with people, and a single gesture would speak volumes. Hips might brush in passing, or a quick grope under the table all without drawing attention from the surrounding crowds. Hands would touch over a plate of canapés. A wink could be an invitation to a quick tryst in the washroom. And when they grew tired of the hubbub, the two of them would retreat to a corner, and hunker down to exchange rude commentary about the other people at the party, observations that would have Billy giggling and Dom snorting champagne out his nose.
But during this party, Billy did not look at Dom. And no matter how Dom maneuvered, there always seemed to be someone in-between them. By the time things drew to a close, Dom was decidedly out of sorts.
The four hobbits took their leave and headed back upstairs to their rooms, but Dom, tired of being shunted aside, grabbed Billy by the wrist before he could exit the lift.
“We need to talk.”
Billy paled and tried to pull away, but Dom would not release him. Apparently deciding it would look silly for the two of them to start scuffling in the elevator, Boyd took a different tactic and called out to halt Elijah before he could leave.
“Hey, Elijah. Want to check out the wet bar in my room? I had it especially stocked.”
Elijah’s face lit up with delight. “Yeah? Cool!”
But Dom was not about to be thwarted this time, he caught Elijah’s gaze, and very distinctly said, “Lij, get lost. Now.”
And all that time spent together in L.A. must have been worth something, because Wood didn’t even try to contradict him. He just glanced between the two of them, offered Billy an apologetic shrug and backed away, a worried expression weighing down his brow. “If you guys need to talk…you know…” He gestured vaguely. Apparently Dom hadn’t been the only one to realize something was not quite kosher.
“We know,” Dom assured, “Thanks, Doodle.”
“Feck.” Billy lowered his gaze, staring down at his polished oxfords as Elijah disappeared down the hall.
Dom studied him; the down turned face, the slumped shoulders, the cold hand, lying limp and dejected in Dom’s grip, fingers curled protectively around the palm. “I mean it Billy,” Dom murmured, not even trying to keep the bruised confusion out of his voice. “I really think we have to talk. Don’t you?”
And Billy nodded. “Yeah, I know. I just…. There never seems to be a good time.” He rocked slightly, his body language broadcasting distress loudly and clearly. “I don’t want to do this.”
Dom’s heart seized just a bit in his chest, but he forded ahead determinedly, “If I let go of you, are you going to run away?”
Head still bowed, Billy let out a deep sigh. “No. It’s time. It cannae be put off forever.”
“Put what off? What’s going on? Did I do something? Are you mad at me?”
Billy glanced up at that, expression stricken, and he lifted his free hand towards Dom cheek, before catching himself and withdrawing again, his fingers clenching into a fist. “No, Dom. Not mad. Never mad…I just…” He’d given a quick shake of his head. “Not here. We’ll talk in my room.”
Dom released Billy’s wrist and Boyd set off down the hallway, footsteps slow and labored, body bowed forward as though under a great weight. Dom followed, approaching the doorway to room 1106 with all the enthusiasm of condemned man being led to the guillotine.
***
A car, passing hundreds of feet below, sounds its horn, startling Dom and refocusing his attention on the snarls of busy traffic and pedestrians scuttling about below. He suddenly recalls that he really doesn’t really like heights. Makes him dizzy. Makes him feel like he might fall -like gravity is defying the laws of physics to actually reach out and snare him, twist around him and suck all his self-will away, and when it has him at its mercy, just pull him down to his death.
An emotional plunge is one thing…
A literal one?
Messy, Dom has to admit. And very dramatic. Eleven stories up? Yes, a messy death it would be. No bungee cord this time.
Ah…the little voice inside his head rouses at that. The one he’s been trying to keep gagged and stuffed in the trunk of denial. That’s the whole point, isn’t it Monaghan? That’s why you’re out here… isn’t it. For the drama? Shake him up. Rub his face in it. Want to see him suffer, don’t you? Hurt him like he hurt you?
No, Dom snarls back. Just want to get away for a bit of a smoke! He takes a deep drag on his Rothmans as though to prove the point. But his hands are shaking, trembling like he has the D.T.s. And the cigarette tastes like shit. And he is scared…really, really scared.
What the fuck is he doing?
“Here you! What the feck are ye doin’?”
Dom closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip. Well, if he wants drama, he is about to get it, in all its Technicolor, Dolby surround-sound, Scottish fury.
“Hey, Bills…”
“Don’ you ‘hey’ meh, you bloody-minded bampot! What do ye think yer playin’ at? You get yer arse back in here, Monaghan! Do ye think ah dunnae ken what yer doin’ throwin’ a gumplin out here, ye gaet?”
Dom winces, and hunches his shoulders. Billy’s voice is actually quivering, pitched higher than usual and his Scottish roots are definitely showing. Oh, he is upset all right.
Dom risks a quick peek. Billy is leaning out a window several feet away, the very same window through which Dom climbed a short while ago. Boyd’s grip on the sill is knuckle white. His face is flushed, eyes red-rimmed and full of shadows, and there is just a hint of sharp teeth between lips pulled in a tight grimace. He looks haggard and defeated, every year his age.
Did that to you, didn’t I Bills? Making things difficult?
Dom excels at making things difficult.
As Dom watches another face appears at Billy’s shoulder. Sean Astin, looking scared out of his wits, all round eyed and round mouthed. “Holy shit!” he yelps, then wraps a solid arm around Billy from behind and yanks him, protesting, back into the hotel.
Yep. Dom has to agree. Holy shit pretty much sums it all up.
And even though he isn’t present in the hotel corridor Dom can practically hear the conversation that ensues. Elijah will be hyperventilating and asking what they should do. Should they call the police? Should they call the fire department? Should they call Viggo? Sean will be absently patting whatever part of Elijah’s body is handy while addressing himself to Billy, telling Billy he needs to “chill out.” That he is going to scare Dom right off the ledge … that, like a frightened animal, Dominic needs to be approached with caution and soothing words.
And Billy.
Billy will be clenching his fists and spitting out invective in a Scottish dialect so strong neither Sean or Elijah will understand half of what he says, and what they do catch probably won’t make any sense to anyone born south of Hadrian’s Wall, or what is left of it. Dom almost wishes he could see it. Boyd’s general cheerful demeanor means that Dom rarely has the opportunity to witness him red faced and spitting mad. Then again, seeing as Dom is the cause of Bills current apoplexy, perhaps keeping a safe distance is wise.
When Billy finally reappears in the window, his demeanor has shifted from affronted Scottish passion to paternal calm. Apparently, Sean’s argument has made an impression.
Dom ducks his head, suddenly overcome. He knows them all so well. He feels his shoulders shaking, and isn’t sure it is with tears or mirth - the two seem somehow intermingled, part of the emotional morass that is swallowing him whole.
“Dom,” Billy says, in the same low deliberate tone parents use when trying not to scream at recalcitrant children. “You should come inside now. You’re scaring Elijah.”
Dom studies his friend’s still face. What about you Bills? Am I scaring you?
Of course he is. Bill is a consummate actor, but he can’t hide from Dom. Dom who notes the slight tremble of Bills’small hands, the pinched look around his mouth, the darting of his green eyes.
Of course Billy is scared. He is terrified, and Dom is being cruel.
The breeze catches the end of his mango-orange tie and flips it up to slap him across the face. Apparently, even the wind agrees.
Billy had it sussed the first time. Dom is bang out of order, and he needs a good tongue lashing…not gentle coaxing with the promise of sweets.
Dom has no intention of jumping. He never had. This is all a farce. He isn’t going to kill himself, no matter how much he feels like he is dying already; no matter how torn up and shredded his insides feel, he isn’t going to throw himself to his death.
“I’m sorry, Bill…” he mumbles, voice rough and strained from depleted emotion. He tosses his cigarette away, watching it spiral downward, trailing ashes, fading from sight. Fading like his hopes.
Ashes to ashes.
“I didn’t mean…” he trails off, unable to continue.
Out of words.
He’s spent them all back in the hotel room. All his precious words. Every shiny one, brought forth and thrown at Billy in hopes of making him see. And Billy has rejected them all.
Dom no longer knows what he means or doesn’t mean. Nothing is making much sense right now. He doesn’t like feeling this way. He hates it. But what alternative is there? A quick plunge to a messy end? That isn’t a solution. Not really. And he isn’t likely to bring Billy around with a childish stunt like this. If anything, he’s just convinced Boyd of how unstable he really is…convinced him that a relationship with Dom is just too risky. Convinced him that he had certainly made the right choice. Ali is the one that can provide the stability he needs. Dom is a loose cannon. A screw-up. An unpredictable fuck-all. Not worth a toss. He’d be lucky if Billy wants anything more to do with him after this spectacle.
Dom’s control begins to slip. That’s the thing about wearing one’s emotions on one’s sleeve; they have a habit of sneaking up on you and bludgeoning you over the head. His lower lip quivers in distress, and though he tries to fight back the tears, they easily breach defenses worn thin, flooding his eyes and staining his words. “I’m sorry about all of it.”
“Whisht. It’s all reet, Dommeh. It will be okay,” Billy’s voice is soft and comforting. So gentle. No anger now, just concern and solace. “Just come back inside now. I’m here. Just come inside with us.”
But Dom is beginning to realize this might be a bit difficult. He has started to shudder, his legs threatening to fold; his breath is coming in gasps that are leaving him light-headed. Overwrought, he recognizes with the part of his brain that isn’t falling apart. Overwrought is a good word. A serious, weighty sort of word, but semantic appreciation aside, Dom also realizes that a ledge eleven stories above Los Angeles is a very bad place for an emotional breakdown. However, it doesn’t appear that the rational part of him is in a position to dictate terms.
Just a few minutes before, Dom had felt secure, gathering strength from the solid masonry at his back. But now, he finds himself rendered helpless. He shuts his eyes tight and fights for balance, mental and physical. “I’d love to…to join you,” he grates past the fear tightening in a garrote around his throat. “But… I can’t seem to get my legs to move.”
“Of course you can, daftie," comes Billy’s immediate, calm reply. “You got out there just fine. You can get back. Just slide this way.”
“I can’t, Bill! I can’t!” Is that his voice, squeaking in panic? Arsch mit ohren…
“Aye. Yes, ye can,” Billy continued to reassure. “Open your eyes. See. I’m right here. You can almost reach me. Gi’ me your hand.”
Dom fights to regulate his breathing, bringing it back under control. Pull yourself together Monaghan, he admonishes himself. Put those yoga techniques to some good use. You are making a complete arse of yourself.
He manages to pry his eyes open again, but fuck-it-all, if he isn’t still eleven stories above the street…
Billy is indeed reaching towards him, pale fingers outstretched as he leans as far as possible without tumbling out the window. “Come on, Dom,” he pleads, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. “Gi’ it a try…”
Dom looks down at his feet. Deliberately does NOT look at the streets hundreds of feet below. Wills his feet to move. Move. Slide towards the window and Billy’s waiting hands. Wills. Commands. Entreats. Threatens.
Nothing.
He locks despairing gazes with Billy and shakes his head. “I’m sorry…” His failure to help himself serves as further proof in his mind of his own unworthiness, and he feels the tears welling once more.
“Dinnea get fretty,” Billy cautions with a frown. He glances around, seeming at a loss for a moment. Then a look of determination settles upon his pixie features, and Dom realizes that Boyd had just made a decision, a difficult one. Dom has seen that look before, generally just before Billy steels himself for something difficult or not entirely sane, like surfing a particularly large wave, or facing down a belligerent drunk three times his size. It is Boyd at his most elemental, the one Dom can easily imagine as a kilted, bare-chested extra in Braveheart, all tattooed and painted in Pictish runes, screaming like a banshee as he charged at the English. A Billy that occasionally features in his most heated fantasies. And as Dom learned early on, it is also a Billy who will brook no opposition.
“Right then,” Billy announces, with an efficient nod of his head. “We’ll get this sorted. Just stay right there.”
Where would I go? thinks Dom. He isn’t able to move towards safety, and the alternative…well, Dom glances down at the traffic below…dramatic statement aside, the alternative really isn’t very enticing.
What is Billy up to? That question and the ongoing fight for control keep Dom occupied while Billy disappears inside. At one point, he inks he hears shouting coming from the hotel room. Astin? And the short clipped syllables of Billy’s reply. And something that might be further hysteria from Elijah.
Boyd, what are you planning, you wanker?
****FLASHBACK****
Billy was pacing, which in itself was alarming. Dom was the pacer, not Billy. Billy was stillness and quiet contemplation and deliberate, focused motions - not random, fidgeting meandering around a hotel room.
“Bills?”
Billy paused in his aimless trek to pick up a black ceramic ashtray off the dresser and turn it fitfully in his hands. The gold lettering of the hotel name embossed across the glass winked in the light.
“Aye.”
“What’s going on?”
Billy considered for a moment, tapping fingers against the smooth surface of the ashtray, then carefully set it back down. “I have something to tell you.”
“I gathered that.” Dom’s attempt at humor was writhing in death throes even as it left his lips. He shuffled his feet in the too plush carpet. “Bad news, I take it?”
Billy sighed. “Not bad, exactly. Good news, really. Just…” He’d picked up the ashtray again, then set it down almost immediately. “You’re not going t’ like it.”
“Yeah.” He’d gathered that too.
“Dom… I…” Billy had been chewing his lip. He’d run a hand through his receding hairline. Nibbled on a nail. Picked up the ashtray again.
“Fuck this…” Dom crossed the room in three swift strides and taken the ashtray out of Billy’s hands. “Just tell me.”
Billy met his gaze for just a moment, then his green eyes flicked away, seeking escape. “I’ve…I’ve asked Ali to marry me.”
There was a soft thud as the ashtray hit the floor between their feet.
Right. Okay. Don’t panic, Dom told himself from behind shut eyelids, even as his world began to spiral out of control. It might not be all that bad. “What did she say?” he managed, and though his voice was rough and strained, he was surprised at the hint of mild interest coloring his tone. Ha… ever the actor.
“She said yes.”
Dom’s hands clenched into fists. Okay… maybe it was that bad.
Billy. Billy, he ranted silently. This isn’t what you want! She isn’t really what you want!
It always dismayed Dom that he could know Billy’s heart better than Billy himself seemed to - could know Billy was lying to himself; trying to build his idealistic life of laughing children, a dutiful wife, a white picket fence and a dog on a foundation of wet sand. But Billy wouldn’t listen, Dom knew. They’d chased that conversation in circles before, numerous times.
Still, he’d hoped…
Hoped so many things…
That Billy would grow more comfortable with their physical relationship.
That he might even agree to live away from his beloved Scotland to be close to Dom.
That society would come to accept relationships such as theirs so that they could come clean without fearing for the future of their careers.
That Ali would prove to be a temporary refuge.
That Billy would come to his senses and realize he belonged with Dom, and that they were meant to be together, always and forever.
That if they loved each other enough, they could overcome any adversity life sent their way.
Yet, it was not as though he hadn’t known this could happen. After all, Ali was a lovely girl, wasn’t she? A likable, sweet, safe girl, yes? Didn’t own an odd assortment of poisonous pets, did she? Didn’t make off color comments to the press in hopes of getting a rise. Never discussed her gouch in public, did she now? Not one to crave the spotlight, was Ali. Nice girl, Ali. Good wife and mother material - things Dom could never be, no matter how much he wished for it.
No, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it coming, but some things you just couldn’t dodge, no matter how quick and nimble.
But he had hoped…
Dom forced his eyes open and found Billy watching him with an anxious, yet hopeful, expression.
Bitterly, Dom realized that Billy hoped he’d be “reasonable” about the situation…offer a “Ta, that’s lovely,” and pat Boyd on the back, making everything okay, the fuckin’ tit. But some things Dom couldn’t do, not even for his Bills.
“So…”
“So…?”
“What do you want me to say, Billy. Congratulations? I’m supposed to be happy for you? You don’t need my fuckin’ permission.”
“Dom…”
“Congratulations, Boyd. Many happy blessings. May the road rise to meet you and all that. ” The words tasted malignant and wrong, and chilled the air between them as he’d forced them passed his lips.
Billy at least had the grace to look guilty. He squirmed under Dom’s gaze. “I know this isn’t easy…”
“Is it easy for you?”
“No…”
“Good. I don’t like suffering alone.”
Billy grimaced.
“What do you want from me Boyd? Am I just supposed to shrug, and walk away? It was fun while it lasted? Ta, mate?”
“Dom please, don’t be like that.”
“How do you want me to be? Cause however I was apparently wasn’t good enough for you, was it? Tell me what you want me to be and I’ll be it. I’ll be whatever you want, Billy.”
Billy shook his head, looking distressed and stepped closer to place gentle fingers over Dom’s mouth, stilling his voice, “It’s not about that. It’s me. Not you, Dommeh.”
“Don’t call me that.” Dom hissed, stepping back, trying to distance himself from Billy and the pain. “You’re not allowed to call me that when you’re breaking my heart.” He wrapped his arms around himself, fighting a sudden chill that had nothing to do with a draft. “You’re going to regret this Billy. I know you are, even if you’re too stubborn to see it.”
“Ah, Dom…” Billy moved closer again, cautiously, as though fearful. Was he afraid Dom would flee? Break? Kick him in the nuts?
Dom found he couldn’t read Billy in that moment and the knowledge left him shaken.
But he held himself still as Billy’s hands settled on his shoulders and clung there. He felt them tremble slightly. So, he wasn’t the only one feeling off balance. Which was reassuring.
Billy’s green eyes were staring into his intensely, begging for understanding. “You had to know it was headed this way. I want a home. I want family.”
“I know…I just...” Dom felt tears rising and fought them down ruthlessly. “I could be home. I could…”
Billy sighed heavily, and ducked his head. “I will always love you, Dom. This won’t change that.” And he had given a slight tug, trying to coax Dom into a hug.
At first Dom resisted, holding his body stiff in Billy’s arms, but slowly he melted into the embrace, returning it with interest. Maybe something could still be salvaged. If he couldn’t have Billy exclusively, it didn’t mean he had to give him up completely, did it?
“This doesn’t have to change things really, does it?” he tentatively ventured into Billy’s shoulder after he deemed the hug had gone on quite long, which was really never quite long enough. “I mean…we can still be together, right?” He felt Billy begin to pull away, and he clutched harder, suddenly overcome by the idea that their physical closeness was not the only thing he would lose it he let Boyd go in that moment. “We’ve… you’ve…she’s been there for a while, and we still…”
Billy was actively trying to free himself at that point, shoving away from Dom. “Dom…”
“Please,” Dom whispered, despite the fear was rising up, tightening around his throat in a chokehold. “Please, don’t… His voice was breaking as he pleaded; though it wasn’t yet clear what he was asking to be spared. “Please…”
“Dom…” and Billy finally freed himself, stepping back to put space between them, shaking his head. “I’m sorry…”
What, Bills? Sorry about what? Don’t do this…
He needed to ask. He needed to know, even though doing so threatened to yank his foundations from beneath his feet and leave him floundering in a pain he couldn’t begin to contemplate.
But he needed to ask.
Needed to know.
Needed go forward from this moment.
His head seemed to be floating somewhere above the rest of his body, as if he wasn’t been quite attached anymore, like a helium balloon in some child’s uncertain grip. This isn’t happening, he told himself. This can’t be happening.
“What are you saying?”
And Billy was having trouble facing him then, ducking his head and moving to put even more distance between them. “I can’t…we can’t…”
“Can’t what? We can’t what?” Dom felt the hysteria rising. He teetered on the edge of an abyss. One last chance, Bills. In his mind flashed the scene of Frodo dangling over the lava flows of Mount Doom. Gonna pull me up here, Bills? Gonna save me? Please, Billy. Please…
“I can’t do that to her!” Billy suddenly barked. “Don’t you understand? This is it, Dom. It has to be over!”
No! No! Not that! Not over! We can’t be over!
“You can’t do that to her? What about me, Billy? What about what you are doing to me?”
“Dom, I’m sorry. I will always be your friend, but we can’t be lovers anymore.”
“Billy, no…! You can’t mean that! We’re good together. You’re part of me. I can’t just give that up!”
“No, this has to end…” Billy seemed to be speaking as much to himself as Dom, but he said it with finality and turned away.
Dom felt as though every breath he’d ever drawn, from the first wail years ago in the hospital delivery room up to the last choked sob of denial, had just been punched out of his body. Screaming in silent torment, he fell. There was no bottom.
He might have yelled. He might have begged. He might even have tried seduction. Judging from his pounding head and clogged nose, he most certainly had cried. None of it was very clear. It had all run together in a nightmare of blistering words, frantic accusations and crippled desires.
But Billy had remained resolute, and Dom supposed the cost must have been high. Cold-hearted bastard was not a role Billy fell into easily. Dom never quite bought his performance as a low-life in Urban Ghost Story. It always made him want to giggle. But frankly, Dom didn’t much care how Billy was weathering the storm. All Dom could focus on was the pain in his chest where Billy had ripped his heart out before handed it back to him, torn and dripping.
He did remember stumbling out, dazed and shell-shocked. Just needing to get away. To flee. The window at the end of the hallway had seemed to offer the perfect avenue of escape. A place to retreat from Billy. From himself. From thought and pain and the need to make decisions. A doorway to somewhere else that wasn’t filled with broken glass and shredded dreams.
At first it had resisted his efforts, welded shut over the years with layers of paint. But a handy bottle opener snagged from his hotel room had done the trip, and he had managed to pry open the window. For a short time, he found solitude.
But in the end, it had all come crashing in upon him again.
****
Billy reappears at the window, bracketed by a flustered Sean and a pale Elijah who is gnawing fitfully on his fingers. Supported by Astin’s strong grip, Billy hoists himself up onto the sill, and maneuvers cautiously onto the building ledge
“Bills,” Dom stutters in agitation. “What…what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“What the feck does it look like I’m doing? I’m coming ta get you. Though I’ve amind to duff ya one first.”
“No, no!” Dom objects, heart crawling into his throat and threatening his breathing. “You are not! Get back in there!” He’s rather amazed at how quickly his alarm over Billy’s precarious situation overrides concerns for his own safety. He actually manages to let go of the death grip he has on the stone behind him long enough to wave a frantic shooing gesture in Boyd’s direction. “You could fall!”
Apparently Dom isn’t the only one with reservations, for disapproval is written clearly across Sean’s face. But he remains silent, and his tight-lipped expression suggests he is still smarting from whatever verbal backlash he might have provoked by trying to argue with the stubborn Scot.
“Shut your gob, Dom! “ Billy snaps, “Don’t you say a word to me about falling. You don’t have the right.” There is an edge to Boyd’s voice that lets Dom know he has been wrong. The anger isn’t gone, just sublimated for the moment. Dom isn’t off the hook yet. Wisely, he shuts up.
“Besides,” and the tone is back to calm and collected. “I’m nae going to fall. I’ve got a security line.” Boyd pats his chest, and Dom realizes there was something wound and tied around Billy’s torso.
“What’s that?” he ventures, thinking that surely a question won’t get him in too much trouble.
“A fire hose,” Billy pronounces in the proud manner of a parent whose child has just won the third grade spelling bee.
“Yeah, it’s a fire hose,” offers Elijah, in a voice that sounds years younger than it should. “A freaking fire hose!”
“A fire hose?” Dom repeats, just to make sure he’s actually heard it correctly. “You’re attached to a fire hose?”
Using the window casement, Billy is slowly pulling himself upright. Sean and Elijah are both trying to steady him. “Yeah. Tied it myself. A bowline knot. Learned how on Master and Commander. Saw this bit in a movie once. Brilliant, aye?”
“Brilliant? Daft, more like! What movie was that? Duck Soup?” Dom realizes he sounds more than a bit hysterical himself. “You can’t be serious. Please, Bills. You hate heights. Go back inside. I’ll be fine.” He presses himself against the masonry at his back. Maybe if he pushes hard enough it will do some sort of molecular shift and he will fall through to the other side, save them all a bunch of fuss. “Just call the police or something.”
“We all ready have,” adds Sean in a strained voice. “They should be here… any minute…” This last is drawn out with just enough emphasis to suggest it is something he has already mentioned to Boyd more than once.
“Aye. I’m sure they will be, but I’ll not leave you out here alone.” Unlike Dom, Billy has angled his body away from the street, pressing his belly to the building’s façade. With arms spread wide against the granite for balance, he begins to inch along the narrow shelf of stone. His strained expression and trembling hands speak eloquently of the effort it is taking for him to force himself to move away from the relative safely of the window.
“No! Stop!” Dom protests once again, trying to sound authoritative, despite the shake in his voice. This is all going to cock. “What if something happens? You are only doing this because of me. Go back inside, please.” He drops his voice, striving for a level of intimacy that is rather hard to obtain eleven stories up on a window ledge with a white faced Elijah and fretting Sean looking on. “Billy, if something were to happen to you because I pulled a stupid stunt like this… I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t stand the thought that you might get hurt because of me.”
Billy stills at that, resting his forehead against the side of the building for a moment before slowly and very deliberately turning to make eye contact with Dominic. The fire in those green eyes is as physical as a slap, and Dom recoils, flattening himself against the facade of the building.
“You can’t stand the thought of something happening to me because of something you’ve done? Is that it, Dom?” The voice is deceptively soft, so soft Dom is forced to lip-read above the sounds of traffic below and Elijah’s distressed words of caution. But thought the tone is soft, pleasant even, Dom isn’t fooled. Billy is furious.
“Uh…I…” What to say? “I didn’t…I mean…yeah…I …I love…” No, not going there. Still too painful. For both of them. Maybe best just to shut it.
“Well, then…” and there are razors and blood mixed in with the words, “maybe you have some idea of how I am feeling right at this moment, you stupid fuck, with my best friend and lover threatening to jump off a building because I told him to bugger off!”
Ouch… “Uh… I didn’t actually threaten to jump.” It is pretty lame, but it is the only thing Dom can think to say in the face of such raw pain.
Billy’s eyes shut and he turns his face back to the hard granite of the building. His fingers curl like talons against the stone. “Maybe not, but you could still fall, Dommeh. And I’d have to live with that.”
“Bills….” Dom struggles for words. Settling finally for the totally inadequate, “I’m sorry….”
“Sorry won’t fix this.”
Yep, inadequate. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t really want you to say anything, right now. I just want you to get your arse back inside this building.” He rolls his forehead against the stone and lets out a slow half moan. “Och, this is giving me the boak.”
Dom watches worriedly. “Please go back. This isn’t doing either of us any good.”
But Billy seems determined to have it out with Dom, here, eleven stories above LA – fear of heights be damned. “Did you think this would change things,” he asks, turning his fierce gaze once again upon Monaghan. “That somehow you could force me to change my mind?”
“No, I… it wasn’t like that. I didn’t think…”
“No, you didnae think, Dom. You never think.”
Dom flinches and turns away, wounded.
“You’re a selfish, blaggering bastard, Dominic Monaghan. Is this supposed to be some ultimatum? I have to give up Ali, or you’re going to top yourself at the first opportunity?”
“No,” Dom flushes, finding a bit of flame of his own to counter Billy’s ire. “It was never about that!”
“Then what is all this about? What are you doing out here?”
“I DON’T KNOW!”
If glares were physical they would both have been cut to ribbons in that moment.
“Hey guys? Guys?” Sean Astin’s worried shouts cut through the heat. “You’re standing on a ledge half way up the side of a building. This is definitely not a good place to pick a fight. You wanna fight, come back in and then you can beat the hell out of each other, okay?”
“Yeah, we won’t even try to stop you, promise,” adds a very frightened sounding Elijah.
Billy and Dom’s gazes are still locked, but Billy takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, signaling a lessening in hostilities. ““He’s right, ya ken. This is no place for an argy-bargy.”
“Well, shove off then!” Dom snarls in return. “ I didn’t ask you to come out here. In fact, I plainly told you to get your arse back inside!”
“I’ll get my arse back in there when you get yer arse back in there!”
“What if I don’t want to? What if I like my arse right where it is?”
Billy’s arches an eyebrow a fraction towards his receding hairline, his mouth curling in what looked suspiciously like a half smile. “What?”
And Dom feels his own anger fading swiftly. This whole situation is becoming downright ridiculous. “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Boyd. I don’t know what the hell I am doing. I…I thought I knew, but now I’m just confused, and…” He lets his eyes drop. “It hurts, Bills. It hurts so much.”
Billy lets out a heavy sigh. “I know. But you know I never wanted to hurt you. And sorry doesn’t fix that either, does it?” He inches his fingers along the side of the building, finds Dom’s hand and clutches at the cold fingers. “Come inside, ya daft bugger. Yer taking years off my life, and I can’t afford to loose any.”
And with Billy’s fingers wrapped around his own, Dom finds he can make small shuffling movements along the ledge towards the open window and safety.
“That’s stoaturs, Dom,” Billy encourages, while Elijah whoops in the background.
“Oh, thank God!” is the comment from a much-relieved Astin, “I was trying to figure out how to explain all this to the cops!”
There have been a few moments in Dom’s life which might have lead to accusations of precognition, had he ever bothered to mention them. Times which left him puzzling whether there might just be something to the idea that all of life is preordained, and free will is just a farce…but that is not the kind of thinking one can easily live with and hope to be very productive, so it wasn’t something he chose to dwell upon. Still, one didn’t forget knowing you were going to drop a wineglass the instant before it actually slipped from your fingers. Or realizing your hat was going to fly off your head and over the railing of the ferry just before it did. Or the certainly that that woman walking across the street was going to slip on the ice and tumble to the ground. Because, the thing was, knowing hadn’t made any difference. The glass had still shattered. The hat had still sunk beneath the waters. The woman had still skinned her knee. Knowing what was to come and instant before the event occurred has never given Dom any time to change things.
This is no exception.
Even before Billy takes an awkward step, his high-gloss oxfords sliding on the concrete ledge, Dom knows his friend is going to fall. Knows it with the same certainly that he knows his own name.
Knows and reacts.
He is reaching even before Billy looses his footing. His hands close around Billy’s shoulders, trying to pull him back onto the ledge just as Billy’s treacherous left foot betrays him by slipping. Billy’s eyes widen as he feels the loss of balance, and his fingers sink reflexively into the velvet fabric of Dom’s blazer, seeking anchor. For a moment the two of them teeter, clutching at each other in a grim parody of desperate lovers or weary fighters. But with Dom leaning forward, and Billy already ensnared by the determined wrench of gravity, their combined weight works against them. Rather than being able to stabilize his friend, all Dom manages to do is ensure that when Boyd goes arse over kettle, he takes Dom with him.
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Should they call the police? Should they call the fire department? Should they call Viggo?
I snorted tea through my nose :)
Second part please.
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Well, what do hobbits do when they get into trouble? They call Viggo, of course!
"I snorted tea through my nose :)"
Yeah! A fellow tea drinker! Here's to you! (raises a cuppa in salute)
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Catch your breath, and keep reading. :)
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This is brilliant, honestly. I think you've captured the uncomfortable, unsure mindset... And I love the writing. Honestly, it's brilliant.
*runs at a full speed towards Part II*
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Gzz, I'm a horrble human being. OH well, still wish he'd of jumped. wonderful none the less.
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Read it and let me know if I should cancel the caterers... LOL!
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So does this mean we're engaged? ;)
lol
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Off to read Chap 2 now.