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monaboyd Apr. 20th, 2006 10:00 pm)
uraneia.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Apr. 20th, 2006 10:00 pm)Title: The Seventh day
Rating: Wonder of wonders, I don't think I even swore. Like, PG. Oh, gross, now I feel the need to go write smut.
Beta-read by: The ever-encouraging![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
katze_boston. Many thanks!
Inspired byv_angelique's mention of the song "First Day of My Life" by Bright Eyes in this thread, which I promptly downloaded, learned on guitar, and fell in love with. Lovely lovely song.
Disclaimer: Hands up if you wish this happened.... Hands up if you know it didn't. Just so we're clear on that.
Before New Zealand Dom hadn't believed in fresh starts. He knew a few people who fancied themselves “born-again Christians” and a few more who took it a step further and claimed to be “born-again virgins”. 'Skeptical' wasn't a strong enough word for Dom's personal thoughts on that subject. You couldn't just throw away a huge section of your life because it didn't happen to fit with your current image. The past was a part of you, whether you liked it or not, so you might as well accept it and move on.
It never occurred to him that one isolated incident, one solitary moment in time, could render your entire past existence meaningless. Or, if not meaningless, at least remote.
When Dom walked into the hobbit trailer for the first time to find Elijah chasing Billy with a giant prosthetic foot he finally understood. Billy ducked behind him for protection and said (giggled) in his very best Pippin voice, “You must be my cousin Merry come to save me from the wrath of Farmer Maggot!” and Dom promptly forgot everything he'd ever said or done or been because it didn't matter anymore.
In that instant between Elijah's foot-brandishing and the first-ever hobbit pile Dominic wrote the last page in the journal that contained all of his previous memories and became one half of The Dom and Billy Show. There was no time or reason for mourning because every ending was also a beginning and Dom was right in the middle of the first day of the rest of his life.
*
New Zealand was different because even the routine became for Dom something exceptional and extraordinary and worthy of pages of comment in his new (waterproof) journal. Six mornings a week the hobbit caravan picked him up at his apartment, eyes still glued shut with the remnants of a too-short rest, still exhausted from a late-night conversation with Billy about the finer points of one Monty Python sketch or another.
The first thing Dom saw every morning when his eyes finally unstuck was Billy, half-asleep in his porridge. Despite his obvious exhaustion Billy never failed to grin and despite Dom's fuzzy-mindedness he never failed to make a crack about old men needing their rest and Billy never failed to kick him under the table in response and Elijah never failed to roll his eyes and tell them to get a room.
Dom didn't mean to sleep with Orlando but he did and even though it wasn't like it meant anything, they'd both been out of their minds with drink and they'd had a slightly awkward chuckle about it afterwards, he regretted it. But that wasn't the worst part about it; the worst part was that Dom couldn't decide if what he felt was guilt or relief that it hadn't been Billy instead.
The day this dilemma came up didn't exactly warrant a new journal on its own since Dom was really still the same old Merry, but maybe it was a new chapter and that was terrifying enough in itself.
*
One time on a rare three-day weekend Dom went camping with Orli, Viggo and some other Men and Billy stayed at home with a good book and a bottle of whiskey. By the second day Dom was so lonesome and homesick that he couldn't possibly have a good time, no matter how much Viggo tried to draw him out of his new (self-imposed) shell and no matter how mercilessly Orlando teased.
Dom had never been homesick for anyone but his mum before and he'd never been homesick quite like this. He rang Billy on his mobile and talked to him until his battery was dead but at the end of the day he still felt like he was missing half of himself. It wasn't seven o'clock before Viggo cornered him in a copse of trees and forced a set of car keys into his palm. Viggo didn't say a word but Dom knew that Viggo knew, and Viggo knew that Dom knew that Viggo knew, and all of this would have been a lot easier for Dom to comprehend if he could put into words exactly what it was that had passed between them, what it was that Viggo understood but he could not.
But Dom knew that Billy would explain it to him, so he got in the car, more than prepared to drive all night.
*
The sun was very nearly up by the time Dom let himself into Billy's apartment, the door snicking quietly shut behind him. Of course the place was dark; what had Dom expected?
Because he couldn't wait any longer and because he was tired and lonely and, in a secret part of him that he'd hidden even from himself, a little terrified, he let himself into Billy's bedroom. The curtains were drawn but there was still a little pale moonlight sneaking through them to see by, to see Billy curled up in a hobbit-shaped ball in the middle of the mattress, blankets tucked under his chin. Dom didn't mean to watch for so long but he had to, knew without a doubt that he wasn't going to wake Billy, understood that he was probably going to watch him sleep until pale dawn broke through the dark spell of the room.
He didn't yet understand (acknowledge) why, but that was okay.
Without really meaning to Dom curled up on Billy's floor and closed his eyes, letting the silent bedroom chill and the peculiar scent of sleeping Billy wash over him and lull him into an unconsciousness of his own. Maybe Billy could straighten him out in the morning.
*
Dom was woken the next day by the gentle prodding of a clear-eyed Scot. Squinting at the clock he was sure Billy had been awake for several hours but had let him rest, a fact which he found puzzling until he realized that he probably looked like death warmed over. At some point during the night someone (Billy) must have covered him with a blanket because he wasn't shaking with cold anymore but was wrapped in a fuzzy cocoon of warmth and comfort.
“What're you doing here?” Billy wanted to know, and Dom wished, not for the first time, that he had the answer.
“I missed you,” he said, which was a start, and sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I missed you and I was miserable and I couldn't figure out why and Viggo sent me home to you. I still don't know why,” Dom sighed, staring intently at his toes peeking out from the edge of the blanket.
Billy knelt on the floor across from him, laid one hand on Dom's knee just firmly enough to make him look up. “I know why.”
And Dom should have brightened, should have been relieved, because at last he was going to have his questions answered, but instead he felt the colour drain from his face and the chill return to his skin despite the warmth of Billy's comforter. “You do?”
Billy nodded. “You poor sod,” he said gently, and when Dom turned his head away he cupped his chin and forced their eyes to meet. “You're in love with me.”
*
Dom's existence dwindled down to the pounding of his own heart in his ears and the experience of sheer terror. There was no way to deny these allegations and he wasn't even sure that he wanted to and this explained so much but raised twice as many questions in turn. He wasn't aware that he'd closed his eyes or that there were tears in them or that his face was flushed with embarrassment and recognition, but Billy noticed.
Billy tried to hand him a tissue, but Dom was resolutely ignoring his presence so Billy dabbed the damp cheeks himself. “If you're quite finished,” he said mildly, “I'd like to kiss you now.”
And Dom thought Oh, and his eyes shot open, and Billy had just the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, and those were the kindest eyes he'd ever seen and in that instant Dom knew it was because Billy was in love with him, too, and finally his new life made sense.
The first kiss was just as soft and gentle as Billy had been for the past few minutes (months) until Dom thought it might swallow him whole and felt the need to assert his personality through a particularly sharp nibble at Billy's lip.
“Ow!” he exclaimed, clearly not angry but looking rather surprised, and swatted Dom upside the head. “What was that for?”
But Dom was smiling too hard to feel the blow. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?”
*
On their last day in New Zealand Dom didn't have a lot to say. Or rather he had so much to say but only the wrong words, despite weeks of trying to work himself out in his journal. He needed a new one. He'd used the last page that morning.
Dom was finally starting to understand that every day was a first day, but at the moment he couldn't appreciate it because he was focusing rather heavily on the fact that this day was also a last. This was definitely a time for mourning, because he couldn't yet see the new life that would spring from the ashes of this one.
He was so absorbed in re-reading old journal entries, entries from the early days of New Zealand and regenesis and confusion, that he almost didn't notice Billy shifting a packing box to sit down beside him. “I got you a present,” he said softly, and Dom put down the book reluctantly to reach for the small wrapped package.
The paper was worn and torn and worried at the edges and Dom ran his fingers over it slowly, knowing that Billy had been toying with the idea of hiding it away, of never showing him. He almost wished Billy had decided to keep the gift to himself because then neither of them would have had to acknowledge that their time in Middle Earth was ending.
Dom peeled off the wrapping in an uncharacteristically slow fashion, careful not to tear the already fragile paper. When at last it fell away he was left with a soft leather book full of the scent of fresh pages and newness.
“Open it,” Billy commanded softly, and Dom did so, willing himself to be strong.
The words at the very top of the first page, under the date, written in Billy's immature hen scratch, read Whenever one journal closes. There was a photograph pasted in, The Dom and Billy Show in costume, just a faded Polaroid that had been on their fridge for over a year, two hobbits complete with matching grins on their first day of weapons training. Under that Billy had written The first day of the rest of our lives.
Dom was doing his very best to smile through the tears but at the sight of the very last page his control broke and he buried his face in Billy's shoulder, shaking. At the very bottom were the words the beginning (again).
Rating: Wonder of wonders, I don't think I even swore. Like, PG. Oh, gross, now I feel the need to go write smut.
Beta-read by: The ever-encouraging
katze_boston. Many thanks!Inspired by
v_angelique's mention of the song "First Day of My Life" by Bright Eyes in this thread, which I promptly downloaded, learned on guitar, and fell in love with. Lovely lovely song.Disclaimer: Hands up if you wish this happened.... Hands up if you know it didn't. Just so we're clear on that.
Before New Zealand Dom hadn't believed in fresh starts. He knew a few people who fancied themselves “born-again Christians” and a few more who took it a step further and claimed to be “born-again virgins”. 'Skeptical' wasn't a strong enough word for Dom's personal thoughts on that subject. You couldn't just throw away a huge section of your life because it didn't happen to fit with your current image. The past was a part of you, whether you liked it or not, so you might as well accept it and move on.
It never occurred to him that one isolated incident, one solitary moment in time, could render your entire past existence meaningless. Or, if not meaningless, at least remote.
When Dom walked into the hobbit trailer for the first time to find Elijah chasing Billy with a giant prosthetic foot he finally understood. Billy ducked behind him for protection and said (giggled) in his very best Pippin voice, “You must be my cousin Merry come to save me from the wrath of Farmer Maggot!” and Dom promptly forgot everything he'd ever said or done or been because it didn't matter anymore.
In that instant between Elijah's foot-brandishing and the first-ever hobbit pile Dominic wrote the last page in the journal that contained all of his previous memories and became one half of The Dom and Billy Show. There was no time or reason for mourning because every ending was also a beginning and Dom was right in the middle of the first day of the rest of his life.
*
New Zealand was different because even the routine became for Dom something exceptional and extraordinary and worthy of pages of comment in his new (waterproof) journal. Six mornings a week the hobbit caravan picked him up at his apartment, eyes still glued shut with the remnants of a too-short rest, still exhausted from a late-night conversation with Billy about the finer points of one Monty Python sketch or another.
The first thing Dom saw every morning when his eyes finally unstuck was Billy, half-asleep in his porridge. Despite his obvious exhaustion Billy never failed to grin and despite Dom's fuzzy-mindedness he never failed to make a crack about old men needing their rest and Billy never failed to kick him under the table in response and Elijah never failed to roll his eyes and tell them to get a room.
Dom didn't mean to sleep with Orlando but he did and even though it wasn't like it meant anything, they'd both been out of their minds with drink and they'd had a slightly awkward chuckle about it afterwards, he regretted it. But that wasn't the worst part about it; the worst part was that Dom couldn't decide if what he felt was guilt or relief that it hadn't been Billy instead.
The day this dilemma came up didn't exactly warrant a new journal on its own since Dom was really still the same old Merry, but maybe it was a new chapter and that was terrifying enough in itself.
*
One time on a rare three-day weekend Dom went camping with Orli, Viggo and some other Men and Billy stayed at home with a good book and a bottle of whiskey. By the second day Dom was so lonesome and homesick that he couldn't possibly have a good time, no matter how much Viggo tried to draw him out of his new (self-imposed) shell and no matter how mercilessly Orlando teased.
Dom had never been homesick for anyone but his mum before and he'd never been homesick quite like this. He rang Billy on his mobile and talked to him until his battery was dead but at the end of the day he still felt like he was missing half of himself. It wasn't seven o'clock before Viggo cornered him in a copse of trees and forced a set of car keys into his palm. Viggo didn't say a word but Dom knew that Viggo knew, and Viggo knew that Dom knew that Viggo knew, and all of this would have been a lot easier for Dom to comprehend if he could put into words exactly what it was that had passed between them, what it was that Viggo understood but he could not.
But Dom knew that Billy would explain it to him, so he got in the car, more than prepared to drive all night.
*
The sun was very nearly up by the time Dom let himself into Billy's apartment, the door snicking quietly shut behind him. Of course the place was dark; what had Dom expected?
Because he couldn't wait any longer and because he was tired and lonely and, in a secret part of him that he'd hidden even from himself, a little terrified, he let himself into Billy's bedroom. The curtains were drawn but there was still a little pale moonlight sneaking through them to see by, to see Billy curled up in a hobbit-shaped ball in the middle of the mattress, blankets tucked under his chin. Dom didn't mean to watch for so long but he had to, knew without a doubt that he wasn't going to wake Billy, understood that he was probably going to watch him sleep until pale dawn broke through the dark spell of the room.
He didn't yet understand (acknowledge) why, but that was okay.
Without really meaning to Dom curled up on Billy's floor and closed his eyes, letting the silent bedroom chill and the peculiar scent of sleeping Billy wash over him and lull him into an unconsciousness of his own. Maybe Billy could straighten him out in the morning.
*
Dom was woken the next day by the gentle prodding of a clear-eyed Scot. Squinting at the clock he was sure Billy had been awake for several hours but had let him rest, a fact which he found puzzling until he realized that he probably looked like death warmed over. At some point during the night someone (Billy) must have covered him with a blanket because he wasn't shaking with cold anymore but was wrapped in a fuzzy cocoon of warmth and comfort.
“What're you doing here?” Billy wanted to know, and Dom wished, not for the first time, that he had the answer.
“I missed you,” he said, which was a start, and sat up, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I missed you and I was miserable and I couldn't figure out why and Viggo sent me home to you. I still don't know why,” Dom sighed, staring intently at his toes peeking out from the edge of the blanket.
Billy knelt on the floor across from him, laid one hand on Dom's knee just firmly enough to make him look up. “I know why.”
And Dom should have brightened, should have been relieved, because at last he was going to have his questions answered, but instead he felt the colour drain from his face and the chill return to his skin despite the warmth of Billy's comforter. “You do?”
Billy nodded. “You poor sod,” he said gently, and when Dom turned his head away he cupped his chin and forced their eyes to meet. “You're in love with me.”
*
Dom's existence dwindled down to the pounding of his own heart in his ears and the experience of sheer terror. There was no way to deny these allegations and he wasn't even sure that he wanted to and this explained so much but raised twice as many questions in turn. He wasn't aware that he'd closed his eyes or that there were tears in them or that his face was flushed with embarrassment and recognition, but Billy noticed.
Billy tried to hand him a tissue, but Dom was resolutely ignoring his presence so Billy dabbed the damp cheeks himself. “If you're quite finished,” he said mildly, “I'd like to kiss you now.”
And Dom thought Oh, and his eyes shot open, and Billy had just the slightest hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, and those were the kindest eyes he'd ever seen and in that instant Dom knew it was because Billy was in love with him, too, and finally his new life made sense.
The first kiss was just as soft and gentle as Billy had been for the past few minutes (months) until Dom thought it might swallow him whole and felt the need to assert his personality through a particularly sharp nibble at Billy's lip.
“Ow!” he exclaimed, clearly not angry but looking rather surprised, and swatted Dom upside the head. “What was that for?”
But Dom was smiling too hard to feel the blow. “Why didn't you tell me sooner?”
*
On their last day in New Zealand Dom didn't have a lot to say. Or rather he had so much to say but only the wrong words, despite weeks of trying to work himself out in his journal. He needed a new one. He'd used the last page that morning.
Dom was finally starting to understand that every day was a first day, but at the moment he couldn't appreciate it because he was focusing rather heavily on the fact that this day was also a last. This was definitely a time for mourning, because he couldn't yet see the new life that would spring from the ashes of this one.
He was so absorbed in re-reading old journal entries, entries from the early days of New Zealand and regenesis and confusion, that he almost didn't notice Billy shifting a packing box to sit down beside him. “I got you a present,” he said softly, and Dom put down the book reluctantly to reach for the small wrapped package.
The paper was worn and torn and worried at the edges and Dom ran his fingers over it slowly, knowing that Billy had been toying with the idea of hiding it away, of never showing him. He almost wished Billy had decided to keep the gift to himself because then neither of them would have had to acknowledge that their time in Middle Earth was ending.
Dom peeled off the wrapping in an uncharacteristically slow fashion, careful not to tear the already fragile paper. When at last it fell away he was left with a soft leather book full of the scent of fresh pages and newness.
“Open it,” Billy commanded softly, and Dom did so, willing himself to be strong.
The words at the very top of the first page, under the date, written in Billy's immature hen scratch, read Whenever one journal closes. There was a photograph pasted in, The Dom and Billy Show in costume, just a faded Polaroid that had been on their fridge for over a year, two hobbits complete with matching grins on their first day of weapons training. Under that Billy had written The first day of the rest of our lives.
Dom was doing his very best to smile through the tears but at the sight of the very last page his control broke and he buried his face in Billy's shoulder, shaking. At the very bottom were the words the beginning (again).
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Thanks!
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wonderfully said. (and i quite agree)
this was a very nice read.
Thanks!
kerry =)
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Glad you liked it!
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