monaboyd | Found, Part 21

Author: Semaphore
Pairing: Billy/Dom
Rating: PG-13
Summary: the sequel to Lost. Dom and Elijah have a discussion; Dom feels funny.
Previous writings can be found at: Caraidean
Feedback: Very much appreciated. Hugs to all who've commented--it's greatly appreciated.
Disclaimers: None of this is the truth. Really.
I'm intending to concentrate on Found for the next couple days, as it's getting very, very near the end. Only a few more chapters. Haunted and TITWTWE will resume shortly.

Found, Part 21

One of the first things Elijah had to do, Dom knows, when he realized he’d be spending extra time in New Zealand, was buy himself a Playstation 2, so that he wouldn’t be forced to go without his beloved games. Today, though, Lij can’t seem to play for shite, suffering a series of gruesome deaths and doggedly embarking on new lives again, only to die time after time.

Scarcely ten words have passed between them in the past hour, and Dom has the distinct impression that Elijah might well be avoiding him, or that he’s angry, or worse than that (because Dom and Elijah can have quite a good time shouting at one another when they’re angry, but always kiss and make up, so to speak, after) that Lij is feeling so sad that he can’t talk about it, and furthermore, Dom knows why, and there’s very little, really, he can do to make things better.

It doesn’t help that Dom slips in and out of sleep, without warning, at random moments.

He drops off in mid-thought and comes back to himself sometime much later, with the sunlight coming through the windows from an entirely different direction.

Elijah's throwing down the controller, grunting in disgust.

“Not your day, mate,” Dom tells him, laughing.

“Fucking useless,” Lij responds, staring at the frozen screen. “So fucking useless.”

“’s only a game, Doodle,” Dom says, though Elijah’s rarely, if ever, a sore loser, so he knows very well that’s not what Lij is talking about, not really.

Dom uses The Voice on him, quite aware how persuasive he can be. when he wants to. “Lijah. Elwood. Come up here, won't you?”

Elijah twists, in that weirdly flexible way he has, as if he’s the one who’s spent years practicing yoga. But maybe it’s only that he’s so damn young. Dom can remember feeling that way. Recently, even. He wonders if he’ll ever feel like that again, or if all this has aged him permanently.

“Come up,” Dom says, smiling in a way Lij never can resist. “Come up with us?”

“What are you, Gollum?” Elijah says, but he rises in a single smooth motion. His feet are tiny and bare and vulnerable, so much so Dom wonders, at times, if Lij will ever truly look like a grown-up, or if, like Peter Pan, he'll be a boy forever.

“We wants you, we does, my precious,” Dom answers, grinning.

Elijah’s flawless features twist into a look that’s curiously mismatched, quite unusual for him.

“If only that were true,” Lij mutters, but he makes his way over to the ugly chair, pausing with his hand on the back, fingertips stroking the rust-coloured leather. “Where’s Billy?” he asks.

“Counselor, then he’ll have a walk, after,” Dom answers. “Helps him get his head around it all. Mum and dad are in the garden, I believe.”

“So, at last we’re alone,” Elijah says, in a tone of entirely unconvincing menace. He runs his fingertips down the plaster of Dom’s cast, scratching his bitten nails against the blue tape.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you, y'know, Doodle. Left side or right?”

“Pardon?”

“Did you want to sit on my left side or my right? Keeping in mind that any major movement takes a bit of advance planning.”

“Er… Right, I guess. At least you won’t get excited and poke me with that monster.” He gives the plaster a hollow-sounding tap. “That thing should be declared a lethal weapon.”

Dom edges over, tumbling both the pillows that support his cast onto the floor. With a sigh, Elijah stoops to pick them up again, rearranging them neatly. He’s actually better with that sort of thing than Billy, or even his mum, more aware of what Dom can tolerate, what makes him comfortable.

He half expects Lij to perch on the arm of the chair, the way Billy often does, but Elijah slides in right beside him, their bodies pressed closely together. Lij smells very clean, and he’s using a new shampoo, Dom notices, one with traces of pineapple in it. He wishes he smelt better himself. There’s always an odour about him, these days, of medical tape and illness.

“You’re warm,” Elijah says, “Are you running a fever?”

“Only a small one,” Dom tells him. “Less than a hundred.”

“Feels kinda good, actually.” Lij snuggles up against him. “Like a hot-water bottle. Except a pretty damn bony one. You gonna be able to start eating again one of these days?”

“One of these days,” Dom answers. The thought of food revolts him. The most he’s been able to keep down, with considerable effort, is a few sips of a water-and-electrolyte-replacement drink intended for babies.

“Poor Dom,” Elijah says softly.

“Poor Lij,” Dom answers him. He shifts a bit, bending down to kiss the bruise on Elijah’s cheek. It’s not a dark one. He hadn’t the strength to give Lij a dark one. “So sorry about that, by the way. Totally unintentional. Billy always claims I kick in my sleep, too.”

Elijah stiffens.

“Doodle,” Dom says. “Please, Doodle.” He feels so tired, and he has no idea how to fix things, but wants to try so badly. He reaches for Elijah’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. His own hand is swollen and dark purple, from where the veins blew out, from where Billy held it so tightly, without realizing, and Dom knows full well how all of this must look to Elijah, how Lij notices him wincing because it hurts a bit to curl his fingers round anything.

Dom knows how everything must look to Elijah, who would never for one moment, in any state of consciousness, cause him harm.

Only love doesn’t work that way, and both of them know it, as they know there’s nothing really to be done, nothing really be said, that there’s no solution, only, hopefully, some sort of acceptance, one Dom’s truly afraid Elijah won’t ever be able to give him, not wholeheartedly.

“’m sorry about yesterday,” he says softly. “Disgusted even myself, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like you could help it, Dommie.”

“That I couldn’t. Still. Don’t usually like to be so completely revolting. Didn’t mean to make you sick too, by the way.”

“Billy told you about that?” Elijah’s voice goes dry. “Gee, thanks, Bill, for preserving my dignity.”

“Don’t hate him, eh?”

“I don’t hate Billy.” Lij sighs. “We’re friends. I’ve stuck by him, haven’t I? Visited him. Even programmed his fucking iPod, though we so don’t have the same musical taste.”

“You’ve been brilliant, Doodle,” Dom says.

“I’ve been an idiot,” Elijah answers, but he lays his head on Dom’s shoulder, wrapping an arm round his ribs, his fingers stroking Dom’s side softly. Dom kisses the top of his head, rubbing his nose in Lij’s silken pineapple-scented hair.

“You haven’t, love,” Dom tells him softly. “You haven’t.” He’s on shaky ground now, dangerous territory, like the hills above Los Angeles consumed by earthquakes and wildfires. “It would be terribly easy to love you, Doodle. It would, and you’ve always known that.”

“Except there’s Billy,” Elijah says flatly.

“Yeah, except there’s Billy,” Dom answers gently.

“And it’s always been Billy.”

“That’s true,” Dom says, but he kisses Elijah’s hair again, wrapping his own arm around him, pulling him so close it hurts, paining his chest where it’s so sore, though that doesn’t seem to matter. In some way it seems he ought to be hurting, having wounded someone he cares for so much, so deeply.

Dom realizes that Lij is sobbing against him, sobbing his heart out in absolute silence, tears soaking through the thin cotton knit of Dom's t-shirt. He’d do anything, anything, to set things right again--except, how can he? There’s no solution, no remedy. It’s an equation that won’t ever add up, no matter how one fudges the numbers.

“What can I do, Lij?” he asks, quietly, but in desperation. “How can I fix us?”

But Elijah only keeps weeping, the tears of the heartbroken and the exhausted, and Dom’s sorrier than words can say, sorrier than he’d ever thought he could feel, because guilt and regret have never been huge components of his makeup. He loves Lij more than any friend he’s ever had, but all it seems he can do is twist the knife deeper, and deeper still, into the younger man’s heart.

Elijah’s head drops down onto his lap, his breath warm against Dom’s thigh. “I’m so tired, Dommie,” he says. “I don’t know how long I can fight this.”

“Maybe the answer is not to fight it,” Dom tells him. “Let it go through you, and then…” He shrugs. “I dunno.”

“You’re a good one to talk,” Elijah says. “What were you like when Billy was with Ali? Uh… what’s the word? Suicidal?”

“Not fair, Elijah,” Dom answers, but he doesn’t take offense—it’s Lij’s pain talking.

“I know,” Elijah answers. “God, I know. There was lots of other stuff going on there. I do know that.”

Dom feels his breath catching. He’s torn between anger, regret and a deep, deep sorrow, and in a moment he’ll likely be sobbing too, because these days he has no control whatsoever over his emotions. That, and when he gets too excited, he starts feeling sick again, and his heart hurts him, but he doesn’t want to break the moment, doesn’t want to disturb Elijah.

“You’re my best friend,” Dom says, with desperation. “I don’t want to lose you. I want us to still love each other when we’re 110 years old and in wheelchairs, pissing ourselves and babbling about the good old days.”

“Nice future,” Elijah says, laughing suddenly, raising his head and twisting round. His eyes appear even larger than usual, his expression is fraught with sorrow and love and the traces of that laughter. “And remember, I’ll be 110. You’ll be 114.”

“Are we gonna get through this, Lijah?” Dom asks quietly.

Elijah looks at him a long while.

“I love you better than I’ve ever loved Matthew, Lij. Not sure I should be proud of that, but it’s how I feel.”

“Like a brother.”

“Like a brother. Like a best friend. That’ll never change, Lijah.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Elijah asks, but he’s smiling, if a bit sadly. “God, Dommie.” He flings himself back in the chair, his shoulder brushing Dom’s roughly. “So it’s kinda up to me. My decision.”

“Yeah,” Dom answers. “I reckon it is.”

They stare at each other a long while, then Elijah’s hand cups Dom’s cheek, and his lips brush Dom’s mouth, his tongue slipping past Dom’s lips, then out again. Lij’s breath is sweet, his tongue soft and slippery. To kiss him fully is likely an incredible experience. He’s undeniably lovely, with those wide eyes and flawless skin, more like some artist’s masterwork than the product of ordinary human copulation, as he is, as Billy is.

“You still taste kinda weird,” Elijah says, pulling back, then, “I promise, I won’t ever try to do that again. Promise, Dommie.”

“It’s okay,” Dom tells him.

“If Billy should ever suffer a sudden untimely death, would you marry me after the acceptable mourning period?” Elijah grins, but the grin fades quickly. “God, no, I’m sorry, Dom. That’s so inappropriate.”

Dom can’t say anything. The mere thought of Billy’s death is devastating.

“You wouldn’t get over it, would you?” Elijah breathes. “If Billy wasn’t here. That’s nothing you could decide on, or control, is it? It would be like Billy mom when his dad died, and if it was you instead, Bill would be the same. You love me, I know that, man, but you two need each other like breathing.”

“’s not a choice,” Dom says. “Just is.” He’s sweating again, and he feels dizzy, his hands shaking, the left inside its plaster, as well as the right. A headache seems to be forming, like a thundercloud, just under the right-hand side of his skull. Between that and the cast, Dom feels entirely off-balance.

“Do I get to be your best man, then, or weren’t you going to ask me, due to the feelings of extreme awkwardness?” Elijah pokes Dom gently with an elbow. “’cause I’d like you to ask me, I think.”

“You are my best man,” Dom gasps, but God, he’s uncomfortable.

“Poor Dommie. You’re all kinds of wiped out, aren’t you? Wanna go lie down?”

“Think I’d better,” Dom answers. He’s afraid of passing out completely, unbalancing the fragile moment. He feels the loss when Elijah slips away from him.

“Want me to get your dad to help us?”

“I’ll be okay, I think. I’ll be okay.” How far is it to the bedroom, anyway? Dom tries to remember. He lets Elijah tip up the chair, steadying him the same way Billy did, with a hand on his shoulder, before helping him to his feet and unhooking the drip packet from its stand. He has to lean his head against Elijah to make the room stop spinning, but even after that ends he’s still trembling.

“Look, Dom, you better sit down again. I’ll get your dad. Don’t wanna drop you on your ass.”

“I’m fine,” Dom answers, a bit too sharply, setting out on his own, at the fastest totter he’s capable of achieving. Inside his chest his heart feels like a maraca being shaken, and he tells himself, Calm down, just calm down, there’s nothing to be upset about, you wanker. No point in getting your pants in a twist.

Five steps into his journey, everything goes black on him. Dom takes another step, then another, trying to look around for Elijah through the darkness. At that point he can’t feel his feet. At that point…

Elijah’s calling to him, yelling his name, and Dom’s aware that he ought to be answering—only it’s so much effort.

“Sleepy, Lij,” he says—or someone says, doesn’t really sound like his voice. “So sleepy.” His chest is hurting and Dom rubs it absently, wondering where his feet, and now his legs, could have gone to. “Miss my feet,” he says. “One has a tattoo. Stars, y’know, Doodle.”

Elijah’s grabbing onto him. Too hard. Much too hard. He’ll be leaving bruises.

“Gently,” Dom laughs, not even certain why he’s laughing. “I’m delicate!”

“Dom,” Elijah says, “Can’t hold you. You have to try…”

But it’s hard to stand up, Dom thinks, with no legs and no feet.

Billy’s tapping his cheek, calling his name. Dom can’t remember him coming in. He can’t remember getting into bed, either—then realizes he isn’t. He’s on the hardwood floor with a blanket over him and a pillow beneath his head, sore and achy as hell, with a scary hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Fell on my arse again?” he says.

“Looks that way,” Billy tells him softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a prat. Sore. Okay.”

“Really?” There’s concern in Billy’s green eyes, but not fear. He must not have done anything drastic in the fall, such as splitting open his head.

“Bit like shite, actually, Bills,” Dom answers, because he’s determined to tell Billy the truth. Within reason. At least his feet have come back again: they’re cold and tingly, all pins and icy needles.

“You lie still then, daftie. Sent Lijah running off to search for your mum.”

“Mobile,” Dom murmurs.

“What’s that, love?”

“Ring her mobile. Mum always has it with her.”

Billy’s laughing. “Aye. Only that would be sensible!” He gets up from his knees to fetch his own mobile, ringing the number Aureen’s posted, which he really ought to have entered into speed-dial. Dom drifts in and out, lulled by Billy’s voice. He can’t tell what Billy’s saying, but the rise and fall of his voice is always pleasant. If he didn’t feel so odd, he’d be smiling.

The back door is slamming, and Lij lurches into the room, panting. “Can’t find them. I can’t find them.”

Billy holds up a hand. “Thanks, Aureen,” he’s saying. “See you in a moment, then.”

Dom shuts his eyes. The floor should be hard, he remembers, only it isn’t. It’s warm and comfortable, and soon his mum will be with him, and that will be lovely. He’s missed her. It’s nice that she should be here, though he can’t exactly remember where here is. Glasgow? Los Angeles? Hawaii?

“Bills,” he says. “Think I need you to ring J.J.’s office. Feeling really funny. Don’t think I can work today. Caught a bad flu or something, maybe. Hope you don’t get it.”

“Ssh, love.” Billy’s kneeling beside him, his small hand warm on Dom’s forehead.

“Will you ring for me?” Dom asks. “Think I need to sleep a little. Very, very sleepy.”

“I’ll ring,” Billy says. “No worries, céile. Just lie quiet, won’t you?”

“If you don’t like the sheets, Bills, I’ll throw them in the bin. Just found them amusing, I guess. With the hula dancers, I mean. Didn’t intend to annoy you, Billy.”

“You haven’t annoyed me, Dom. Not the least. Sometimes I lie on those sheets when you’re not there, and they remind me of you. I’ll just lie there, smiling.” He’s holding Dom’s face between his hands, and his eyes are close, lovely, green as leaves.

“Green eyes,” Dom murmurs. “Green eyes. ‘s a song, you know.” His voice sounds odd, slurred. His words seem to form slowly, like treacle dripping.

“What’s happening?” Elijah asks, his voice high and wild. “Billy, what’s happening?”

“Dom,” Billy’s saying, “Look at me. Only look at me. Look in my eyes. Don’t look away.”

“My Billy.” Dom’s smiling, but his face feels quite strange, and then his mum’s on her knees beside him too, demanding he look at her, shining a bright light into his eyes. “Can’t look away from my Bill, mummy,” he tells her. He feels as if he’s forgetting something. As if he’s forgetting everything.

The world goes very small, and very tight, around him, and Dom’s afraid there won’t be any room for Billy where he’s going.

Current Mood: exhausted
Current Music: Jeff Buckley, "Grace"

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Date: 2004-07-02 11:07 pm (UTC)

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