monaboyd | PURE AS THE DRIVEN SNOW

Title: Pure as the Driven Snow

Rating: PG/PG-13

Pairing: Monaboyd

Disclaimer: Dom and Billy are living in my closet, so if you ever want to see them again it'd be wise for you to pay the ransome...the New York Times isn't mine...it really isn't.

Feedback: If you give me cookies, I'll give you some milk...

Synopsis: Cleo Burfield gets the scoop on Dominic Monaghan.

***

I walk into the Paulie’s Tavern and he's there waiting for me. He stands up and ushers me into the seat opposite.

He looks uncomfortable and I can understand why. I've made a lot of people much more important than him nervous but after that fiasco with the Michael Jackson Insider, I'm reduced to doing this kind of thing to keep the wolf from the door.

Prior to this interview the editor called me into his office.

“He's almost too good to be true, this one. Find out what you can about him. You're good at that. Find the muck, Cleo. ”

So I look at the man in front of me. It's no hardship. The crazed tangles and spikes of his flaxen hair fall over his forehead, almost into his steel gray eyes. He looks different in jeans and obnoxious orange t-shirt, but every bit as cheeky (and utterly shaggable, at that).

Hell, if I were twenty years younger I'd make such a play for him. Never mind that. Down to business. I chew the end of my pen and it hovers expectantly over my note-pad, as Paulie arrives at the table with a quadruple gin and tonic for me.

“Thank you for agreeing to this interview. May I call you Dominic?”

“Yes. I'm doing this because Elijah said I should get it over and done with.”

His voice is low and soft with just a trace of an accent and it perks my interest even more.

“Just relax and pretend we're having a normal conversation. ”

He raises an eyebrow as he sips appreciatively at his glass of wine. Such long, sensitive fingers for a man his size... I need to concentrate.

“The critics are saying that your performance in Return of the King, made you one of the more compelling actors in the film. Would you agree with them?”

“Hardly,” he says, laughing. “I'm only one of many brilliant actors, nor would I ever classify myself as a brilliant actor. And I’m a back-up hobbit, no less. Orlando's the real star. "

Orlando Bloom. Mr. Cheek-bones himself. The personification of the phrase tall dark and handsome. Too glamorous by half, and who told me to “piss off” once.

“Back-up hobbit, or no, you gave a hell of a performance.” I say, watching him.

“Have you always been acting?”

“Well, when I was in school, I always took part in the plays, and such. Then I went on do a few films, I had a television spot. I was lucky enough to be spotted by one Peter’s scouts.”

Modest. How interesting.

“And what about your experience in New Zealand? What was that like?”

And he's off, going on at length about the different shooting locations, the special bond between cast members, the casts’ surfing excursions, and the prospects of winning the Academy Award for Best Picture. His eyes blaze with excitement and he makes expansive gestures with those beautiful hands. When he finally dries up I say,

“Tell me more about you, Dominic. I'm sure our readers would like to know more about you. Especially our female readers."

He's blushing now.

“I'm twenty seven years old. I currently reside in Las Angeles. My parents are happily married. My mother works as a nurse, my father as a teacher. I have an older brother—also happily married, and I have a mess of nieces and nephews. Er, that's about it.”

“So what are your passions?”

“Surfing. I live it, breathe it. I loved being a part of Rings, and I'm the luckiest man in the world being able to do what I love for a living. "

I grin conspiratorially as Paulie appears with more wine and another massive gin and tonic.

“And what about girlfriends? Hmm? You've generated a lot of interest among female fans, I wouldn't be surprised if the vote you the Handsomest Hobbit this year. "

That's right Cleo, lay it on him.

“You could have your pick.”

He flushes a brilliant scarlet and my journalistic instincts, though corroded, start to prickle.

“They're wasting their time,” he mutters. “I'm heavily involved with someone.”

At last, we're getting to the bones of it.

“You're a bit of a dark horse, Dominic. Who is she? Give me a name at least.”

“My private life is my own business.” he says giving me a very direct look.

“Not when you're in the public eye like you are.” I retort nastily. The gin's kicking in. He's beetroot by this time and I sense there's more to this than meets the eye. We're interrupted by a voice.

“There you are, Sblomie.”

A slender man approaches our table. He’s a bit older, his hairline thinning out a bit. He gives Dominic a warm smile, not having spotted me. Then he does and the smile is gone, replaced by a look of horror and disgust.

“Dom, what the hell is she doing here?”

I've placed him. Billy Boyd. But what--?

“She's interviewing me for the Times, Bills,” Dominic replies. “I did tell you.”

Billy looks sheepish.

“Yeah. I must've forgotten. I'll wait over there for you, okay?”

Dominic has changed. He's smiling up at the other man as if he had hung the moon. There's a beautiful, warm expression in his eyes and I'm not that old that I can't recognize love when I see it.

Billy gently touches his cheek and Dominic closes his eyes at the sweetness of the caress, capturing the hand in his own and placing a kiss in the palm. Billy smiles at the gesture and Dominic says,

“Yeah. Wait for me, love. I'm nearly finished.”

Suddenly they're the only two people in the pub, in the world, and I feel like an intruder.

Dominic concentrates on me again as his companion heads for the bar.

“Well, Cleo?”

“You...You and him?” I stutter. I'm never at a loss for words. He gives me a very sweet smile.

“Yes. Now you've got your scoop, I think I'll go and join him. That is what you came for, isn't it? Any dirt you could dig up on me?”

Oh, this is priceless. My glee must have shown in my face.

“By the way, anyone who cares anything about me already knows, so publish and be damned. Goodbye, Cleo.”

Courteously he stands up as I leave, but his eyes are already on the slim figure at the bar.

***

I find myself walking down 72nd street towards the Times' offices, deep in thought.

Normally I would be delighted with such a piece of scandal but I can't forget the way those two looked at each other, and can't help but wish that there could have been a moment like that for me sometime, somewhere.

The editor summons me again.

“Well, ” he asks tersely. “What did you dig up on Mr. Monaghan? "

“Nothing " I reply, smiling. " Pure as the driven snow.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Date: 2004-07-09 12:06 pm (UTC)

From:

aire-blair.livejournal.com

no subject

Suddenly they're the only two people in the pub, in the world, and I feel like an intruder.

Just the way it should be. Lovely job on this!

Erin

Date: 2004-07-09 12:07 pm (UTC)

theboysgonehome.livejournal.com

Eep! Your description of just how in love they are makes me meep! Oh, the well timed fluff...

*gives you cookies and waits for milk so she can ask for a straw*