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monaboyd Aug. 2nd, 2004 09:30 pm)
semaphore27.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Aug. 2nd, 2004 09:30 pm)Author: Semaphore
Pairing: Billy/Dom
Rating: PG-13 for adult themes, continuing angst
Summary: The sequel to At Your Most Beautiful and Entire Worlds--it follows directly after Entire Worlds in terms of timeline. Dom arrives at the Astins'; he and Billy have something like a talk.
Feedback: Yes, please! It's always greatly appreciated. Huge thanks to all who've commented before.
Disclaimers: all of this is blatant falsehood. The series title comes from Crowded House, the chapter title this time is Pink Floyd.
Previous writings (including the two previous stories) may be found at: Caraidean
Chapter 5: Going Over the Same Old Ground
Los Angeles flowed by the windows of Sean’s ultra-safe, family-friendly car, but Dom noticed the scenery about as much as one would notice a television switched on in another room with its sound turned low. His head throbbed, and he felt wearier than he ever had in his life, including the point at which he’d collapsed beside Billy’s hired car in Hawaii. He let his body slump back in the seat which, though ergonomically designed for ultimate comfort, made every bone in his body ache.
“You all right?” Sean asked quietly.
“Tired,” Dom answered. The word didn’t want to leave his mouth. He had to force it out into the world, and doing so seemed to take every last iota of energy remaining to him.
Sean removed his right hand from the steering wheel. He reached over, fingers slipping in behind Dom’s head, rubbing gently at the base of his skull. Dom gave a little yelp of pain—he hadn’t realized how knotted the muscles were back there, though they relaxed a little at Sean’s touch.
He sighed, sinking into the upholstery. Sean withdrew his hand, returning it securely to the wheel. The car wound its way down an exit, onto surface streets lined with shops, ranks of palm trees that looked dull in the hot, heavy, early-afternoon air, then into the quieter avenues of Sean’s neighborhood.
Sean’s house suited him: solid, attractive, welcoming, its shrubberies neatly pruned, lawns smooth and green, pale-yellow paint fresh and bright, cheerful with white trim. It spoke to Dom of happy families, of people balanced inside their world.
“It’s nice,” he said, not aware, at first, of having spoken aloud.
“What’s that?” From the end of the drive, Sean operated the clicker for the garage door, sending it rattling upward on its tracks. The sound seemed to grind straight through Dom’s head. He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. The vibrations ceased as Sean pulled inside, then shut off the engine.
“Your house. ‘S nice,” Dom answered faintly. Without looking, he somehow became aware that Sean had turned, and was regarding him with his kind, steady gaze.
“We like it,” Sean answered quietly. “Dom…” He stopped. “No, doesn’t matter.” Another silence followed. “I’m sorry,” Sean said.
“Not your fault,” Dom answered. All these words wore him out.
“You don’t get angry,” Sean said. “You don’t…” Another pause. “I didn’t know. Didn’t recognize what was happening.”
“No reason you should,” Dom answered, realizing that Sean was blaming himself. Perhaps he’d blamed himself, too, all through his childhood. He understood everything, suddenly: Sean’s worry, his obsessive concern with safety. He meant to protect everyone, to make the world right again, to stave off trouble before it could begin.
“Ah, Seanie,” he breathed. “Never meant to bring this to your doorstep.”
“It’s not…” Sean glanced away, then, surprisingly, wrapped his hand round Dom’s hand. “Brothers,” he said firmly. “Just the same as Mackenzie. You get that?”
Dom wanted, suddenly, for someone to hold him, to hold him so tight it hurt, so tight it left bruises. It seemed the only thing that could keep him anchored inside his skin.
He realized he was shaking again, and hoped Sean wouldn’t notice.
The sat in silence for a time, then Sean said, “Want to go in?” His door made a familiar thumping, cracking sound as he opened it.
Dom’s heart started beating too fast, and for a moment he thought he might be sick again. Sean’s roomy, comfortable car felt confined as a coffin.
“It’s all right if you don’t,” Sean told him gently. “If you liked, you could go down by the pool. It’s nice there. Pretty quiet, too.”
“Yeah,” Dom breathed. Then, a little later, “Yeah.”
“It’s all right,” Sean repeated. He came round the car to open Dom’s door for him, his hand slipping beneath Dom’s elbow to hoist him to his feet. “You okay, there?” he asked, with some humour. “Gonna stay standing?”
Dom found himself leaning against his friend, against the solidity of Sean’s shoulder, pressing his body against the steady warmth of Sean’s chest. After a moment’s hesitation, Sean’s arms came up around him, not holding him tightly as he’d hoped, but holding him firmly enough for all that. Sean’s large, capable hand stroked his hair as he murmured, “It’s gonna be all right. It’ll be all right, Dommie. We’re all here for you. We’re here.”
Dom wanted to be held, he did, only at the same time he wanted to burst away from this place, to run and keep running, as if by doing so he could somehow escape himself. Maybe Billy hadn’t understood that, those mornings hurrying off to the gym. Maybe he’d thought Dom meant to escape him. Only that wasn’t the point. Never had been.
“I’m okay,” he told Sean, but even to himself he sounded desperate.
“Dommie,” Sean said in that same gentle voice, pulled away a little to kiss his forehead again, holding Dom’s face between his hands. “Just believe me. It will be all right. It will.”
“Yeah,” Dom said again. “I believe you. I do.” He found himself walking then, stumbling a little, following a path round the house, then down across the smooth, green grass to the pool, shedding clothing as he went, shirt, shoes, finally, at the pool’s edge, his tracksuit trousers, leaving himself in his too-loose shorts.
The air was hot, he knew, but Dom discovered he was shivering. His toes curled and uncurled over the concrete lip of the pool, blue water lapping over them.
Dom sat on the edge, telling himself, It’s water, it’s only water, it can’t hurt you. It was Sean’s water, too. Sean’s pool. Dom wasn’t so far gone as to forget his manners, not yet.
He dangled his legs into the coolness and kicked his feet a bit, watching the blue swirl around them. Blue is my favorite colour, Dom thought. Blue was his favorite, only he felt nothing, no faint, welcoming spark of pleasure. The bright, friendly turquoise might as well been dull as dishwater.
He was so cold, and so empty, and Billy had run away from him, unable to bear it any longer.
Dom wondered if he’d ever be able to go up to the house, ever be able to sit round the table with Sean and his family, with his friends, smiling and laughing. He’d once been a person who could do that, easily.
He couldn’t even imagine curling up behind Billy in bed, pressing into his warmth in the air conditioned coolness, Billy’s fingers interwoven with his own as they slept--much less lay awake, silent but companionable.
Dom found himself weeping again, thick, hot trails like acid running down his cheeks. He wanted to stop them, he honestly did. They made him feel weak, made him feel foolish, yet at the same time he hadn’t the power to stop any of it. If he had, he wouldn’t be here now, would he?
After half an hour, Chris came down from the house, Elizabeth balanced on one hip. She’d a clear cup of something orange, fairly thick, balanced between her small, chubby hands. Dom didn’t want them to look at him, didn’t want them to see him like this—what had he been thinking, coming to Sean's house rather than returning to his empty flat? Of course they would see him--Sean, Christine, the children--and would pity him because they were good people, kind people, big-hearted as anything.
Christine set her daughter down behind her on the grass, kneeling on the concrete by Dom’s side. “Hey,” she said softly, “You doin’ okay there?”
Dom nodded, unable to speak, even to Chris, whose company he’d always enjoyed—she’d a great deal in common with his mum, in many ways: kindness, humour, good sense. She and Sean raised their children much as his mum and dad had raised him, with open affection and a willingness both to talk and to listen.
Dom missed his mum terribly in that moment, and his dad too, at the same time he was glad they were so very far away. He couldn’t understand why he was the weak one, the one who couldn’t cope with what, on the whole, was a far-better-than-average life. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with him, why the others had moved on and he was trapped in this… nothingness.
Christine’s hand rested on his shoulder, her thumb rubbing his skin softly just above his shoulder blade. “Poor Dom,” she said.
“Don’t?” he answered, not knowing if he meant her obvious pity, or her touch, the way her fingertips seemed to measure the unpadded nearness of his bones beneath his skin. Perhaps he only meant that he didn’t want her to look at him, not as he was, thin and shaking and tear-worn.
“Lizzie brought you something,” was all Chris said, taking Dom's hand to wrap it round the plastic cup of orange liquid. “It’s only a smoothie. You like those, right? You always did. If you sit out here without drinking something, you’ll get dehydrated.
“Ta,” Dom said softly, though they both knew the chances of him actually drinking were negligible.
“Just…” Christine rose to her feet. “Just try, anyway. Even a sip or two. It’s something, at least.”
“Ta,” Dom repeated dully. “Will do.”
Chris made a little sound somewhere between sympathy and frustration. Her fingers brushed over the top of his hair. In a moment she’d be going, Dom knew. In a moment, the world would be quiet again, and that was better. The silence was always better. In the stillness he could shut off everything and not have to listen anymore, not have to work at keeping himself under any sort of control.
“I’m going to pick up Allie from a playdate,” Christine told him. “We’ll get your medicines while we’re out, okay?”
“Don’t…” Dom began, then halted, unable to formulate exactly what it was he’d meant to say. He twisted to look at her, but the sun was in his eyes, dull orange yet still too bright for him to make out anything but Chris's dark outline, and the way the light found streaks of red fire in her brown hair. “Want Allie to still like me,” he mumbled, gazing not at Chris but at the grass. “Please.”
“Oh, Dom,” Christine answered, in that same tone of sympathetic affection-mingled-with-practicality, as she stooped to gather her younger daughter up again. “Don’t even worry about that. Don’t. Honestly.”
Dom felt his face twist. He was afraid he’d start crying, but at least the flood had the decency to hold off, for the moment.
“Elijah called,” she said. “His flight arrives about two o’clock tomorrow. That’ll be nice, won’t it? A Hobbit reunion?”
“I…” Dom couldn’t continue, but then the words came out in a rush. “Does Billy hate me?”
“Good Lord, Dom.” Christine laughed quietly. “You are a riddle wrapped in an enigma, aren’t you? Or is it the other way around? I can never remember.”
Dom felt his eyes plead with her.
“No, silly,” Chris answered, still with that same soft laughter. “Billy’s over the moon for you, don’t you know that? All he’s done all morning is pace a track around our living room carpet.”
“But why…?”
“Why did he leave you there? I’d say he got scared, wouldn’t you? Underneath it all, Billy’s only human. He hates to see you so hurt, sweetie, and he didn’t know what to do all on his own, so he did what the two of you should have done in the first place, called for reinforcements.” Christine set Elizabeth down again; the toddler's tiny sandals, pink plastic adorned with flowers, clattered on the concrete. Dom nearly toppled over when Elizabeth's small, plump body flung itself against him, arms closing round his neck as she kissed Dom, wetly, on the cheek.
“B’bye, Uncle Dom,” she yelled enthusiastically in his ear, causing it to ring slightly.
Still, Dom found himself holding her tightly, because she was little, warm, soft, wriggly. She smelt of lavender and milk, peanut butter and apples, beneath it all the clean, indefinable smell of small girl. He clung to her desperately, needing that human contact, most of all the simple touch of someone who wasn’t aware there was something Wrong with him. “Love you,” he muttered into her neck. “Love you, love you.”
Elizabeth laughed brightly. “Tickles!” she crowed, obviously expecting more—a tickle-fight, a roll on the lawn that concluded with Dom flat on his back on the grass with Elizabeth perched atop his chest.
After a moment she pulled back, frowning a little. Dom wished he could apologize, wished he could explain, but what did one say to a less-than-three-year-old?
“Remember, honey?” Christine said firmly. “Uncle Dom has a tummy ache. He can’t play rough with you right now, but we’ll go get some medicine to help him feel better.”
Elizabeth pulled a face, sticking out her tongue, “Yucky medicine!” she exclaimed, with a certain amount of glee, because what child doesn’t get pleasure from another person being forced to swallow something unpleasant-but-good-for-him? Much as he loved his brother, Dom had been the same as a boy, when Matthew had to take shots or medicines and he didn’t.
The emptiness returned to him once Christine had collected her daughter and gone away. Dom lay back on the concrete, pressing his shoulders back against the roughness and near-burning heat. It gave him something to focus on, that pain. The dulled sun turned the inside of his eyelids to orange; he could see clearly the thin, red lines of the tiny veins inside them. The sunlight on his face half made his skin feel as if it was melting. He imagines soft, pink streams of self flowing away from his bones, leaving only clean, white skeleton beneath.
His feet, to be contrary, had decided to go cold, wrinkling under the water. “Pruning,” Lij would say. Dom missed Elijah. Missed him terribly, at the same time he wanted, vehemently, for his friend not to see him this way. He felt like Adam in the Garden of Eden, ashamed by his own—figurative—nakedness. He didn’t like to show this much of himself to others, whilst others thought he invariably showed everything.
That wasn’t true, never had been, but he was too good an actor, generally, to let on to the fact.
Dom became aware, in time, that someone was watching, someone who moved too silently for him to hear distinctly—which most likely meant Billy.
“You’re burning,” Billy’s voice told him, in time. “Red as a bloody lobster, you’ll be.”
“A bloody lobster?” Dom asked. “That’s fairly damn red, Bills.” His own voice surprised him. It came out flat and strained, with no trace of humour in it.
“Aye,” Billy answered, “But then, so are you.”
“Did you say you were leaving, this morning?” Dom said. “Can’t remember.”
There was a shift in the air as Billy sat down beside him. Dom could see, without looking, how Bill would be: cross-legged, most likely barefoot, his spine curved slightly, his face hovering over Dom’s face.
Dom wanted to open his eyes, but didn’t.
“No,” Billy told him at last, regretfully. “Didn’t know it myself. Only meant to go out for a bit of breakfast. Then, there I was on Sean’s doorstep, not knowing how to go back again.”
“Bills,” Dom said, not meaning any reproach, only not knowing what else there was he could say at the moment.
“Dom,” Billy answered. “God, but I’m sorry. Never meant to run out on you, especially under the circumstances.”
“Under other circumstances, though?” Dom asked, on thin ice in this hot place, afraid of falling through into a burning-cold emptiness where Billy wasn’t. He wanted to plead with him, to get down on his knees and bury his face against Billy’s thigh, his arms twined round Billy’s hips, pleading with him, Don’t leave me, Bills, don’t leave me. I’ll try harder. I’ll do better, if only you won’t leave me alone.
Only he didn’t. The humiliation would have been too complete.
Billy’s fingers combed back through his hair, Billy thumb brushed across his sweaty forehead. He'd been right: Dom had let himself burn; Billy’s touch, the salt on his fingers, stung him. Dom's heart beat so hard it felt close to exploding.
“Dommie,” Billy said, his voice more hesitant than Dom had ever heard it. He sounded like Pippin for a moment, confused by the strangeness of life, looking to Merry for explanation. “I’m more ashamed of what I did this morning than I’ve been in my life, except…”
Except with Trevor, Dom thought. Except for that bastard I remind you of. Only I’m weaker, aren’t I? I’m weak enough for you to hurt if you wanted. His insides dissolved into a morass of love and fear and apprehension.
Billy’s hand moved down to cover Dom's eyes, spreading coolness and darkness, like all the shade in the world gathered in one place. “I do love you, Dom,” he said, with unusual diffidence. “I love you enough to hurt myself, and I don’t say that lightly.”
Dom didn’t say anything; he wasn’t capable. How was it they both feared exactly the same things?
“I’m afraid…” Billy began. The silence hung between them, long and thick, until Dom’s entire body felt icy, at the same time he was sweating profusely. “I’m only afraid,” he concluded. “You can understand that, can’t you, Dommie?”
Forgive me, Dom wanted to tell him. Please forgive me. I really will do anything you ask of me. Anything, Bill. Only don't ask me to leave you alone, because that I can’t manage, anymore than I could manage not breathing.
“I…” Billy tried again. “Sean’s talked a great deal of sense into me, you know? Explained things, like.”
Dom wanted to sit up suddenly, couldn’t bear to lie there so exposed for another moment. He rolled away from Billy’s hand, but the instant he’d levered himself upright such a wave of dizziness swept through him Dom nearly fell back again.
Instead, Billy’s arms closed round his chest, holding him tightly, as tightly as Dom had ever wanted to be held--though now, surrounded in that embrace, Dom felt fragile as spun glass, ready to break into fragments with no more than a breath.
“I’m too frightened of losing you,” Billy murmured into his ear. “Can you understand that, y’daftie?”
Dom laughed a little, though it hurt his chest and made him feel even closer to breaking.
“Can’t love you,” Billy told him, “Then have you leave me. Not like this.”
“’M trying,” Dom answered softly. “Really am, Bills.”
“I know, love,” Billy murmured, “I know.” He paused, kissing the side of Dom’s neck, nuzzling his nose through Dom’s hair. Dom wanted to tell him to stop it, that he wasn’t very clean, it couldn’t be pleasant, but Billy only held him all the tighter. “Try harder, won’t you? For me?”
Dom wanted to tell him, Yes, absolutely. Anything you ask, Bills, I’ll do for you.
Instead, he turned round, meeting Billy’s eyes. They’d an expression he’d never seen, uncharacteristically dark, the skin around them tightened, showing fine lines Dom had never known Billy possessed. Dom wriggled his hand up between their two bodies, running his fingertips through Billy’s stubble, over the angle of his cheekbone, stroking ever-so-lightly against Billy’s temple.
“I will,” he promised. “I’ll try as hard as I can, Bills. We’ll get back to old times again.”
Their foreheads touched. Dom couldn’t see Billy’s eyes anymore, couldn’t see how he’d taken the words.
“Old times,” Billy echoed. “Ah, God, Dommie—that’s not necessarily what I need.”
Dom shut his own eyes as Billy’s lips brushed his, as Billy kissed him, then, so softly it scarcely seemed more than a whisper.
He couldn't breaths at all, himself, because that light kiss, Dom realized, was everything, promised everything, sealed everything more firmly than a hundred, or even a thousand words, ever could.
“Aye,” Billy told him. “We’ll be all right in the end, Dommie. You’ll see.”
Dom couldn’t help but believe him.
He always believed, when Billy spoke so seriously.
Pairing: Billy/Dom
Rating: PG-13 for adult themes, continuing angst
Summary: The sequel to At Your Most Beautiful and Entire Worlds--it follows directly after Entire Worlds in terms of timeline. Dom arrives at the Astins'; he and Billy have something like a talk.
Feedback: Yes, please! It's always greatly appreciated. Huge thanks to all who've commented before.
Disclaimers: all of this is blatant falsehood. The series title comes from Crowded House, the chapter title this time is Pink Floyd.
Previous writings (including the two previous stories) may be found at: Caraidean
Chapter 5: Going Over the Same Old Ground
Los Angeles flowed by the windows of Sean’s ultra-safe, family-friendly car, but Dom noticed the scenery about as much as one would notice a television switched on in another room with its sound turned low. His head throbbed, and he felt wearier than he ever had in his life, including the point at which he’d collapsed beside Billy’s hired car in Hawaii. He let his body slump back in the seat which, though ergonomically designed for ultimate comfort, made every bone in his body ache.
“You all right?” Sean asked quietly.
“Tired,” Dom answered. The word didn’t want to leave his mouth. He had to force it out into the world, and doing so seemed to take every last iota of energy remaining to him.
Sean removed his right hand from the steering wheel. He reached over, fingers slipping in behind Dom’s head, rubbing gently at the base of his skull. Dom gave a little yelp of pain—he hadn’t realized how knotted the muscles were back there, though they relaxed a little at Sean’s touch.
He sighed, sinking into the upholstery. Sean withdrew his hand, returning it securely to the wheel. The car wound its way down an exit, onto surface streets lined with shops, ranks of palm trees that looked dull in the hot, heavy, early-afternoon air, then into the quieter avenues of Sean’s neighborhood.
Sean’s house suited him: solid, attractive, welcoming, its shrubberies neatly pruned, lawns smooth and green, pale-yellow paint fresh and bright, cheerful with white trim. It spoke to Dom of happy families, of people balanced inside their world.
“It’s nice,” he said, not aware, at first, of having spoken aloud.
“What’s that?” From the end of the drive, Sean operated the clicker for the garage door, sending it rattling upward on its tracks. The sound seemed to grind straight through Dom’s head. He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. The vibrations ceased as Sean pulled inside, then shut off the engine.
“Your house. ‘S nice,” Dom answered faintly. Without looking, he somehow became aware that Sean had turned, and was regarding him with his kind, steady gaze.
“We like it,” Sean answered quietly. “Dom…” He stopped. “No, doesn’t matter.” Another silence followed. “I’m sorry,” Sean said.
“Not your fault,” Dom answered. All these words wore him out.
“You don’t get angry,” Sean said. “You don’t…” Another pause. “I didn’t know. Didn’t recognize what was happening.”
“No reason you should,” Dom answered, realizing that Sean was blaming himself. Perhaps he’d blamed himself, too, all through his childhood. He understood everything, suddenly: Sean’s worry, his obsessive concern with safety. He meant to protect everyone, to make the world right again, to stave off trouble before it could begin.
“Ah, Seanie,” he breathed. “Never meant to bring this to your doorstep.”
“It’s not…” Sean glanced away, then, surprisingly, wrapped his hand round Dom’s hand. “Brothers,” he said firmly. “Just the same as Mackenzie. You get that?”
Dom wanted, suddenly, for someone to hold him, to hold him so tight it hurt, so tight it left bruises. It seemed the only thing that could keep him anchored inside his skin.
He realized he was shaking again, and hoped Sean wouldn’t notice.
The sat in silence for a time, then Sean said, “Want to go in?” His door made a familiar thumping, cracking sound as he opened it.
Dom’s heart started beating too fast, and for a moment he thought he might be sick again. Sean’s roomy, comfortable car felt confined as a coffin.
“It’s all right if you don’t,” Sean told him gently. “If you liked, you could go down by the pool. It’s nice there. Pretty quiet, too.”
“Yeah,” Dom breathed. Then, a little later, “Yeah.”
“It’s all right,” Sean repeated. He came round the car to open Dom’s door for him, his hand slipping beneath Dom’s elbow to hoist him to his feet. “You okay, there?” he asked, with some humour. “Gonna stay standing?”
Dom found himself leaning against his friend, against the solidity of Sean’s shoulder, pressing his body against the steady warmth of Sean’s chest. After a moment’s hesitation, Sean’s arms came up around him, not holding him tightly as he’d hoped, but holding him firmly enough for all that. Sean’s large, capable hand stroked his hair as he murmured, “It’s gonna be all right. It’ll be all right, Dommie. We’re all here for you. We’re here.”
Dom wanted to be held, he did, only at the same time he wanted to burst away from this place, to run and keep running, as if by doing so he could somehow escape himself. Maybe Billy hadn’t understood that, those mornings hurrying off to the gym. Maybe he’d thought Dom meant to escape him. Only that wasn’t the point. Never had been.
“I’m okay,” he told Sean, but even to himself he sounded desperate.
“Dommie,” Sean said in that same gentle voice, pulled away a little to kiss his forehead again, holding Dom’s face between his hands. “Just believe me. It will be all right. It will.”
“Yeah,” Dom said again. “I believe you. I do.” He found himself walking then, stumbling a little, following a path round the house, then down across the smooth, green grass to the pool, shedding clothing as he went, shirt, shoes, finally, at the pool’s edge, his tracksuit trousers, leaving himself in his too-loose shorts.
The air was hot, he knew, but Dom discovered he was shivering. His toes curled and uncurled over the concrete lip of the pool, blue water lapping over them.
Dom sat on the edge, telling himself, It’s water, it’s only water, it can’t hurt you. It was Sean’s water, too. Sean’s pool. Dom wasn’t so far gone as to forget his manners, not yet.
He dangled his legs into the coolness and kicked his feet a bit, watching the blue swirl around them. Blue is my favorite colour, Dom thought. Blue was his favorite, only he felt nothing, no faint, welcoming spark of pleasure. The bright, friendly turquoise might as well been dull as dishwater.
He was so cold, and so empty, and Billy had run away from him, unable to bear it any longer.
Dom wondered if he’d ever be able to go up to the house, ever be able to sit round the table with Sean and his family, with his friends, smiling and laughing. He’d once been a person who could do that, easily.
He couldn’t even imagine curling up behind Billy in bed, pressing into his warmth in the air conditioned coolness, Billy’s fingers interwoven with his own as they slept--much less lay awake, silent but companionable.
Dom found himself weeping again, thick, hot trails like acid running down his cheeks. He wanted to stop them, he honestly did. They made him feel weak, made him feel foolish, yet at the same time he hadn’t the power to stop any of it. If he had, he wouldn’t be here now, would he?
After half an hour, Chris came down from the house, Elizabeth balanced on one hip. She’d a clear cup of something orange, fairly thick, balanced between her small, chubby hands. Dom didn’t want them to look at him, didn’t want them to see him like this—what had he been thinking, coming to Sean's house rather than returning to his empty flat? Of course they would see him--Sean, Christine, the children--and would pity him because they were good people, kind people, big-hearted as anything.
Christine set her daughter down behind her on the grass, kneeling on the concrete by Dom’s side. “Hey,” she said softly, “You doin’ okay there?”
Dom nodded, unable to speak, even to Chris, whose company he’d always enjoyed—she’d a great deal in common with his mum, in many ways: kindness, humour, good sense. She and Sean raised their children much as his mum and dad had raised him, with open affection and a willingness both to talk and to listen.
Dom missed his mum terribly in that moment, and his dad too, at the same time he was glad they were so very far away. He couldn’t understand why he was the weak one, the one who couldn’t cope with what, on the whole, was a far-better-than-average life. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with him, why the others had moved on and he was trapped in this… nothingness.
Christine’s hand rested on his shoulder, her thumb rubbing his skin softly just above his shoulder blade. “Poor Dom,” she said.
“Don’t?” he answered, not knowing if he meant her obvious pity, or her touch, the way her fingertips seemed to measure the unpadded nearness of his bones beneath his skin. Perhaps he only meant that he didn’t want her to look at him, not as he was, thin and shaking and tear-worn.
“Lizzie brought you something,” was all Chris said, taking Dom's hand to wrap it round the plastic cup of orange liquid. “It’s only a smoothie. You like those, right? You always did. If you sit out here without drinking something, you’ll get dehydrated.
“Ta,” Dom said softly, though they both knew the chances of him actually drinking were negligible.
“Just…” Christine rose to her feet. “Just try, anyway. Even a sip or two. It’s something, at least.”
“Ta,” Dom repeated dully. “Will do.”
Chris made a little sound somewhere between sympathy and frustration. Her fingers brushed over the top of his hair. In a moment she’d be going, Dom knew. In a moment, the world would be quiet again, and that was better. The silence was always better. In the stillness he could shut off everything and not have to listen anymore, not have to work at keeping himself under any sort of control.
“I’m going to pick up Allie from a playdate,” Christine told him. “We’ll get your medicines while we’re out, okay?”
“Don’t…” Dom began, then halted, unable to formulate exactly what it was he’d meant to say. He twisted to look at her, but the sun was in his eyes, dull orange yet still too bright for him to make out anything but Chris's dark outline, and the way the light found streaks of red fire in her brown hair. “Want Allie to still like me,” he mumbled, gazing not at Chris but at the grass. “Please.”
“Oh, Dom,” Christine answered, in that same tone of sympathetic affection-mingled-with-practicality, as she stooped to gather her younger daughter up again. “Don’t even worry about that. Don’t. Honestly.”
Dom felt his face twist. He was afraid he’d start crying, but at least the flood had the decency to hold off, for the moment.
“Elijah called,” she said. “His flight arrives about two o’clock tomorrow. That’ll be nice, won’t it? A Hobbit reunion?”
“I…” Dom couldn’t continue, but then the words came out in a rush. “Does Billy hate me?”
“Good Lord, Dom.” Christine laughed quietly. “You are a riddle wrapped in an enigma, aren’t you? Or is it the other way around? I can never remember.”
Dom felt his eyes plead with her.
“No, silly,” Chris answered, still with that same soft laughter. “Billy’s over the moon for you, don’t you know that? All he’s done all morning is pace a track around our living room carpet.”
“But why…?”
“Why did he leave you there? I’d say he got scared, wouldn’t you? Underneath it all, Billy’s only human. He hates to see you so hurt, sweetie, and he didn’t know what to do all on his own, so he did what the two of you should have done in the first place, called for reinforcements.” Christine set Elizabeth down again; the toddler's tiny sandals, pink plastic adorned with flowers, clattered on the concrete. Dom nearly toppled over when Elizabeth's small, plump body flung itself against him, arms closing round his neck as she kissed Dom, wetly, on the cheek.
“B’bye, Uncle Dom,” she yelled enthusiastically in his ear, causing it to ring slightly.
Still, Dom found himself holding her tightly, because she was little, warm, soft, wriggly. She smelt of lavender and milk, peanut butter and apples, beneath it all the clean, indefinable smell of small girl. He clung to her desperately, needing that human contact, most of all the simple touch of someone who wasn’t aware there was something Wrong with him. “Love you,” he muttered into her neck. “Love you, love you.”
Elizabeth laughed brightly. “Tickles!” she crowed, obviously expecting more—a tickle-fight, a roll on the lawn that concluded with Dom flat on his back on the grass with Elizabeth perched atop his chest.
After a moment she pulled back, frowning a little. Dom wished he could apologize, wished he could explain, but what did one say to a less-than-three-year-old?
“Remember, honey?” Christine said firmly. “Uncle Dom has a tummy ache. He can’t play rough with you right now, but we’ll go get some medicine to help him feel better.”
Elizabeth pulled a face, sticking out her tongue, “Yucky medicine!” she exclaimed, with a certain amount of glee, because what child doesn’t get pleasure from another person being forced to swallow something unpleasant-but-good-for-him? Much as he loved his brother, Dom had been the same as a boy, when Matthew had to take shots or medicines and he didn’t.
The emptiness returned to him once Christine had collected her daughter and gone away. Dom lay back on the concrete, pressing his shoulders back against the roughness and near-burning heat. It gave him something to focus on, that pain. The dulled sun turned the inside of his eyelids to orange; he could see clearly the thin, red lines of the tiny veins inside them. The sunlight on his face half made his skin feel as if it was melting. He imagines soft, pink streams of self flowing away from his bones, leaving only clean, white skeleton beneath.
His feet, to be contrary, had decided to go cold, wrinkling under the water. “Pruning,” Lij would say. Dom missed Elijah. Missed him terribly, at the same time he wanted, vehemently, for his friend not to see him this way. He felt like Adam in the Garden of Eden, ashamed by his own—figurative—nakedness. He didn’t like to show this much of himself to others, whilst others thought he invariably showed everything.
That wasn’t true, never had been, but he was too good an actor, generally, to let on to the fact.
Dom became aware, in time, that someone was watching, someone who moved too silently for him to hear distinctly—which most likely meant Billy.
“You’re burning,” Billy’s voice told him, in time. “Red as a bloody lobster, you’ll be.”
“A bloody lobster?” Dom asked. “That’s fairly damn red, Bills.” His own voice surprised him. It came out flat and strained, with no trace of humour in it.
“Aye,” Billy answered, “But then, so are you.”
“Did you say you were leaving, this morning?” Dom said. “Can’t remember.”
There was a shift in the air as Billy sat down beside him. Dom could see, without looking, how Bill would be: cross-legged, most likely barefoot, his spine curved slightly, his face hovering over Dom’s face.
Dom wanted to open his eyes, but didn’t.
“No,” Billy told him at last, regretfully. “Didn’t know it myself. Only meant to go out for a bit of breakfast. Then, there I was on Sean’s doorstep, not knowing how to go back again.”
“Bills,” Dom said, not meaning any reproach, only not knowing what else there was he could say at the moment.
“Dom,” Billy answered. “God, but I’m sorry. Never meant to run out on you, especially under the circumstances.”
“Under other circumstances, though?” Dom asked, on thin ice in this hot place, afraid of falling through into a burning-cold emptiness where Billy wasn’t. He wanted to plead with him, to get down on his knees and bury his face against Billy’s thigh, his arms twined round Billy’s hips, pleading with him, Don’t leave me, Bills, don’t leave me. I’ll try harder. I’ll do better, if only you won’t leave me alone.
Only he didn’t. The humiliation would have been too complete.
Billy’s fingers combed back through his hair, Billy thumb brushed across his sweaty forehead. He'd been right: Dom had let himself burn; Billy’s touch, the salt on his fingers, stung him. Dom's heart beat so hard it felt close to exploding.
“Dommie,” Billy said, his voice more hesitant than Dom had ever heard it. He sounded like Pippin for a moment, confused by the strangeness of life, looking to Merry for explanation. “I’m more ashamed of what I did this morning than I’ve been in my life, except…”
Except with Trevor, Dom thought. Except for that bastard I remind you of. Only I’m weaker, aren’t I? I’m weak enough for you to hurt if you wanted. His insides dissolved into a morass of love and fear and apprehension.
Billy’s hand moved down to cover Dom's eyes, spreading coolness and darkness, like all the shade in the world gathered in one place. “I do love you, Dom,” he said, with unusual diffidence. “I love you enough to hurt myself, and I don’t say that lightly.”
Dom didn’t say anything; he wasn’t capable. How was it they both feared exactly the same things?
“I’m afraid…” Billy began. The silence hung between them, long and thick, until Dom’s entire body felt icy, at the same time he was sweating profusely. “I’m only afraid,” he concluded. “You can understand that, can’t you, Dommie?”
Forgive me, Dom wanted to tell him. Please forgive me. I really will do anything you ask of me. Anything, Bill. Only don't ask me to leave you alone, because that I can’t manage, anymore than I could manage not breathing.
“I…” Billy tried again. “Sean’s talked a great deal of sense into me, you know? Explained things, like.”
Dom wanted to sit up suddenly, couldn’t bear to lie there so exposed for another moment. He rolled away from Billy’s hand, but the instant he’d levered himself upright such a wave of dizziness swept through him Dom nearly fell back again.
Instead, Billy’s arms closed round his chest, holding him tightly, as tightly as Dom had ever wanted to be held--though now, surrounded in that embrace, Dom felt fragile as spun glass, ready to break into fragments with no more than a breath.
“I’m too frightened of losing you,” Billy murmured into his ear. “Can you understand that, y’daftie?”
Dom laughed a little, though it hurt his chest and made him feel even closer to breaking.
“Can’t love you,” Billy told him, “Then have you leave me. Not like this.”
“’M trying,” Dom answered softly. “Really am, Bills.”
“I know, love,” Billy murmured, “I know.” He paused, kissing the side of Dom’s neck, nuzzling his nose through Dom’s hair. Dom wanted to tell him to stop it, that he wasn’t very clean, it couldn’t be pleasant, but Billy only held him all the tighter. “Try harder, won’t you? For me?”
Dom wanted to tell him, Yes, absolutely. Anything you ask, Bills, I’ll do for you.
Instead, he turned round, meeting Billy’s eyes. They’d an expression he’d never seen, uncharacteristically dark, the skin around them tightened, showing fine lines Dom had never known Billy possessed. Dom wriggled his hand up between their two bodies, running his fingertips through Billy’s stubble, over the angle of his cheekbone, stroking ever-so-lightly against Billy’s temple.
“I will,” he promised. “I’ll try as hard as I can, Bills. We’ll get back to old times again.”
Their foreheads touched. Dom couldn’t see Billy’s eyes anymore, couldn’t see how he’d taken the words.
“Old times,” Billy echoed. “Ah, God, Dommie—that’s not necessarily what I need.”
Dom shut his own eyes as Billy’s lips brushed his, as Billy kissed him, then, so softly it scarcely seemed more than a whisper.
He couldn't breaths at all, himself, because that light kiss, Dom realized, was everything, promised everything, sealed everything more firmly than a hundred, or even a thousand words, ever could.
“Aye,” Billy told him. “We’ll be all right in the end, Dommie. You’ll see.”
Dom couldn’t help but believe him.
He always believed, when Billy spoke so seriously.
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**hugs you tight**
Love, Cindy
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That's about all I can manage right now. Other than to point above and say, "yeah, what she said."
I know someone else said it before, but really, darling...your writing is better than almost anything I've ever read before. Published or not. And I would love to one day see something of yours in a bookstore. I would buy two copies and one I would frame immediately and the other I would read until the pages were so thin and worn through that I should have to buy another copy. I dream of writing like you do, you are a true inspiration and I love you for it. And for everything else because you're a beautiful, beautiful person.
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*sniffle*
Poor, poor boys. I know they're going to be OK, I know it, but still, it hurts.
And hurrah for wonderful Sean and Chris and Elizabeth!
It just broke my heart when Dom said he still wanted Allie to like him.
Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. Brilliant. Thank you.
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“Aye,” Billy told him. “We’ll be all right in the end, Dommie. You’ll see.”
I am holding onto that like it is my oxygen.
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*loves you*
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I don't think you could've written a line for Billy more open, honest, raw and exposed than this. Ouch. Beautiful.
Left me in tears, this chapter.
I'm gonna go read it (and the first 4) again.
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*Loves on it and you*
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I've been almost right there were Dom is. Struggling with (in my case) an anxiety disorder and being slightly ashamed of myself. I've long since gotten more open about it, but everytime I tell someone new, there is always that small fear in the back of my mind about how they'll judge me b/c of it.
Beautiful, my dear, as always.
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loves it muchly
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*bows*
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*and Billy*
*and Sean*
*and Christine*
*and you*
Not necessarily in that order, and repeat.
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Your Dom and Bill and Chris were wonderful as well. I can't wait for the hobbit pile. =)
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Anyway, I love this series. It makes me cry, because I feel so badly for Dom, and I just want to wrap him up in a big fluffy blanket and hug him tight and make him dinner (because in my family, we love by making you eat!) and hold his hand. And I feel bad for Billy, too, because I know he feels helpless and useless and all conflicted.
And, now I can't wait for Lijah to arrive, so they all can smother Dom with love and hugs and kisses
like I want to do.So, thank you for another great chapter! And, if you don't mind, I'd like to friend you. *hugs*
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So heartbreaking but so wonderful.
I love all the Astins.
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Another wonderful segment, this line in particular stood out for more.
As always, thank you.
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::curls up in a whimpering ball in the corner::
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lovely as always. i'm sniffly (as always). you consistently make me wish i could reach into these fics and make things better for them, even though i know that would be rather impossible.
thanks (as always) for writing.
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A heart warming chapter, especially the simple but meaningful 'confession' from Billy. Umm. <3
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AHAHAHAHA *DEAD*
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It's nice to be out of the hospital environment, and I love the way you write Christine and the children.
The conversation between Billy and Dom is beautifully nuanced. Dom just keeps pushing Billy doesn't he? And he doesn't realise that Billy is just as afraid of losing him (under different circumstances) as he is of losing Billy. I'm glad they've spoken, and I wish they could always believe what the other tells them. Their love is so strong!
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*wibble*