monaboyd | Nothing But Paper

Title: Nothing But Paper
Rating: PG-swearing
Summary:"You think I’d let you go on with the rest of your life without me?" Dom asked.
Notes:For

puddle_took and

vensre, from a promise made long ago during the summer, because their Monaboyd Roleplay was *that* entertaining :) I <3 both of you lovelies.
Disclaimer: I don't know them, this never happened. No disrespect is intended.

“We’re going to burn the last few script rewrites.”

Billy raised his eyes from his play-of-the-moment and met Dom’s.

“What?”

“The last script rewrites, we’re all going to pitch them into a bonfire and watch them just, you know, burn. As a symbolic ending, you know?”

Billy considered this, his eyes moving to the thin counter in the trailer that Elijah had spent countless mornings falling asleep against, Sean had spent countless mornings doing paperwork against, Dom and himself had spent countless mornings propping their Feet against, much to the chagrin and paranoia of Feet and Peter. A thin stack of yellowed paper presided on the counter now, and Billy could just make out the huge Pippin printed diagonally across it.

“I don’t know if I want to let them go,” he said, eyes locked on the script, the very last script he would read from during primary filming.

Dom nodded as though this made perfect sense, plopping down in his chair, spinning it around to prop his feet in Billy’s lap.

“Not one of us wants to let them go, Bill. It’s just, well, it’s that time, is all. And we figured it’d be nice to say goodbye together, all of us.”

“All of us,” Billy repeated, nodding slowly. “Alright.”

Dom caught the hesitancy in his voice and shifted, bring his legs back into his own space and tucking them under himself as he leaned forward, placing his hand on one of Billy’s.

“It’s not goodbye to each other, mate. You think I’d let you go on with the rest of your life without me? Bollocks to that shite.”

Billy smiled softly, and though his eyes were back on his play, Dom knew the smile was for him.

*~*~*

Billy, with Dom, of course, ever and always with Dom, was the last to arrive. Peter was going on and on about how if they were caught setting fire in an open space of the Southern Island, they would have to agree immediately to put the fire out and Viggo was assuring him that it wouldn’t be a problem.

There was a heavy solemnity in the air even though people were talking and laughing and reminiscing, and Billy tentatively touched the folded pages in his back pocket, wondering briefly if anyone would notice him turning around and running in the opposite direction.

Away from the fire, away from the end, away from the goodbyes.

But then Dom’s hand was in his pocket and gone again, and when Billy turned to figure that move out, Dom was facing him, holding out Pippin’s script.

“Come on, then,” he said, and took Billy’s hand, but he didn’t just take it, he linked fingers with Billy’s, and led him to the fire.

Elijah, of course, was the first to go. He pulled his thumb from his lips, where he had been gnawing on an invisible hangnail, licked his chapped lips, glanced at the papers clenched in his hand, and then unceremoniously tossed them into the fire.

A moment passed, as they collectively watched the pages singe and shrivel and flare into nothing, and then Sean set his pages into the flame. Andy was next, and he sort of tossed them, keeping a stiff upper lip and clasping his hands in front of him.

Viggo kissed his script, touched it to his forehead in a sort of Viggo-esque salute, and set it into the flames. Orlando, looking perplexed and not quite sure what to make of the entire situation, bunched his script pages into a ball, and sort of threw them into the flames.

John and Brett were standing next to each other, at John’s insistence, and so, passing half of his script pages arbitrarily to Brett, together they sent them into the fire. Bean followed, taking a knee and bowing his head as he dropped his pages as well.

Ian was very official about the whole thing, flattening the tattered papers against his chest and then one by one letting them flutter softly on the wind into the flames.

Dom was next, and he squeezed Billy’s hand.

“Together, shall we?” he asked, gray eyes reflecting the orange flames.

Billy swallowed and nodded, somehow feeling deep inside that if he let these silly pages go now, he’d be letting go of everyone standing in the circle around the ridiculous fire forever.

“What have I got without these, Dom? It’s what I’ve been for over a year. I can’t just let go.”

Dom chuckled and turned his head to face Billy, and said simply,

“You’ve got this, Bills. All of this, all of us.” Dom paused, a heartbeat passed. “You’ve got me, mate.”

Their eyes met, and Billy was nearly knocked breathless by the intensity of Dom’s gaze.

“And if you didn’t realize that until just now, you are single-handedly the most daft wanker I have ever, in my life, come across.”

“And you lived in Manchester,” Billy murmured without missing a beat, unable to stop the smile from creeping along his lips.

“Oh, right, going to bring that into the discussion, are we? Bloody Scot. Shall we then?” And Billy nodded, and together they placed Merry and Pippin’s scripts into the fire.

Peter was the last to go, and he started talking and his words were beautiful and nostalgic and genuine, but Billy couldn’t help but be distracted. Dom’s hand had slipped from his own to rest securely inside his back pocket where his script had been tucked, as though in reassurance of the fact that Billy hadn’t really lost anything but paper, after all.

Current Mood: bored

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Date: 2004-10-16 10:49 am (UTC)

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