All that will be left
So, this fic is to christen my new journal, I suppose. And because I had to write it. Do you ever get bitten so hard that you just have to write it? Even though there are a half dozen other fics that need your attention more? And have deadlines? Yeah. It was like that.
Title: All that will be left
Author: valerienne
Beta: pipspebble
Rating: R
Pairing: BB/EW, EW/DM, DM/BB?
Disclaimer: Never happened. No. Really.
Summary: So it’s the hobbits forever, yeah?
Notes: Stream-of-consciousness Elijah, and quite a lot of swearing. And angst. A bit.
Yeah. And like. It’s strange. Such a perfect place to be. This time. This place. These people. Perfect really. And it’s not as if there won’t be shit that happens, and people who’ll get mad, tears, and angry words, but it’ll all be smoothed away. The people will be talked down and the shit sorted out. Yeah. Like that. It’ll be sorted out because that’s what making these films is all about. History being made. No-one will even remember these little bumps along the road. All that will be left in the end will be the magic. All that will be left.
::
Elijah loves these guys. It’s not like he’s not been on a set or three before, but these movies are different. Even the stupidly early morning calls for Feet can be handled, after all, he’s a professional. Actually the good-natured squabbles over music, or the bellows from Sir Ian next door - and the Elijah hides his giggles in his hand - add to it somehow. He’s never had friends like this. He’s never had the time for friends like this before. It all adds to the perfect feel of this set. Perfect in its insanity, and the dedication, and the godamn fucking enormity of the whole thing. But he’s a professional. They all are. And most of all, it’s fun.
It’ll be the hobbits forever, Elijah thinks, as he looks round the trailer. Sean mumbling into his coffee, and into his script, half awake, half Sam. Nowhere near finished with his lines, even though Elijah knows Sean will be fine with them. He always is. He feels his face crease tiredly into a smile, one that’s all for Sean, that always will be somehow. He doesn’t know if Sean will ever know that though. Too busy in himself somehow, is Sean, for all his care. Elijah sometimes likes to lose something, just so Sean can find it for him, and then Elijah gets to smile for him, and have him see it. Just for him to see it sometimes. That’s enough.
Dom is flipping through a book of CDs, half on one foot, almost tapping absent-mindedly, his make-up girl not quite sighing, but nearly. And Elijah can feel more than a smile creeping in at his breastbone, for Dom and his particular brand of lunacy. For the stupid sticking out ears - god, he’d never have got away with those ears in Hollywood, British, well yeah, hello, of course he is - and the hair that just sticks up, worse than Elijah’s own, like a godamn hedge that’s been dragged through Dom backwards, not the other way about - and Elijah wants to giggle again. Stupid fucking giggle. But he doesn’t, because he’s a professional, remember? But oh… He wishes sometimes he could be less of one, and lose it sometimes - off-set, of course, his little fantasies aren’t that anarchic, he doesn’t want the shooting thrown off - but he knows with a warm tingling feeling, that if he does, Dom will be right there with him, urging him on, holding his coat even. Or.. Well. Whatever.
And then Elijah immediately catches Billy’s eye, just as the tingling feeling and the feeling that’s more than a smile threatens to pour out in some obvious way, and he gets a humming in his ears, just a little, at the sight of Billy’s own little grin. Humming in his godamn ears. It’s too early, that’s what it is, and it’s nothing to do with the pale knowing eyes of a guy who eats porridge - disgusting stuff - and who sparkles in the morning, even this early. Elijah has no idea how he does it. Inhuman, that’s what Billy is - maybe his being bred in that cold little rocky country has made him different. Tough, Billy would call it, and say that they are all piss-weak Southern shandy drinkers, even though Elijah could protest that Iowa isn’t a Southern state and anyway, he knows that’s not what Billy means.
But. Well. He loves these guys. Really he does. They’re the hobbits and they’ll always be there for one another, corny sentiment and small violin playing in the background and all of that shit, but he knows it. He knows it in his heart. They’ll be together forever. Yeah.
::
Billy and Dom. It’s the Billy-and-Dom Show. He could watch them all day, except that it’s more than that, they’re all included, all of them on set, as audience, as victims, sometimes as conspirators. And it’s a manic whirlwind ride, really, and Elijah’s just glad he can hold on, and laugh as he watches them plan something with no more communication than a raised eyebrow between them - and fuck, what he wouldn’t do to speak eyebrow, must be a British thing, maybe, and god, wouldn’t Billy hate to hear himself called British. Scottish, Scottish, Elijah knows that he’s Scottish, shut up Billy - but it’s enough to watch sometimes. Enough.
Except that it’s not just watching. They drag him along. He sputters his giggle from behind his hands, from behind the costume trailer, behind the tangled lighting rig, desperately trying not to be heard, not to give everything away. Desperate not to be the one who gives away the Billy-and-Dom Show, he wouldn’t do that, he’s part of it really; friend, and conspirator - who got the shaving foam to stick, he’d like to know? - and they both throw their arms around him, press his mouth shut, when he can’t keep the giggles in. Both of them. Pads of warm flesh on his lips, and a slight sting as he catches the inside of his mouth hard on a tooth. Elijah can smell faint cologne, and sweat, a little, acrid but not unpleasant. Fabric softener. Glue. He wonders why it matters. Excitement in the air, and his best friends pressed against him on either side, and his heart beats faster, but then. Well. Yeah. Obvious really. Can’t let the Billy-and-Dom Show down.
::
Elijah loves Sean best. He knows he does. Who couldn’t love Sean? And it might be hard sometimes to listen to everything he wants to say, and he knows in his heart that some of it could be called whining, but he also knows that Sean has problems, and he wants to help. He does. That’s what the hobbits do. So Elijah’s glad when he can jolly him out of his anxieties, get him to swear at life a bit, like a real hobbit. Drag him out drinking. And he’s got the best laugh, and when he hugs, well, Elijah’s safe, isn’t he? Safe as houses. It’s a nice feeling. Something he doesn’t think about too closely, but he knows it’s to do with a male presence on the edge of his mind that was once there, and then left, and somehow left a hole. And he knows that it’s cheap psychology, and he knows that he has what might be termed abandonment issues, but that’s too simple, and too complicated, all at the same time.
It’s easier to think about Sean, and about getting him in the right mood, so Elijah can fall asleep on him, where it’s comfortable, and he can just relax. It’s not enough, not nearly, the hole he has is laced with scarring and roughly cauterised, but it’s still there, and Elijah can probe it like a tongue poking at an empty tooth. But when he falls asleep on Sean, it’s filled a bit, not quite a perfect match, not quite the jigsaw piece that’s been missing these last few years, but close enough. And Sean likes to help, Elijah knows that, and he’s missing Christine, so they help each other out really. It’s good.
Elijah has to love Sean best, his Sam, his finder of lost things. Of course he does. They’re the hobbits. Together forever. And Elijah can fall asleep on Sean, and feels safe with him. That’s all he wants, isn’t it? Yeah? To feel safe? That’s enough.
::
Billy’s the mystery hobbit. Which is odd, because he’s as open and giving, and as insane as any of them. But then sometimes he isn’t. Sometimes Elijah catches him at rest, at ease, and his face is so still and settled. As though he doesn’t need anyone, as though he knows who he is, and he’s happy with it. Self-contained. And then he catches sight of Elijah and then he’s Billy again, strange, and funny, and Elijah wonders what it is he’s just seen.
And then it occurs to Elijah that that is the real Billy. The still, quiet Billy. And that perhaps they are all actors, but that some of them are acting more than others, all the time, and that seems a shame.
Elijah finds he longs for something, with a quiet yearning all of his own. He can’t put a name to it, but he finds he searches for Billy, and for the still, self-contained moments. Looking for him out in the woods when they’re not wanted on set. Watching for him as he leaves the clubs they visit, for a breath of air. He looks, but he doesn’t think about why, he leaves that alone. Leaves that for another day.
::
Dom makes him laugh. Well, they all laugh. All the time. But Dom… He shines, he glows. Man, he’s just such a fucking comedian. Elijah can barely keep the laughter contained around Dom, and when Dom flashes his eyes so wide at him, and keeps talking, even when Elijah is laughing so hard he has to fall over, slide sideways down the leather seats in the booth until he’s leaning on Billy, who’s smiling too. But not laughing. Not the way that Elijah is laughing, and Elijah knows that Dom has switched on the routine just for him. And it’s good, having friends like these. Good. Yeah.
People go on about Elijah’s eyes, until all he can think about is how weirdshit is that? They’re just eyes. But Dom’s eyes now, they’re storms and clouds. Sea-grey and changeable, reflecting all his thoughts, blowing like wind and water. And he knows that he probably shouldn’t be thinking about such things, about other guys and their eyes, but they’re mates, he knows they are, Dom and Billy have said so. So maybe it’s not that weird. Mates. And why does that description give Elijah a warmth in his belly, and another tingle? Oh yeah. They’re in a bar, and he’s drunk. Perhaps he should sit up? But it’s so nice to be leaning here on Billy, who’s not still and quiet, the way Elijah likes to see him, but he’s still there, and his shoulder and arm are warm, and the shirt underneath his head is slightly wrinkled and smells of Billy, and fuck, but Elijah doesn’t want to move.
::
The hobbits should be together. They should drag Sean out more often. It’s not right he stays in all the time, they should make him come out with them, Elijah decides. But when he goes round to his apartment, Elijah finds him cleaning, of all the insane boring shit to be doing, and Elijah can’t persuade him.
He pushes out of the place impatient with Sean, although he knows it’s not Sean’s fault. He knows that. But still. Cleaning. And he stands on the sidewalk and lights up and thinks. He could go home. But that’s nearly as boring as cleaning and Elijah refuses to consider the possibility. He’s young, and he has the evening ahead of him, and although he’s meeting the other hobbits later, even honorary Orli, perhaps they can start the evening off early, and he thinks again. Smoke streams away into the twilight, until Elijah tosses the clove to the ground and grinds the butt under his heel.
Without conscious thought he drives to Billy’s, although he picks up some beers on the way, a gift, a little present, and he more consciously chooses a brand he knows Billy likes, without thinking about how he knows it. And Billy looks surprised but not unpleased to see him, and Elijah’s heart lifts a little, in a slightly surprising way, and he doesn’t want to think about that either.
They sit on Billy’s sofa and drink beer, and talk about everything and nothing. The sun goes down but Billy doesn’t put on the light, or pull the shades. The room turns shadowy and mysterious, and Elijah thinks that Billy might be sitting here still and quiet, in motionless peace, if he didn’t have company, and that thought makes his hands ridiculously clammy. And that is fucking stupid.
Billy immediately wants to call Dom, but they try his home and then his cell, and there’s no answer. And Elijah is glad somehow, even though they are the hobbits together forever, because he doesn’t get Billy to himself very often, and he’s enjoying it, and anyway they’ll see Dom later.
So they’re just sitting on Billy’s familiar sofa, like a dozen times before, and Billy’s stretched out comfortably with his legs on the coffee table, holding his beer. And Billy’s telling some ancient anecdote about people Elijah has never heard of, but it’s still funny, in the gentle silly way that Billy has, and suddenly Elijah’s mouth is dry. He wants to lean over and touch him suddenly, here in the dark, reach for warmth and pale skin, scrape the roughness of faint stubble on his jaw, reassure himself that Billy is still there. He wants… And bitter metallic-tasting saliva fills his mouth. And he thinks. Oh. Oh. Oh fuck.
::
Dom is late. And that wouldn’t matter, because Dom is often late, before breezing in with the scent of another smoky bar on his clothes and apologies on his lips, but always thrown over his shoulder as he heads over to get his drink or on his way to the dance floor, or with another idea for their next venue. Dom isn’t still, he’s never still, thinks Elijah to himself, as he watches the door for Dom’s arrival, and he likes that in Dom. Likes the lightly suppressed mania that surrounds him, when he’s really going for it, but it does make him late. Sometimes. Like now.
It wouldn’t matter, but Elijah can’t stop talking tonight. As though words are all that stand between him and throwing himself at Billy, and that would just be fucking embarrassing, a kid thing to do, so he’s talking instead. Nervously, probably, but he’s not slowing down enough to listen to himself, just letting stuff flow out of his mouth. To be fair, Billy is keeping up, all animation and leaning forward so he can hear, and making jabbing points over the music with his finger. It’s loud and Elijah can smell Billy’s cologne, and it’s distracting him, and he doesn’t know how he didn’t notice before, that the cologne smell is always Billy, but now that he has, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop noticing, and fuck. He puts his hands under the table, wanting to bite his nails, for comfort, for something to do, but not here. Not in front of Billy. He pulls at the skin between them instead, and wonders if he should go outside to smoke, and if that would help.
Then there is a warm weight slumping onto his shoulder, and Elijah almost jumps, but the weight of Dom’s body is holding him down, and he wants to push him off, because Billy has leaned back, and away from Elijah, he’s smiling at Dom, and all of it suddenly leaves Elijah unreasonably bereft in a stupid sort of way. Dom is ruffling his hair, and laughing in his ear, and trying to shout some kind of unlikely explanation for his lateness that involves a broken tail-light and a barking dog, but Elijah can’t work it out. Whether it’s Dom’s tail-light or whose dog, and does any of it even fucking matter anyway?
He’s annoyed with Dom, for being late. For being Dom. For being here when it was just Elijah and Billy before, even though they’re all hobbits together. And it’s unreasonable and he knows it is, so he smiles back at Dom and doesn’t complain about the ruffled hair, which makes him feel even more like a kid - and how dare Dom make him feel like that, when he’s only a few years older? - and not like Billy would treat him. Billy wouldn’t make him feel like a kid. Would he? And Elijah glances over and watches the pale pinkwhite column of Billy’s throat as he drinks, and swallows hard.
Then Dom is dragging his arm, dragging him to the dance floor, and Elijah doesn’t want to go, but he doesn’t want to explain, so he goes, reluctantly. And the lights are too bright all of a sudden, and Billy is watching them with a tiny smile on his face, benignly, Elijah thinks. Offering a still moment of repose to Elijah’s hungry eyes where he least expected it. And that makes him feel better, so he dances and it’s good.
::
The hobbits are a bit too fucking much tonight, Elijah thinks. These roaring feelings, have they always been there, like a river underground, just now finding its way to the surface? Has he always been this blind? Is he doomed to think in fucking clichés forever? He has a sudden random urge to be folded into Sean’s arms, to slide his head bonelessly down onto Sean’s shoulder and just go to sleep. To leave it all behind.
Instead, viciously, he takes another drag, and leans against the wall of the club. It’s a bright night, the stars are clear, and Elijah wants to look up at them forever. A colder, clearer version of forever, he thinks. It’s a curiously calming thought, and he breathes in deeply through his nose, and wonders whether he should have brought his beer with him outside.
The door bangs. And Elijah knows without looking that it’s Dom. Billy wouldn’t bang the door like that, so Elijah says hey casually without needing to look round. But silence is his only answer, and distantly that surprises Elijah. The light prickle of sweat drying in the cool air means that as Elijah turns, his t-shirt drags a wave of goosebumps across his skin, and he shivers a little. Imperceptibly, as he catches Dom’s eye - who is solemn, and silent, and not at all Dom-like, and that’s strange as well - he sees Dom shiver too.
Elijah blinks. And then he stubs out his clove, because he was going to anyway, and he goes back into the club. And he doesn’t say anything about what he thinks he saw in Dom’s eyes. Darker than storms, than clouds. Stupid fucking descriptions anyway. Better to say they were smoke-filled. Like a bar. Obscuring and occluded. And full of longing. Elijah doesn’t want to think about what that might mean. Fuck, maybe he is just a kid, because he doesn’t want to think about it at all. About what he’s going to do about it. About how come he couldn’t have noticed that earlier as well? About… About everything turning to fucking shit. Oh. Oh. Oh fuck.
::
Sean notices. It bugs Elijah that Sean has the sensitivity to pick up on Elijah’s mood, seeing that there’s something wrong, but not enough sense to leave it alone. It bugs him that Sean has the tact not to mention it at least, but instead starts laying his solid hands on Elijah’s shoulders and squeezing, when the others aren’t looking. And Elijah knows it’s meant to be comforting but all it does is feel godamn heavy, like more weight is resting on him than he can comfortably handle. It’s oppressive and hot, like a thunderstorm leaning on his shoulders, and Elijah wants to scream at Sean, that Elijah’s meant to be leaning on him, not the other way around, except that he doesn’t, because he knows that it would hurt Sean, and it’s not Sean’s fault. It’s nobody’s fucking fault.
Luckily the shooting schedule picks up even more, if that were possible, although there’s still too much waiting around, as ever, as things are set up, with all the hobbits crouched together under tarps, or in trailers, piled in together like they’re one great big happy family. The irony of that doesn’t strike Elijah too hard, he desperately wants to feel the slide of Billy’s pale skin as they squeeze together, or catch his green eyes flash from under his Pippin wig, and the fact that he’s also desperately conscious of Dom turning towards him like a flower to the sun, and accidentally on purpose brushing Elijah’s arm, his back, his hipbone, well - it doesn’t matter too much. Elijah is glazed with exhaustion, the tension he imagines he can’t cut with a knife, is sliced easily by the numbness of fatigue. And he’s grateful for that. Desperately so. What the fuck is he going to do?
Is he meant to choose? Between two of his best friends. Best mates even - and they’re the ones who’ve taught him to call them that, and it stings, that memory, and all the others, tumbling around in Elijah’s head like he’s part of some kind of crazy pinball machine. And then there are the whispers that wake Elijah up sweating at night - what if Billy doesn’t want him? What if he turns away in disgust? What if Elijah chooses, but he chooses badly? And the path of least resistance opens up before him hourly, because now that he’s noticed, Dom seems to invite him with unspoken words and looks a dozen times each day, and Elijah smiles and smiles, and keeps on smiling, and thinks. I’m an actor. I can do this. I can fucking act.
It would be so easy to give in to Dom. He’s funny, and bright, and insane, and Elijah loves him. He does. But. He’s not Billy. And that is an irony that does hurt, with little shining dots of pain, that seem scattered all over him, like light. And Billy is just happy, and gentle, and witty, and all the other things that make him Billy, including reserved, and Elijah just can’t tell. Can’t tell anything. It makes him sick, the uncertainty of it all. He’s lucky that Frodo is having a hard time of it as well really. Method acting at its finest. Yeah.
::
The hobbits are there for each other. Elijah knows that. So why is he surprised when Billy comes to find him? Orlando’s been asking fucking nosy questions this morning and Elijah has found it all a bit too much to handle somehow, and he’s ready to snap from the tension, and he can’t explain it, he won’t explain. It’s all too fucking much.
He hasn’t gone far - Elijah can hear the call if he’s needed on set, he’s a godamned professional - it’s just the extras’ costume trailer, and anyway he’s only sitting in it, Ngila wouldn’t mind that, would she? The scent of leather, and fabric, and a distant tang of preserving lavender, wrap him around like a blanket. It’s warm in here. That’s what he wants. Warmth. And peace. He wishes he could learn that stillness of repose from Billy, but he’s probably too much a kid for that. So he’ll put up with second best, and sit here quietly, as quietly as he can, and try not thinking. He likes the sound of that.
So, of course, his not thinking is interrupted by the one person he’s trying to not think about as hard as he can, and Elijah sighs a little. That’s like the world is offering him irony on a plate. Or something. And what is he supposed to do about that?
And Billy is just perfect. And Elijah can barely swallow past the lump in his throat. He comes and sits down next to Elijah on the leatherette bench, shifting a pile of belts out of the way, and then he’s silent. He doesn’t even ask. It’s everything Elijah wants from Billy, except that’s not even slightly true, and a large amount of his mind lately has been taken up with the sorts of things he does want Billy to say, things like ‘more’ and ‘now’ and little breathy broken noises that he’s sure Billy could make in that fucking gorgeous accent of his, and that makes him so tense and yeah, hard, it’s a wonder he doesn’t vibrate right off the bench.
Then Billy puts a hand on his arm, just above his wrist, and Elijah looks at it, and there are goosebumps chasing themselves up and down his spine, and suddenly it’s really hard to breathe. Billy’s hands are small and neat, like everything about him, and it’s not even Elijah’s choice, is it? Not really. He twists his arm a little - not his fault, not his fault - and then suddenly Billy’s thumb is caressing his palm, and there’s not much he can do about that either is there? It feels… It feels fucking brilliant. It’s what he wants, and he doesn’t care about anything else at the moment, and he’s so godamn fed up with the tension, and it would be better if he knew, wouldn’t it? Yeah. Even if Billy doesn’t want him, even if he is, in fact, completely straight - and it’s funny that Elijah doesn’t know that, doesn’t even know that one important fact, given how much other shit the hobbits have talked about - it would still be better to know. Wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?
So he leans in a little, and their shoulders bump, and Elijah doesn’t look, doesn’t look up at Billy, because if he does, if he catches sight of the question in that clear gaze, then he thinks he might lose his nerve, or just lose it full stop. And he slides his head onto Billy’s shoulder, and that feels fucking amazing too, just lying here, and Billy is still caressing his palm and it’s sending messages to bits of him that are entirely too interested in the proceedings already. Elijah could swear that what blood is left feeding his brain just drains away, heads south, and leaves him at Billy’s mercy - and, oh, to be at Billy’s mercy! - so it’s understandable that he leans his head a little more, just a tiny little bit more, until he can feel the rasp of not-quite stubble on Billy’s jaw, and the tickle of his Pippin wig against his ear, and then, when he can’t pretend any more, he kisses him.
It’s not even a proper kiss, it’s all sideways and bumpy, and almost more like a lick than a kiss, and Elijah is terrified because he’s not exactly the most experienced at this, although he’s experienced enough to know what he’s doing, certainly enough to know that he wants this, oh he wants this… And Billy turns his head, quite fast, like he’s surprised, and Elijah finds he’s slid onto Billy’s mouth, and he’s kissing Billy’s fucking gorgeous little mouth, and it’s brilliant. It’s fucking amazing, and he can’t help it, he whimpers a little and his hands come up of their own accord and clutch at Billy, at the untucked white Pippin shirt that is all Billy has left on since they’re on their break, and he keeps kissing, and Billy doesn’t pull away.
So his hands are under the shirt now, and if this is happening, then Elijah is going take every opportunity he can while he can, and if that is mercenary of him, well then, it’s mercenary, and he’s going to going to burn in hell, but not right now. Right now he’s kissing Billy, and running his fingers lightly over Billy’s skin, and just for once, just once, Elijah wishes he had nails, so he could tease that glorious skin some more, but he makes do, and it’s fucking wonderful.
Then all of a sudden they’re both lying down on the bench, and his shirt’s been undone, and Elijah has one hand in Billy’s pants, and the heat and the hard velvet feel of him is glorious, and Billy’s breathing heavily in his ear, as Elijah squeezes. Elijah’s not quite sure how they got this far, but he doesn’t care, he raises his hips until his own erection is sliding with aching anticipation along the length of Billy’s, and Elijah’s own hand, and Billy groans deep in his throat, just once.
Then all is sweaty friction, and godamn too tight hobbit pants, and gasped wordless noises that never-the-less convey exactly what they must, and it’s not quite ‘more’ or ‘harder’ but Elijah’s not about to complain. He’s not even thinking about complaining, not about the uncomfortable clothes hanger digging into his back or the stupid fucking location or even about what Ngila will say if they damage anything. He’s too busy arching into Billy’s hand and whispering broken syllables of his own, in a voice he barely recognises as his, but when he comes, it’s like a whiteout, complete silence except for the humming in his ears, or maybe that’s just where he’s hit his head. Then there’s a familiar warmth trickling on his stomach, almost tickling him, which is joined several endless ecstatic seconds later by Billy, who comes with a strangled grunt, before collapsing marionette-like, a puppet with its strings cut.
As their breathing slows, Elijah grabs a handful of cloth - Ngila really will kill him - and wipes his hand and belly. Then, feeling like he’s greatly daring something, which is stupid given he’s just had his hand inside Billy’s pants, Elijah turns his head to kiss Billy again, where he’s resting on his shoulder, half-lying on his arm, and kisses the corner of one shut eye, tasting faint salt, and glue, and feeling a feather touch of fine, fine lines. And Billy opens his eyes and looks at Elijah, with an opaque and wordless examination, who stares back wide-eyed. And then Billy turns away.
::
And so Elijah should have guessed. Shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t he? Or is he just a kid after all? A kid with abandonment issues. Except that he’s not been abandoned, not really. Of course he hasn’t. They’re the hobbits forever, aren’t they? It would be unfair of him to say that. They go round to each other’s houses all the time, and they go drinking, and to clubs, just like they always have. Nothing’s changed. Except that everything has changed.
The Billy and Dom Show. It’s the Billy and Dom Show - look everybody! - and Elijah watches and laughs with everyone else, and sometimes he’s victim, and sometimes he’s audience, but he’s not a conspirator any more. Not any more. He watches as Orli is dragged into a prank or two, and Viggo isn’t immune to their particular brand of insanity, but Elijah is adrift, watching from afar, from the make-up chair next door. A million miles away.
And he wonders if he should have known. And he wonders if he had the chance to choose again, what he might do differently. Would the hurt in Dom’s eyes be gone, not veiled by manic goodwill, but replaced with warm happiness? Would Billy catch his eye and smile quietly, and with approval, like he used to? Who can say? Elijah can’t. Billy is happy to be around Elijah, there’s no awkwardness, no next morning regrets or anxious silence. They can all be mature about this, of course they can. Instead Billy is witty and sharp, and sarcastic, and always terribly, terribly funny. He makes Elijah laugh. He laughs so hard sometimes it almost hurts. Just under his breastbone.
Sean is there for him. His Sam, as always. And Elijah falls asleep now, more and more, sometimes on Sean, but more often alone, just storing his energy, only sensible given their schedules, and he can always rely on Sean to wake him. Sometimes he has a quixotic notion to ask if Sean can look for what he’s lost, but he knows that’s just stupid. And what they’re going to be shooting means the hobbits will be parting soon anyway, so perhaps this is just as well. Just as well.
But he’ll remember. One of those lessons in life you never forget. So he ought to thank them really, for helping him grow up. He’ll always know to be careful of best friends in the future. Because Billy and Dom are always and forever Billy and Dom. And Billy can forgive Dom for his feelings, and Dom can forgive Billy for his lapse. But neither of them can forgive Elijah for choosing the wrong friend. The hobbits are forever, but no-one ever said that forever would be easy. And that’s just the way it is.
::
Yeah. And like. It’s strange. Such a perfect place to be. This time. This place. These people. Perfect really. And it’s not as if there won’t be shit that happens, and people who’ll get mad, tears, and angry words, but it’ll all be smoothed away. The people will be talked down and the shit sorted out. Yeah. Like that. It’ll be sorted out because that’s what making these films is all about. History being made. No-one will even remember these little bumps along the road. All that will be left in the end will be the magic. All that will be left…
Title: All that will be left
Author: valerienne
Beta: pipspebble
Rating: R
Pairing: BB/EW, EW/DM, DM/BB?
Disclaimer: Never happened. No. Really.
Summary: So it’s the hobbits forever, yeah?
Notes: Stream-of-consciousness Elijah, and quite a lot of swearing. And angst. A bit.
Yeah. And like. It’s strange. Such a perfect place to be. This time. This place. These people. Perfect really. And it’s not as if there won’t be shit that happens, and people who’ll get mad, tears, and angry words, but it’ll all be smoothed away. The people will be talked down and the shit sorted out. Yeah. Like that. It’ll be sorted out because that’s what making these films is all about. History being made. No-one will even remember these little bumps along the road. All that will be left in the end will be the magic. All that will be left.
::
Elijah loves these guys. It’s not like he’s not been on a set or three before, but these movies are different. Even the stupidly early morning calls for Feet can be handled, after all, he’s a professional. Actually the good-natured squabbles over music, or the bellows from Sir Ian next door - and the Elijah hides his giggles in his hand - add to it somehow. He’s never had friends like this. He’s never had the time for friends like this before. It all adds to the perfect feel of this set. Perfect in its insanity, and the dedication, and the godamn fucking enormity of the whole thing. But he’s a professional. They all are. And most of all, it’s fun.
It’ll be the hobbits forever, Elijah thinks, as he looks round the trailer. Sean mumbling into his coffee, and into his script, half awake, half Sam. Nowhere near finished with his lines, even though Elijah knows Sean will be fine with them. He always is. He feels his face crease tiredly into a smile, one that’s all for Sean, that always will be somehow. He doesn’t know if Sean will ever know that though. Too busy in himself somehow, is Sean, for all his care. Elijah sometimes likes to lose something, just so Sean can find it for him, and then Elijah gets to smile for him, and have him see it. Just for him to see it sometimes. That’s enough.
Dom is flipping through a book of CDs, half on one foot, almost tapping absent-mindedly, his make-up girl not quite sighing, but nearly. And Elijah can feel more than a smile creeping in at his breastbone, for Dom and his particular brand of lunacy. For the stupid sticking out ears - god, he’d never have got away with those ears in Hollywood, British, well yeah, hello, of course he is - and the hair that just sticks up, worse than Elijah’s own, like a godamn hedge that’s been dragged through Dom backwards, not the other way about - and Elijah wants to giggle again. Stupid fucking giggle. But he doesn’t, because he’s a professional, remember? But oh… He wishes sometimes he could be less of one, and lose it sometimes - off-set, of course, his little fantasies aren’t that anarchic, he doesn’t want the shooting thrown off - but he knows with a warm tingling feeling, that if he does, Dom will be right there with him, urging him on, holding his coat even. Or.. Well. Whatever.
And then Elijah immediately catches Billy’s eye, just as the tingling feeling and the feeling that’s more than a smile threatens to pour out in some obvious way, and he gets a humming in his ears, just a little, at the sight of Billy’s own little grin. Humming in his godamn ears. It’s too early, that’s what it is, and it’s nothing to do with the pale knowing eyes of a guy who eats porridge - disgusting stuff - and who sparkles in the morning, even this early. Elijah has no idea how he does it. Inhuman, that’s what Billy is - maybe his being bred in that cold little rocky country has made him different. Tough, Billy would call it, and say that they are all piss-weak Southern shandy drinkers, even though Elijah could protest that Iowa isn’t a Southern state and anyway, he knows that’s not what Billy means.
But. Well. He loves these guys. Really he does. They’re the hobbits and they’ll always be there for one another, corny sentiment and small violin playing in the background and all of that shit, but he knows it. He knows it in his heart. They’ll be together forever. Yeah.
::
Billy and Dom. It’s the Billy-and-Dom Show. He could watch them all day, except that it’s more than that, they’re all included, all of them on set, as audience, as victims, sometimes as conspirators. And it’s a manic whirlwind ride, really, and Elijah’s just glad he can hold on, and laugh as he watches them plan something with no more communication than a raised eyebrow between them - and fuck, what he wouldn’t do to speak eyebrow, must be a British thing, maybe, and god, wouldn’t Billy hate to hear himself called British. Scottish, Scottish, Elijah knows that he’s Scottish, shut up Billy - but it’s enough to watch sometimes. Enough.
Except that it’s not just watching. They drag him along. He sputters his giggle from behind his hands, from behind the costume trailer, behind the tangled lighting rig, desperately trying not to be heard, not to give everything away. Desperate not to be the one who gives away the Billy-and-Dom Show, he wouldn’t do that, he’s part of it really; friend, and conspirator - who got the shaving foam to stick, he’d like to know? - and they both throw their arms around him, press his mouth shut, when he can’t keep the giggles in. Both of them. Pads of warm flesh on his lips, and a slight sting as he catches the inside of his mouth hard on a tooth. Elijah can smell faint cologne, and sweat, a little, acrid but not unpleasant. Fabric softener. Glue. He wonders why it matters. Excitement in the air, and his best friends pressed against him on either side, and his heart beats faster, but then. Well. Yeah. Obvious really. Can’t let the Billy-and-Dom Show down.
::
Elijah loves Sean best. He knows he does. Who couldn’t love Sean? And it might be hard sometimes to listen to everything he wants to say, and he knows in his heart that some of it could be called whining, but he also knows that Sean has problems, and he wants to help. He does. That’s what the hobbits do. So Elijah’s glad when he can jolly him out of his anxieties, get him to swear at life a bit, like a real hobbit. Drag him out drinking. And he’s got the best laugh, and when he hugs, well, Elijah’s safe, isn’t he? Safe as houses. It’s a nice feeling. Something he doesn’t think about too closely, but he knows it’s to do with a male presence on the edge of his mind that was once there, and then left, and somehow left a hole. And he knows that it’s cheap psychology, and he knows that he has what might be termed abandonment issues, but that’s too simple, and too complicated, all at the same time.
It’s easier to think about Sean, and about getting him in the right mood, so Elijah can fall asleep on him, where it’s comfortable, and he can just relax. It’s not enough, not nearly, the hole he has is laced with scarring and roughly cauterised, but it’s still there, and Elijah can probe it like a tongue poking at an empty tooth. But when he falls asleep on Sean, it’s filled a bit, not quite a perfect match, not quite the jigsaw piece that’s been missing these last few years, but close enough. And Sean likes to help, Elijah knows that, and he’s missing Christine, so they help each other out really. It’s good.
Elijah has to love Sean best, his Sam, his finder of lost things. Of course he does. They’re the hobbits. Together forever. And Elijah can fall asleep on Sean, and feels safe with him. That’s all he wants, isn’t it? Yeah? To feel safe? That’s enough.
::
Billy’s the mystery hobbit. Which is odd, because he’s as open and giving, and as insane as any of them. But then sometimes he isn’t. Sometimes Elijah catches him at rest, at ease, and his face is so still and settled. As though he doesn’t need anyone, as though he knows who he is, and he’s happy with it. Self-contained. And then he catches sight of Elijah and then he’s Billy again, strange, and funny, and Elijah wonders what it is he’s just seen.
And then it occurs to Elijah that that is the real Billy. The still, quiet Billy. And that perhaps they are all actors, but that some of them are acting more than others, all the time, and that seems a shame.
Elijah finds he longs for something, with a quiet yearning all of his own. He can’t put a name to it, but he finds he searches for Billy, and for the still, self-contained moments. Looking for him out in the woods when they’re not wanted on set. Watching for him as he leaves the clubs they visit, for a breath of air. He looks, but he doesn’t think about why, he leaves that alone. Leaves that for another day.
::
Dom makes him laugh. Well, they all laugh. All the time. But Dom… He shines, he glows. Man, he’s just such a fucking comedian. Elijah can barely keep the laughter contained around Dom, and when Dom flashes his eyes so wide at him, and keeps talking, even when Elijah is laughing so hard he has to fall over, slide sideways down the leather seats in the booth until he’s leaning on Billy, who’s smiling too. But not laughing. Not the way that Elijah is laughing, and Elijah knows that Dom has switched on the routine just for him. And it’s good, having friends like these. Good. Yeah.
People go on about Elijah’s eyes, until all he can think about is how weirdshit is that? They’re just eyes. But Dom’s eyes now, they’re storms and clouds. Sea-grey and changeable, reflecting all his thoughts, blowing like wind and water. And he knows that he probably shouldn’t be thinking about such things, about other guys and their eyes, but they’re mates, he knows they are, Dom and Billy have said so. So maybe it’s not that weird. Mates. And why does that description give Elijah a warmth in his belly, and another tingle? Oh yeah. They’re in a bar, and he’s drunk. Perhaps he should sit up? But it’s so nice to be leaning here on Billy, who’s not still and quiet, the way Elijah likes to see him, but he’s still there, and his shoulder and arm are warm, and the shirt underneath his head is slightly wrinkled and smells of Billy, and fuck, but Elijah doesn’t want to move.
::
The hobbits should be together. They should drag Sean out more often. It’s not right he stays in all the time, they should make him come out with them, Elijah decides. But when he goes round to his apartment, Elijah finds him cleaning, of all the insane boring shit to be doing, and Elijah can’t persuade him.
He pushes out of the place impatient with Sean, although he knows it’s not Sean’s fault. He knows that. But still. Cleaning. And he stands on the sidewalk and lights up and thinks. He could go home. But that’s nearly as boring as cleaning and Elijah refuses to consider the possibility. He’s young, and he has the evening ahead of him, and although he’s meeting the other hobbits later, even honorary Orli, perhaps they can start the evening off early, and he thinks again. Smoke streams away into the twilight, until Elijah tosses the clove to the ground and grinds the butt under his heel.
Without conscious thought he drives to Billy’s, although he picks up some beers on the way, a gift, a little present, and he more consciously chooses a brand he knows Billy likes, without thinking about how he knows it. And Billy looks surprised but not unpleased to see him, and Elijah’s heart lifts a little, in a slightly surprising way, and he doesn’t want to think about that either.
They sit on Billy’s sofa and drink beer, and talk about everything and nothing. The sun goes down but Billy doesn’t put on the light, or pull the shades. The room turns shadowy and mysterious, and Elijah thinks that Billy might be sitting here still and quiet, in motionless peace, if he didn’t have company, and that thought makes his hands ridiculously clammy. And that is fucking stupid.
Billy immediately wants to call Dom, but they try his home and then his cell, and there’s no answer. And Elijah is glad somehow, even though they are the hobbits together forever, because he doesn’t get Billy to himself very often, and he’s enjoying it, and anyway they’ll see Dom later.
So they’re just sitting on Billy’s familiar sofa, like a dozen times before, and Billy’s stretched out comfortably with his legs on the coffee table, holding his beer. And Billy’s telling some ancient anecdote about people Elijah has never heard of, but it’s still funny, in the gentle silly way that Billy has, and suddenly Elijah’s mouth is dry. He wants to lean over and touch him suddenly, here in the dark, reach for warmth and pale skin, scrape the roughness of faint stubble on his jaw, reassure himself that Billy is still there. He wants… And bitter metallic-tasting saliva fills his mouth. And he thinks. Oh. Oh. Oh fuck.
::
Dom is late. And that wouldn’t matter, because Dom is often late, before breezing in with the scent of another smoky bar on his clothes and apologies on his lips, but always thrown over his shoulder as he heads over to get his drink or on his way to the dance floor, or with another idea for their next venue. Dom isn’t still, he’s never still, thinks Elijah to himself, as he watches the door for Dom’s arrival, and he likes that in Dom. Likes the lightly suppressed mania that surrounds him, when he’s really going for it, but it does make him late. Sometimes. Like now.
It wouldn’t matter, but Elijah can’t stop talking tonight. As though words are all that stand between him and throwing himself at Billy, and that would just be fucking embarrassing, a kid thing to do, so he’s talking instead. Nervously, probably, but he’s not slowing down enough to listen to himself, just letting stuff flow out of his mouth. To be fair, Billy is keeping up, all animation and leaning forward so he can hear, and making jabbing points over the music with his finger. It’s loud and Elijah can smell Billy’s cologne, and it’s distracting him, and he doesn’t know how he didn’t notice before, that the cologne smell is always Billy, but now that he has, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop noticing, and fuck. He puts his hands under the table, wanting to bite his nails, for comfort, for something to do, but not here. Not in front of Billy. He pulls at the skin between them instead, and wonders if he should go outside to smoke, and if that would help.
Then there is a warm weight slumping onto his shoulder, and Elijah almost jumps, but the weight of Dom’s body is holding him down, and he wants to push him off, because Billy has leaned back, and away from Elijah, he’s smiling at Dom, and all of it suddenly leaves Elijah unreasonably bereft in a stupid sort of way. Dom is ruffling his hair, and laughing in his ear, and trying to shout some kind of unlikely explanation for his lateness that involves a broken tail-light and a barking dog, but Elijah can’t work it out. Whether it’s Dom’s tail-light or whose dog, and does any of it even fucking matter anyway?
He’s annoyed with Dom, for being late. For being Dom. For being here when it was just Elijah and Billy before, even though they’re all hobbits together. And it’s unreasonable and he knows it is, so he smiles back at Dom and doesn’t complain about the ruffled hair, which makes him feel even more like a kid - and how dare Dom make him feel like that, when he’s only a few years older? - and not like Billy would treat him. Billy wouldn’t make him feel like a kid. Would he? And Elijah glances over and watches the pale pinkwhite column of Billy’s throat as he drinks, and swallows hard.
Then Dom is dragging his arm, dragging him to the dance floor, and Elijah doesn’t want to go, but he doesn’t want to explain, so he goes, reluctantly. And the lights are too bright all of a sudden, and Billy is watching them with a tiny smile on his face, benignly, Elijah thinks. Offering a still moment of repose to Elijah’s hungry eyes where he least expected it. And that makes him feel better, so he dances and it’s good.
::
The hobbits are a bit too fucking much tonight, Elijah thinks. These roaring feelings, have they always been there, like a river underground, just now finding its way to the surface? Has he always been this blind? Is he doomed to think in fucking clichés forever? He has a sudden random urge to be folded into Sean’s arms, to slide his head bonelessly down onto Sean’s shoulder and just go to sleep. To leave it all behind.
Instead, viciously, he takes another drag, and leans against the wall of the club. It’s a bright night, the stars are clear, and Elijah wants to look up at them forever. A colder, clearer version of forever, he thinks. It’s a curiously calming thought, and he breathes in deeply through his nose, and wonders whether he should have brought his beer with him outside.
The door bangs. And Elijah knows without looking that it’s Dom. Billy wouldn’t bang the door like that, so Elijah says hey casually without needing to look round. But silence is his only answer, and distantly that surprises Elijah. The light prickle of sweat drying in the cool air means that as Elijah turns, his t-shirt drags a wave of goosebumps across his skin, and he shivers a little. Imperceptibly, as he catches Dom’s eye - who is solemn, and silent, and not at all Dom-like, and that’s strange as well - he sees Dom shiver too.
Elijah blinks. And then he stubs out his clove, because he was going to anyway, and he goes back into the club. And he doesn’t say anything about what he thinks he saw in Dom’s eyes. Darker than storms, than clouds. Stupid fucking descriptions anyway. Better to say they were smoke-filled. Like a bar. Obscuring and occluded. And full of longing. Elijah doesn’t want to think about what that might mean. Fuck, maybe he is just a kid, because he doesn’t want to think about it at all. About what he’s going to do about it. About how come he couldn’t have noticed that earlier as well? About… About everything turning to fucking shit. Oh. Oh. Oh fuck.
::
Sean notices. It bugs Elijah that Sean has the sensitivity to pick up on Elijah’s mood, seeing that there’s something wrong, but not enough sense to leave it alone. It bugs him that Sean has the tact not to mention it at least, but instead starts laying his solid hands on Elijah’s shoulders and squeezing, when the others aren’t looking. And Elijah knows it’s meant to be comforting but all it does is feel godamn heavy, like more weight is resting on him than he can comfortably handle. It’s oppressive and hot, like a thunderstorm leaning on his shoulders, and Elijah wants to scream at Sean, that Elijah’s meant to be leaning on him, not the other way around, except that he doesn’t, because he knows that it would hurt Sean, and it’s not Sean’s fault. It’s nobody’s fucking fault.
Luckily the shooting schedule picks up even more, if that were possible, although there’s still too much waiting around, as ever, as things are set up, with all the hobbits crouched together under tarps, or in trailers, piled in together like they’re one great big happy family. The irony of that doesn’t strike Elijah too hard, he desperately wants to feel the slide of Billy’s pale skin as they squeeze together, or catch his green eyes flash from under his Pippin wig, and the fact that he’s also desperately conscious of Dom turning towards him like a flower to the sun, and accidentally on purpose brushing Elijah’s arm, his back, his hipbone, well - it doesn’t matter too much. Elijah is glazed with exhaustion, the tension he imagines he can’t cut with a knife, is sliced easily by the numbness of fatigue. And he’s grateful for that. Desperately so. What the fuck is he going to do?
Is he meant to choose? Between two of his best friends. Best mates even - and they’re the ones who’ve taught him to call them that, and it stings, that memory, and all the others, tumbling around in Elijah’s head like he’s part of some kind of crazy pinball machine. And then there are the whispers that wake Elijah up sweating at night - what if Billy doesn’t want him? What if he turns away in disgust? What if Elijah chooses, but he chooses badly? And the path of least resistance opens up before him hourly, because now that he’s noticed, Dom seems to invite him with unspoken words and looks a dozen times each day, and Elijah smiles and smiles, and keeps on smiling, and thinks. I’m an actor. I can do this. I can fucking act.
It would be so easy to give in to Dom. He’s funny, and bright, and insane, and Elijah loves him. He does. But. He’s not Billy. And that is an irony that does hurt, with little shining dots of pain, that seem scattered all over him, like light. And Billy is just happy, and gentle, and witty, and all the other things that make him Billy, including reserved, and Elijah just can’t tell. Can’t tell anything. It makes him sick, the uncertainty of it all. He’s lucky that Frodo is having a hard time of it as well really. Method acting at its finest. Yeah.
::
The hobbits are there for each other. Elijah knows that. So why is he surprised when Billy comes to find him? Orlando’s been asking fucking nosy questions this morning and Elijah has found it all a bit too much to handle somehow, and he’s ready to snap from the tension, and he can’t explain it, he won’t explain. It’s all too fucking much.
He hasn’t gone far - Elijah can hear the call if he’s needed on set, he’s a godamned professional - it’s just the extras’ costume trailer, and anyway he’s only sitting in it, Ngila wouldn’t mind that, would she? The scent of leather, and fabric, and a distant tang of preserving lavender, wrap him around like a blanket. It’s warm in here. That’s what he wants. Warmth. And peace. He wishes he could learn that stillness of repose from Billy, but he’s probably too much a kid for that. So he’ll put up with second best, and sit here quietly, as quietly as he can, and try not thinking. He likes the sound of that.
So, of course, his not thinking is interrupted by the one person he’s trying to not think about as hard as he can, and Elijah sighs a little. That’s like the world is offering him irony on a plate. Or something. And what is he supposed to do about that?
And Billy is just perfect. And Elijah can barely swallow past the lump in his throat. He comes and sits down next to Elijah on the leatherette bench, shifting a pile of belts out of the way, and then he’s silent. He doesn’t even ask. It’s everything Elijah wants from Billy, except that’s not even slightly true, and a large amount of his mind lately has been taken up with the sorts of things he does want Billy to say, things like ‘more’ and ‘now’ and little breathy broken noises that he’s sure Billy could make in that fucking gorgeous accent of his, and that makes him so tense and yeah, hard, it’s a wonder he doesn’t vibrate right off the bench.
Then Billy puts a hand on his arm, just above his wrist, and Elijah looks at it, and there are goosebumps chasing themselves up and down his spine, and suddenly it’s really hard to breathe. Billy’s hands are small and neat, like everything about him, and it’s not even Elijah’s choice, is it? Not really. He twists his arm a little - not his fault, not his fault - and then suddenly Billy’s thumb is caressing his palm, and there’s not much he can do about that either is there? It feels… It feels fucking brilliant. It’s what he wants, and he doesn’t care about anything else at the moment, and he’s so godamn fed up with the tension, and it would be better if he knew, wouldn’t it? Yeah. Even if Billy doesn’t want him, even if he is, in fact, completely straight - and it’s funny that Elijah doesn’t know that, doesn’t even know that one important fact, given how much other shit the hobbits have talked about - it would still be better to know. Wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it?
So he leans in a little, and their shoulders bump, and Elijah doesn’t look, doesn’t look up at Billy, because if he does, if he catches sight of the question in that clear gaze, then he thinks he might lose his nerve, or just lose it full stop. And he slides his head onto Billy’s shoulder, and that feels fucking amazing too, just lying here, and Billy is still caressing his palm and it’s sending messages to bits of him that are entirely too interested in the proceedings already. Elijah could swear that what blood is left feeding his brain just drains away, heads south, and leaves him at Billy’s mercy - and, oh, to be at Billy’s mercy! - so it’s understandable that he leans his head a little more, just a tiny little bit more, until he can feel the rasp of not-quite stubble on Billy’s jaw, and the tickle of his Pippin wig against his ear, and then, when he can’t pretend any more, he kisses him.
It’s not even a proper kiss, it’s all sideways and bumpy, and almost more like a lick than a kiss, and Elijah is terrified because he’s not exactly the most experienced at this, although he’s experienced enough to know what he’s doing, certainly enough to know that he wants this, oh he wants this… And Billy turns his head, quite fast, like he’s surprised, and Elijah finds he’s slid onto Billy’s mouth, and he’s kissing Billy’s fucking gorgeous little mouth, and it’s brilliant. It’s fucking amazing, and he can’t help it, he whimpers a little and his hands come up of their own accord and clutch at Billy, at the untucked white Pippin shirt that is all Billy has left on since they’re on their break, and he keeps kissing, and Billy doesn’t pull away.
So his hands are under the shirt now, and if this is happening, then Elijah is going take every opportunity he can while he can, and if that is mercenary of him, well then, it’s mercenary, and he’s going to going to burn in hell, but not right now. Right now he’s kissing Billy, and running his fingers lightly over Billy’s skin, and just for once, just once, Elijah wishes he had nails, so he could tease that glorious skin some more, but he makes do, and it’s fucking wonderful.
Then all of a sudden they’re both lying down on the bench, and his shirt’s been undone, and Elijah has one hand in Billy’s pants, and the heat and the hard velvet feel of him is glorious, and Billy’s breathing heavily in his ear, as Elijah squeezes. Elijah’s not quite sure how they got this far, but he doesn’t care, he raises his hips until his own erection is sliding with aching anticipation along the length of Billy’s, and Elijah’s own hand, and Billy groans deep in his throat, just once.
Then all is sweaty friction, and godamn too tight hobbit pants, and gasped wordless noises that never-the-less convey exactly what they must, and it’s not quite ‘more’ or ‘harder’ but Elijah’s not about to complain. He’s not even thinking about complaining, not about the uncomfortable clothes hanger digging into his back or the stupid fucking location or even about what Ngila will say if they damage anything. He’s too busy arching into Billy’s hand and whispering broken syllables of his own, in a voice he barely recognises as his, but when he comes, it’s like a whiteout, complete silence except for the humming in his ears, or maybe that’s just where he’s hit his head. Then there’s a familiar warmth trickling on his stomach, almost tickling him, which is joined several endless ecstatic seconds later by Billy, who comes with a strangled grunt, before collapsing marionette-like, a puppet with its strings cut.
As their breathing slows, Elijah grabs a handful of cloth - Ngila really will kill him - and wipes his hand and belly. Then, feeling like he’s greatly daring something, which is stupid given he’s just had his hand inside Billy’s pants, Elijah turns his head to kiss Billy again, where he’s resting on his shoulder, half-lying on his arm, and kisses the corner of one shut eye, tasting faint salt, and glue, and feeling a feather touch of fine, fine lines. And Billy opens his eyes and looks at Elijah, with an opaque and wordless examination, who stares back wide-eyed. And then Billy turns away.
::
And so Elijah should have guessed. Shouldn’t he? Shouldn’t he? Or is he just a kid after all? A kid with abandonment issues. Except that he’s not been abandoned, not really. Of course he hasn’t. They’re the hobbits forever, aren’t they? It would be unfair of him to say that. They go round to each other’s houses all the time, and they go drinking, and to clubs, just like they always have. Nothing’s changed. Except that everything has changed.
The Billy and Dom Show. It’s the Billy and Dom Show - look everybody! - and Elijah watches and laughs with everyone else, and sometimes he’s victim, and sometimes he’s audience, but he’s not a conspirator any more. Not any more. He watches as Orli is dragged into a prank or two, and Viggo isn’t immune to their particular brand of insanity, but Elijah is adrift, watching from afar, from the make-up chair next door. A million miles away.
And he wonders if he should have known. And he wonders if he had the chance to choose again, what he might do differently. Would the hurt in Dom’s eyes be gone, not veiled by manic goodwill, but replaced with warm happiness? Would Billy catch his eye and smile quietly, and with approval, like he used to? Who can say? Elijah can’t. Billy is happy to be around Elijah, there’s no awkwardness, no next morning regrets or anxious silence. They can all be mature about this, of course they can. Instead Billy is witty and sharp, and sarcastic, and always terribly, terribly funny. He makes Elijah laugh. He laughs so hard sometimes it almost hurts. Just under his breastbone.
Sean is there for him. His Sam, as always. And Elijah falls asleep now, more and more, sometimes on Sean, but more often alone, just storing his energy, only sensible given their schedules, and he can always rely on Sean to wake him. Sometimes he has a quixotic notion to ask if Sean can look for what he’s lost, but he knows that’s just stupid. And what they’re going to be shooting means the hobbits will be parting soon anyway, so perhaps this is just as well. Just as well.
But he’ll remember. One of those lessons in life you never forget. So he ought to thank them really, for helping him grow up. He’ll always know to be careful of best friends in the future. Because Billy and Dom are always and forever Billy and Dom. And Billy can forgive Dom for his feelings, and Dom can forgive Billy for his lapse. But neither of them can forgive Elijah for choosing the wrong friend. The hobbits are forever, but no-one ever said that forever would be easy. And that’s just the way it is.
::
Yeah. And like. It’s strange. Such a perfect place to be. This time. This place. These people. Perfect really. And it’s not as if there won’t be shit that happens, and people who’ll get mad, tears, and angry words, but it’ll all be smoothed away. The people will be talked down and the shit sorted out. Yeah. Like that. It’ll be sorted out because that’s what making these films is all about. History being made. No-one will even remember these little bumps along the road. All that will be left in the end will be the magic. All that will be left…