There's no place like home.
Written for the openveinwriting comment fest prompt "Elliot is dropped into a Mirror Universe".
Elliot's cozy closet of a room was adequate when he was working most of the day, but when the days following the pandemic stretched into weeks and then months, the isolation began to wear on him. The evenings blurred into one another, what with liquor stores being deemed an essential service and it was his patriotic duty to support local businesses. Or so his roommates said.
He was a few glasses deep into a rather potent bottle of sweet apple whiskey and the internet rabbit holes for the day were swirling amongst its vapors as he sat at his desk, which in reality, was little more than a vanity crammed up against the side of his bed. In the mirror, Elliot's reflection was beginning to look more like himself. The way he thought of himself. A long, thin face interrupted by the sharp angles of his cheekbones and cadet grey eyes no longer bracketed by dark tired rings. These days, there was little to do but rest, and naps were serving him well, even if he had been eating less than usual.
A chuckle bubbled out of him, because for a moment, he could have sworn his reflection winked at him. Elliot returned a cheeky little tip and nod of his head and reached for his glass, draining it before lifting the empty tumbler in cheers to himself.
"To the looking glass," he murmured, then raised the glass even higher. "To Lewis Carroll!"
That set him off on an internal drunken review of the conversation he'd had with Lylah Morris on set one day, who'd insisted the author was a pedophile lusting after his pre-teen neighbor, Alice, and that "fact" alone discredited all of the works he'd penned with her name. But did character flaws negate genius? Did genius invite character flaws? Did any of it really fucking matter?
The serious draw of his reflection slowly morphed into something more mischievous and Elliot felt his face, sure that he wasn't affecting that expression. He wasn't, and what's more, he realized: His reflection was no longer parroting his movements.
The Elliot that stared out from the mirror was grinning and beckoning while the Elliot who sat at the desk stared in confusion, too drunk to be horrified. He reached toward the glass then, expecting his fingertips to meet the cold, slivered surface. Instead, they dipped in, leaving a ripple in their wake.
"Narcissus," Elliot laughed. And pushed his fingers in to the knuckle before pulling them out. He held his hand before his face and examined the wet and shimmering substance that smeared across his fingers like stage makeup.
A frown crossed his face then. "What the--?"
Elliot's not-reflection stared back at him smugly, then beckoned. It was still beckoning as it half-turned and began to move away, as if leading him deeper into the mirror. Entranced, Elliot reached out again and found he could push his whole hand into the mirror. His forearm. He pushed his laptop, whiskey glass, and journal aside, climbing up on his desk in order to sink himself farther into the silvery pool.
He was up to his shoulder now, and his heart hammered as he mustered up the courage to push farther still. Taking one deep breath, he ducked his head inside, and then he was falling. Falling through the blackness, spinning in dizzy circles, grabbing for handholds and finding nothing.
"No, no, no, no! Nonononononono!" A mistake. It was all a mistake.
From the blackness, a green pinprick emerged and grew rapidly to a softball. A beachball. A trampoline. A field.
Eliiot would have preferred the trampoline. At least if it were that, he'd bounce when he hit it. Instead, there was a muffled flump on impact, and then everything was dark once again.
-----
"Eli! Eli!"
Elliot's whole body tremored beneath the hand that shook him. He attempted to wave it all away but the words sank into his fuzzy brain and he bolted upright with a scowl. "Don't call me that!"
His eyes squinted open, slits against the daylight that streamed into them, and he lifted a hand to shade them further. The face silhouetted against the sun swam into focus and Elliot startled. "Jarron? What are you doing here?"
Jarron's face broadened with a smile. "Come to fetch your lazy ass. It's almost time for dinner."
"Time for dinner?" Elliot let himself be pulled up by Jarron's warm hand and staggered slightly before he found his footing.
"Yeah, and if you don't hurry, we finna be late."
Still rubbing his eyes, Elliot stumbled along after Jarron, their hands still married together. "Where are we? Where are we going?" He mumbled, staring around at the cityscape they traversed as they left the greenery of the park behind.
"You been in the salts again," Jarron laughed with a shake of his head. "You know how much Daniel hate that."
"Daniel?" Elliot dug his heels in, forcing them to a stop.
"Yes Daniel. You a parrot? Let's go!" Jarron gave Elliot a yank, dragging him off balance before resuming their parade down the sidewalk.
Elliot tripped along numbly, trying to sort everything out. It didn't make any sense. Jarron, or Daniel, or the city park with the lush, green grass. The classy, New England style buildings that reminded him so much of the neighborhood he'd spied through the windows back in Meriden.
Ahead, a large Tudor loomed and Elliot's heart skipped a beat. Then, he doubled over with explosive laughter."I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming!" He'd drunk too much and passed out in his room back in L.A. and that was all there was to it.
"You high as a kite," Jarron snorted.
Elliot only agreed and spun in a circle, his arms flung wide. It was only a dream, so what did it matter? When Jarron caught hold of his hand again, Elliot gripped it tight and broke for the house, still laughing. They clamored in through the front door, a door that Elliot had never used before. It was strange, seeing the entryway from this perspective. Daniel had always come in through the garage.
After a moment, something else dawned on him. The house was too warm, too alive with voices and laughter. But before he could contemplate it, a familiar face peered around the doorway from the dining room. "Well, well, well. Look who's just in time to fill his belly!"
Elliot's glee died and he gaped. "Brigid?" She was older. The youthfulness was gone from her face, replaced with a hardened weariness, but he was certain it was her. The resemblance around the eyes was the same, and they had wavy chestnut locks in common.
"Brigid? Since when am I Brigid to you?" She wielded a serving spoon at them. "Go on and wash up, smart ass. And you…"
She pointed the spoon at Jarron. "Where'd you find 'im?"
"At the park, like usual…" Jarron said, grabbing Elliot, who was heading for the downstairs bathroom and redirected him to the kitchen sink with a hand on his elbow.
"Startin' to think you hit ya fool head," Jarron said, soaping up quickly. "Downstairs bathroom's for guests, you know that. Everybody knows that."
"Daniel doesn't have guests," Elliot replied, taking the bar soap from Jarron and starting to scrub. Daniel hated guests, phone calls, even emails. The outside world was awful and Elliot was his haven.
"Customers, guests, patrons, clients, johns. Whatever word you wanna use. An' even if you are Prince Eli, you don't get ta use that bathroom."
"It's Elliot," Elliot corrected him. "Eli is dead. Eli's been dead for a long time."
Jarron squinted at him, a funny look on his face. "Coulda fooled me. You was Eli this morning. You been Prince Eli for as long as I've known you."
"What's with the 'Prince' thing?" Elliot asked, turning off the tap and drying his hands. "You keep saying that."
Jarron rolled his eyes. "Little Eli White, house favorite. A prince among the whores."
"Whores?" The word bubbled out on a laugh as he followed Jarron into the dining room and then stopped as everyone seated at the table turned to look at him.
"Salute…" said a woman with an edgy black pixie cut and pumped her first. Elliot didn't recognize her, but the hodgepodge of men and women at the table exchanged smirks and giggles.
"Bridge," Jarron said, accepting the plate Elliot's mother passed him. He watched her spoon a heaping serving of something that looked like a cheesy rice casserole, nodding toward the plate when she stopped and holding out his plate until she put another dollop on top. "Ya boy is acting funny."
"Funny how?" She said sternly as her gaze shifted to Elliot. A plate was suddenly thrust into his hands but instead of heaping food onto it, she left the spoon on the casserole and felt his forehead, then pulled at one of his lower eyelids with her thumb.
Defensively, Elliot swatted her hand away and leaned back. "Don't." He'd never been okay with random people touching him, and this might be a dream but he still didn't want his mother's hands on him.
"Like that," Jarron said, ducking his head and taking a bite of casserole directly from the mound on his plate as he made his way around to an empty seat. "Ask a lotta dumbass questions. Act like he don't know who or where he is."
"You've been taking them damn bath salts again!" Brigid accused, angrily scooping Elliot up more than he could possibly have eaten in a sitting. She plopped it on his plate and he winced, expecting the metal spoon to break the plate in half.
"That's what I said!" Jarron nearly sprayed his mouth full of rice.
"I haven't!" Elliot said defensively and went to sit in the only empty seat, between Jarron and Brigid. "I've never taken bath salts!"
The was a round of clucking tongues and shaking heads. A few snorts, and plenty of eye rolls.
"Poppers, maybe a few times…" Elliot admitted, turning pink. "Weed."
"Poppers, maybe!" Jarron crowed and slapped the table."Like we ain't all wheezin' before a job!"
Another wave of laughter washed over the group and half of them produced little bottles from their pockets and flashed them at him.
Brigid doled herself up a serving and sat down, scraping her chair into place. She wasted no time in digging in to the meal. "You best think about 'maybe' diggin' into that stash of poppers yourself, seeing as how you got a full line up tonight."
"Full lineup," Elliot repeated dumbly and poked the rice, unearthing a cube of ham. "And what does that mean?"
"See?" Jarron said, shaking his head again.
Brigid gave a long suffering sigh. "It means you better get eating and cut the shit because nobody got patience for your games tonight, Eli."
"Elliot," he said automatically and was met with another exasperated sound.
----
After dinner, Elliot climbed the stairs to the second floor, and they continued up to a third story which had never existed in Daniel's real home. There were six rooms on the second floor, though Elliot only remembered three. He couldn't remember having ever had a longer or more vivid dream, and he could swear he had actually tasted the food at dinner.
The door to the library was ajar and light spilled from inside. Elliot's breath caught and impulsively, he stopped, pushing the door open wider with his fingertips. The scene was one he never expected to see again.
A chubby, balding man with tufts of salt and pepper hair sat at the desk, hunched over the blotter, red pen in hand.
Elliot's stomach knotted and his fingers grabbed for the frame to steady him. In the forefront of his mind was a simmering anger but behind it was a deep-seated longing. His eyes clouded with tears. "Daniel…"
The man held his finger up and he finished penning something into a ledger before lifting his head. "Ah, Magpie. Come in!"
That word. The fondness in his voice. The light in those watery blue eyes. Elliot's resolve crumpled and he went, wedging between the desk and Daniel's body, climbing onto his lap. His face was wet with tears when he pushed it into the crook of Daniel's neck and inhaled the scent of his cologne.
Daniel's palm pressed into the small of his back and the other between his shoulders. Elliot began to sob and a litany of questions flooded from him in a high pitched, unintelligible tone.
"What's this? You're hysterical…" Daniel exclaimed in surprise, drawing Elliot back to look at him and brush away his tears. "All this because of the spat we had this morning?"
Daniel pushed away from the desk and tried to set Elliot on his feet but Elliot only clenched his knees against Daniel's thighs.
"Please, don't send me away again!" Elliot cried, clutching Daniel's shoulders. "I can be good, I can listen. It's horrible out there, horrible, and freedom is overrated. I work just to pay bills and nobody takes care of me the way you did and I'll give it all up just to be yours again, please take me back!"
For the second time in an hour, cool hands laid against his forehead and thumbs drew down his eyelids, but this time he didn't flinch away. "What have you done to yourself, Magpie?" Daniel's voice went quietly stern again.
"I haven't done anything, I swear. I promise! I know this is all a stupid dream and I'll hate myself when I wake up, but please let me have this! Please just lay with me in bed and hold me and remind me what it feels like to be loved, because I think I've forgotten and I'm lonely, so lonely…"
"Oh-ho-ho darling," Daniel chuckled as if Elliot were only being melodramatic. He rubbed Elliot's back and chucked beneath his chin. "You've had a rough day in self-exile, have you?"
Elliot nodded to garner Daniel's sympathy and was rewarded with a side-hug before Daniel reached to close his ledger. Patting Elliot's flank, he dropped his knees and nudged Elliot to his feet, although Elliot didn't remain there long. He slid to his knees and sat back on his heels, staring up at Daniel who widened his knees to admit Elliot between them.
"I'm sorry we quarreled," Elliot murmured. Daniel touched his hair. "I can hardly remember what it was about, now."
"Can't you?" Daniel said in return, his fingers tightening, forcing Elliot's face to turn up even more.
Elliot only shook his head and tipped forward, his hair follicles screaming in protest as he strained to press his face to Daniel's thighs. After a few moments. Daniel relented and relaxed his grip, then began to pet Elliot gently.
"Please," Elliot said again, after a few minutes had passed in the same fashion. "I just want you to hold me. I haven't felt safe since I left."
Daniel barely shifted but Elliot knew if he looked up, the old man would be wearing a smirk. All these years and the veil of death had not changed Elliot deep down in his core. The pads of Daniel's fingers pressed into his arms. His cheeks. "How can I say no when you beg so sweetly?"
Like everything in the house, Daniel's bedroom was larger and more opulent than it had been in waking life. But the bed was plush and his body nested into Daniel's all the same. His head rested on Daniel's chest where he could hear the beat of his heart and his fingers wormed up beneath his shirt and curled in the wiry chest hair. A sigh escaped him. This was it. Everything he had craved for the last five years. The security of Daniel's arms and the home he was raised in. It had only taken a global catastrophe and half a bottle of apple whiskey to find it again.
---
For the second time, Elliot awoke with Jarron standing over him and jiggling his shoulder. He startled and looked around, feeling an acute sense of loss when he realized that Daniel was no longer with him. "Wha--? Dan--?"
"Downstairs, taking care of business with the guests." Jarron gently tugged him up, his eyebrows tilted in concern. "You really ain't feelin' too hot, huh?"
Elliot frowned and rubbed his face, then shook his head. "No." It wasn't enough time. He wasn't supposed to fall asleep. "When is this dream gonna be over?"
"Soon as Prince Eli is done entertaining the court…" Jarron replied, almost apologetically.
Elliot let himself be led to his bedroom. One of the additions to the dream-house that had never existed before. It was almost garish in its opulence. A four poster queen dressed in satin and brocade with a pile of faux-fur throws and pillows, a straight backed, gilded chair, an overstuffed ottoman, and in one corner, a strappy contraption of ribbons dangled from the ceiling. Everything was pristine except a vanity, littered with makeup and brushes and Elliot curled his lip at it as Jarron directed him toward the stool he pulled out from beneath it.
"Jus' sit. I'll do you up good," A touch of tiredness crept into Jarron's voice but Elliot didn't have the energy to turn him away, either.
It was a painstaking process, though Jarron seemed familiar with it, and swiftly coated Elliot's face and throat in layer after layer of liquids, powders and pencil. "There," Jarron finally proclaimed, tossing the last brush down on the desktop.
Elliot turned to look at himself and was surprised to find he was caked with far less makeup than it felt like. His skin was flawless and had a sunkissed glow. His eyes, while clearly lined and lightly shadowed, were only brightened by the application, and his lashes didn't look clumpy or heavy, as he'd thought they would.
Nevertheless, he looked femme, bordering on fae; even more vulnerable than he felt. When Jarron plunked a thin circlet of gold on his head, Elliot protested. "No. Absolutely not." And he whipped it off and tossed it on the vanity.
"Your loyal subjects gonna be sore as hell,” Jarron grinned. “How they gonna act like they overthrowin’ a kingdom if they ain’t got no prince to spoil?”
“I’m sure they’ll get over it,” Elliot sighed.
“Well, you gon’ at least get dressed, or you gon’ try you luck in street clothes?”
Elliot rolled his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “Okay, fine. Pick me out something and I’ll put it on.”
Jarron seemed eager to dig through Elliot’s closet and came up with a gold mesh t-shirt, a purple and pink silk jacket with a mandarin collar and a pair of navy blue leggings. As Elliot pulled them on, Jarron continued his trek through the closet, holding up a myriad of items that he asked to borrow. Elliot said yes to everything, leaving Jarron both surprised and thrilled.
Arms full of clothes and makeup, Jarron finally took his leave, promising he’d collect Elliot when it was time. Elliot just stared at himself in the mirror and waited. What now? The minutes ticked by slowly, and even this dream was losing momentum. Elliot leaned closer to the mirror and touched it with his fingers. Once more, the glass seemed fluid. It ebbed forward to cling to his fingers and he sat back, wondering where he would end up if he went through again. If he stayed here, it seemed he was going to have to entertain a myriad of suitors in some sort of brothel and while that wasn’t ultimately much different from taking a trip to the club on a Saturday night, he could only imagine how bizarre it could get.
No. Elliot would take his chances elsewhere. He stood, preparing to go through the mirror again, but paused to look over his shoulder. Daniel was here. Maybe only a few doors down, or perhaps he was waiting in the living room. Daniel, and Brigid, of all people, and Jarron. Tom, his therapist, was going to have a field day with this dream. He was going to ask Elliot what Elliot thought it meant. Elliot thought questions like that were all part of a charlatan ruse, because he was paying Tom to sort him out. But thinking about his next session gave him pause. What could he take away from this?
Ah.
Turning, Elliot let himself out of the room and went down the hall. He peeked into the library where Daniel was once again seated, and approached without knocking. Daniel still only had smiles for him, and Elliot folded himself into Daniel’s embrace one last time.
“You’re being very affectionate this evening,” Daniel chuckled.
“It’s just that I love you, and I miss you, and I wanted you to know,” Elliot kissed Daniel’s warm cheek.
“I know.” Daniel smiled and patted him, then kissed his temple. “You’d better get downstairs. Your first client is due any minute.”
Elliot nodded, and blinking back tears, he pulled away from Daniel’s embrace. He was just about to step over the threshold and into the hallway when Daniel’s voice gave him pause. “Magpie?”
“Yes Daniel?”
“I love you too.”
Elliot smiled sadly, his fingers curling around the doorjamb as he nodded once more. “I know.”
Next, he followed the sound of raucous women’s laughter to the end of the hall. He knocked and the door was yanked open abruptly, a cloud of smoke blown directly into his face. “What do you want?”
“Is Bri--” he began, waved the smoke from his eyes, and began again. “Is my mother in there?”
“Brigid!” Stern-Pixie cut called over her shoulder. “The Princeling needs you.”
Brigid appeared with her own cigarette in hand. Her makeup was newly applied and with a much heavier hand than it had been at dinner. She put the cigarette in to her lips and belted her robe tighter. “What is it, Darling Boy?”
“I just wanted to say…” and his voice trailed off, the words sticking in his throat. He had to swallow past the lump that suddenly formed.
“What is it? I’m busy…”
Elliot reached for the cigarette, holding it down and out of the way so he could lean in and kiss her cheek. His lower lip trembled. “I forgive you.”
“What?!” Brigid laughed as Elliot took a drag from her cigarette before passing it back. It was sweet and reminded him somehow of oranges.
He licked his lips, forced a smile and nodded. “I forgive you.” He wasn’t sure he did yet, but there might not be another opportunity to say it to her face. The woman with the pixie cut said something from inside the room and Brigid laughed as Elliot turned his back. The door shut with a click behind him.
Elliot had worried that while he was gone, whatever magic was in the mirror might have disappeared, but when he stuck his finger into the glass, it rippled like pond water around a waterbug. He stepped in, giving one last look over the room before ducking his head inside. The blackness swallowed him whole, sucking him backward into a void. This time, he couldn’t see where he was going, and whatever he crashed into took him by surprise. As consciousness faded for the third time, Elliot couldn’t help but think, There’s no place like home.
A/N: In this AU, Elliot believes he is dreaming. If he actually thought for a second that he had traveled to another dimension, his integral beliefs would be so completely challenged that he would be crippled with anxiety. Given that he believes he is dreaming, there is no reason for him to not go along with the events as they more or less play out.
Elliot's cozy closet of a room was adequate when he was working most of the day, but when the days following the pandemic stretched into weeks and then months, the isolation began to wear on him. The evenings blurred into one another, what with liquor stores being deemed an essential service and it was his patriotic duty to support local businesses. Or so his roommates said.
He was a few glasses deep into a rather potent bottle of sweet apple whiskey and the internet rabbit holes for the day were swirling amongst its vapors as he sat at his desk, which in reality, was little more than a vanity crammed up against the side of his bed. In the mirror, Elliot's reflection was beginning to look more like himself. The way he thought of himself. A long, thin face interrupted by the sharp angles of his cheekbones and cadet grey eyes no longer bracketed by dark tired rings. These days, there was little to do but rest, and naps were serving him well, even if he had been eating less than usual.
A chuckle bubbled out of him, because for a moment, he could have sworn his reflection winked at him. Elliot returned a cheeky little tip and nod of his head and reached for his glass, draining it before lifting the empty tumbler in cheers to himself.
"To the looking glass," he murmured, then raised the glass even higher. "To Lewis Carroll!"
That set him off on an internal drunken review of the conversation he'd had with Lylah Morris on set one day, who'd insisted the author was a pedophile lusting after his pre-teen neighbor, Alice, and that "fact" alone discredited all of the works he'd penned with her name. But did character flaws negate genius? Did genius invite character flaws? Did any of it really fucking matter?
The serious draw of his reflection slowly morphed into something more mischievous and Elliot felt his face, sure that he wasn't affecting that expression. He wasn't, and what's more, he realized: His reflection was no longer parroting his movements.
The Elliot that stared out from the mirror was grinning and beckoning while the Elliot who sat at the desk stared in confusion, too drunk to be horrified. He reached toward the glass then, expecting his fingertips to meet the cold, slivered surface. Instead, they dipped in, leaving a ripple in their wake.
"Narcissus," Elliot laughed. And pushed his fingers in to the knuckle before pulling them out. He held his hand before his face and examined the wet and shimmering substance that smeared across his fingers like stage makeup.
A frown crossed his face then. "What the--?"
Elliot's not-reflection stared back at him smugly, then beckoned. It was still beckoning as it half-turned and began to move away, as if leading him deeper into the mirror. Entranced, Elliot reached out again and found he could push his whole hand into the mirror. His forearm. He pushed his laptop, whiskey glass, and journal aside, climbing up on his desk in order to sink himself farther into the silvery pool.
He was up to his shoulder now, and his heart hammered as he mustered up the courage to push farther still. Taking one deep breath, he ducked his head inside, and then he was falling. Falling through the blackness, spinning in dizzy circles, grabbing for handholds and finding nothing.
"No, no, no, no! Nonononononono!" A mistake. It was all a mistake.
From the blackness, a green pinprick emerged and grew rapidly to a softball. A beachball. A trampoline. A field.
Eliiot would have preferred the trampoline. At least if it were that, he'd bounce when he hit it. Instead, there was a muffled flump on impact, and then everything was dark once again.
-----
"Eli! Eli!"
Elliot's whole body tremored beneath the hand that shook him. He attempted to wave it all away but the words sank into his fuzzy brain and he bolted upright with a scowl. "Don't call me that!"
His eyes squinted open, slits against the daylight that streamed into them, and he lifted a hand to shade them further. The face silhouetted against the sun swam into focus and Elliot startled. "Jarron? What are you doing here?"
Jarron's face broadened with a smile. "Come to fetch your lazy ass. It's almost time for dinner."
"Time for dinner?" Elliot let himself be pulled up by Jarron's warm hand and staggered slightly before he found his footing.
"Yeah, and if you don't hurry, we finna be late."
Still rubbing his eyes, Elliot stumbled along after Jarron, their hands still married together. "Where are we? Where are we going?" He mumbled, staring around at the cityscape they traversed as they left the greenery of the park behind.
"You been in the salts again," Jarron laughed with a shake of his head. "You know how much Daniel hate that."
"Daniel?" Elliot dug his heels in, forcing them to a stop.
"Yes Daniel. You a parrot? Let's go!" Jarron gave Elliot a yank, dragging him off balance before resuming their parade down the sidewalk.
Elliot tripped along numbly, trying to sort everything out. It didn't make any sense. Jarron, or Daniel, or the city park with the lush, green grass. The classy, New England style buildings that reminded him so much of the neighborhood he'd spied through the windows back in Meriden.
Ahead, a large Tudor loomed and Elliot's heart skipped a beat. Then, he doubled over with explosive laughter."I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming!" He'd drunk too much and passed out in his room back in L.A. and that was all there was to it.
"You high as a kite," Jarron snorted.
Elliot only agreed and spun in a circle, his arms flung wide. It was only a dream, so what did it matter? When Jarron caught hold of his hand again, Elliot gripped it tight and broke for the house, still laughing. They clamored in through the front door, a door that Elliot had never used before. It was strange, seeing the entryway from this perspective. Daniel had always come in through the garage.
After a moment, something else dawned on him. The house was too warm, too alive with voices and laughter. But before he could contemplate it, a familiar face peered around the doorway from the dining room. "Well, well, well. Look who's just in time to fill his belly!"
Elliot's glee died and he gaped. "Brigid?" She was older. The youthfulness was gone from her face, replaced with a hardened weariness, but he was certain it was her. The resemblance around the eyes was the same, and they had wavy chestnut locks in common.
"Brigid? Since when am I Brigid to you?" She wielded a serving spoon at them. "Go on and wash up, smart ass. And you…"
She pointed the spoon at Jarron. "Where'd you find 'im?"
"At the park, like usual…" Jarron said, grabbing Elliot, who was heading for the downstairs bathroom and redirected him to the kitchen sink with a hand on his elbow.
"Startin' to think you hit ya fool head," Jarron said, soaping up quickly. "Downstairs bathroom's for guests, you know that. Everybody knows that."
"Daniel doesn't have guests," Elliot replied, taking the bar soap from Jarron and starting to scrub. Daniel hated guests, phone calls, even emails. The outside world was awful and Elliot was his haven.
"Customers, guests, patrons, clients, johns. Whatever word you wanna use. An' even if you are Prince Eli, you don't get ta use that bathroom."
"It's Elliot," Elliot corrected him. "Eli is dead. Eli's been dead for a long time."
Jarron squinted at him, a funny look on his face. "Coulda fooled me. You was Eli this morning. You been Prince Eli for as long as I've known you."
"What's with the 'Prince' thing?" Elliot asked, turning off the tap and drying his hands. "You keep saying that."
Jarron rolled his eyes. "Little Eli White, house favorite. A prince among the whores."
"Whores?" The word bubbled out on a laugh as he followed Jarron into the dining room and then stopped as everyone seated at the table turned to look at him.
"Salute…" said a woman with an edgy black pixie cut and pumped her first. Elliot didn't recognize her, but the hodgepodge of men and women at the table exchanged smirks and giggles.
"Bridge," Jarron said, accepting the plate Elliot's mother passed him. He watched her spoon a heaping serving of something that looked like a cheesy rice casserole, nodding toward the plate when she stopped and holding out his plate until she put another dollop on top. "Ya boy is acting funny."
"Funny how?" She said sternly as her gaze shifted to Elliot. A plate was suddenly thrust into his hands but instead of heaping food onto it, she left the spoon on the casserole and felt his forehead, then pulled at one of his lower eyelids with her thumb.
Defensively, Elliot swatted her hand away and leaned back. "Don't." He'd never been okay with random people touching him, and this might be a dream but he still didn't want his mother's hands on him.
"Like that," Jarron said, ducking his head and taking a bite of casserole directly from the mound on his plate as he made his way around to an empty seat. "Ask a lotta dumbass questions. Act like he don't know who or where he is."
"You've been taking them damn bath salts again!" Brigid accused, angrily scooping Elliot up more than he could possibly have eaten in a sitting. She plopped it on his plate and he winced, expecting the metal spoon to break the plate in half.
"That's what I said!" Jarron nearly sprayed his mouth full of rice.
"I haven't!" Elliot said defensively and went to sit in the only empty seat, between Jarron and Brigid. "I've never taken bath salts!"
The was a round of clucking tongues and shaking heads. A few snorts, and plenty of eye rolls.
"Poppers, maybe a few times…" Elliot admitted, turning pink. "Weed."
"Poppers, maybe!" Jarron crowed and slapped the table."Like we ain't all wheezin' before a job!"
Another wave of laughter washed over the group and half of them produced little bottles from their pockets and flashed them at him.
Brigid doled herself up a serving and sat down, scraping her chair into place. She wasted no time in digging in to the meal. "You best think about 'maybe' diggin' into that stash of poppers yourself, seeing as how you got a full line up tonight."
"Full lineup," Elliot repeated dumbly and poked the rice, unearthing a cube of ham. "And what does that mean?"
"See?" Jarron said, shaking his head again.
Brigid gave a long suffering sigh. "It means you better get eating and cut the shit because nobody got patience for your games tonight, Eli."
"Elliot," he said automatically and was met with another exasperated sound.
----
After dinner, Elliot climbed the stairs to the second floor, and they continued up to a third story which had never existed in Daniel's real home. There were six rooms on the second floor, though Elliot only remembered three. He couldn't remember having ever had a longer or more vivid dream, and he could swear he had actually tasted the food at dinner.
The door to the library was ajar and light spilled from inside. Elliot's breath caught and impulsively, he stopped, pushing the door open wider with his fingertips. The scene was one he never expected to see again.
A chubby, balding man with tufts of salt and pepper hair sat at the desk, hunched over the blotter, red pen in hand.
Elliot's stomach knotted and his fingers grabbed for the frame to steady him. In the forefront of his mind was a simmering anger but behind it was a deep-seated longing. His eyes clouded with tears. "Daniel…"
The man held his finger up and he finished penning something into a ledger before lifting his head. "Ah, Magpie. Come in!"
That word. The fondness in his voice. The light in those watery blue eyes. Elliot's resolve crumpled and he went, wedging between the desk and Daniel's body, climbing onto his lap. His face was wet with tears when he pushed it into the crook of Daniel's neck and inhaled the scent of his cologne.
Daniel's palm pressed into the small of his back and the other between his shoulders. Elliot began to sob and a litany of questions flooded from him in a high pitched, unintelligible tone.
"What's this? You're hysterical…" Daniel exclaimed in surprise, drawing Elliot back to look at him and brush away his tears. "All this because of the spat we had this morning?"
Daniel pushed away from the desk and tried to set Elliot on his feet but Elliot only clenched his knees against Daniel's thighs.
"Please, don't send me away again!" Elliot cried, clutching Daniel's shoulders. "I can be good, I can listen. It's horrible out there, horrible, and freedom is overrated. I work just to pay bills and nobody takes care of me the way you did and I'll give it all up just to be yours again, please take me back!"
For the second time in an hour, cool hands laid against his forehead and thumbs drew down his eyelids, but this time he didn't flinch away. "What have you done to yourself, Magpie?" Daniel's voice went quietly stern again.
"I haven't done anything, I swear. I promise! I know this is all a stupid dream and I'll hate myself when I wake up, but please let me have this! Please just lay with me in bed and hold me and remind me what it feels like to be loved, because I think I've forgotten and I'm lonely, so lonely…"
"Oh-ho-ho darling," Daniel chuckled as if Elliot were only being melodramatic. He rubbed Elliot's back and chucked beneath his chin. "You've had a rough day in self-exile, have you?"
Elliot nodded to garner Daniel's sympathy and was rewarded with a side-hug before Daniel reached to close his ledger. Patting Elliot's flank, he dropped his knees and nudged Elliot to his feet, although Elliot didn't remain there long. He slid to his knees and sat back on his heels, staring up at Daniel who widened his knees to admit Elliot between them.
"I'm sorry we quarreled," Elliot murmured. Daniel touched his hair. "I can hardly remember what it was about, now."
"Can't you?" Daniel said in return, his fingers tightening, forcing Elliot's face to turn up even more.
Elliot only shook his head and tipped forward, his hair follicles screaming in protest as he strained to press his face to Daniel's thighs. After a few moments. Daniel relented and relaxed his grip, then began to pet Elliot gently.
"Please," Elliot said again, after a few minutes had passed in the same fashion. "I just want you to hold me. I haven't felt safe since I left."
Daniel barely shifted but Elliot knew if he looked up, the old man would be wearing a smirk. All these years and the veil of death had not changed Elliot deep down in his core. The pads of Daniel's fingers pressed into his arms. His cheeks. "How can I say no when you beg so sweetly?"
Like everything in the house, Daniel's bedroom was larger and more opulent than it had been in waking life. But the bed was plush and his body nested into Daniel's all the same. His head rested on Daniel's chest where he could hear the beat of his heart and his fingers wormed up beneath his shirt and curled in the wiry chest hair. A sigh escaped him. This was it. Everything he had craved for the last five years. The security of Daniel's arms and the home he was raised in. It had only taken a global catastrophe and half a bottle of apple whiskey to find it again.
---
For the second time, Elliot awoke with Jarron standing over him and jiggling his shoulder. He startled and looked around, feeling an acute sense of loss when he realized that Daniel was no longer with him. "Wha--? Dan--?"
"Downstairs, taking care of business with the guests." Jarron gently tugged him up, his eyebrows tilted in concern. "You really ain't feelin' too hot, huh?"
Elliot frowned and rubbed his face, then shook his head. "No." It wasn't enough time. He wasn't supposed to fall asleep. "When is this dream gonna be over?"
"Soon as Prince Eli is done entertaining the court…" Jarron replied, almost apologetically.
Elliot let himself be led to his bedroom. One of the additions to the dream-house that had never existed before. It was almost garish in its opulence. A four poster queen dressed in satin and brocade with a pile of faux-fur throws and pillows, a straight backed, gilded chair, an overstuffed ottoman, and in one corner, a strappy contraption of ribbons dangled from the ceiling. Everything was pristine except a vanity, littered with makeup and brushes and Elliot curled his lip at it as Jarron directed him toward the stool he pulled out from beneath it.
"Jus' sit. I'll do you up good," A touch of tiredness crept into Jarron's voice but Elliot didn't have the energy to turn him away, either.
It was a painstaking process, though Jarron seemed familiar with it, and swiftly coated Elliot's face and throat in layer after layer of liquids, powders and pencil. "There," Jarron finally proclaimed, tossing the last brush down on the desktop.
Elliot turned to look at himself and was surprised to find he was caked with far less makeup than it felt like. His skin was flawless and had a sunkissed glow. His eyes, while clearly lined and lightly shadowed, were only brightened by the application, and his lashes didn't look clumpy or heavy, as he'd thought they would.
Nevertheless, he looked femme, bordering on fae; even more vulnerable than he felt. When Jarron plunked a thin circlet of gold on his head, Elliot protested. "No. Absolutely not." And he whipped it off and tossed it on the vanity.
"Your loyal subjects gonna be sore as hell,” Jarron grinned. “How they gonna act like they overthrowin’ a kingdom if they ain’t got no prince to spoil?”
“I’m sure they’ll get over it,” Elliot sighed.
“Well, you gon’ at least get dressed, or you gon’ try you luck in street clothes?”
Elliot rolled his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “Okay, fine. Pick me out something and I’ll put it on.”
Jarron seemed eager to dig through Elliot’s closet and came up with a gold mesh t-shirt, a purple and pink silk jacket with a mandarin collar and a pair of navy blue leggings. As Elliot pulled them on, Jarron continued his trek through the closet, holding up a myriad of items that he asked to borrow. Elliot said yes to everything, leaving Jarron both surprised and thrilled.
Arms full of clothes and makeup, Jarron finally took his leave, promising he’d collect Elliot when it was time. Elliot just stared at himself in the mirror and waited. What now? The minutes ticked by slowly, and even this dream was losing momentum. Elliot leaned closer to the mirror and touched it with his fingers. Once more, the glass seemed fluid. It ebbed forward to cling to his fingers and he sat back, wondering where he would end up if he went through again. If he stayed here, it seemed he was going to have to entertain a myriad of suitors in some sort of brothel and while that wasn’t ultimately much different from taking a trip to the club on a Saturday night, he could only imagine how bizarre it could get.
No. Elliot would take his chances elsewhere. He stood, preparing to go through the mirror again, but paused to look over his shoulder. Daniel was here. Maybe only a few doors down, or perhaps he was waiting in the living room. Daniel, and Brigid, of all people, and Jarron. Tom, his therapist, was going to have a field day with this dream. He was going to ask Elliot what Elliot thought it meant. Elliot thought questions like that were all part of a charlatan ruse, because he was paying Tom to sort him out. But thinking about his next session gave him pause. What could he take away from this?
Ah.
Turning, Elliot let himself out of the room and went down the hall. He peeked into the library where Daniel was once again seated, and approached without knocking. Daniel still only had smiles for him, and Elliot folded himself into Daniel’s embrace one last time.
“You’re being very affectionate this evening,” Daniel chuckled.
“It’s just that I love you, and I miss you, and I wanted you to know,” Elliot kissed Daniel’s warm cheek.
“I know.” Daniel smiled and patted him, then kissed his temple. “You’d better get downstairs. Your first client is due any minute.”
Elliot nodded, and blinking back tears, he pulled away from Daniel’s embrace. He was just about to step over the threshold and into the hallway when Daniel’s voice gave him pause. “Magpie?”
“Yes Daniel?”
“I love you too.”
Elliot smiled sadly, his fingers curling around the doorjamb as he nodded once more. “I know.”
Next, he followed the sound of raucous women’s laughter to the end of the hall. He knocked and the door was yanked open abruptly, a cloud of smoke blown directly into his face. “What do you want?”
“Is Bri--” he began, waved the smoke from his eyes, and began again. “Is my mother in there?”
“Brigid!” Stern-Pixie cut called over her shoulder. “The Princeling needs you.”
Brigid appeared with her own cigarette in hand. Her makeup was newly applied and with a much heavier hand than it had been at dinner. She put the cigarette in to her lips and belted her robe tighter. “What is it, Darling Boy?”
“I just wanted to say…” and his voice trailed off, the words sticking in his throat. He had to swallow past the lump that suddenly formed.
“What is it? I’m busy…”
Elliot reached for the cigarette, holding it down and out of the way so he could lean in and kiss her cheek. His lower lip trembled. “I forgive you.”
“What?!” Brigid laughed as Elliot took a drag from her cigarette before passing it back. It was sweet and reminded him somehow of oranges.
He licked his lips, forced a smile and nodded. “I forgive you.” He wasn’t sure he did yet, but there might not be another opportunity to say it to her face. The woman with the pixie cut said something from inside the room and Brigid laughed as Elliot turned his back. The door shut with a click behind him.
Elliot had worried that while he was gone, whatever magic was in the mirror might have disappeared, but when he stuck his finger into the glass, it rippled like pond water around a waterbug. He stepped in, giving one last look over the room before ducking his head inside. The blackness swallowed him whole, sucking him backward into a void. This time, he couldn’t see where he was going, and whatever he crashed into took him by surprise. As consciousness faded for the third time, Elliot couldn’t help but think, There’s no place like home.
A/N: In this AU, Elliot believes he is dreaming. If he actually thought for a second that he had traveled to another dimension, his integral beliefs would be so completely challenged that he would be crippled with anxiety. Given that he believes he is dreaming, there is no reason for him to not go along with the events as they more or less play out.