For valerienne: The Same Room But Everything's Different
Title: The Same Room But Everything's Different
Recipient: valerienne
Author: kiltsandlollies
Pairings: Ian McKellen/Dominic Monaghan; some implied Billy Boyd/Dominic Monaghan, Orlando Bloom/Elijah Wood
Rating: R for language and implied everything else, mostly
Summary: An evening in turns Ian inside out.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Ian's not sure what's prompted him to invite the four of them to his home tonight, other than some protective instinct he should have long outgrown by now. They're old enough to take care of themselves--and each other, something they seem to do very well--and they hardly need watching over by an old man, however young he might feel inside. Still, Ian's filled with a companionable pleasure looking around his front room at Orlando engaged in laughing oneupmanship with Dominic, at Elijah listening intently to some tale Billy's telling, one that might even be true.
They're all nicely sated from dinner and drinks before and during, and they're all well on the road to ruddy-cheeked joy aided by the drinks after. Through dinner and right until a few moments ago, Ian's listened to stories he always wanted and never needed to hear, listened to the three of them tell little lies and bigger truths, and watching them now, Ian's reminded how much he cares for them--in different measures and for different reasons--and how much they clearly care for each other.
Another sweep of the room, and Ian notices Elijah's talking now, animated but quiet, and Billy's listening, chin in hand, a blessing of a smile on his face. And Dominic and Orlando have quieted, too, their teeth no longer bared in happy challenge but their eyes still bright with amusement.
Dominic leans out of Orlando's reach long enough to make sure he still has Ian's attention, and Ian gives it to him as always, in the briefest of smiles. Dominic's wink in return shows confidence Ian never had at his age but can't begrudge another, and Ian thinks to himself that this intimate meal with intimate friends was possibly one of his best ideas in months.
::
Ian had come to know Dominic first and so far best, mostly because Dominic had taken no nervous steps toward him from the first day Ian had appeared on set. Only days into his time there, Ian had learned enough about Dominic to want his company, and Dominic had taken every hint, including some Ian hadn't even thrown his way. And over the next months Dominic had settled himself in Ian's life when he'd felt the need to be there, and had learned enough about Ian to disappear when either of them needed something or someone different. They were together--sometimes like this, but more often just like that--but they were just as content apart.
And who wouldn't be content, Ian had thought as he'd watched Dominic move around the kitchen and conjure a full meal out of what delights he'd found in Ian's cabinets and fridge. Who wouldn't want to listen to the commentary Dominic kept up with himself as he'd worked, as random culinary magic happened.
"It's like I can hear you thinking," Dominic had laughed over his shoulder and then launched into a pitch-perfect imitation of Ian's plummygruff speech. "You're going to set the house on fire, Dominic. You're not actually going to use cumin, Dominic. You're going to kill us all--"
"I'm not sure I can be blamed for thinking any of that."
"Never said you could. But if I was--"
"If you were."
"If I were going t'kill you, I would have done it a lot sooner than now, and not with--" Dominic had squinted at the spice jar. "Cumin that's probably older than I am. I didn't know furnished places were coming with furnished food."
"When you're finished insulting my kitchen, you might want to consider a bit more clothing." Dominic looks down at his bared chest and feet and then at Ian.
"Look, don't take this wrong, okay, but they've all seen me in a lot less."
Ian had closed his eyes rather than say the first thing that came to mind. "Humour me, then, and pretend you're helping me resist temptation and humiliation."
"Exactly who's being humiliated here?" Dominic had turned back to the stove and the saute pan. His expression went softer for a moment, more serious but smiling, too. "Thank you, by the way. For not. You know. For letting me sort of--" Dominic had moved the wooden spoon in the air as if smacking the wrong words away. "Crash and burn last night. I'll make it up to you."
"You were exhausted, Dominic. As was I. I'm hardly prepared for marathons with you every weekend."
"I don't know, Ian, I think there's a lot you're prepared for." Dominic had leaned over the stove then and turned the pan down low, sighing. "Right, I'll get dressed. For you. And to spare Orlando his jealousy."
Ian had closed his eyes again, and this time bit down on his smile as well. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Dominic. Whatever it takes."
::
Jealousy doesn't often seem to enter the picture between the four of them, Ian's noticed; they share cigarettes and drinks when their per diems have run low, and from the touches Ian's seen--adolescent brushes of hands and lips; stronger, greedier curls of fingers in fabric and hair--they share a good deal more besides. When Ian focuses on them again, they've switched around; now Billy's slouched in the armchair with Dominic at his feet, and Elijah's kicked back on the couch like the slumping teenager he's supposed to be, watching Orlando move behind Ian and place his hands on Ian's shoulders gently.
Ian endures the attention and tells stories of his own while they listen and pass cigarettes and one bottle around. They come to the agreement that they've never worked harder than this in their lives young and old, and further to the agreement that those lives seem to change a little more everyday. Shaky barriers Ian had no idea still existed between them fall with each swallow, until the confessions start: Dominic tells Elijah with brute-force and bright-eyed honesty that he wouldn't take on Frodo now if they paid him triple what they're giving Elijah, and Elijah says simply that he can totally see why; Orlando tells Billy with only the slightest petulance that he'll have the life they'll all want while they'll have careers Billy can't be bothered to chase, and Billy says simply that he wouldn't have it any other way.
And Ian, well. Ian smiles and says he almost believes them, and that he has nothing half as interesting to say. Dominic bursts into laughter at that, and Ian sighs at first when the others join in; by the time they're settled back down Ian's laughing, too, but still keeps his secrets to himself.
::
Billy had poured their earlier rounds like an expert, standing feet planted behind the safety of the bar Ian had set up in a corner of the room before the end of his first week in Wellington. He'd gone somewhat silent first at Elijah's arrival and then more so at the accompanying noise of Dominic's welcome and their loud, mutual affection. The space and setting fit Billy so well that Ian had tilted his head and wondered for a minute before Billy had caught him at it and laughed.
"No, before you ask. I did lots of other things, but I've never tended bar for a living."
Ian offers him a closed-mouth smile in acknowledgment. "Well, experience doesn't always pay."
"Truer words have never been spoken. Least by you or me."
"It's clear you know what you're doing now, though."
"Have to, don't I?" Billy had shrugged, leaning down to find another glass, but then he'd looked up from behind the bottles. "I was pouring my own before it was legal. Probably stunted my growth."
"But look where that's got you now." Ian's grin had made Billy bark out a short laugh. "What did you do, then?"
"I think everything but this. I was a waiter. And a shop clerk, fuck, folded jeans for hours on end. Did catering, cleared tables at a comedy club--"
"Where I've been told you learned your best lines."
"Dominic lies. Actually," Billy had paused, placing glasses and a new bottle carefully on the bar. "'s where I learned t'do this. Get people a little something to drink, they find everything funnier. Mary Poppins didn't know from anythin', Ian; sugar doesn't make the medicine go down, whiskey does. Don't let the movies steer you wrong."
"I do my best."
"I know." Billy hands had stopped moving, fingers curled gently now around the necks of two bottles. Ian had waited him out while Billy thought, his gentle features pinched in dull agony, a passing pain to which Billy was clearly accustomed enough that he couldn't possibly notice how it transformed his face. "I think we all do. Still. Who knows? I could make another career behind a bar if this thing tanks, yeah? And I'll have all the best stories to tell."
"I think you already might."
Billy's eyes had flashed through the clouds inside them, and then he'd laughed again, a thinner, almost whinnying sound utterly unlike his typically joyous cackle, before his face had smoothed out once more, his eyes clearing. "Can I make you something?"
And Billy had, then; Ian had asked to be surprised with whatever Billy thought best or most interesting, provided it would still leave Ian standing, and Ian had enjoyed it enough to ask for another and stronger probably a bit too soon afterward. As the evening had worn on, Billy had come out from behind the shield of the bar and allowed his pleasant smile to widen and warm, opening up slowly to catch up with the others.
::
Ian's taking things more slowly now, drinking at what seems like half the rate of the others and grateful for his decision and discretion as things get a bit sloppier. Dominic and Elijah pound down more drink while Billy takes bets on who'll fall first, but Orlando waves away their antics and faces Ian with a blurred fervor in his eyes and voice as he comes back to an earlier discussion of Billy's reluctance to try most of the pursuits the other have embraced here, telling Ian again how hard he and Dominic had tried to get Billy to bungee-jump, to skydive, to do anything more physically engaging than blinking, really, on their days off. But no, Billy's boring; Billy can't be arsed to explore any limits other than those around vineyards and bookshops.
Billy snorts and tells Orlando that not testing the elements or himself is what's keeping him them alive, thanks, that being boring's no curse and that not everyone's carrying a death wish borne from having cheated it at least once already. And then Billy looks at Ian as if for a sage's pessimistic echo just as Orlando looks at him, too, for the wisdom of a common adventurous soul. Not for the first time Ian's trapped between what he knows are both well-intentioned ideals, and not for the last time he demurs and lies and says that he's not sure who's right here.
He doesn't and won't elaborate, but Orlando takes the victory as his own, one Billy shrugs and cedes away, to Ian's silent relief; just earlier tonight Ian's seen Orlando make efforts out of sight of the others and knows that Orlando craves an even tighter closeness, craves excitement and change and growth, and wishes all those things for everyone within his wide reach.
::
It's the tiniest of gardens, but Ian had tended to it as best he could, urging straggling plants from the ground when he'd had time to do so. Seeing Orlando bend to cup one needy stalk in his palms, Ian had stood back for a few minutes, waiting for Orlando to finish whatever benediction he'd offered the plant with his touch and words Ian had to force himself not to overhear.
Orlando had arrived tonight bundled under tens of layers of thin clothing, but he'd knelt in the garden in just his jeans and a sweater, the fabrics clinging to him. Ian's patience had finally broken after some time, and he'd advanced on Orlando quietly, shaking his head when Orlando had risen to his feet as if he'd been expected to.
"Don't let me interrupt you. You're probably going to have more influence out here than I could."
"I didn't even know you had a garden." Orlando had broken out into a smile that always shocked people with its tenderness spreading across that perfect face. "I like it. I didn't have you figured for it."
"Well, you're welcome to come visit anytime." Ian had knelt too, fingers trailing in the dirt. "Poor things could use the company."
"God, I could too." Before Ian could answer Orlando had fallen to his knees again and then backward. "It's like--I love it here, but sometimes it's like that whole thing you learn in school, that difference between alone and lonely. We're all a little of both, aren't we."
"It's to be expected," Ian had said gently. "None of us is home."
Orlando had made an amused noise, shifting his arms back to pillow his head. "First week here with everybody, I mean, after Stuart--we were talking about getting a place. We're still thinking about it. Home away from home and all that."
"There's nothing to stop you."
"Except for the fact that if we weren't on the job we might be trying to kill each other twice a day." Orlando had laughed. "That's not it. It's Dom we're all gonna combine to kill. But you know what I mean. This is gonna be the most amazing year and a half we've ever had--any of us--and I think sometimes. We waste it. I've done my share. I've gone to the mat with Dom more than once, but I've had it out with everybody. It's like we can't take it out on anybody else, so we just--go at it, and then it's better again."
"Too many little fighting fish in a bowl that's too small."
"Little being relative."
Ian had given him that one. "You'll get through it. Be the Buddha and all that."
Orlando had flinched, but grinned, too. "Please don't."
"I'm not above using non-sequitors to change a mood, Orlando, especially when it works." Ian had closed his eyes and taken a breath for both of them before facing Orlando again. "Come back inside?"
"In a minute. Or maybe ten more."
::
All secrets and stories spent for the moment, they retreat into private contemplations. Elijah seems fascinated by the CDs and albums Ian's brought from England and/or purchased here, his pleasure visible with every turn of his fingers through sleeves of vinyl and plastic. After a moment Dominic joins him on the floor near the stereo, and together they peer over liner notes and dedications, and slide short stacks of music they know Ian will let them borrow, especially if it means he gets to hear something a little easier on his ears in makeup for the next several mornings.
Orlando wanders the front rooms, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he tries to absorb meaning from the art that's always been here and the few drawings and small sculptures Ian's accumulated; Ian's not surprised when Orlando tells him he knows which are which. And Billy draws his fingers down rows of books, across the ragged tops of the paperbacks that Ian can see bother him for some reason he's not prepared to share right now and down the spines of hardbacks that make Billy's lips turn up in the angelic smile of before.
Ian finds himself deep in conversation with Orlando about the difference between ochre and plain yellow-brown when he's distracted by Elijah standing, laughing and pushing a hand through Dominic's short hair as he steadies himself and palms his pockets, looking for the cigarettes only he loves. Ian reminds Elijah that he can light up anything he likes inside the house, and Elijah smiles sweetly and says he knows, but he needs to step outside after half an hour listening to Dominic's opinion of Rubber Soul and the Beatles before and after; there is after all only so much hot air a guy can withstand.
::
The smoke from Elijah's cigarette glows orange as it rises above the porch light, leading Ian around the corner to find him leaning against the house and staring up at the moon. Elijah doesn't jump at the sight of Ian or apologize for disappearing; if there's one thing the company has learned over the last few months, it's that excuses and apologies are mostly unnecessary between them.
"I'm not sure we could have chosen a better night, even if it weren't Saturday," Ian sighs, pulling a new cigarette from his own pack. "Could you--"
"Definitely." Elijah lights it carefully. "It's not as cold as it was when we first got here. This fucking weather, man, it still kills me."
"It also suits you."
"One word about wind-chapped porcelain cheeks and I'll fucking punch you, Ian, swear to God." Ian laughs as Elijah takes a deep draw of the smoke, sharp cheekbones going lethal on the inhale. "With all due respect and shit. I'm not into elder abuse."
"I cannot put my relief into words." Ian leans next to Elijah, following his stare up to the sky. "So tell me."
"About what?"
"Your plans. For after this."
"Well, yeah. More like ideas, though."
"So." Ian watches as Elijah's mouth works for a minute while he thinks of the way to phrase it, of words that cannot be mocked. Ian nods. "Music, is it?"
"Yeah. I want. I think I want a record label. Nothing big," he's quick to add. "I know some people who are really good, and they're never gonna get signed. Ever. I mean, people listen, but they don't hear, and I know it's always gonna be like that, but I want to get the bands out there, too, like promoting. I mean. I'm not." Elijah huffs, sending another cloud of smoke skyward. "I'm not rolling in money and it's not gonna make me more. I just want people to hear things they're not gonna hear any other way." Another huff. "Hi, 'm Elijah Wood, my ego and I are damn glad to meet you."
Ian leans closer and sighs. "Well. I can't promise to enjoy anything you find appealing, but I'm not your audience. You're not asking for my approval, either, but you have my encouragement."
"Thanks."
"I'm serious."
"I know. And I'll take it. It's a couple of years away, though, after--this. After everything." Elijah hooks a thumb back in the direction of the house, of the others inside. "Every day one of them thinks all of this is gonna just suck, and it's not. It's just not. It's gonna blow up, and they're not gonna know what's hit them."
"And you will?"
Elijah nods. "I can feel it."
"And how does it feel, then?" Elijah tilts his chin upward, looking for the pisstake, and then lowers it, unnerved when it can't be found.
"Fucking brilliant." A pause, and then Elijah's face lights up, punctuating the sweet turn of his tangled, appropriated drawl. "Absolutely fucking brilliant."
::
Ian believes that, too, though he's been careful to not talk that belief up too much lest others believe it the wrong way, letting the thought expand their heads and not their minds. He mentions that to Elijah as they return inside the house, and Elijah frowns at the unspoken assumption, but Ian tells him it's only a passing thing, and this cast is unlike any other; where a different company might slap each other down, this group has consistently held each other up. Elijah agrees with that, his eyes going a bit bright and soft, and then they let the subject drop at the sight before them.
Billy's back in the armchair, curled up like a younger man and breathing low in sleep, and Orlando's kipped out on his troublesome back on the floor. Ian listens for Dominic in the kitchen and laughs to hear him muttering to himself again as he cleans up.
Elijah raises his hand slightly to Ian and then sinks to the couch, reaching behind him for a book Billy had taken up and then abandoned on his travels around the room. He confirms that Ian doesn't mind their staying and then dives into the book, giving Ian the cue he needs to disappear too. Ian takes the steps upstairs slowly but with a smile on his face; while he doesn't feel he's played much of a host tonight, it's obvious he's done something good and right here tonight, given them some peace and a chance to talk and come to grips again with who they are beyond hobbits and elf and wizard.
So he wants to think, anyway, even as the wizard's eyes are what face him in the bathroom mirror, as the wizard's body suddenly wearies him almost to sleep where he stands.
::
When Ian walks back into his bedroom, he finds Dominic's anticipated his arrival; rather than return to Billy's side, Dominic's padded silently upstairs and onto Ian's bed to wait, shirtless and smiling, for neither an invitation nor permission to stay but for Ian's pretended resigned, sighing acceptance of Dominic's warm, twitchy presence beside him for another night.
"This was nice," Dominic says, sliding from the middle of the duvet to one side, making room for Ian's slow descent to pillows and peace even as he shows his typical signs of past-midnight second wind restlessness. "Tonight, I mean. You didn't have to do anything for us, but it was nice."
"I don't think I actually did anything for any of you," Ian laughs, stretching and letting his eyes close as he silently thanks random religions for the mattress and company both. "Bar maybe provided couches and drink. You amused yourselves well enough."
"We wouldn't have, though." Ian turns to face Dominic, eyebrows raised, and Dominic shrugs languidly. "We just wouldn't. We haven't had the right kind of time, yeah? And this week's been shit. You saw Billy after we finished the Watcher shoot. Elijah's walking around like he's been hit by a truck, and Orlando's more bruised up than the rest of us--"
Ian's nod quiets Dominic, and while Ian might at another time have exchanged some expanded confidence about everything else he'd noticed about the other three over the last few hours, it doesn't seem appropriate or necessary now; Dominic's more than likely noticed all that and much more about them and Ian, too. "I can't imagine that would have stopped you from spending the evening together in the pub."
"Spending, yeah. Probably not ending." Dominic pauses and then curls up a bit, tucking into himself but for one arm under a pillow and still holding Ian's gaze. "Not well, anyway. We don't always get on, Ian, not even me and Billy. Not every day, not every night. And it's usually my fault. Not always, just, usually, like. Point is, nobody ended up insulted or bleeding, probably because we were on good behaviour, or just good wine, and I'm being honest here, okay, I'm telling you, we haven't had time like tonight in a while."
Ian nods again and then turns onto his back, his eyes to the ceiling and his breathing long and slow as he thinks of what he's been told, what he's heard and listened to, what he's felt and learned. "If it's any consolation, neither have I."
Dominic looks at Ian for some time, then, his stare following the line of Ian's profile. And then he moves closer, his touch warm and curious, every brush of his long fingers a question Ian lets Dominic answer himself. Ian more than surrenders to the touch, giving up the role of impromptu confessional priest in the backyard or in front of the bar and sinking under the easier to bear weight of Dominic's need, and, eventually, his own.
::
They've never looked younger, Ian thinks as he stares down at them the following morning from the top of the stairs. Billy's still in the armchair, but the other two have moved in the middle of the night; Orlando's stretched across almost the full length of the couch, and Elijah's curled into a ball of dark hair and pale skin on the end cushion, Orlando's foot mostly in his lap.
Dominic, of course, is still in Ian's bed. Ian closes his eyes and remembers how easily he'd let Dominic take whatever he'd wanted last night, knowing he'd wanted it himself too and finding it not nearly so easy to ask. Ian supposes now that he's become so much like these young men that they know him like they know each other. It's more than just finishing each other's sentences or ordering each other's drinks; it's the way they move in and out of each other's hands and hearts and minds. There's still months to go, Ian tells himself and wonders if he's going to be able to remain standing around this edgy, joyful, whip-smart and not-quite-jaded lot. There's still much they're going to learn and know and feel, and at the end of this so much more than a film will have been made.
Ian hears a shift of tired arms and legs and he turns to find its source. Billy's testing his limbs as he wakes, working to suppress a yawn that eventually wins out. When he recovers and his features smooth over again, Billy opens his eyes and meets Ian's before they each throw smiles that dare the other to look away first.
Can I make you something? Billy asks after another moment, and Ian nods, thinking he might need all the strength he can get.
***
Recipient: valerienne
Author: kiltsandlollies
Pairings: Ian McKellen/Dominic Monaghan; some implied Billy Boyd/Dominic Monaghan, Orlando Bloom/Elijah Wood
Rating: R for language and implied everything else, mostly
Summary: An evening in turns Ian inside out.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
Ian's not sure what's prompted him to invite the four of them to his home tonight, other than some protective instinct he should have long outgrown by now. They're old enough to take care of themselves--and each other, something they seem to do very well--and they hardly need watching over by an old man, however young he might feel inside. Still, Ian's filled with a companionable pleasure looking around his front room at Orlando engaged in laughing oneupmanship with Dominic, at Elijah listening intently to some tale Billy's telling, one that might even be true.
They're all nicely sated from dinner and drinks before and during, and they're all well on the road to ruddy-cheeked joy aided by the drinks after. Through dinner and right until a few moments ago, Ian's listened to stories he always wanted and never needed to hear, listened to the three of them tell little lies and bigger truths, and watching them now, Ian's reminded how much he cares for them--in different measures and for different reasons--and how much they clearly care for each other.
Another sweep of the room, and Ian notices Elijah's talking now, animated but quiet, and Billy's listening, chin in hand, a blessing of a smile on his face. And Dominic and Orlando have quieted, too, their teeth no longer bared in happy challenge but their eyes still bright with amusement.
Dominic leans out of Orlando's reach long enough to make sure he still has Ian's attention, and Ian gives it to him as always, in the briefest of smiles. Dominic's wink in return shows confidence Ian never had at his age but can't begrudge another, and Ian thinks to himself that this intimate meal with intimate friends was possibly one of his best ideas in months.
::
Ian had come to know Dominic first and so far best, mostly because Dominic had taken no nervous steps toward him from the first day Ian had appeared on set. Only days into his time there, Ian had learned enough about Dominic to want his company, and Dominic had taken every hint, including some Ian hadn't even thrown his way. And over the next months Dominic had settled himself in Ian's life when he'd felt the need to be there, and had learned enough about Ian to disappear when either of them needed something or someone different. They were together--sometimes like this, but more often just like that--but they were just as content apart.
And who wouldn't be content, Ian had thought as he'd watched Dominic move around the kitchen and conjure a full meal out of what delights he'd found in Ian's cabinets and fridge. Who wouldn't want to listen to the commentary Dominic kept up with himself as he'd worked, as random culinary magic happened.
"It's like I can hear you thinking," Dominic had laughed over his shoulder and then launched into a pitch-perfect imitation of Ian's plummygruff speech. "You're going to set the house on fire, Dominic. You're not actually going to use cumin, Dominic. You're going to kill us all--"
"I'm not sure I can be blamed for thinking any of that."
"Never said you could. But if I was--"
"If you were."
"If I were going t'kill you, I would have done it a lot sooner than now, and not with--" Dominic had squinted at the spice jar. "Cumin that's probably older than I am. I didn't know furnished places were coming with furnished food."
"When you're finished insulting my kitchen, you might want to consider a bit more clothing." Dominic looks down at his bared chest and feet and then at Ian.
"Look, don't take this wrong, okay, but they've all seen me in a lot less."
Ian had closed his eyes rather than say the first thing that came to mind. "Humour me, then, and pretend you're helping me resist temptation and humiliation."
"Exactly who's being humiliated here?" Dominic had turned back to the stove and the saute pan. His expression went softer for a moment, more serious but smiling, too. "Thank you, by the way. For not. You know. For letting me sort of--" Dominic had moved the wooden spoon in the air as if smacking the wrong words away. "Crash and burn last night. I'll make it up to you."
"You were exhausted, Dominic. As was I. I'm hardly prepared for marathons with you every weekend."
"I don't know, Ian, I think there's a lot you're prepared for." Dominic had leaned over the stove then and turned the pan down low, sighing. "Right, I'll get dressed. For you. And to spare Orlando his jealousy."
Ian had closed his eyes again, and this time bit down on his smile as well. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Dominic. Whatever it takes."
::
Jealousy doesn't often seem to enter the picture between the four of them, Ian's noticed; they share cigarettes and drinks when their per diems have run low, and from the touches Ian's seen--adolescent brushes of hands and lips; stronger, greedier curls of fingers in fabric and hair--they share a good deal more besides. When Ian focuses on them again, they've switched around; now Billy's slouched in the armchair with Dominic at his feet, and Elijah's kicked back on the couch like the slumping teenager he's supposed to be, watching Orlando move behind Ian and place his hands on Ian's shoulders gently.
Ian endures the attention and tells stories of his own while they listen and pass cigarettes and one bottle around. They come to the agreement that they've never worked harder than this in their lives young and old, and further to the agreement that those lives seem to change a little more everyday. Shaky barriers Ian had no idea still existed between them fall with each swallow, until the confessions start: Dominic tells Elijah with brute-force and bright-eyed honesty that he wouldn't take on Frodo now if they paid him triple what they're giving Elijah, and Elijah says simply that he can totally see why; Orlando tells Billy with only the slightest petulance that he'll have the life they'll all want while they'll have careers Billy can't be bothered to chase, and Billy says simply that he wouldn't have it any other way.
And Ian, well. Ian smiles and says he almost believes them, and that he has nothing half as interesting to say. Dominic bursts into laughter at that, and Ian sighs at first when the others join in; by the time they're settled back down Ian's laughing, too, but still keeps his secrets to himself.
::
Billy had poured their earlier rounds like an expert, standing feet planted behind the safety of the bar Ian had set up in a corner of the room before the end of his first week in Wellington. He'd gone somewhat silent first at Elijah's arrival and then more so at the accompanying noise of Dominic's welcome and their loud, mutual affection. The space and setting fit Billy so well that Ian had tilted his head and wondered for a minute before Billy had caught him at it and laughed.
"No, before you ask. I did lots of other things, but I've never tended bar for a living."
Ian offers him a closed-mouth smile in acknowledgment. "Well, experience doesn't always pay."
"Truer words have never been spoken. Least by you or me."
"It's clear you know what you're doing now, though."
"Have to, don't I?" Billy had shrugged, leaning down to find another glass, but then he'd looked up from behind the bottles. "I was pouring my own before it was legal. Probably stunted my growth."
"But look where that's got you now." Ian's grin had made Billy bark out a short laugh. "What did you do, then?"
"I think everything but this. I was a waiter. And a shop clerk, fuck, folded jeans for hours on end. Did catering, cleared tables at a comedy club--"
"Where I've been told you learned your best lines."
"Dominic lies. Actually," Billy had paused, placing glasses and a new bottle carefully on the bar. "'s where I learned t'do this. Get people a little something to drink, they find everything funnier. Mary Poppins didn't know from anythin', Ian; sugar doesn't make the medicine go down, whiskey does. Don't let the movies steer you wrong."
"I do my best."
"I know." Billy hands had stopped moving, fingers curled gently now around the necks of two bottles. Ian had waited him out while Billy thought, his gentle features pinched in dull agony, a passing pain to which Billy was clearly accustomed enough that he couldn't possibly notice how it transformed his face. "I think we all do. Still. Who knows? I could make another career behind a bar if this thing tanks, yeah? And I'll have all the best stories to tell."
"I think you already might."
Billy's eyes had flashed through the clouds inside them, and then he'd laughed again, a thinner, almost whinnying sound utterly unlike his typically joyous cackle, before his face had smoothed out once more, his eyes clearing. "Can I make you something?"
And Billy had, then; Ian had asked to be surprised with whatever Billy thought best or most interesting, provided it would still leave Ian standing, and Ian had enjoyed it enough to ask for another and stronger probably a bit too soon afterward. As the evening had worn on, Billy had come out from behind the shield of the bar and allowed his pleasant smile to widen and warm, opening up slowly to catch up with the others.
::
Ian's taking things more slowly now, drinking at what seems like half the rate of the others and grateful for his decision and discretion as things get a bit sloppier. Dominic and Elijah pound down more drink while Billy takes bets on who'll fall first, but Orlando waves away their antics and faces Ian with a blurred fervor in his eyes and voice as he comes back to an earlier discussion of Billy's reluctance to try most of the pursuits the other have embraced here, telling Ian again how hard he and Dominic had tried to get Billy to bungee-jump, to skydive, to do anything more physically engaging than blinking, really, on their days off. But no, Billy's boring; Billy can't be arsed to explore any limits other than those around vineyards and bookshops.
Billy snorts and tells Orlando that not testing the elements or himself is what's keeping him them alive, thanks, that being boring's no curse and that not everyone's carrying a death wish borne from having cheated it at least once already. And then Billy looks at Ian as if for a sage's pessimistic echo just as Orlando looks at him, too, for the wisdom of a common adventurous soul. Not for the first time Ian's trapped between what he knows are both well-intentioned ideals, and not for the last time he demurs and lies and says that he's not sure who's right here.
He doesn't and won't elaborate, but Orlando takes the victory as his own, one Billy shrugs and cedes away, to Ian's silent relief; just earlier tonight Ian's seen Orlando make efforts out of sight of the others and knows that Orlando craves an even tighter closeness, craves excitement and change and growth, and wishes all those things for everyone within his wide reach.
::
It's the tiniest of gardens, but Ian had tended to it as best he could, urging straggling plants from the ground when he'd had time to do so. Seeing Orlando bend to cup one needy stalk in his palms, Ian had stood back for a few minutes, waiting for Orlando to finish whatever benediction he'd offered the plant with his touch and words Ian had to force himself not to overhear.
Orlando had arrived tonight bundled under tens of layers of thin clothing, but he'd knelt in the garden in just his jeans and a sweater, the fabrics clinging to him. Ian's patience had finally broken after some time, and he'd advanced on Orlando quietly, shaking his head when Orlando had risen to his feet as if he'd been expected to.
"Don't let me interrupt you. You're probably going to have more influence out here than I could."
"I didn't even know you had a garden." Orlando had broken out into a smile that always shocked people with its tenderness spreading across that perfect face. "I like it. I didn't have you figured for it."
"Well, you're welcome to come visit anytime." Ian had knelt too, fingers trailing in the dirt. "Poor things could use the company."
"God, I could too." Before Ian could answer Orlando had fallen to his knees again and then backward. "It's like--I love it here, but sometimes it's like that whole thing you learn in school, that difference between alone and lonely. We're all a little of both, aren't we."
"It's to be expected," Ian had said gently. "None of us is home."
Orlando had made an amused noise, shifting his arms back to pillow his head. "First week here with everybody, I mean, after Stuart--we were talking about getting a place. We're still thinking about it. Home away from home and all that."
"There's nothing to stop you."
"Except for the fact that if we weren't on the job we might be trying to kill each other twice a day." Orlando had laughed. "That's not it. It's Dom we're all gonna combine to kill. But you know what I mean. This is gonna be the most amazing year and a half we've ever had--any of us--and I think sometimes. We waste it. I've done my share. I've gone to the mat with Dom more than once, but I've had it out with everybody. It's like we can't take it out on anybody else, so we just--go at it, and then it's better again."
"Too many little fighting fish in a bowl that's too small."
"Little being relative."
Ian had given him that one. "You'll get through it. Be the Buddha and all that."
Orlando had flinched, but grinned, too. "Please don't."
"I'm not above using non-sequitors to change a mood, Orlando, especially when it works." Ian had closed his eyes and taken a breath for both of them before facing Orlando again. "Come back inside?"
"In a minute. Or maybe ten more."
::
All secrets and stories spent for the moment, they retreat into private contemplations. Elijah seems fascinated by the CDs and albums Ian's brought from England and/or purchased here, his pleasure visible with every turn of his fingers through sleeves of vinyl and plastic. After a moment Dominic joins him on the floor near the stereo, and together they peer over liner notes and dedications, and slide short stacks of music they know Ian will let them borrow, especially if it means he gets to hear something a little easier on his ears in makeup for the next several mornings.
Orlando wanders the front rooms, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he tries to absorb meaning from the art that's always been here and the few drawings and small sculptures Ian's accumulated; Ian's not surprised when Orlando tells him he knows which are which. And Billy draws his fingers down rows of books, across the ragged tops of the paperbacks that Ian can see bother him for some reason he's not prepared to share right now and down the spines of hardbacks that make Billy's lips turn up in the angelic smile of before.
Ian finds himself deep in conversation with Orlando about the difference between ochre and plain yellow-brown when he's distracted by Elijah standing, laughing and pushing a hand through Dominic's short hair as he steadies himself and palms his pockets, looking for the cigarettes only he loves. Ian reminds Elijah that he can light up anything he likes inside the house, and Elijah smiles sweetly and says he knows, but he needs to step outside after half an hour listening to Dominic's opinion of Rubber Soul and the Beatles before and after; there is after all only so much hot air a guy can withstand.
::
The smoke from Elijah's cigarette glows orange as it rises above the porch light, leading Ian around the corner to find him leaning against the house and staring up at the moon. Elijah doesn't jump at the sight of Ian or apologize for disappearing; if there's one thing the company has learned over the last few months, it's that excuses and apologies are mostly unnecessary between them.
"I'm not sure we could have chosen a better night, even if it weren't Saturday," Ian sighs, pulling a new cigarette from his own pack. "Could you--"
"Definitely." Elijah lights it carefully. "It's not as cold as it was when we first got here. This fucking weather, man, it still kills me."
"It also suits you."
"One word about wind-chapped porcelain cheeks and I'll fucking punch you, Ian, swear to God." Ian laughs as Elijah takes a deep draw of the smoke, sharp cheekbones going lethal on the inhale. "With all due respect and shit. I'm not into elder abuse."
"I cannot put my relief into words." Ian leans next to Elijah, following his stare up to the sky. "So tell me."
"About what?"
"Your plans. For after this."
"Well, yeah. More like ideas, though."
"So." Ian watches as Elijah's mouth works for a minute while he thinks of the way to phrase it, of words that cannot be mocked. Ian nods. "Music, is it?"
"Yeah. I want. I think I want a record label. Nothing big," he's quick to add. "I know some people who are really good, and they're never gonna get signed. Ever. I mean, people listen, but they don't hear, and I know it's always gonna be like that, but I want to get the bands out there, too, like promoting. I mean. I'm not." Elijah huffs, sending another cloud of smoke skyward. "I'm not rolling in money and it's not gonna make me more. I just want people to hear things they're not gonna hear any other way." Another huff. "Hi, 'm Elijah Wood, my ego and I are damn glad to meet you."
Ian leans closer and sighs. "Well. I can't promise to enjoy anything you find appealing, but I'm not your audience. You're not asking for my approval, either, but you have my encouragement."
"Thanks."
"I'm serious."
"I know. And I'll take it. It's a couple of years away, though, after--this. After everything." Elijah hooks a thumb back in the direction of the house, of the others inside. "Every day one of them thinks all of this is gonna just suck, and it's not. It's just not. It's gonna blow up, and they're not gonna know what's hit them."
"And you will?"
Elijah nods. "I can feel it."
"And how does it feel, then?" Elijah tilts his chin upward, looking for the pisstake, and then lowers it, unnerved when it can't be found.
"Fucking brilliant." A pause, and then Elijah's face lights up, punctuating the sweet turn of his tangled, appropriated drawl. "Absolutely fucking brilliant."
::
Ian believes that, too, though he's been careful to not talk that belief up too much lest others believe it the wrong way, letting the thought expand their heads and not their minds. He mentions that to Elijah as they return inside the house, and Elijah frowns at the unspoken assumption, but Ian tells him it's only a passing thing, and this cast is unlike any other; where a different company might slap each other down, this group has consistently held each other up. Elijah agrees with that, his eyes going a bit bright and soft, and then they let the subject drop at the sight before them.
Billy's back in the armchair, curled up like a younger man and breathing low in sleep, and Orlando's kipped out on his troublesome back on the floor. Ian listens for Dominic in the kitchen and laughs to hear him muttering to himself again as he cleans up.
Elijah raises his hand slightly to Ian and then sinks to the couch, reaching behind him for a book Billy had taken up and then abandoned on his travels around the room. He confirms that Ian doesn't mind their staying and then dives into the book, giving Ian the cue he needs to disappear too. Ian takes the steps upstairs slowly but with a smile on his face; while he doesn't feel he's played much of a host tonight, it's obvious he's done something good and right here tonight, given them some peace and a chance to talk and come to grips again with who they are beyond hobbits and elf and wizard.
So he wants to think, anyway, even as the wizard's eyes are what face him in the bathroom mirror, as the wizard's body suddenly wearies him almost to sleep where he stands.
::
When Ian walks back into his bedroom, he finds Dominic's anticipated his arrival; rather than return to Billy's side, Dominic's padded silently upstairs and onto Ian's bed to wait, shirtless and smiling, for neither an invitation nor permission to stay but for Ian's pretended resigned, sighing acceptance of Dominic's warm, twitchy presence beside him for another night.
"This was nice," Dominic says, sliding from the middle of the duvet to one side, making room for Ian's slow descent to pillows and peace even as he shows his typical signs of past-midnight second wind restlessness. "Tonight, I mean. You didn't have to do anything for us, but it was nice."
"I don't think I actually did anything for any of you," Ian laughs, stretching and letting his eyes close as he silently thanks random religions for the mattress and company both. "Bar maybe provided couches and drink. You amused yourselves well enough."
"We wouldn't have, though." Ian turns to face Dominic, eyebrows raised, and Dominic shrugs languidly. "We just wouldn't. We haven't had the right kind of time, yeah? And this week's been shit. You saw Billy after we finished the Watcher shoot. Elijah's walking around like he's been hit by a truck, and Orlando's more bruised up than the rest of us--"
Ian's nod quiets Dominic, and while Ian might at another time have exchanged some expanded confidence about everything else he'd noticed about the other three over the last few hours, it doesn't seem appropriate or necessary now; Dominic's more than likely noticed all that and much more about them and Ian, too. "I can't imagine that would have stopped you from spending the evening together in the pub."
"Spending, yeah. Probably not ending." Dominic pauses and then curls up a bit, tucking into himself but for one arm under a pillow and still holding Ian's gaze. "Not well, anyway. We don't always get on, Ian, not even me and Billy. Not every day, not every night. And it's usually my fault. Not always, just, usually, like. Point is, nobody ended up insulted or bleeding, probably because we were on good behaviour, or just good wine, and I'm being honest here, okay, I'm telling you, we haven't had time like tonight in a while."
Ian nods again and then turns onto his back, his eyes to the ceiling and his breathing long and slow as he thinks of what he's been told, what he's heard and listened to, what he's felt and learned. "If it's any consolation, neither have I."
Dominic looks at Ian for some time, then, his stare following the line of Ian's profile. And then he moves closer, his touch warm and curious, every brush of his long fingers a question Ian lets Dominic answer himself. Ian more than surrenders to the touch, giving up the role of impromptu confessional priest in the backyard or in front of the bar and sinking under the easier to bear weight of Dominic's need, and, eventually, his own.
::
They've never looked younger, Ian thinks as he stares down at them the following morning from the top of the stairs. Billy's still in the armchair, but the other two have moved in the middle of the night; Orlando's stretched across almost the full length of the couch, and Elijah's curled into a ball of dark hair and pale skin on the end cushion, Orlando's foot mostly in his lap.
Dominic, of course, is still in Ian's bed. Ian closes his eyes and remembers how easily he'd let Dominic take whatever he'd wanted last night, knowing he'd wanted it himself too and finding it not nearly so easy to ask. Ian supposes now that he's become so much like these young men that they know him like they know each other. It's more than just finishing each other's sentences or ordering each other's drinks; it's the way they move in and out of each other's hands and hearts and minds. There's still months to go, Ian tells himself and wonders if he's going to be able to remain standing around this edgy, joyful, whip-smart and not-quite-jaded lot. There's still much they're going to learn and know and feel, and at the end of this so much more than a film will have been made.
Ian hears a shift of tired arms and legs and he turns to find its source. Billy's testing his limbs as he wakes, working to suppress a yawn that eventually wins out. When he recovers and his features smooth over again, Billy opens his eyes and meets Ian's before they each throw smiles that dare the other to look away first.
Can I make you something? Billy asks after another moment, and Ian nods, thinking he might need all the strength he can get.
***