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Elijah doesn't want to be here. He isn't a frigging masochist. He hates pain. Hates the agony of having his heart ripped out of him. Detests the gnawing that grips his gut whenever his thoughts slip out of control. He hadn't thought that mental anguish would manifest in such physical ways. Had thought it all poetic license.
Fucking ignorant, he was. The pain is real.
It had taken a pleading phone call from Sean and a good talking-to from Ian to get him to come at all. He had realized it would've looked strange if he hadn't. His reluctance wasn't cowardice. This was instinct taking over. The instinct of a wounded animal to crawl away from danger, to go to ground and lick its wounds. He was exhausted and heartsore, and he had given in.
Sir Ian had offered to give him a lift. What did Ian think he was gonna do - crash the car in a spectacular suicide bid? Not that the idea wasn't attractive. Yeah, right. With the way his luck has been going, he'll probably end up shackled to a wheelchair for life.
He sips at his beer, ignoring the questioning looks thrown his way.
He isn't ready for laughter and small talk.
His spirit needs more steel - perhaps the alcohol will put an edge on it. He can't afford to get monged, though.
Not here, not now.
The hair at his nape prickles, and he turns slowly.
Hazel eyes meet his. They are changeable eyes, luminous and flecked with gold. Tonight, they are a muddy brown. Sean's expression is neutral, but his eyes are pleading.
"Frodo, I'd like you to meet my wife, Christine." Sean's voice is strangely harsh. "Chris, this is Elijah Wood."
The attractive, dark-haired woman smiles charmingly and extends a hand. For a split second, Elijah freezes. Then he forces a smile and takes her hand in his. She says something -he can't remember what, but he manages to reply somehow. Nothing seems quite real anymore. Too much guilt, too much tension.
Get a grip, man. He orders himself desperately. Get a fucking grip on yourself. Don't fall apart now. Just - don't.
He gets an assist from an unexpected quarter. Sean glances sideways and reaches behind his wife with a smile.
"And this...", he says, pride in every word, "is Alexandra. Aly, say 'hi' to Uncle Elijah."
Aly peeps out shyly from behind her mother's skirts, golden-brown curls tumbled about her shoulders, thumb firmly in her mouth. She stares up at her new 'uncle' and her eyes widen.
She spits out her thumb and points to Lijah's eyes. "Ooo -blue!" Chris gently reminds her that pointing isn't polite and Sean stifles a laugh. Abashed, Aly ducks back into hiding. Elijah is entranced. Sean's daughter touches his tattered heart, warms it with her artlessness. He drops to his haunches, away from Sean's eyes, away from the discomfort of the moment.
"Oh goody! A new playmate!" He chirps to the hidden girl. "Com'on out, Aly. Let's find something fun to do, shall we?"
She edges out from behind her mother's skirts and regards him warily.
"My daddy's a 'obbit." she announces solemnly.
"Yeah." Elijah returns with a grin. "He's the Sam hobbit. I'm a hobbit too, y'know," he confides. "I'm the Frodo hobbit. So, Aly, ifn your daddy's a hobbit and your mommy's a hobbit, what are you?" Elijah waits expectantly.
Aly looks up at her grinning parents uncertainly.
"I'm a 'obbit too?" She ventures.
"Yep! You're the Aly hobbit! Now, d'you wanna meet some more hobbit uncles?" Elijah glances up at Sean inquiringly and receives a nod of consent.
Aly beams happily at him, eyes shinning, and a spear of pain transfixes his heart. Oh. My. God. Sean's smile - Sean's eyes... He takes a deep, shuddering breath and gets slowly to his feet, Ally's hand in his. Sean makes an involuntary movement towards him and stops short. Elijah will not meet his eyes.
*********
It's exhausting, amusing a child. No matter. Elijah loves children, and this one has cast her silken net and already has ensnared him. He buries his nose in the child's hair and breathes deeply of the fragrant baby scent. They make a pretty picture - his flawless face bent over the little girl on his lap, hers still unformed, bright with the promise of future beauty.
"Aly, dear. Bedtime." Christine has come to take her daughter back.
"No! Wanna stay with Unca' Lijah!" The child twists her little hands into his shirt and burrows against his chest.
"Hey - I'm not goin' anywhere." he reassures her. "We'll play again soon, okay?" She looks up at him with absolute trust. "Promise?" Guilt crushes his heart and lungs in a punishing vise. He forces the words out. "Promise. Cross my heart."
He disengages her grip and hands her back to her mother with a smile that is beginning to fray at the edges. Christine looks at him oddly, hesitates, then turns away and is lost in the crowd.
His distraction, his shield against the world is gone and he's twisting in the wind. Pinpricks of incipient tears sting his eyelids and he wishes desperately to be alone. The patio and porch are tenanted and he heads for the upstairs bathroom.
Ian is talking to Beanie and John and his head comes up as Elijah walks past. He looks a question and gets a reassuring nod in response. Doesn't do its job, though. Ian isn't fooled, but he's done all he can - the rest is up to them. An incongruous image pops into his mind. Humpty-dumpty, sitting on a wall... He sighs.
Elijah locks the bathroom door behind him and lowers the toilet seat. He sinks down on it and leans back, panting slightly, his eyes squeezed shut. There's a loud thunk as the cistern cover is shoved against the wall and he startles at the sound. The fragile control goes, slipping away like mist, and the tears come. He curls forward against the pain in his chest, fists jammed against his mouth, sobs wracking his body. He gives in to the grief - it's a thick blanket crushing him, another barrier against thought. But he can't cry forever. Soon the tears subside and the memories begin to surface.
Sean.
That first spontaneous hug - a decade ago. Really did feel that long - like they'd known each other forever.
The countless little kindnesses, the caring, the laughter.
The loving hugs, the brotherly kisses - both given and received. And the unlooked-for shaft of jealousy when those hugs were bestowed elsewhere.
He didn't know when love came - and he didn't really care. It took over his life. He knew the pang of homesickness, the longing for LA - because the home he really wanted was denied him. Was not for him.
He's uncomfortable, bent over like this; and he straightens. And the cause of his discomfort is readily apparent. He releases it from its confinement and his eyes drift shut as he strokes himself. There is comfort in the familiar sensation and he sinks back into reverie.
Going home for the holidays hadn't helped. He had dreamed of Sean every night. Sam to his Frodo. Sex and passion in the Shire, love in Rivendell - Pete would've been horrified at the scripting. Then again, maybe not. Fran would have.
He had come back to Middle-Earth. And against all his expectations, he had found his love returned. With the eternal optimism of the young, he had taken the gift and savored it to the fullest. Refused to see the consequences of their loving. Held on to the memories - of that one time.
Only once.
Sean, reaching for him, his hazel eyes emerald with passion. The sweet curve of Sean's cock against his cheek, the taste and scent of him. His pale skin sliding against golden California tan, slick with sweat and loving. The headlong spiral down to oblivion. Cradled close in Sean's arms - two in one soul.
The pressure in his groin is becoming unbearable. His back arches against the cool ceramic as he lets the climax take him. His cock swells in his hand and his legs jerk uncontrollably as he comes - and he cries out Sean's name.
The euphoria of orgasm is short-lived, and darker images start to crowd his memory. Crouching at the closed bedroom door, listening to voices raised in anger. Listening to his Mom crying - alone in the dark. Aching for the father who has gone.
Sean's family has always been an abstraction for him. He's refused to think about them before. Now the cipher is made flesh - in the person of a warm little girl with golden eyes and sweet smile - her father's pride and joy. He builds them in his mind, father, mother, daughter, and holds them there; and the anguish fades slowly, into a fragile peace.
He levers himself up, stretching his aching legs; grabs a fistful of tissue and cleans up. There's a knocking at the door, a rattling of the doorknob - and the hunted-animal look is back in his eyes.
"Elijah." The knob jiggles again. "Elijah. Please."
The tissues are dumped and the toilet flushed. He looks in the mirror as he washes his hands; his eyes are red-rimmed, and the skin underneath is pink and burned-looking. He splashes cold water on his face, dries himself and goes to the door. Takes a deep breath and slips out, closing the door behind him. The smell of sex is still thick in there.
Not a place for Sean. Or for him.
"Are you okay, Lij? You were in there so long..." Sean's eyes are liquid honey in the dimness of the hallway. Or was that the sheen of tears? He's so fucking honest, so good. Always determined to do the right thing---whether or not it's good for him doesn't matter. Well, Elijah's gonna make up his mind for him this time. Save him from himself.
Right.
"Sean. You have a beautiful family, Seanie."
"Elijah...I..."
"I'm so tired, Sean." Exhaustion colors his voice and numbs his senses. "I'm going home."
Sean's hands are on his shoulders, his face bleak with understanding. The hazel eyes are not green with passion now, but black with pain. Then they are in each other's arms, clinging to one another in desperation.
"I love you - you can't know how much." Elijah says it - or Sean does. Or both. It doesn't matter.
Most of the guests have gone and only the fellowship is left. Only Ian sees him as he runs down the stairs and out the door. Then he's in the car and Sean's standing in the drive; and the tears on Sean's face sparkle in the streetlights. A flicker of movement in an upstairs window catches his eye. Ian. He thinks wryly. Don't think I can take care of myself, huh?
Tomorrow will be a long day. He will have to act - to be, not Frodo, Frodo is easy - but Elijah. He's been a fucking actor forever. Ought to be good for something.
Tomorrow, he will be with Sam again. Sean.
He will have to keep Elijah and Frodo apart - or he's lost.
He will do it. They both will. They have to.