Displaced Prince

Karl: I have slept the clock around since I got home yesterday morning. When I wake up, I’m ravenous and I make a pig of myself before I feel better. And I still feel like laying around all day, but first, I've got another promise to keep.

I sort through the pile of papers on my desk, scraps of scribbled notes and receipts and such. My arm twinges, the pain stinging as the bandages pulling against the raw skin. But I ignore it, until I find what I'm looking for . . . a cell phone number that I tossed on the desk in anger months ago.

Paris and I started a tentative friendship, when we thought we were free of our horseboys for good, but now . . . I sigh. I don't know if he's up for the bullshit, but I promised Éomer I would arrange it.

I dial the number. This feels so bloody weird, like I'm setting up a date for my slightly homely daughter or something.

"Paris . . . hey man, how are you?"

Paris: "Hey Karl, I'm fine. You okay?"

Something tells me this isn't simply a social call. The timing is just too perfect considering who I was talking to this morning, and what he asked me to do. But hey, maybe I'm wrong. Only one way to find out.

( So, what's up? )

Dave: So, we had a little pre-birthday celebration last night at Paris Restaurant Maybe I shouldn’t have ordered that second bottle of red wine… I think I only had a glass or two myself, but Paris topped off his glass quite a few times. Ben had stopped by the warehouse a little earlier in the evening, and downed a few beers with Paris before I got home. Hmm, I think the Jack had been cracked into as well, now that I think about it.

Now that I’ve tallied it all up, it’s no surprise that Paris hasn’t managed to crawl out of bed this morning. I’ve been downstairs getting coffee brewing, but when I realize he hasn’t come down, I wander back up to wake him. “Hey, love, you don’t want to sleep through your birthday now, do you?”

( I woke up as you got up ... )

Paris: I got home around six, and there were two messages on my machine. One from Dave, saying he wouldn't be back until later, and one from Karl. I left a message for him this morning, asking if he wanted to come over tonight for something to eat with us and he was confirming he'd be here. I wonder if he realises yet? That they're gone? Least we'll be able to talk this time without Théodred doing his party trick. Wanted to see how he was doing too. My knuckles are healing, but slowly. It's a bitch at work cause I keep cracking the skin open again. I fed the furballs, and headed off for a quick shower, and opened the yard gate so Karl can drive the bike straight in.

Usually, I'd sit out on the steps, have a beer, unwind after work, but the fog is still so thick, I head back in, grab a cold one from the fridge, and flop down on the couch. I let the bottle dangle from my fingers as I go over what needs to be done tomorrow in my head, and it's not too long before I hear the throaty purr of a Harley engine pulling up outside.

( Ise beats me to the door. )

Faramir: Don't think, don't reason. Don't analyze. Don't compare. Éomer has in effect dragged me back to the warehouse, with Théodred's help. I have not fought this, indeed I have found a small pleasure in lagging just enough that they feel compelled to urge me forward. We push through the door, and the memory of my former visit rushes back at me. I smile and pull Théodred close enough to whisper in his ear.

( I do not think I could win a contest of swords this night, the odds are against me. )

Sam: Paris is way back behind the house scanning the roof when I get there. Good. What I have to say to him, I don't think he'd want his crew overhearing. He smiles when he sees me, but it quickly disappears when he sees the angry look on my face.

"I just saw Jay." He doesn't look like there's anything wrong with this. "He asked me what I wanted him to make for the house. I didn't have any idea what he was talking about. So he told me you commissioned ironwork for the house." I put my hands on my hips. "So now I guess you need to tell me why he'd say something like that. Because I don't remember the firm's designer asking for anything like that."

Paris: I'm just about to check the down pipes, when I see Sam walking across the lawn towards me, but my welcome dies on my lips as I see how mad she is, eyes flashing, and she launches straight into a tirade. I'm not sure why seeing Jay would upset her so much until she goes on, and then I cringe inside.

"I er ... well, I er ... saw his stuff, the grate he did for his Dad, and the sculptures he does, and thought they were amazing, and I remembered that day we bumped into each other in that big store ... Kirkcaldies? I was looking at those wrought iron candlesticks, and you said you knew a guy who made better ones, and I when I saw the grate I thought of you and he house, and ..." I'm running out of air, so take a breath before finishing. "... I'm sorry ... I didn't think ... I should have mentioned it to you first."

( I give her an apologetic smile ... )

It’s a warm evening, and very pleasant sitting here on the step in the yard. Haven’t had time to stick any plants in here yet, so it’s still bare, but just relaxing with a beer is heaven. I didn’t work late today. Still feeling so relaxed after my weekend away with Dave, I thought I’d ease back into it and there’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow, but now I have to talk to Jay … I called him earlier, and asked him to meet me here, not the pool hall, cause a lot of what I need to tell him is better said in private.

Giz is stretched out on the step beside me, and I give his belly a tickle before wandering down to open the gates so Jay can drive Brego straight in. Leelu’s parked outside her shed, and seeing her paintwork glint in the sunlight reminds me that there’s a small scratch on her left side panel. May as well get that sorted, so I grab the t-cut and a soft cloth, and start to gently work over the area.

Jay: It's warm 'nough for me to be tempted to ride Brego with out a jacket, so I settle for wearin' a tank top under my leather instead of my usual long-sleeve T-shirt. Man, I still can't get used to this summer for winter shit, my body's tellin' me it's June instead of January. Thrown my bio-rhythm all off, and combined with the fucked up dreams wakin' me up at god knows what hours of the night, I feel more than a little off as I make my way to Paris' place. Tell you true, if it hadn't been for the quiet urgency in his voice I probably woulda asked him if we could get together some other time, but there seemed to be somethin' eatin' at him that he needed to talk about.

The apprehension swirlin' in my stomach tightens as his house comes into view, and I swallow it down as I pull up slowly through the open gate. I have a sneakin' suspicion what's on Paris' mind, especially after that weird early mornin' wake-up call a few weeks ago when he asked me oh so casually if I'd had any blindin' pain recently…somethin' ain't right.

As I turn off the engine and pull off my helmet, Paris stands up from behind Leelu and nods at me as he wipes his hands on a cloth. I give him a crooked grin as I join him by the red bike, shakin' my head as I fish a smoke outta my pocket, "what's you do to her this time, you clumsy bastard? After all the fuckin' work I did on her?"

( Paris: Grinning at your warm greeting, I thrown the cloth back on the shelf. )

Théodred: There is a bowl of fruit on the table in the centre of the kitchen and we both grab an apple to munch on. I can see you hesitate, and kiss your bare shoulder as I go to investigate. It is not too different from Paris' kitchen, or the one I once watched Dave cook in through Paris' eyes. A quick search, and we have bread and good salty butter on the table, as well as the fruit.

Opening the fridge, I am pleased to find cold bottles of ale, and what turns out to be cheese, and add them to our haul as you find knives and open the bottles. There is also a slab of raw meat on a plate and more rummaging reveals some of the brown skinned globes I have seen Dave cut up and cook with his meat. For some reason, Paris prefers not to eat meat, but I'm sure one meal won't hurt this body.

I put the globes down on the table, remembering how Dave prepared them. "Take off the brown skin, and cut them into small pieces. Oh, and be careful, they will make you cry!" You look at me with disbelief, and I laugh to myself as I grab the meat, and hope that Karl's cooking stove is similar to Paris' or Dave's.

Éomer: I'm relieved to see that you seem to know what you are doing in this strange kitchen. I can escape from Karl's hold so infrequently that food is usually the last thing I am thinking about. This time that you have obtained for us to have together is rewarding in more ways than I dreamed. I am so glad to be here without having to fight Karl to get through, glad to have a time of peace away from my responsibilities. Glad that I can be with you in this place of safety.

I walk over to where you are dealing with the meat and wrap my arms around you, resting my cheek on your smooth back. "Thank you," I whisper and place a kiss at the top of your spine.

Then I turn away to deal with my enemy, the vegetable that will make me cry. But I am armed, I think as I pick up the knife. They will not get the better of me. The brown layer comes off easily and I slice into the white meat below.

The scent of this root suddenly envelopes me and my eyes are burning, painful and welling with tears. I drop the knife and pull my towel off, scrubbing at my eyes. "By the Valar, Théo, are you trying to kill me? Surely we are not meant to eat these things!"

( You laugh as I glare at you accusingly. )

NC-17

Three days away has been wonderful. After this crazy month, it meant more to me than I’ll ever be able to say that I could just spend time with Paris. Was good to see him relax after all those long days he’s been putting in getting his business off the ground. But three days are really all he could spare, and I understand that. I’m grateful we got them. And that we had them alone. As I watch the world through the small plane’s window, my thoughts drift along with the clouds just below us. Paris is dozing on my shoulder, his hand resting on my leg. It’s one of those perfect, tranquil moments life lets you have now and then, and I’m savoring it. My fingers trail idly over the back of his hand, and he wiggles against me.

Why Paris?

He’s a free spirit that’s managed to tether himself in Wellington, and if he’d really be honest about it, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear some resentment come out on the circumstances that caused him to settle down, make a home, build a business and take on the likes of me. I think a lot of us would have rather made the choice of where we live based on something other than an otherworldly curse, but that’s what we’ve been given, and when I really stop to think about it, Paris has been hit with so much. His shifts have been some of the most difficult anyone’s had to adjust to – but he does. I admire his tolerance of his brash, wild shifts, and have been amazed at his acceptance of the hand dealt to him.

I may be twelve years older than him, but sometimes he’s the teacher, the one to lead the way. He shows me when it’s time to fight, and when it’s more important to simply accept, relax, and find peace with who you are. That’s a part of why I wanted to give him this holiday. Because he’s taught me that taking time away to remember who you are is are important.

This is so different from the past, for me. I have to admit, when I was with Craig I lived from minute to minute waiting for him to crack. I watched him fall to pieces, a little at a time, and no amount of attention or coddling could paste back the shattered bits. In fact, I know I was way too protective for his own good – and even when we both realized that I was, I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t strong enough to watch him continue to slip away from me. By the time he left… no, by the time I left, I knew he had to find a way to get out of here. Damn Morgoth for that. We’ll win this fucking war, somehow, but I knew it had to be with one less soldier.

It’s not like that with Paris, though. Sometimes I’m not having a good day, and he’s right there with a grin and a touch and a tone in his voice that lets me know he’s nowhere near giving up on us. And on other days, he’s having a tough time of it – and he’s grateful for my attention, and yeah, I can indulge that need I’ve got to coddle sometimes. There’s a sense of balance – we lean in one direction or the other, helping each other through the bad days, celebrating together during the good ones, and somehow, it feels like we help each other find the center. That point of balance.

Maybe that’s part of the answer to the ‘why Paris’ question. Love, and balance. And more still to be discovered. I take a deep breath, and lean my head against his, and follow him into his dreams.

Fuck, I'm shattered. I worked at the house until 10 tonight. Sent Ben home at eight, poor guy, he was dead on his feet. If we pull this off, that kid's got a huge bonus coming to him. And much as I'd like to head off to bed, I've still got these stable designs to finish. A friend of Dave's who saw his stables wants to commission something similar, and larger, but, of course, something a little different. The deadline is tomorrow. He's got a couple of other firms putting in bids, and I really want to win this contract.

I've got the plans done, and the estimate, but promised I'd have a set of sketches to show them the design details. I stick a pot of coffee on, and carry it over to the big table where my sketch books and pencils are still spread around from last night. There's a note I must have scribbled on a loose page, and I let out a sigh when I read it. "Ring Sam!!" I glance at the clock, and it's already well after 11. I don't want to disturb her this late, or who knows? She may be lucky enough to actually have a social life. Maybe if I staple the note to my forehead, Ben will see it tomorrow and remind me. On my way to pick up the carton of Chinese food I brought in, I take the note through and pin it on the back door where I'll definitely not miss it in the morning.

Back at the table, I try and get stuck in. Not really hungry, though I know I should be, I pick at the noodles as I work, but the coffee isn't working, so I put my head on the table, just for a moment ...

( ... just need a moment's rest ... )

Dave: Paris has been working long hours to finish up a remodel job for a couple that's been out of town, and I know he's trying hard to get it wrapped up before they return from their vacation. I stopped by on a whim to drop off a gigantic vegetable submarine sandwich monstrosity, since it looked quite funny, and I knew you could probably use a bite to eat. I manage to talk you into a short break by promising to help you with the sandwich, even though it's woefully lacking in meat.

A brochure for Lake Moeraki is dropped on a side chair, and I find myself poking through it. "This where they went for their holiday, Paris?" You nod between bites. The place is beautiful, down on the south island. I've been to Queenstown a few years back, but haven't ever explored elsewhere.

I notice something in the brochure's tempting words, and smile. And then I see something else, and the smile turns to a grin. Oh, this would definitely give you the break you've earned, if I can talk you into taking a couple or three days off.

( So Paris. Penguins. )