back at the doorstep

chapter 7

 

 

As always happens when fun is in the air, time flew by at warp speed. The Astins were the first to leave; their children had university and work to go back to, as did their parents. Even with a capable staff of a hundred, Sean was too much of a control freak to leave their production company alone for more than three days.

The Beans and John left next "to be nice and cantankerous hermits" as John put it. They returned to their estates two days after the Astins departed with Rafferty Hausman-Bean vowing to message Amber Langdon every night. Her father was still unamused.

The Langdons and Monaghans headed back to the States by the next weekend, the latter promising to extend their annual Christmas visit this year.

The week-long vacation that Orlando pushed Elijah to get drifted into two weeks. On her days off, Mira gave the Urbans and Wenhams the same tours she gave Elijah. Since Orlando had to go down to Spain to do some reshoots at that time, Elijah took over the role of narrator. The Kiwis left the pleasures of a drizzly northern island for their native sun-filled one with great regret.

London was down to five Fellowship members. Viggo recruited Billy’s help in finding him an apartment to lease during his stay.

"I might as well have a homebase even if I drive around," Viggo said as he hefted his camera bag over his shoulder. "I'm supposed to meet the real estate agent in twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes? And her office is in the City?" At Viggo's nod, Billy rolled his head heavenward. "Does my car look like the bloody Enterprise? Hurry up then; I'll see what I can do."

Two weeks turned into a month, then two, and before long it was deep into autumn with its thick, atmospheric mists and the scent of the open markets wafting through the streets. Elijah's laptop, half his closet, and all of his CD collection were shipped into Orlando's address where he paid room and board. Actually, he tried to pay room and board but CJ and Orlando kept giving it back. He'd taken to sneaking random bills into their wallets and dresser drawers. They'd retaliate by stuffing the money back under his pillows and in the toes of his shoes. The War of the Bills was so far dominated by Orlando, who'd managed not only to find six envelopes of bank notes in four days but also return one of them to Elijah's shirt pocket where it remained for the whole day without his knowing.

That entertainment aside, all the rest of the time, Elijah and Orlando were on the same team especially when it came to footy against Mira and the eldest of the Boyd bratlings. Not that they won very often but Mira said it was cute that they tried. CJ dropped out of the scene earlier on to write. She was a bear when she was in the middle of a script, complete with a dark little corner of the study that was partitioned away by a couple of bookshelves. Orlando called it the Mini-Moria and hung a rubber bat modified to resemble the Balrog over her head while keeping her supply of coffee perpetually up. This was not so much for her comfort as it was for the rest of the household.

This particular afternoon, Mira came home early from work. Orlando and CJ found her cooking, slowly dipping battered vegetables in a bubbling pan of oil and cringing every time it popped. Elijah, who's shirt was liberally covered in flour, was slicing broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, onions, and a handful of fragrant herbs in the counter behind her.

"Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?" Orlando demanded.

"Who cares! As long as she keeps cooking." CJ, coming out of her cave at the smell of something deep-fried, popped one of the crispy cooked veggies in her mouth. "Hmm... tempura?"

"Uh-huh," said Mira. "Billy said that we could all take a half-day so Elijah picked me up. I was craving Japanese--"

"--and I wanted Italian, so we decided to compromise." Elijah dumped his greens into a large pot.

"Obviously not without a skirmish." Orlando looked pointed at Elijah's shirt.

"Oh this?" He plucked at the garment, letting loose a white cloud. "This is Mira trying to use the hand blender."

"Shut. Up." Mira gave him a glare but Elijah went on with the story.

"Apparently, no one told her you aren't supposed to use it for dry ingredients."

"The package said to slowly and evenly mix the wet into the dry!" Mira waved the instructions for emphasis. "Look. It's in bold face type. The damned button slipped from low to Tasmanian-devil-on-speed, that's all."

"So, why is Lij the one that's got flour on him?" asked CJ.

"She jinxed me," Lij replied at the same time that Mira said, "Karmic intercession." She stuck her tongue out at Elijah. "He's been bugging me all day, Papa, and I’m supposed to be relaxing. Tear his head off."

"Sorry, love, but I trust his cooking more than I trust yours." To soften the words, Orlando gave his daughter a hug. "You'll have to make more."

"I'm way ahead of you." Mira nodded to a tray of neatly sliced veggies and cubed tofu. "Every night is Fellowship Night at Chez Bloom."

"I like that," said CJ. "Maybe that's what the restaurant's logo should be."

"You have a restaurant?" Elijah's brows furrowed.

"No. But we could."

"Let's not and say we did." Orlando had a pained look in his eye. "Not all of us are into Dom's particular brand of masochism."

Wetting her lips, CJ asked silkily, "And what type of masochism are we into?"

Orlando's answer was not verbal, although it did require the use of his mouth.

"Ewwww!" Mira shrieked and covered her eyes with batter-slathered hands. "Ew, ew, ew, ew! CJ's getting boy cooties!"

"Actually, I think CJ's vacuuming up boy cooties," Elijah commented from across the island.

"Ewwwwwwwww!" Determined to shut him up, Mira slung a cube of tofu at him. The soft white cube splattered all over Elijah's cheek. Instantly, Elijah tossed the closest thing in hand--fortunately, only a cherry tomato. It bounced off Mira's temple, over the counter, and down CJ's T-shirt.

"Ack!" cried CJ, letting go of Orlando with a wild push.

"Ow!" went Orlando as his funny bone connected with the countertop. Luckily for him, there was another cherry tomato close by.

Dinner was delayed by half an hour as the winners of the fight --Lij and CJ, by virtue of the fact that they were the cleanest-- wrestled the losers --Orlando and Mira, who had to shower and change-- clean-up duty. Despite the strange combination of dishes, it was a satisfying meal. In fact, it was an immensely delicious one. CJ and Orlando traded looks that were so hot Elijah kept expecting the table cloth to burst into flames. It was no surprise that they disappeared upstairs as soon as the last bite was swallowed.

Mira cocked a brow. “Dishes?”

Pondering for a moment, Elijah shook his head and pushed out of his seat. “No, let those two get it when they stop for air. Serves them right for being hell on single people."

Mira chuckled. "Yeah, as much as CJ denies it, there's still a puff of pink clouds over their heads." She led the way to the study where they usually enjoyed some tea and talking.

"God, if she heard you say that." He shook his head, letting her enter first.

"You are, of course, sworn to secrecy."

"Of course." The room was colder than the rest of the house; central heating was available but CJ was a tad more cold-blooded than the average human and Orlando was used to such temperatures. Elijah shivered slightly in his thin shirt though. His legs were protesting loudly tonight.

"I'll get a fire going," Mira offered.

"You don't have to bother," he began.

"No bother. I like fires."

"Let me at least help you get the firewood." Elijah kneeled beside the basket of logs, doing his best not to grimace as pain shot up his left leg into the base of his spine then ricocheted to the point between his eyes.

"Oh!" Mira grabbed his arm. "Are you all right?"

He tried to shake the pulsing in his head away. "Yeah. Give me a sec."

"Just... get comfortable. I can get this finished in a snap."

Considering his leg was threatening to break off, Elijah decided to let his pride step down. It had already taken a beating; it couldn't hurt any more. He limped to the fat, overstuffed sofa.

"What happened anyway?" Mira asked as she stoked the fire.

Elijah didn't speak for a minute not only because he was stalling for some thinking time but also because his breath caught as he lowered himself down on the sofa. He stretched his leg out to the ottoman, clenching his jaw to keep from crying out.

"I'm surprised you haven't managed to charm the story out of anyone," he said as casually as he could.

"I didn't think I should ask," said Mira. "It seemed to be a private matter."

Elijah nodded slowly. "Private, huh? You wouldn't've guessed at the time." He found the huge knot of tense muscle-- hell, who was he kidding? His entire leg was knot. Rubbing the tautness away as best he could, he said simply, "I got into a drunk driving accident."

Oh." She twisted her shirt. "Who was, erm..."

"Who was the drunk one?" His smile was twisted. "I guess I was. I managed to wrap my car around a telephone pole. The two bumpers almost met."

"Oh God," Mira breathed, her stomach knotting at the thought. "You're lucky you just broke your leg."

"Believe me, I know." Damn. Elijah leaned forward to work at the knot with both hands. "Got half-thrown out of the car, crushed one leg, snapped the other, broke some ribs, and knocked some sense back into my head." He let out a sound that could have been a chuckle if only it weren't so self-deprecating.

She nodded. "What happened afterward?"

"Well, after I got out of traction, I checked myself into rehab."

"And haven't touched a drop of alcohol in all these years." Elijah looked up, surprised that she'd noticed. Mira smiled, a small mischievous thing that just barely tugged at the corner of her lips. "I noticed that all the time you've been here, you haven't had so much as a sip of beer or wine, always water or juice."

"Don't trust myself," said Elijah with a shrug.

"It's very admirable."

"Nah. Admirable is not becoming a drunk in the first place. Admirable is not needing a wake-up call in the form of a near-death experience. You dad is admirable." Then, he added softly, hesitantly, "You're admirable."

Mira reddened from her shoulders to her scalp. "I haven't done anything too special."

Elijah's eyes widened. "Are you kidding? Top five percent of your graduating class? Guaranteed acceptance into Cambridge? Call me nuts but that sounds pretty damn impressive to me. I'd never have the patience or the brains to do that."

"It's comparing apples and oranges," she countered. "I have absolutely no self-control when it comes to bad habits. Like chewing on pencils. I always have and I doubt I'd ever be able to stop or even want to. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like to overcome alcohol addiction."

"It wasn't the best six months of my life, let me tell you." He stared at the fire, letting himself get entranced by the dancing flames. "Tell you the truth, I can't even remember why I started drinking so much. No, wait..." He lowered his head slightly. "I remember... it's just a really stupid reason to start drinking that's all."

"Stupid?"

"A woman." He snorted. "A grown-up child-star becoming a drunk over a woman. Isn't that the cheesiest thing you've ever heard? It's like a Bon Jovi song." He gritted his teeth, more over displeasure than distress.

"Do you need anything?" Mira asked, unable to bear seeing him in pain. "Surely the doctor gave you prescriptions pills for that."

He shook his head. "Just your regular aspirin's fine with me, really."

With an aggravated huff, Mira declared, "No one will blame you if you need pain pills for a while, Elijah. You have reason to--"

"I thought I had reason to drink, too," he interrupted, his voice savage. "And look where it got me. All I need is a few aspirin and some heat packs. Really." He gave Mira a half-smile to apologize for the sharp tone.

She returned the smile, leaning down to wrap her arms around his shoulders and press her cheek against his for one fantastic minute before rising again. "I'll be right back."

"Cool. Thanks." As soon as the door clicked shut, Elijah let his head fall back, banging it on the wooden frame underneath. "Fuck," he hissed, not knowing it if was because of the new head injury, the old leg injury, or the all-around stupidity he'd been drowning in for a week now.

Last time you felt like this, you idiot, you ended up miserable and divorced. Now get your stale hormones in control and just pretend to be decent, okay? Think you can handle that, you perverted geezer?

His body sent an extra sharp bolt of fire up his spine to emphasize the importance of that thought.

"I'm ba-ack!" Mira sang, juggling a tray laden with medical goodies. "Relatively unscathed except for an all-too-revealing, though thankfully brief, insight into my parents’ love life."

Elijah's thoughts immediately went to places better suited to Hugh Hefner. Turning a stretch into a grab for a pillow, he quickly covered up the evidence. "Ah, thanks again, Mira. Look, it's really late--" he faked another yawn, scratching his belly. "Why don't you go to bed?"

She laughed, making a dimple on her right cheek play peek-a-boo with the firelight. His abdominals clenched. "I’d rather wait until the, erm, fireworks have gone down, thank you."

"Nymphos," he sighed.

"Elijah, naughty boy." Mira waved her index finger back and forth in front of her nose. That damned dimple was still there. She'd put the tray on the seat beside him and was now shifting the hot compresses form hand to hand. "Where do you want these?"

This was exactly the last thing he needed. Elijah made a grab for the compresses, heedless of their temperature. "I can do it."

"Don't be silly," Mira dropped them onto floor behind her, guessing correctly that he’d be too sore to stretch that far. "I've helped Papa before when his back twinges. I know what to do and what you need to do, for now at least, is to let someone take care of you for a little while."

"But--"

"I can't hear you!" She shoved a glass of water and two white pills in his face. "Swallow those; they're Papa's lighter prescriptions."

Elijah pushed her hand back resolutely. "I said, I don't take pain pills."

Mira stuck her chin out. "And I say you're being a stubborn git. They're no stronger than Tylenol 3's if you're that worried and we've already established the you haven't had a drop of ethanol in your system for almost a decade so it's not as if it'll have an adverse effect to your system. Now. Drink. Or do I have to pinch your nose and stroke your throat like I do with Nesta?"

With that threat hanging over his head, Elijah dry-swallowed. He gulped down the water for good measure, it had ice cubes floating around in it. And that was well and good until she put the hot compresses on his leg-- then, he wanted to yell his lungs off.

"Like that, do you?" Mira smirked.

Elijah inhaled through his teeth, unwilling to scream girlishly like he knew he would. "I needed hot compresses, Marion. Not burning embers from pits of Hell."

She started slightly at the use of her proper name. That usually signalled punishment or a bad exam mark. "You males are all the same," she said, recovering. "Willing to jump off of cliffs then shirking at the slightest hint of medicine. Stop trying to seem hard all the time."

Elijah was just not going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole.

"Swing over." Mira ordered, slapping his stomach lightly.

"What?"

"Swing your legs over." She cleared the tray from the sofa. "You need to get them elevated and maybe have something in the small of your back to relieve the pressure." Using a quick, feather-light touch, she helped Elijah move and even handed him a throw pillow. "You have screws and bars in there?"

He jerked his head downward as he shifted the pillow under his back. "All the way down the left one. The bone graft wouldn't take and I got sick of them slicing me up to try again." He tapped his right calf. "I've got stainless steel tibia here, too, and screws all over my arm. If you have magnets around, I'm instant entertainment at any kid's birthday party."

Mira's laugh was shaky. "I think I can scrounge some up then."

"Hey." Elijah flicked few strands of blonde that had come loose of her ponytail. "How're you supposed to be a doctor if you get queasy talking about old war wounds?"

"Doctors don't operate on people they know," she retorted. Her fingers walked over the compresses, which were now pleasantly hot instead of scorching. She licked her lips... once, twice. "I can give the muscles a rub, too, if you--"

"No!" Elijah all but shoved Mira away. Her face collapsed with hurt. "I didn't mean... shit." He ran a hand through his hair. "I can handle it, thanks, Mira. I... I don't really like people hanging around when my leg acts up, that's all."

If anything, she looked even more wounded. "Oh. I understand. Sorry." Rising quickly to her feet, she headed for the exit. Elijah scanned his brain for something that could amend the careless words. All that came out was, "Wait!"

Mira paused in mid-stride.

The crackling of splinters in the fireplace was an eerily apt backdrop to the tension in the room. Mira didn't want to look back; if Elijah had a pitying or embarrassed look on his face, she didn't know how she'd be able to leave her room for the rest of the week.

"Mira, come here, please." He spoke in an undertone.

Her infamous wit deserted her. There were a dozen things she could say but most of them would only make the matter worse. So Mira turned, slowly, and returned, slowly, to the centre of the room until she could lean against the back of the sofa. She didn't look up.

"You're awesome," Elijah whispered, placing his hand up on the backrest, not quite touching her. "You know that, right?"

Mira pressed her lips together, her interest in the weave of the upholstery increasing. "I think I should mention that I really hate being patronized."

"I know." His mouth wavered at a smile. "I've spent enough time around you to know that."

She nodded once more, hoping he'd elaborate. Again, there were only the sounds from the fireplace. She was raised to be a scrapper, not in a physical manner, but mentally and emotionally. And right now, there was one thing that Mira Bloom wanted.

Elijah's hand was three inches to her right. A tiny distance really. Mira closed in on that tanned, large knuckled hand, turned it over, and twined her fingers through his. Only then did she look up.

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