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fellowshippers2004-02-04 01:29 am
thepsychicclam.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-02-04 01:29 am
ficlet: counting stars
Title: Counting Stars
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thepsychicclam
Pairing: Dom/Elijah
Rating: PG
Summary: Elijah prefers stars, but makes do with what he has
Disclaimer: This never happened
A/N: Thanks as always to my beta,impasto.
It’s cold inside the apartment at night. Elijah walks into the kitchen and pulls a small, steel pot from beneath the counter. A stale odor wafts up from the dirty dishwater filled with plates and pans left for a later time.
His coffeepot broke two weeks ago. The handle had been loose for weeks, and then one morning it finally slipped off and sent the glass crashing to the floor. Since then, he’d been buying coffee at the coffee shop on the corner. And at night, when he couldn’t sleep, he pulled out a box of tea he found stuffed behind coffee cans and creamer in a cabinet above the sink. He didn’t put the box there. He didn’t drink tea (until now).
He pretends to wonder where it came from.
Elijah drops a tea bag into a large blue mug his mother gave him for Christmas one year. He’d thought at the time that his mother was the only person who would ever be able to get away with giving him a mug on a holiday. The water bubbles violently in the pot, and Elijah turns the stove knob. He holds the pot away from him and pours water into the mug, pot hissing as hot water touches even hotter metal. Two packs of sugar, no cream (cream only goes in coffee, not tea). He doesn’t wait for it to cool, but sips immediately. The liquid burns his tongue, leaving a rough numbness.
He leaves the teabag inside the mug, paying no attention as the paper tab sinks into the dark cup. He considers briefly taking the teabag out (no one leaves the bag in their mug, Elijah), but likes to keep it in there. Rebellion against something, but he’s not sure what anymore (knows it doesn’t matter).
Elijah leaves the pot on the stove and walks into the living room, over to the sliding glass doors. The stone balcony overlooks part of the city, tall buildings sparkling against a black night with lights that never sleep. It is beautiful, the way the lights and buildings go on forever. It feels important (he feels important). But the stars don’t glimmer in the sky, extinguished by the attention-seeking city.
In New Zealand there were a billion stars. He tried to count one night, but only got to eight hundred twenty nine before Dom appeared above him, blocking his view of the sky. By the time he moved, Elijah had lost his place. He tried a couple more times, but someone (always Dom) interrupted him. And Elijah didn’t mind really. He figured the stars would be there forever (unlike Dom). So, instead of counting stars Elijah counted their footsteps as they ran through the warm nights.
But here in New York, Elijah has yet to count three stars. Instead he counts lights. Headlights, streetlights, police lights, lights inside office buildings and apartments. He doesn’t like these lights like he does stars. The stars are constant; if he counted eight hundred on Monday, he’d count the same eight hundred on Friday. But the lights aren’t constant; sometimes there are a hundred, sometimes there are three. Elijah prefers stars (prefers not to be alone), but he makes do with what he has.
Elijah cracks the sliding door and pulls out a cigarette. He lives alone, but still smokes most of the time with the door cracked (old habits die hard). The air is frigid, must be well below freezing, and he leans against the doorway, rubbing his feet together. In one hand a burning cigarette, the other a warm cup of tea, he absently starts counting streetlights, pretending they are stars.
*
It’s cold inside the house at night. Dom walks into the kitchen and pulls the can of coffee from the cabinet. Two scoops (always strong) and then he impatiently waits for it to finish. He takes a towel from the oven handle and wipes up coffee grains scattered across his pristine counter.
He bought a coffee pot for visitors when they come. He figured that not everyone liked to drink tea and that every home needed a coffee pot. And he knew he needed to try it out, to see if it worked properly. He bought a can of coffee (crappy American brand) to have around the house. And when he couldn’t sleep (didn’t want to), he fixes himself a cup of steaming coffee.
He pretends that the coffee doesn’t taste like it’s mixed with cloves.
Dom pours coffee into his chipped Christmas mug. It got chipped in the move back to England, wasn’t packed properly. He didn’t throw it out, always liked the sleigh and snow scene too much to part with it. He carefully places the pot back onto the burner. No sugar, no cream (sugar and cream are only for tea). The porcelain warms his ice cold hands, steam warming his cold nose. He breathes in, savoring the aroma of strong coffee.
He walks through the flat and out onto his small porch. He curls his legs beneath him as he stares out into the night, sipping slowly. The coffee burns his throat as it goes down, but warms his body even in the freezing air. The night is quiet save a soft wind rustling leaves in surrounding trees. It is dark, the only light from inside the house and a solitary car driving down the back road. Dom likes it out here, in the middle of nowhere. Trees surround him and the sky goes on forever. It feels important (he feels important). And above him the sky is littered with stars.
In LA, the sky had no stars. Elijah frequently said that he missed the stars, missed counting each individual one. Dom didn’t understand; didn’t understand why Elijah was obsessed with something that wasn’t important. The stars would be there for a day when there was nothing better to do (no one to share them with). Dom continually drew Elijah’s focus onto himself rather than the sky. And then when Elijah lost focus on both Dom and the sky, Dom didn’t understand.
Here in England, there are just as many stars as in New Zealand. But there are different stars, not the ones he was used to seeing (ignoring). Dom has spent many nights trying to discover the (Elijah’s) fascination with the stars, thinking that maybe there is some secret he is missing in the cryptic patterns of white light (an answer to bring him back). Dom doesn’t like the stars, but he spends every night underneath them searching.
Dom shivers and realizes he forgot his sweatshirt (never had to remember before). He lifts the cup to his lips again, grimacing at the now cold liquid gracing his tongue. He sets the cup on the floor and stands, crossing to the railing. He leans against it, wrapping his arms around his chilled body, and absently starts counting the stars, pretending he’s not counting them (for Elijah).
Author:
thepsychicclamPairing: Dom/Elijah
Rating: PG
Summary: Elijah prefers stars, but makes do with what he has
Disclaimer: This never happened
A/N: Thanks as always to my beta,
impasto.It’s cold inside the apartment at night. Elijah walks into the kitchen and pulls a small, steel pot from beneath the counter. A stale odor wafts up from the dirty dishwater filled with plates and pans left for a later time.
His coffeepot broke two weeks ago. The handle had been loose for weeks, and then one morning it finally slipped off and sent the glass crashing to the floor. Since then, he’d been buying coffee at the coffee shop on the corner. And at night, when he couldn’t sleep, he pulled out a box of tea he found stuffed behind coffee cans and creamer in a cabinet above the sink. He didn’t put the box there. He didn’t drink tea (until now).
He pretends to wonder where it came from.
Elijah drops a tea bag into a large blue mug his mother gave him for Christmas one year. He’d thought at the time that his mother was the only person who would ever be able to get away with giving him a mug on a holiday. The water bubbles violently in the pot, and Elijah turns the stove knob. He holds the pot away from him and pours water into the mug, pot hissing as hot water touches even hotter metal. Two packs of sugar, no cream (cream only goes in coffee, not tea). He doesn’t wait for it to cool, but sips immediately. The liquid burns his tongue, leaving a rough numbness.
He leaves the teabag inside the mug, paying no attention as the paper tab sinks into the dark cup. He considers briefly taking the teabag out (no one leaves the bag in their mug, Elijah), but likes to keep it in there. Rebellion against something, but he’s not sure what anymore (knows it doesn’t matter).
Elijah leaves the pot on the stove and walks into the living room, over to the sliding glass doors. The stone balcony overlooks part of the city, tall buildings sparkling against a black night with lights that never sleep. It is beautiful, the way the lights and buildings go on forever. It feels important (he feels important). But the stars don’t glimmer in the sky, extinguished by the attention-seeking city.
In New Zealand there were a billion stars. He tried to count one night, but only got to eight hundred twenty nine before Dom appeared above him, blocking his view of the sky. By the time he moved, Elijah had lost his place. He tried a couple more times, but someone (always Dom) interrupted him. And Elijah didn’t mind really. He figured the stars would be there forever (unlike Dom). So, instead of counting stars Elijah counted their footsteps as they ran through the warm nights.
But here in New York, Elijah has yet to count three stars. Instead he counts lights. Headlights, streetlights, police lights, lights inside office buildings and apartments. He doesn’t like these lights like he does stars. The stars are constant; if he counted eight hundred on Monday, he’d count the same eight hundred on Friday. But the lights aren’t constant; sometimes there are a hundred, sometimes there are three. Elijah prefers stars (prefers not to be alone), but he makes do with what he has.
Elijah cracks the sliding door and pulls out a cigarette. He lives alone, but still smokes most of the time with the door cracked (old habits die hard). The air is frigid, must be well below freezing, and he leans against the doorway, rubbing his feet together. In one hand a burning cigarette, the other a warm cup of tea, he absently starts counting streetlights, pretending they are stars.
*
It’s cold inside the house at night. Dom walks into the kitchen and pulls the can of coffee from the cabinet. Two scoops (always strong) and then he impatiently waits for it to finish. He takes a towel from the oven handle and wipes up coffee grains scattered across his pristine counter.
He bought a coffee pot for visitors when they come. He figured that not everyone liked to drink tea and that every home needed a coffee pot. And he knew he needed to try it out, to see if it worked properly. He bought a can of coffee (crappy American brand) to have around the house. And when he couldn’t sleep (didn’t want to), he fixes himself a cup of steaming coffee.
He pretends that the coffee doesn’t taste like it’s mixed with cloves.
Dom pours coffee into his chipped Christmas mug. It got chipped in the move back to England, wasn’t packed properly. He didn’t throw it out, always liked the sleigh and snow scene too much to part with it. He carefully places the pot back onto the burner. No sugar, no cream (sugar and cream are only for tea). The porcelain warms his ice cold hands, steam warming his cold nose. He breathes in, savoring the aroma of strong coffee.
He walks through the flat and out onto his small porch. He curls his legs beneath him as he stares out into the night, sipping slowly. The coffee burns his throat as it goes down, but warms his body even in the freezing air. The night is quiet save a soft wind rustling leaves in surrounding trees. It is dark, the only light from inside the house and a solitary car driving down the back road. Dom likes it out here, in the middle of nowhere. Trees surround him and the sky goes on forever. It feels important (he feels important). And above him the sky is littered with stars.
In LA, the sky had no stars. Elijah frequently said that he missed the stars, missed counting each individual one. Dom didn’t understand; didn’t understand why Elijah was obsessed with something that wasn’t important. The stars would be there for a day when there was nothing better to do (no one to share them with). Dom continually drew Elijah’s focus onto himself rather than the sky. And then when Elijah lost focus on both Dom and the sky, Dom didn’t understand.
Here in England, there are just as many stars as in New Zealand. But there are different stars, not the ones he was used to seeing (ignoring). Dom has spent many nights trying to discover the (Elijah’s) fascination with the stars, thinking that maybe there is some secret he is missing in the cryptic patterns of white light (an answer to bring him back). Dom doesn’t like the stars, but he spends every night underneath them searching.
Dom shivers and realizes he forgot his sweatshirt (never had to remember before). He lifts the cup to his lips again, grimacing at the now cold liquid gracing his tongue. He sets the cup on the floor and stands, crossing to the railing. He leans against it, wrapping his arms around his chilled body, and absently starts counting the stars, pretending he’s not counting them (for Elijah).
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perfect
Re: perfect
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and no i don't mind :D
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i - being a nz'ian - adore the star thing, just because now when i look at the sky i can smile and think of this. (even though its pouring now) i dont know where i'd be without the endless mass of globes in the night sky: and it helps me understand this more. i thinks.
Dom doesn’t like the stars i adored this line, it makes you realise he's aching, not just remembering?
i like the theme of brokeness dartted throughout it.
yes: a perfect domlijah for a rainy night. thank you rach.
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Thanks for sharing!
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As a suggestion, though it could be wrong: Have you thought about switching back and forth more often? Maybe ... three little vignettes per POV, so you switch from Elijah Tea to Dom Coffee to Elijah Porch to Dom Porch to Elijah Stars to Dom Stars.
I don't know - that might be forcing the style a little, but I think it could be a nice mirroring effect.
Either way - lovely.
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I hadn't thought about the switching POV's, since I was going for the straight parallel situations. But that is an interesting idea. I'll definitely have to play with that to see how it turns out :D Thanks!
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