All was quiet on the Helm's Deep front. Not literally, of course, but the fighting had ceased. Otherwise, it was organized chaos: assistant directors barking orders at production crews, camera and lighting techs arguing over positioning, dozens of extras milling about, but something had delayed filming. We were doing background and crowd shots today, so it was a good time for me to snag Legolas, who was mincing about looking about as hot as I've ever seen anyone look in leggings and leather. We had already had a couple of mutually satisfying but far too quick wanks behind the sound trailer and I had intentions of pursuing this elf as far as he'd go.
"Excuse me," I heard at my elbow. "Excuse me." I turned to one of the myriad fresh-faced production assistants. "Mr Jackson would like to see you immediately in his office."
I scoffed. Office, indeed. A slightly bigger tent, maybe, but there were no offices out here. As I approached the tent, the assistant pulled the flap aside, then stood as though on guard. I shrugged and entered. Both Fran and Peter were there, looking solemn. That was odd, to see them both in one location and without their usual cheerful smiles.
"We have a situation," Fran got straight to the point. "Dave's in the hospital and we want you to go check on him."
Ugly thoughts flashed through my mind. "What's happened?" I choked out, hoping against hope that it had nothing to do with Karl.
"He fell off one of the prop rocks and jammed his sword hilt into his ribs," Peter explained and I breathed a sigh of relief. "But he's in All Saints Medical and I think he could use a strong friend to run some interference. You know that they hold to a pretty strict philosophy there."
I did know. Great hospital, caring staff, but with pretty old-fashioned ideas, with a couple of doctors who considered disease and injuries as signs from God that you were to stop what you were doing.
"You're not on until Thursday, you know the score, and you and Karl and Dave are all friends, right?" Fran asked. Very subtle; she knew, of course, that she was right on all counts. "You'll go and make sure he's OK and that his business remains his business. We don't need any of our boys upset over reports in the press. You know what I'm saying?"
"I know what you're saying, I'll head over there now," I assured her, wondering what I was letting myself in for and regretting with all my heart my lost chance to pursue Legolas this afternoon.
After the usual officious parrying with the front office and the public relations people, I confirmed the private room and a couple of discreet nurses, all on New Line's tab, of course. Dave had just arrived from the triage area and was being set up in his room when I opened the door. He looked dazed and tired, a little high. A flicker of surprise at seeing me, then a careful ordering of his features to give away nothing. I wanted to reach out to him right then, but a doctor was making notations on his chart at the foot of the bed.
"Hi," I extended my hand to him. "I'm not a doctor but I played one on TV." No reaction, just a steady stare. OK, so not everyone appreciates my sense of humor, I could live with that. I launched into my litany of being Mr Jackson's personal representative, responsible for overseeing the care of this patient. Not a word to the press, no visitors, no requests for preview tickets. Not a smile, just that same steady stare.
"May I speak to you outside?" Cool, clinical voice. I glanced at Dave. I smiled reassuringly.
The doc and I stepped into the hallway. "How is he? When is he able to go home?" I had a dozen questions at the ready.
"He has several contusions, a cracked rib, scrapes and bruises on his back and arms. Some are older than others. Has a slight fever from one of the abrasions that was contaminated with foreign debris. Dehydrated, tense, in need of a good night's sleep." All related in that same monotone.
I sensed there was more and tried to return that steady stare with one of my own. "When can he come home?"
A deep breath, then that steady stare flared. "I don't know what you people are thinking."
A little twitch and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. "'You people'? You mean, us New Line reps, us actors, us what, exactly?"
"You people," he said furiously, through clenched teeth. "That man is damaged in a way no man should be. Now, maybe it happened when he 'fell' or 'tripped' or whatever he did, but I don't think so. And those contusions and bruises better have happened on the set in front of a platoon of witnesses. If I had my way, I'd call in the police and fill out a rape assault report. I would if a woman arrived that condition. But New Line seems to have a lot of influence around here, so I'm going along with the story he's telling." And suddenly, his face was calm again as a nurse walked by.
It felt like an out-of-body experience, with that quick switch from serene to snarling and back. I was reeling inside at the implications he was making, with the suspicious thoughts that threatened to creep in, confusion swirling about how to handle this. In the end it was an easy thing: the doctor turned and walked away and I went in to see Dave.
"Oi, you look like you fell to an orc attack," I said lightly. Dave closed his eyes. Definitely had to finetune my sense of humor. "Seriously, Dave, how are you feeling? Peter and Fran sent me over to make sure you were comfortable and had all that you needed. You've got a private nurse and this room to yourself. You can stay for a week, then Peter's coming to drag you back to the battlefield." My babbling finally trailed off in the silence of the room.
Dave lay there looking tired and sad, white sheets pulled up to his chest. A bandage over his ribs and up around his shoulder was visible under the loose hospital gown. A couple of scrapes on his arm, one on his forehead, that bruise that Grace pointed out a week ago barely there. He was bringing out a very soft-hearted, protective impulse in me, all without moving or saying a word. I could barely restrain myself, I really wanted to hold him, hated to see someone look so forlorn.
"Dave?" Only his eyes moved, a little unfocused, they went past me, then returned to settle on my face. "Dave? You OK? You want anything? Can I do something to make you more comfortable?"
He shook his head and closed his eyes again. I sat for a few minutes. He seemed to be asleep. A nurse came in to adjust the IV, then his blankets.
"He's been given a muscle relaxant," she said briskly, "and will probably be out for a few hours. Visiting hours start again at 1700. He'd be awake by then. I'll tell him you'll be back."
Great, I thought, setting a mental reminder to be back in the evening and left the hospital at top speed. Back to my prince of Mirkwood. After checking in with Peter and reassuring him Dave was fine and that I would go back tonight, I left to reconnoiter.
After an hour or so and a few attempts at sign language that I sincerely hoped weren't interpreted by the ever-present hobbits, I got my elf and dragged him off to a temporarily deserted trailer. Because I was in civvies and more desperate, Bloom took pity on me. What that boy could do with his mouth was positively decadent. When the shuddering stopped and I regained my senses, I went to work on those leathers and released the heat that was Orli; he was so much fun with play with. Sex with him was hot and over too quick. No post-sex cuddling or sweet talk. No strings attached, no pressure for commitment, just sex on demand. He left light-footed and laughing.
Taking a few more minutes to collect myself, I left the trailer later and headed for the food tent, needing sustenance. Met up with Jay and some extras I didn't know and we sat and drank coffee to ward off the gloom of the oncoming storm. As the crowd ebbed and flowed around us, Eomer strolled in, looking decidedly un-Eomer-like.
"Karl kicked Dave out the other night," Jay leaned over. "He's feeling pretty bad about it, I think. Paid for Dave to stay in a hotel, but then Dave got hurt so now he's at Hotel All Saints. You heard he got hurt, right?"
"I did hear about Dave's injury," I said slowly, "But not about his new living arrangements. Karl all right?"
"Dave was never right for him. That was a pity fuck, if you ask me," Jay said, getting up to leave. He clapped Karl on the back as they passed.
Karl joined us at the table. I put my arm around him. "OK, Urban?"
He shrugged, "I guess. You heard?"
I nodded.
"I feel bad about it," Karl sighed, staring into his coffee, "but really, it wasn't going anywhere. He's not my type and I am definitely not what he was looking for. He's a good guy, so many great things about him that you just don't notice at first because he's so, I don't know, reserved. But when you get to know him, he's funny and clever and really kind. I mean, nice in a way guys usually aren't."
"You having second thoughts?" I teased gently.
"No, no way," Karl admitted, sighing heavily for a second time. "We were so out of sync where it really counted. He is too slow to warm up and I'm too hot to wait - to put it in crude terms." He smiled crookedly. "I got used to living at Harry's speed."
"Karl, I gotta ask," I hesitated, not knowing if I really wanted to hear the answer.
He straightened up and looked directly at me, ignoring everyone else. "I know what it looked like. I'm ashamed to admit that I got rough with him a couple of times, but never intentionally and I never really hurt him. Just towards the end he was jumpy about everything. I could hardly get near him and when I did, it was always painful. The last night," Karl paused for a breath, "the last night I might have been too harsh but..." he winced. "I think it was more the things I said...". His voice trailed off.
"Are you done for the night?" I asked, wanting to ease his burden somehow. "Want an ale? Do you have to go back?"
"Yeah, I'm due back in a few minutes, probably here late again. Don't wait around, let's have a drink later this week. Unless, of course," he smiled weakly, "you're too busy chasing the elf."
Orlando. I had completely forgotten about him. That was sex and this was friendship, and Karl was going to be around a lot longer than Orlando ever would. The elf could wait.
I went home, mucked about cleaning up and organizing my admittedly messy home, fixed some supper and sat and thought. Mostly about Karl. Some about Dave and Orli. Then slowly, more about Dave, less about Karl and not at all about Orlando. A sign, I thought, then, with a jolt, realized the time and flew out the door, headed for the hospital.
>>> * <<<
Visiting hours were over. Had the nurse told him I'd be there when he awoke? Had he wondered why I wasn't? I walked swiftly, wishing that I had, for once, watched the clock. I wanted to see him again and first chance I get, I blew it. Lights in the rooms were dimmed and the normal busyness of the day had calmed. New Line's influence held, so I was able to disregard the "No Visitors After 2100" sign.
I knocked gently on Dave's door. No answer. I pushed it open just a little to keep the light from the hallway out. "Dave?" I called. Nothing. I slipped in and closed the door behind me, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the near darkness. Dave was lying on his left side, propped up by pillows. Must be easier on his cracked rib, I figured.
Approaching the bed quietly, I didn't want to startle him. "Dave?" I whispered. Nothing but slow, steady breathing. The blankets were pooled around his waist, the hospital gown gaping a little over the bandage on his rib cage. Despite the surroundings, Dave looked quite peaceful.
Funny, that strange protective feeling rose up unbidden in me again. Where was that coming from, I wondered. The sight of his naked back, the nape of his neck, his serene face? So vulnerable. I pulled the blankets up gently and tucked them in carefully around Dave's shoulders, watchful of bandages and scrapes. I brushed his long hair back from his face and smoothed it with my hand. A slight stir, then he was quiet again.
With a soft apology for letting him down, I leaned over and kissed him lightly on the forehead. He snuggled down in the bed for a moment, then stretched back toward me, the faintest suggestion of a smile over a gentle sigh. Shocked, I stepped back. He looked like a man who enjoyed being kissed in his sleep. Not what I perceived he was like, certainly not the impression Karl gave. Not daring to risk conversation should he awake, not with my mind confounded with new feelings to consider, I tiptoed out of the room and headed home.
The image of Dave asleep stayed with me all the next day. I couldn't bring myself to visit the hospital just yet; I wanted to think. Orlando did his best to distract me and he succeeded admirably for a while. Dave's slight movement and that soft sigh, asleep, however, was more enticing than anything Orli had just done. For once I was glad it was quick, in fact, I almost considered it an interruption.
Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn again to the hospital, just to test my observations, I promised myself. Nurses at the station simply nodded as I flouted visiting hours and slipped in after dark.
This time Dave was awake. He shifted a little uncomfortably to sit up, and we kept the lights off. I launched into my usual I'm a little nervous routine, telling on-set stories and gossip and shoot schedules a little too loud and too fast. Dave was quiet but good company, interjecting with questions and chuckles and thoughts of his own. His present situation, current living arrangements and Karl never came up. An enjoyable time; even the occasional silence was comfortable.
This time there were no blanket adjustments or gentle kisses. When it seemed time, I rose and stuck out my hand to Dave. He grasped it tightly.
"I'll be back tomorrow night, if you can stand it," I joked.
"I look forward to it, and thank you."
Thursday I was due back for filming and my time was no longer my own. I willed the shoot to end on time so I could go back. There was something so compelling about Dave and I had to know more. An obligatory drink with the crew, as we used to do. No one mentioned Dave but surrounded Karl with more than the usual camaraderie. To my surprise, Karl got up to leave when I did.
"You don't have to escort me home, you know," although I was glad to have the chance to talk privately. Karl was a good mate and this was a sensitive time. But he was fine, adjusting, finally working up the courage to contact Harry again.
"Of course I don't mind that you're visiting Dave in the hospital," he cuffed my head. "I'm glad, you moron. Peter and Fran already told me. And it eases my guilt a little, because I know he doesn't want to see me but I don't want him there alone."
Karl, ever the kind heart beneath that Eomer exterior.
"He's a mixed-up guy," Karl continued. "Wants so much but is afraid at the same time. Not sure that he'll ever like sex, though, and that's a problem. Can't break through that barrier, so what do you do? Cut yourself off from any relationship?"
It was late by the time I arrived at All Saints, but our routine was established and Dave looked up expectantly when I arrived, then smoothed his face over to his customary mask. We made the usual small talk but it was evident that he was tired. I left that night with the feeling that much needed to be said. I was thinking about him constantly now, so much so that being with Orli seemed almost unfaithful. Now that I no longer stalked him hourly for a quick grope, he didn't seem bothered, simply drifted away. I felt a slight twinge that I had meant so little to him.
The next two nights followed the same pattern: I'd arrived after hours, sit in the chair next to Dave's bed and we'd talk into the early morning, or, more accurately, I'd talk and Dave would listen. He'd say something thoughtful and I'd be off on another tangent; stimulating and imaginative conversation, I hoped. I was beginning to love those late night visits and would miss them when Dave was released and went on to his new life. Suddenly I didn't want that to happen.
During a break in the conversation Sunday night, Dave took a deep breath and asked, "How's Karl?"
Well, here it is, I thought to myself. "He's OK, considering. He feels badly about what happened and hopes you're doing better." General enough. Let's see where he wants this to go.
A few moments of silence, then, "He was very good to me, saved me, probably, not to be too dramatic about it." Slight deprecating smile. "Wish I could have been as good for him."
"Yeah, well, that happens, people change, grow in different directions," I ran through my therapy psycho-babble, wondering if Dave still had feelings for Karl. "Sometimes things just happen for the best. You have to accept and move on." Dave listened patiently. Idiot! I thought, you should have just let him talk.
"I thought it was what I wanted," Dave continued after a few minutes. It was vague enough that I started to ask what exactly, then thankfully, my brain kicked in and I waited.
"Karl was right, he is very good," Dave closed his eyes as a blush rose in his cheeks. "We just never found the right way to... I never found the right way to... let him know, I guess. It was too new for me, too much, too soon. I couldn't... I didn't know how. If we weren't sitting here in the dark," Dave chuckled softly, "I never could have said that. Or this. I wanted to like making love to a man, but I don't."
Exhaling, although I wasn't aware I was holding my breath. I too was glad for the near darkness of the room. "Why, Dave? What happened?"
He paused, considering. I thought perhaps he wasn't going to answer.
"Well, drawing on my theatrical habit of creating a visual, I'd say the problem was this," a slight sardonic chuckle and a couple of breaths before he set the stage. "Sex is a flight of stairs. Karl and I start off at the bottom. He runs, skipping two or three steps at a time, pulling me along. I'm stumbling because I need to hit each step. I'm never catching up to him, he's angry because I can't. He reaches the top and lets go. I tumble down the flight, bumping and bruising. And we end up in two completely different places, neither happy and each thinking the other could have done more to help."
This was probably the longest speech I had ever heard Dave make.
"God, Dave, that was beautiful," I breathed. "Not," I scrambled to clarify, "that you were hurt, but the analogy is so clear. And Karl, though not nearly so well, said the same thing."
"Did he?" Dave winced.
"I mean, he said you operated at different speeds, cold and hot or something like that." I cringed at my insensitivity, wishing I was as eloquent and diplomatic as Dave had been.
"Thank you for listening. Please assure me that this remains confidential." Dave struggled to sit up a little straighter. "I've never revealed so much, even to myself. I really didn't understand it all until I said it out loud. I need to sleep now, would you mind?"
Disgruntled at being dismissed so summarily, I strode down the hall, angry at something but what? Not at Dave. A little at Karl. Mostly at the idea that his first and only experience, and Karl's most recent, had been such a disaster. And oddly enough, for reasons I had yet to understand, I was angry with Orlando, for whom sex was just a pastime and a number of partners the norm. As attractive as he was, he probably never had to really work at it, it was offered to him willingly, people catered to him. I had done it myself. Orlando was a good guy, I couldn't begrudge him happiness, I just wanted life to be fair. I wanted Dave to be happy, too. I had to have a plan.
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