Anthony woke to a weight on his chest, the feeling of paws walking up, the sound of very loud purring, and the sensation of a cold wet nose on his, before a headbutt. Anthony smiled before he opened his eyes. He had gotten in the habit of sleeping with his door open a crack, the same as Sören and Nicholas, so Tobias wouldn't scratch at his door howling to be let in, during the night. But now, as he glanced over at the alarm clock on the bedtable, he saw that Tobias had gotten him up ten minutes before his alarm was set to go off.
"Thanks," Anthony mumbled like the cat could understand him, reaching up to give Tobias rubs and pats.
Tobias took that as his cue to turn around and stick his ass right in Anthony's face, no escape from the pink hole.
"Dammit, cat..."
Tobias gave an inquisitive "Prrrowwrrr?" before he hopped down, looking over his shoulder as if to say Well?
Anthony yawned, stretched, and turned off his alarm. He knew Nicholas wasn't awake yet, and he wondered if the cat was asking for food. He went downstairs to have coffee and breakfast, which would help wake him up, then it would be back upstairs to shower and change.
As he mad his way downstairs he saw that the lights were on, and then he heard the familiar sound of horns blaring in triumph. Anthony came down from the staircase and saw Sören on the couch in his pajamas, drinking coffee, on his laptop.
"Oh hey," Sören said, pausing and glancing over.
Sören had worked the overnight shift, but clearly hadn't gone to bed immediately upon getting home. Anthony knew that while Sören did frequently need to crash once he got home, sometimes it took him awhile to shut his brain off, and Anthony was guessing this was one of those times.
"Everything OK?" Anthony asked.
Sören nodded. "There's fresh coffee in the kitchen."
"Thank you." Anthony went to the kitchen, and he smiled when he heard a text-to-speech voice. "Je suis un papillon."
"You're taking French on Duolingo," Anthony observed aloud as he poured himself a bowl of cereal.
"I am," Sören said. "I've already got 100 XP."
"Très bien." Anthony fixed his coffee, drank it, put milk in his cereal and hobbled over to the couch, bowl in one hand, cane in the other, moving a little more gingerly than usual to not spill the cereal. On his way over he glanced at Tobias's food dish and saw it was full. "The cat is starving, you know," he said sarcastically as he took a seat next to Sören.
"Yeah, he likes to trick people into thinking he's starving. He still had a little food in his dish when I got in but I gave him some fresh food anyway so he wouldn't wake up you or his father." Sören gave an eyeroll as Tobias hopped onto the couch. Sören picked up the cat, put him on his lap, and began to pet; Anthony smiled at the sound of the cat's purr.
"I'm pleasantly surprised you're taking French," Anthony said, waving his spoon at the laptop.
Sören nodded. "I have two people I can practice with."
Anthony nodded. "Il me fera plaisir de vous aider."
Sören gave him a mock stern look. "I'm not far enough along to know what you said."
"I know," Anthony said. "I said it would be my pleasure to help you."
Sören gave the thumbs up.
"L'homme mange du pain et boit de l'eau," the text-to-voice said.
Anthony snorted. "In the Norwegian course we get to eat bread while we're crying on the floor."
Sören laughed at this. "Scandinavians, we know a thing or five about melancholy. We invented existentialism, after all."
Anthony knew Sören had his own struggle with darkness. "My own existential crisis was prompted by a Scandinavian," he quipped, and then he felt a little twinge, hoping he didn't make Sören feel guilty or sound like he was trying to pawn off responsibility for what he'd done in 2013 onto Sören, who had been wronged.
But Sören laughed again, seeming to not be offended at all, and then he gave Anthony a sympathetic look. "Well, I hope that crisis is starting to come to a close. You're going back to work today, and then..." He gestured around the flat. "You're coming home."
Anthony was touched by that, the acknowledgment that he wasn't just staying with them as a guest, but Sören thought of him as part of the family, like he belonged there. And though he was still nervous about returning to work today, after almost a year, it was time. Anthony smiled.
"That's why I'm up, you know," Sören said. "I wanted to see you off on your first day back to work."
Anthony put down his cereal, leaned over and gave Sören a tight hug, overcome with feelings. They held each other for a moment, rocking together. Anthony tried not to cry, not wanting to go into work red-eyed, but he felt as if his heart could burst from all the emotion of knowing Sören was here for him. He'd missed Sören so much.
Then Sören gasped, abruptly pulled back, and clapped his hands. "TOBIAS!"
Tobias had taken advantage of the moment and was in Anthony's cereal. Anthony knew he shouldn't laugh, but he couldn't help it, the sight of the cat eating from his cereal bowl was too funny, especially when Tobias looked up innocently with a dollop of milk on his nose.
"Rassgat," Sören scolded. He picked up the cat, who meowed with protest, and sat Tobias on his lap, wagging his finger. "Þú ert smá skítur."
Tobias meowed as if to proclaim his innocence, and began to headbutt Sören aggressively, purring. Now Sören was laughing too, shaking his head as he gave the cat some skritches. "Þú ert óþekkur lítill kettlingur."
Anthony loved the sound of Sören speaking Icelandic. He resumed eating his cereal even though the cat had been eating it. "I see my first client of the day," he joked, gesturing to the cat.
"He defends himself." Sören stroked the cat's chin. "Look at that fucking face. Toby could get away with murder."
"He attempted that, too. He put his bumhole right in my face to wake me up."
Sören snorted, shaking with laughter. "He does that. He's very good at it."
Nicholas was coming downstairs now, not really looking awake yet. He waved good morning and made a noise.
"Our cat was showing off his ass again," Sören informed him.
"That's nice, dear," Nicholas said in a tone of voice that indicated that wasn't nice to hear first thing in the morning at all, and now Sören and Anthony laughed again. Nicholas headed to the kitchen and Anthony tried to not look at the way Nicholas's pajamas fit his body and Nicholas had a very firm, shapely ass. Anthony started to eat faster, needing to get out of there, get upstairs, face on fire, not wanting to notice Nicholas like that. It was bad enough that he'd masturbated thinking about them last night, wondering if Nicholas was masturbating across the hall while Sören was at work.
Anthony had been filled with a sense of nervous dread about going back to the office today, even though he knew it was time, but now he needed the distraction. Badly.
On Anthony's first day returning to his chambers, he met with two clients and reviewed their cases - a young drug dealer, and a woman who claimed to attack her partner in self-defense. By the time the day was over, he had that old familiar "weight of the world on my shoulders" feeling, combined with distaste for the sort of lack of conscience that would push someone to sell hard drugs if they weren't in dire straits financially. He was reminded of how much his job had been a source of stress before the accident, and coming home to Sören had been such a respite.
But he was back. He was finally back. As much as his job had stressed him out before the accident, there had been a vacuum whirling itself into a black hole with that missing from his life. It was what he did, for better or worse.
Diana Traynor, his executive assistant, lived in Covent Garden and had generously offered to drive him to and from work, since she lived nearby and knew he didn't drive, and likely wouldn't drive again after the accident. Anthony had been initially reluctant to accept the offer, not wanting others to pity him or have to go out of their way, but he'd finally swallowed his pride, knowing it would be less of a hassle than trying to take public transportation or a cab; he didn't live far from Lincoln's Inn, but it was too far to walk with his injury.
"How do you like Covent Garden?" Diana asked on the drive home.
"I like it," Anthony said. "I still miss Kingston... the riverfront, the swans... but we live in a pretty neighborhood. Sören says the cherry trees will start blossoming in spring." Then he realized he'd said "we" and mentioned Sören.
Diana's face lit up. "You and Sören are back together?"
Shit. "More or less," Anthony said. He didn't want to explain "not yet". He tried to mention his personal life as little as possible with his co-workers, but Diana knew about Sören.
"I'm glad. He seemed really good for you." Diana smirked. "You're easier to get along with when you're with him."
Anthony snorted. "I was always nice."
"Your face doesn't have the same peel-paint-off-the-walls quality." She grinned.
"Well, I'm sorry if I was difficult." Anthony sighed.
When Diana let him off outside the building, she said, "I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"You will. Thank you again."
"Have a good evening, Anthony."
"You too." Anthony took a deep breath; he still really hated getting in and out of cars, feeling self-conscious about how awkward he looked climbing out of a car with the cane, but he managed.
To Anthony's surprise, they had reservations to Balthazar. Anthony went to the bathroom first, and after he did his business he washed his hands. When he came out, Sören was sitting on the bed in Anthony's bedroom. Sören looked nice, in black trousers and a black button-down shirt, neither too dressed up nor too dressed down. "Thought I'd help you decide what to wear," Sören said.
"How very gay of you."
Sören cackled, and Anthony smiled at his own joke. Sören got up and opened Anthony's wardrobe, and Anthony began to undress. Though they weren't technically back together yet and still needed to behave, Anthony didn't think there was harm in Sören seeing him in just his underwear, considering they'd both seen each other in just a towel more than a few times over the last month. Sören took out a navy blue button-down shirt and handed it over. "Here," he said. "Do you want a tie?"
"No, just a blazer."
Anthony went with a black blazer and black jeans. Then he saw Sören continuing to look through the wardrobe, as if he were searching for something. Before Anthony could ask what, Sören produced Anthony's barrister wig.
"Hi, George!" Sören said, holding it like he sometimes held Tobias, petting the wig. "Long time no see -"
"Oh my fucking god, Sören." Anthony facepalmed and shook with laughter.
"What's that, George?" Sören picked up the front of the wig and made it wag like it was talking; he leaned in as if to listen closely. Then he patted the wig and said, "I agree." Sören gave Anthony a stern look and he said, "George is glad you're going back to work because you haven't paid him any attention for months, and now he gets to start going out for walkies again."
"Walkies." Anthony had to sit down, losing it. "Sören. I swear to god..."
"Yes, walkies." Then Sören made the tail of the wig wag excitedly. "Oh boy. We said 'walkies' enough times that he thinks he's going for walkies now."
"Well, we're not. I'm going to dinner, not court."
"Hi Going To Dinner Not Court -"
Anthony threw a pillow at Sören, and it hit the wig instead, and Sören's jaw dropped. He pulled the wig against his chest and covered it with an arm, protectively. "Great, now you scared him."
"It was just an accident," Anthony said, and then he realized he was trying to explain to an inanimate object. "If you put him back in the wardrobe, maybe he won't get hit when I..." Anthony picked up another pillow.
"He hasn't been out in months, he's getting all worked up about going on walkies, you just hit him, and you want me to put him back in the wardrobe?" Sören tsked.
"Sören." Anthony facepalmed again, making noises. His face and sides hurt. He'd missed this. "Sören."
"I think you need to make it up to him," Sören said. He held George out and looked at the wig. "What do you think?" Sören made the wig nod.
"Sören..."
"He's coming with us," Sören said.
"What! You can't take the wig to a restaurant -"
But Sören was already marching out of his room, carrying the wig.
At the restaurant, Sören brought his satchel, which wasn't unusual, and Anthony had almost forgotten about George coming along until everyone was busy looking at menus and Sören opened up the satchel and put George on the table between himself and Anthony. Nicholas looked up from his menu with his eyebrows raised and mouth open.
Nicholas's eyes widened. "What in the world..."
The waiter came over to take orders for drinks, trying very hard to keep a straight face as Sören pet the wig like it was a cat, and finally the waiter asked, gesturing to the wig, "What will your friend have?"
"Vodka on the rocks," Sören said, nodding.
When the waiter came back a few minutes later, he had a small shot glass with ice and water in it for the wig. Nicholas shook his head, though his eyes were crinkled at the corners. "Sören, why are you like this?"
"Don't ask why I'm like this. Ask why the British legal profession is like this," Sören said. He turned to Anthony and teased, "You're so worried about people gawping at your cane when you wear that on your head."
Anthony smacked him with a menu, but he thought it was pretty funny. "Yeah I suppose when you put it that way, I shouldn't worry so much," he said.
"Do you really have to wear that in court?" Nicholas asked, sounding incredulous.
Anthony nodded solemnly. "And robes, though Sören didn't bring those. ...I hope."
"Go on," Nicholas said, leaning back in his chair, smirking. "Let us see."
"There's a rule about not wearing one's wig and robes outside the courtroom," Anthony said.
"Wig and robes," Sören said. "He's just got the wig."
Anthony snorted. "Now you sound like a lawyer."
"I learned from you." Sören smiled. "Anyway, I don't think he'll get in trouble wearing George for thirty seconds to show us."
"You..." Nicholas cracked up laughing. "You named the wig George?"
"Sören named the wig George," Anthony said.
"That is seriously disturbing," Nicholas said.
"You'll hurt his feelings," Sören said, covering the sides of the wig like he was covering ears. Then he let go and began crying, "Meow. MEOW."
The utterly confused-yet-amused look on Nicholas's face made it even funnier to Anthony. "What does he want?" Anthony asked, giving in and playing along.
"All these years and you haven't figured out how to understand him yet? And you speak how many languages?" Sören raised an eyebrow. Then he made George's "head" nod, meowing more insistently. "MEOW. MEOW." Sören looked up at Anthony. "He wants to sit on your head."
Before Anthony could protest, Sören put the wig on Anthony's head. "It's backwards," Anthony said. Sören adjusted the wig, and even Nicholas couldn't help a guffaw.
"That's... quite a look," Nicholas said mildly, sipping his wine.
Sören patted the wig and started making purring noises. The purring made Anthony lose it, tearing up, doubling over. "Sören. Sören."
Sören took the wig off Anthony's head, and then put it on his own. Sören looked ridiculous with it on, and Anthony once again cursed internally that he found Sören even sexier when he was acting up like this. To make things even worse, Sören took two straws from the dispenser and fitted one up each nostril. Then he began taking photos. "The British legal system would collectively shit themselves if they could see this now."
"You're acting like they haven't seen me use my wig in the lunch queue to hold a sandwich, banana, and a yogurt," Anthony said.
"That's different than treating your wig like a Muppet." Then Sören realized what he said and cackled. "You know what they say, birds of a feather." Sören took the straws out of his nose, then the wig off his head and looked at the wig, then at Anthony, then back at the wig. "Or whatever the hell this is made of."
Anthony threw an arm around Sören, pulled him forward and gave him a noogie. When they pulled apart, their eyes locked, and Anthony felt that tingle through him at touching Sören, and wanting him so much... loving him the most fiercely when Sören brought laughter to his life. It took him everything he had not to grab Sören's face and kiss him right there. He knew Sören felt it too, Sören's pupils blown wide, those full lips parted slightly, looking so inviting.
Today was an important milestone on the road to recovery, going back to work, but Anthony felt like he still had a long, long road ahead of him.
chapter 14 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index