School was back in session on Monday, January ninth, and Dooku couldn't remember ever being more relieved at the end of a vacation. He'd had too much time to think, and feel, agonizing over Sören. He liked his job, generally - he found it rewarding and somewhat therapeutic to educate - but now it was a necessary life preserver for his sanity, giving him something to do other than pine away for Sören and feel like he had nothing to offer the young man, in the sunset of his life.
He had gotten out of his own head enough that he was in a reasonably pleasant mood when he got home from the campus, his mood made more pleasant by Beowulf greeting him at the door, and the smell of the roast he had going in the crockpot. This evening was going to be quiet and peaceful, he was determined to get through it angst-free.
And then his cell phone rang. He thought about ignoring it, but his gut instinct told him he better take it in case it was important. And it was, indeed, Sören's number. His heart skipped a beat and his stomach fluttered as he accepted the call. "Hello, Sören."
"...Nico?" Sören started to sob.
Dooku blinked, taken aback not just at Sören shortening his first name into a nickname - no one had ever done that - but also, Sören not even bothering to hide that he was crying.
"Yes, dear?" The word just slipped out. Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose, wanting to crawl under a rock and die.
"N-Nico... ah..." Sören let out another wail. "Can you... can you come get me?"
"Where are you?" Dooku's heart started racing, fearing the worst. "Are you all right?" A pause as his blood turned to ice and his head spun, remembering the way Seth had hit Sören in front of him. "Did he come back?" I will fucking kill him this time.
"N-no... no, it's not S-Seth." Sören snuffled, and whimpered.
"Sören. Are you in danger? Are you hurt? Sick?"
"I'm more or less OK, just..." Sören let out a shaky sigh. "I'm at Starbucks. The one near the Lutheran church. I had a panic attack driving home, I tried to get back in the car, and I... I can't drive." Sören broke down, bawling. "I can't drive, Nico, and I didn't want to call an Uber, I'm so ashamed..."
"Oh, Sören." Dooku felt for him, a tight ache in his chest. "I'll be right down, all right?"
Dooku drove there as fast as he could without breaking the speed limit. He recognized Sören's rental Volvo in the parking lot, and Sören was inside the Starbucks, nursing a hot chocolate, calmer than he was before but there were still tears in his eyes and a distraught look on his face. The pain in those sweet brown eyes broke Dooku's heart.
"Nico," Sören called out, waving to him.
"Sören." Dooku went to him. "Sören, dear. Are you almost ready to go?"
"Jæja. But, ah... my rental is out there and I... I can't drive it." Sören pulled out an inhaler from his trenchcoat and took a puff. "Been panicking so bad I had to use this." He looked down. "I was hyperventilating when I pulled in here."
"OK." Dooku sat at the table across from Sören. "I can call a tow truck, or if you give me the keys and wait here, I can drive the car to your place, then come back here, pick you up, and drive you home."
"I can wait a bit if you drive it."
Dooku did that, and when he came back to Starbucks he was chilled enough that he wanted a warm drink, so he got himself a hot chocolate and sat down with Sören. Sören was quiet now, pensive, and Dooku let him have his mental space before they got in the car.
"Would you like to stay for dinner?" Dooku asked when he pulled in front of his house. "I have a roast going, potatoes..."
"Normally I would say yes but I'm so humiliated that I just..." Sören facepalmed. "I need to hide, tonight."
"Sören, you don't have to be ashamed of yourself around me. You were in a serious car accident, one that totaled your vehicle and gave you injuries you're still recovering from. And it was an accident caused by that monster of an ex of yours, so it's quite understandable you'd be triggered."
"Logically I know that, but, you know, I can hear my uncle screaming at me to 'man up' and all that shit." Sören scowled.
"I would drag you inside and make you have dinner with me, I don't like you isolating out of shame you shouldn't have, but I get the sense you were made to do a lot of things you didn't like doing, not so long ago."
Their eyes met, and then Sören looked away, nodding. "Seth was a bit controlling, já."
"Would you like a ride to and from work tomorrow?"
Sören nodded again. "I was going to ask that."
"That is what we'll do." Dooku patted Sören's shoulder, and immediately regretted it - just that small touch sent a frisson of hunger through his body, cock stirring. Dammit.
_
Dooku took Sören to and from the campus the next day, and the day after. Sören wondered if taking a couple of days to "chill" would help him be able to try again, but on Thursday morning he only got two blocks before he called Dooku to let him know he was going to need a ride. Dooku had the rental towed back to Sören's place while they drove to school, and after they got back, Dooku drove the rental back to the company, with Sören in the passenger's seat, and called an Uber to take them home.
Sören tried valiantly not to cry in the Uber, but Dooku could see the utter defeat on his face, the heartbreak in his eyes. And Dooku, himself, tried not to cry for Sören. It took him every ounce of his restraint to not take Sören into his arms and just hold him, let Sören fall apart on him, knowing Sören's pride was such that he didn't want to cry in front of a stranger. As it was, Sören was still humiliated from having broken down at Starbucks earlier that week.
"Come for dinner?" Dooku asked.
"Not tonight." Sören stared at his Doc Martens boots. "Once again, it's another night of 'I feel less than human, nobody come near me.'"
"I don't want to force you, but isolating yourself when you need emotional support isn't the healthiest thing to do." Which of course is why you've been nearly friendless for the majority of your life, old man. Dooku's face burned, fighting off the cringe at not taking his own advice. But at least he was admitting it now - that he needed some kind of companionship in his life.
Sören ran a hand through his curls. "Jæja, I know." His jaw set. Sören pulled out his inhaler and puffed on it, his hand shaking. "I just... can't deal with anyone feeling sorry for me right now -"
"Goddammit Sören, enough with your pride. I care about you. This isn't pity. And it's not weakness to need a friend." Much as I've told myself that over the years.
Sören facepalmed, and then he looked away, before his eyes met Dooku's. "All right. Just... not tonight. I'm a fucking wreck."
"Tomorrow. I'll make you a nice dinner, we can relax."
That night, alone at his place, Dooku wondered if he should tell Sören that his caring was more than just that of a friend. That there was no pity, only the urge to take care of the man he loved.
No pity, only desire.
And that, too. It had been a long time since Dooku had experienced lust, and now his libido was making up for lost time in a way that surprised him and even unnerved him a little at his age. His mind began to play the old Marvin Gaye song, "Sexual Healing", thinking of comforting Sören with his body, and - for a little while - taking away that fear and shame and giving Sören ecstasy.
On Friday morning Dooku drove Sören to school as usual, and on his break, Dooku got in the car and drove to a nearby drugstore. For the first time in his life, Nicolae Dooku bought a package of condoms and a tube of lubricant, feeling sheepish as he went to the counter, trying very hard to not make eye contact with the cashier, but he couldn't help but notice the young woman was giving him an incredulous look, like she couldn't believe someone his age would need them. And he found that mildly irritating. He was used to people assuming physical frailty at his age, and took a bit of pride in defying expectations with his ability to hit the gym a few times a week, his Krav Maga classes, occasional hiking and even motorcycle riding when weather permitted. He had participated in marathons when he was younger and he couldn't do that anymore, but otherwise age had not slowed him down much. Yet, he saw people decades younger than he was who were in poor health, so incredulity at the stamina and vitality he had approaching his seventh decade of life was not so offensive. This, though... Dooku bristled, and ended up glaring at the cashier as he snatched the small shopping bag on his way out.
Dooku realized as he drove back to campus that while it was a good idea to be prepared, and his break had been his only real chance to do that - he wasn't about to buy condoms and lubricant on the way home with Sören in the car - he had now set himself up to ruminate the rest of the day. By the time classes were over and he and Sören were both ready to go, Dooku was thoroughly "psyched out", as the kids called it, feeling no small amount of anxiety in the car with Sören next to him, like an awkward teenager going on a first date, and the night had barely started. For that matter, it hadn't even been established that it was a date. It was still officially two friends meeting for dinner.
The menu that evening was steak and fillet of sole, with a tossed salad. Sören pet Beowulf and zoned out to the TV as Dooku cooked, and when dinner was ready Sören walked to the table, mouth open when he saw what Dooku had made.
"Well, this is fancy," Sören said.
Dooku lit candles. "I thought it would be nice after the week you've had to have a good meal and some relaxing ambiance." He gestured to the wine bottle. "Glass of wine?"
"Just one," Sören said, nodding.
Dooku poured them both a glass.
"Thank you for this," Sören said a few bites into his food. "You're an amazing cook." Their eyes met. "And an amazing friend."
Dooku raised his glass of wine.
Sören sipped his own wine and then he said, "Especially for driving me around. I kind of hate asking you to be my chauffeur. I hate the fact that my anxiety after the accident is too strong to drive anymore, which is humiliating, feels like a defeat..."
"But it's understandable. You were traumatized."
Sören looked down.
"If you had been paralyzed after the accident, couldn't walk, anyone who asked you why you couldn't get over it and just start walking would be an utter arse, yes?" Dooku raised an eyebrow. "It's the same principle at work with your mind. You tried to get over it. It's not something that can be gotten over. You can't help it."
Sören rolled his eyes. "I still hate it. And I mean, I hate all that macho crap."
"So do I."
"But it's like... it's not even about being 'a real man' or not. I. Fucking. Hate. Being dependent on other people. Especially after what happened with Seth. I don't ever want to be in a position where someone has power over me ever again. Even something like letting someone drive you... well... you've heard horror stories of hitchhikers, even of, like, people taking Uber and their Uber driver doing, ah, bad things."
Dooku nodded solemnly.
"There's a certain amount of trust involved in letting someone drive you around." Sören nibbled on his fish. "I appreciate that I can trust you."
"I'm glad I've earnt your trust."
Sören nodded, nibbling on more fish. "My trust isn't easy to come by, after... what happened. But you proved it many times over." Their eyes met. "I still can't believe you went after him. You took a real risk doing that." Sören sipped his wine. "For me."
I did it because I love you. Even then, before he'd admitted it to himself - Dooku knew it, now. His rage had been directly tied to his love. Seth had hurt what was his.
"So my anxiety's already been through the roof," Sören continued, working on his fish, "but it would be so much worse if I had to call Uber or ask someone I barely know to drive me around. And I feel kind of bad about asking you, not just because I don't want to be dependent on other people on principle, it makes me feel fucking helpless, but I don't want you to start resenting me for it, feeling like I'm taking advantage of you for a ride to or from school -"
"Well, I don't," Dooku said. "And Sören, not just to and from school, but anywhere you need or want to go." A pause. "Within reason, of course." That last sentence was more a formality, not wanting to seem too desperate - Dooku knew Sören could call at two in the morning and if he wanted to go to, god forbid, Denny's, he would take him. He'd grumble about being woken up, but he would move heaven and earth for Sören Sigurdsson, whether or not Sören rejected him romantically.
Dooku's mouth went dry... that moment was getting closer, when he was going to finally say it, and see what happened. He tried to keep outwardly calm, even as his stomach was turning cartwheels.
"Takk." Sören smiled. "That's kind of you. I'll give you gas money -"
"I don't need it -"
"Please let me salvage the least little bit of my pride, Nico."
Dooku once again blinked at Sören calling him "Nico" - it had been understandable when Sören was upset and rather incoherent, but now... And yet, he was warming to it, at least when Sören called him that. It sounded delightful in his accent.
Sören could talk about bowel movements in his accent and you'd still find his accent charming. You're just hung up.
Dooku exhaled sharply before he took a sip of wine, trying desperately to steel his nerves.
"You know, we don't even have a word for 'please' in our language," Sören said. "It's something I had to learn when I left Iceland."
"I see." Dooku narrowed his eyes. "I still don't think it's necessary for you to pay me, when you live so close by..."
"Like I said. My pride, damnable to you that it is, it's why I'm still fucking alive after, well, everything." Sören grimaced. He cut his steak and took a bite. "Especially after this last round of bullshit with Seth."
Dooku sighed. "What you endured was horrific, Sören."
Sören looked away. "I feel like such damaged goods, Nico." Sören looked down, put his utensils down, had a sip of wine, and then he folded his hands primly on the table, frowning a little.
Dooku braced himself, wondering what Sören was going to follow up with. Heart racing.
"Seth raped me," Sören said. "Not once. Repeatedly."
Dooku gasped. He knew that the physical abuse from Seth was probably worse than what he'd seen, but knowing that Seth was sexually abusing Sören, too...
Dooku remembered one of the times he'd heard Seth yelling at Sören. "When he said you used to lie there like a dead fish..."
"That was because he was forcing himself on me and I just wanted it to be over and done with. It wasn't sex. It was rape." Sören closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.
Dooku's heart sank. His fists clenched. "I wish I had bloody well killed him," Dooku growled. "I let him go because I said death was too good for him, I wanted him to live with the nightmares of me attacking him the way you live with yours, but..."
Sören sipped his wine. "Yeah," he sighed.
"Sören." Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt like his entire world was crashing down around him. There was no way he was going to be able to tell Sören how he felt tonight, in good conscience. That would have to wait awhile. Probably months. Sören needed space to breathe, to recover. He'd already had concerns for some time about not wanting Sören to feel unsafe or triggered around him, and now those concerns were doubling down. As much as he wanted to be with Sören, the young man's safety came first.
And oh, the horror of what Sören had endured. He wanted to weep. He now understood the lamentations in the Bible, rending hair and clothing, sackloth and ashes, screaming at the heavens. He would tear his own heart out and bleed to death to undo what had happened to this beautiful, sensitive man.
"I can't go to the police," Sören said. "As much as it sickens me that he's out there walking around free and he might do it to someone else. Because when you go to the police to report rape in this country, they treat you like a criminal. I was rather promiscuous when I lived in Toronto - that'll be used against me in court. I'm an immigrant, when anti-immigrant sentiment is high and running higher all the time, and Seth could make up some shit about me wanting to use him for a green card or something. Not to mention potential homophobia in the court system and just... no." Sören shook his head. "It'll be traumatic to try to prove what happened to maybe get the vote of other people to put his arse away and I just... I can't. Maybe that makes me a coward..."
"No, Sören. I understand." Dooku blinked back tears.
Sören sat back in his chair, buried his face in his hands, and cried. Dooku desperately wanted to get up, take Sören into his arms... and he held back. Lately, even little touches had been setting him off, making him harden. He didn't need that poking at Sören when Sören was crying on him about being raped.
He was, indeed, going to have to avoid hugging him for the foreseeable future. He didn't want Sören to feel threatened, when he'd already been through too much...
And so it was that after they watched a movie together to unwind - Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, which seemed like a strange choice after their conversation, but then there was nothing that wouldn't be strange somehow - Dooku walked Sören to his door and they lingered, Sören looking at him with those sweet puppydog eyes like he expected a hug, but Dooku couldn't. He didn't want his body to respond inadvertently and scare Sören... and touching Sören was agony for him, when he would want more.
There were no fantasies that night, except one of just holding him. Eventually, Dooku knew he'd be having lustful thoughts again, and he would take care of them when they happened, biding his time until Sören seemed in a better place to handle the news that his very dear friend wanted to be more than just a friend. But until then... he was a gentleman. And tonight all he felt was gentleness, wishing with all his heart there was something he could do to make Sören feel better. Even just a little better.
He was half-tempted to call the private investigator, get on a plane to Florida, and finish what he'd started. But murder was messy and there was a much higher risk of getting caught, too many loose ends. He couldn't be much use to Sören if he was behind bars or on the run from the police. Contracting a killer came with its own set of problems, above and beyond the problems of mercenary thugs who would just beat Seth into a wheelchair.
Beowulf hopped on the bed and began to knead on Dooku, purring. Dooku stroked the cat, and let himself dream of a life with Sören, and cats, where they would at last have peace in this world.