It was a Thursday evening - Dooku's longest and busiest in the week, with three classes instead of two. Friday made up for it with only one class, and as a consequence Dooku usually spent Thursday evenings relaxing and Friday evenings getting caught up on lesson plans, grading papers, and research. But that routine was not always a given; tonight Dooku had to stay a bit later than usual meeting with two of his students by request.
The nice thing about coming home later was that he was spared Sören's excuse for music driving into the neighborhood. He had the crock pot going while he was at work, and after a nice meal - and giving a little treat to Beowulf, who begged - he stretched out with a glass of wine and a re-read of The Stand by Stephen King, one of his favorite books.
Of course, his relaxation did not last long. But this time instead of music, it was shouting next door.
Sören and Seth had argued before, but this time the volume was downright alarming. At first it was more muffled - he could only hear shouting, not make out words - and then he heard the sound of glass shattering.
"WHAT THE FUCK, SETH!" Sören screamed.
"Yeah? You see that broken glass? That's gonna be your fucking face..."
Sören started cursing in Icelandic. Dooku felt an icy knot in the pit of his stomach. Seth had smashed something, and now he was threatening Sören. As much as Dooku didn't like Sören, this wasn't OK.
"Fucking speak English, this is America," Seth snapped.
"Why do you have to be like this?" Sören asked, his voice breaking. Dooku heard Sören start to sob. He heard the sound of broken glass being swept up. "I go out of my way for you, I try to make you happy..."
"Really? You sure as hell could have fooled me. You make me so fucking miserable -"
Dooku's mind flashed back to his own mother saying something similar - repeatedly - when he was a child, and then a teenager. You make my life so goddamn miserable. He learned from a young age to stay out of his parents' way as much as possible, to try to be invisible apart from performing well at school, but anything and everything set them off - if he made normal amounts of noise, if he spilled something, if he got injured, if he got sick. He knew from his own experience with abuse you didn't have to do anything to provoke a bully, everything you did was wrong even when it wasn't.
He could hear Sören crying, and for the first time, his heart went out to him.
"Do you even know how much that glass sculpture cost?" Sören sobbed.
"I don't care, it was fucking ugly. All the art you like, all the art you make, is fucking ugly. I don't know why they let you teach..."
Dooku felt a surge of pure rage. Seth destroying property - art - making fun of Sören's art... His fists clenched.
"Stop. Please. Just. Stop." Sören wept. "I'm so tired of this, Seth. I've tried to make things work with you -"
"You could have fooled me. You don't want to touch me anymore, you freeze and just lay there like a dead fish when we fuck, you never want to go anywhere -"
"I don't want to go places anymore because it always turns into us fighting, and someone almost called the police last time..."
"And so we fight here."
"You start it, Seth. It's always something with you -"
"Oh for fuck's sake listen to yourself, Sören. 'You started it.' What are you, five?" Seth laughed bitterly. "You sure cry like a fucking five-year-old... pathetic."
Dooku thought about calling the police, but he was not a fan of the police, having been involved in leftist activism all his adult life, and his distrust for the police had grown exponentially with all the cases of brutality in recent times. And he knew that domestic violence laws in this country were such that if he called the police, both Seth and Sören would be arrested and taken in, even when it seemed like Seth was clearly the aggressor here.
But it was past the point where Dooku could sit and listen to it. He was genuinely concerned for Sören, and the more he listened to Seth the angrier he got. So, in his pajamas, bathrobe and slippers, he walked out of his house and went next door, knocking loudly.
Seth Robinson answered the door. He was a few inches shorter than Sören, with a wiry build, short-cropped brown hair, and icy blue eyes. Preppy-looking, clean-shaven, and ruggedly handsome - if he wasn't sneering with contempt.
"What?" Seth snarled.
"May I speak with Sören for a moment?" Dooku asked.
"I'll take a message," Seth said.
Sören came to the door. "Professor Dooku. Hello." Sören's expression was neutral, but Dooku could see the red-rimmed eyes that were still glassy with tears.
"Are you all right?" Dooku asked.
Sören blinked slowly, as if he couldn't believe the neighbor he'd been feuding with was asking him such a question. "Of course he's all right," Seth said.
"I was addressing Sören." Dooku raised his voice, his eyes narrowed.
Sören cleared his throat, swallowed hard, and nodded. "Jæja, I'm... I'm fine."
Dooku raised an eyebrow, giving Sören a look that let him know you're not fine. He really wanted to take Sören aside and tell him to dump this arsehole, but something told him asking to speak to Sören alone would be pouring gasoline on the fire. Dooku collected his thoughts for a moment, wanting to be careful in his choice of words, and finally he said, "I was getting a bit concerned. The two of you were arguing rather loudly, you see..."
Now Sören's expression was frosty. "So we were disturbing your peace. So very sorry about that."
And Dooku knew then that Sören was annoyed because Sören thought he was only there to tell them to keep it down, and otherwise didn't care. That wasn't an unfair assumption - they weren't friends, they'd had conflicts. But here and now Dooku did care, because his own experience with abuse at home and bullying in school had given him a strong dislike of abusers and bullies. Whatever his personal opinion was of Sören, he didn't deserve any of this.
Before Dooku could open his mouth and try to explain he was there on a welfare check rather than complaining about the noise - though the noise was troublesome, Sören said, "We'll keep it down." Seth nodded.
"Yeah, we don't need the police coming out here," Seth muttered.
Seth started to shuffle off and Sören said, flatly, "Have a good rest of the evening, Professor." Then he closed the door - not quite a slam, but firm, a decided stay out of my business gesture.
Dooku sighed. And then he cringed when he heard Seth - almost yelling - say, "You're a fucking idiot. You better hope that old fart doesn't call the police..."
"Seth, can we just... stop? Going on and on doesn't help."
"I wouldn't need to go on and on if you weren't such a fucking moron -"
Dooku knocked on the door again, this time pounding. Seth opened the door again.
"Show some respect," Dooku said.
"Listen, you don't know what's what -"
"I know disrespect when I hear it. Give the man a break."
This time Dooku was the one to close the door - fighting off the impulse to hit Seth in the jaw for that smart mouth of his. Sören glared at him out the window, and Dooku almost wished he hadn't gotten involved, but he had to. And even as Sören was glaring at him, still none too happy that he'd come over to say something about the fighting, Dooku felt for him. He felt like he hadn't done enough, but he didn't know what else to do.
Dooku went back to his house, and the rest of the evening was quiet. Too quiet. Dooku found himself unable to concentrate on his book, his thoughts returning to Sören, wondering if he was OK.