Dooku felt out of place in the hardware store, but Sören's presence put him at ease. Sören was pulling him by the elbow down the paint aisle, debating whether or not to use black or a dark shade of purple or blue for the base coat of the meditation room.
Dooku had never known so many shades of paint existed, and Sören being the artist that he was, had spent at least an hour looking at the color tabs, comparing side by side.
Dooku had asked, "Do the walls have to be dark?"
"For the idea I had in mind, yes. Unless you absolutely insist I use a light background, in which case I'd have to scrap my idea altogether and think of something else."
The look on Sören's face as he said that made Dooku hesitant to disappoint him by asking for a more traditional color for the walls... but also, Dooku could feel the creative energy sparking in and around Sören and it was intoxicating. It made him feel alive. The Living Force sang through Sören's paintings and Dooku had no doubt that whatever was dancing in Sören's mind's eye, would be perfect for the meditation room. So here he was with Sören, in a hardware store, watching Sören crinkle his nose, squint his eyes, and sometimes poke out his tongue as he internally debated the merits of After Midnight versus Black Raspberry.
At last, Sören narrowed it down to three color cards, and presented them to Dooku. "Pick one," he said.
Dooku went with a color that turned out to be named Black Knight. Sören smiled at the name. "Some people want a knight in shining armor," Sören mused aloud. "I've always had a thing for a bit of darkness."
"If only you knew," Dooku found himself saying, before he could stop himself.
Sören's eyes widened, and Dooku cleared his throat, feeling self-conscious. But still he went on, "You'd be surprised. As a barrister, I've seen some injustices that have made me... rather angry."
Sören was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt - a plain steel blue T-shirt, over a pair of ratty torn and faded jeans - and Dooku watched the gooseflesh break out on Sören's arms. Through their developing Force bond, Dooku could feel a frisson of excitement go through Sören. Dooku's face burned.
"Right," Dooku said, his stomach doing flip-flops. "Let's pay for this and then you can get started with the base coat."
At the cash register Dooku was once again acutely aware of how out of place he looked in the hardware store - someplace he normally didn't visit himself; if he needed repairs he hired handymen. Dooku's six feet five inches towered over the clerk at the register, his figure made more imposing by a black cape over usual black tunic and trousers. Sören's T-shirt and weathered jeans couldn't be more of a contrast if he'd tried, and the clerk gave them a bemused look while ringing up the cans of paint, put on Dooku's charge.
On the ride back to Dooku's house, they discussed the plan. "I'll spend today putting on a base coat of paint on the walls," Sören said, "and then in two or three days I'll come over to put on the second coat of paint. When that's dry, I'll start working on the mural."
Dooku nodded.
"I'd like to work on it some every day," Sören said, "so I don't hit an artist's block. But that might be a bit difficult to do around our respective schedules, for example if I'm available and you're at work."
"Well," Dooku said, "I can have a copy made of the house key."
"That's a lot of trust."
"It is," Dooku said, "but I do."
"I'm honored." That smile again. "And yes, I would like to prove myself worthy of that trust."
A few moments of silence, and then Dooku said, "As far as today goes... after you finish putting on the base coat of paint, do you have plans?"
"No. Do you?"
"I'd like to make dinner for you, if you'd like to stay."
"I would."
When they arrived at Dooku's apartment, he put on tea, but Sören got right down to work, setting up what he needed in the meditation room. Sören had brought a bag with him of assorted brushes, measuring tape, and painter's tape. He'd also brought a portable Mp3 player and speakers. "I hope you don't mind if I listen to music while I work?" Sören asked. "I work better when I have music on."
"Not at all," Dooku said.
Sören's lips quirked. "All right, but consider yourself warned, I have a fairly eclectic taste in music."
Dooku wouldn't have guessed that from the goth T-shirts Sören was fond of wearing. Dooku drank tea and reviewed his latest case, and the connected paperwork, as Sören worked down the hall. Dooku was familiar with some of the music Sören played - he recognized Nine Inch Nails, and had expected it from seeing Sören in that shirt once. But in addition to rock there was a fair amount of hip-hop and R&B, a genre Dooku did not care for; he thought of rap music as noise, not music. And yet, he found himself amused rather than annoyed when he heard Sören singing along in that delightful accent of his, and he had a rich, husky tenor voice, as soulful as the artists he sang with.
Sören's playlist jumped around from genre to genre, artist to artist, though Dooku started to recognize when voices and style were similar and guessed Sören had a few favorites. Then there were several R&B tracks in a row where Dooku found he did enjoy it, perhaps because the singer sounded a lot like Michael Jackson, which Dooku had been a fan of during Jackson's career in the 70s and 80s; after Dooku brought his empty teapot and cup to the kitchen, he wandered down to the meditation room. Sören was halfway through the paint job, and had some paint spattered on his T-shirt and jeans as well as a little paint in his curls. He was stooped over the paint can, dipping his brush, and it took him a moment to notice Dooku was standing there.
"Pardon the interruption," Dooku said. He gestured to the mp3 player. "Is that... Michael Jackson?"
"No," Sören laughed. "He's dead."
"I knew that," Dooku said. "I didn't know if that was some of the music he'd released prior to his death."
Sören shook his head. "Not Michael Jackson, no - though I'm a big fan." Sören smiled. "It's The Weeknd."
Dooku went back to his study, and with a legal file in one tab of his laptop, he opened another tab to type "The Weekend" into Google. He was dismayed that songs didn't come up. He went back down the hall, and said, "Are you making fun of me?"
"No...?"
"I just did an Internet search and couldn't find this Weekend."
"Oh..." Sören scratched his beard, and then he raised an eyebrow and said, "How did you spell it?"
"What do you mean, how did I spell it? I went to Oxford, I can spell weekend."
Sören smirked. "That's why."
"What."
"W-e-e-k-n-d. The Weeknd, no third E."
"...What."
Sören couldn't contain his laughter.
Dooku glowered, and Sören laughed even harder.
"What kind of... nonsense..."
Sören's laughter was uproarious now; Dooku folded his arms, continuing to glower. "You're not making this up?"
"I'm not making it up. That is how the artist spells it. The W-e-e-k-n-d."
"THAT IS ATROCIOUS SPELLING. HOW IS HE EVEN ALLOWED TO SPELL HIS ARTIST PSEUDONYM LIKE THAT."
"I don't know, but he does." Sören chuckled. "Google that shit, man."
Dooku did, and pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning.
Nonetheless, he found himself disappointed that there wasn't more, and tried to resume concentration on his work. After awhile he made more tea, and when it was ready, he brought it back to his study, and then Sören turned up the music and Dooku heard the voice of this The Weeknd once more. And there was Sören singing along:
Bring your love baby I could bring my shame
Bring the drugs baby I could bring my pain
I got my heart right here
I got my scars right here
Bring the cups baby I could bring the drink
Bring your body baby I could bring you fame
And that's my motherfucking words too
So let me motherfucking love you
The words, and the vulnerability in Sören's voice, was like a knife to the gut. Dooku didn't dare hope that it was directed at him, and yet... he knew. He could feel, suddenly, the longing.
Longing mirrored by his own.
Dooku's head swam, his hands shook. He didn't know what to do, how to respond. His first instinct was to run, to keep this at bay, afraid of getting too close, afraid of getting hurt. And yet there was that hunger, that ache - a hunger and ache he didn't even fully know he had.
Dooku stared at the blinking cursor on his screen, heart racing, feeling like he should go down the hall, but he was frozen in his chair...
The music was interrupted by more music. "The Memory of Trees" by Enya, his ringtone for Qui-Gon. It took him two rings to register that Qui had said he'd called today, to confirm a dinner invite for him and Sören later in the week. Dooku's trembling hands almost dropped the phone, but he flipped it open and accepted the call. "Hello," he said.
"Hello!"
"Qui. How are you?"
"I'm doing well. How are you?"
"I am all right." A nervous laugh. "You're calling about dinner plans, I assume?"
"Yes. Thursday night at 6?"
"I believe so. Let me ask Sören."
Dooku got up, and carried the phone down the hall. Another song had come on now, and Dooku gestured for Sören to lower the volume for a moment. "Are you free for dinner at Qui's on Thursday night at 6?"
"That's cutting it kind of close to when I get off work," Sören said, "but I can probably do it. I just won't be able to work on the room any that day and I have a long enough shift that day that I'll need to go home at a decent hour."
Dooku nodded. He headed back down the hall. "Thursday night at 6 works well, though we should probably leave no later than 8 or so."
"That's fine. Does Sören have any food allergies you're aware of? Is he on a special diet? Vegan?"
"As far as I can tell, no. I've had several meals with Sören now and he definitely seems to enjoy eating meat."
There was a moment of silence, and then Dooku could hear Qui-Gon chuckling. It took Dooku a moment to pick up the innuendo.
"Joaquin."
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not."
More laughter. "You're right. I'm not. But this is also the first time I've gotten to make such a joke like that about you instead of around you."
Dooku sighed.
"I'm happy for you," Qui went on.
"We're -"
"You seem quite taken with him."
Dooku couldn't deny that. He said nothing.
"It's about time. A bit younger than I would have thought, but I can't judge you for age difference, considering Obi and all."
Dooku pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't truthfully confirm - there had never been any official declaration of a relationship, only "seeing where things go" - and he couldn't deny, either.
"It's complicated," Dooku said, finally.
"Is it ever not complicated, with anyone?"
Dooku sighed.
A moment of awkward silence passed and then Qui said, "Look. Don't fuck this up. And don't even say 'there is no this to fuck up', because you and I both know that's bullshit. I can imagine this is new and different and scary for you. But don't overthink this, and don't run from it. He's already made you happy, I can see that. I've never seen you look at anybody the way you look at him. Hold onto that. Let yourself live, for a change."
Dooku's jaw set, and then the words that he found coming out of his mouth were not the words he'd planned on saying, but they were the right ones all the same. "Ironic. Now you are the one lecturing and advising me, after all my years of lecturing and advising you."
"Indeed."
Both men chuckled, and then Dooku said, "We'll be there Thursday night at 6."
"You'd better be."
When the phone call ended, Dooku put his cell phone on his desk, leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, and then covered his face with his hands. His hands were shaking, and he felt a surge of emotion that threatened to break him.
He also, all of a sudden, felt very, very old. Ancient. Tired.
Dooku had many moments over his sixty-eight years of feeling his age, even though he took care of himself and between that and the Force, he was in excellent physical condition rivaling that of someone years younger. Dooku had moments of feeling his mortality and wondering what he'd done with his life, even for all of his success and wealth as a barrister, as a public servant, championing justice and the greater good. His life had still been sterile, barren - keeping people at arm's length, even the few he loved, like Qui and Leja, who he thought of as his children. He didn't like letting his guard down. He didn't like things getting messy. And the vulnerability he'd heard in Sören's voice, singing, was a mirror of the vulnerability he felt on the inside. He was already in too deep, feeling things for this younger artist that he hadn't felt before. Sören made him feel alive again.
And just like a limb that had fallen asleep, burning and tingling with pins and needles, sometimes almost unbearable, Dooku felt that same stirring in his spirit. It was too much life, all at once... and it reminded him of how much he hadn't lived the last few decades.
Wordlessly, by pure instinct, Dooku's feet took him down the hall, down to his bedroom. Once he was there, he closed the door behind him most of the way, but not completely shutting or locking it. Just enough for privacy.
He took off his shoes, then he took off his cape and neatly folded it onto a chair, and then he climbed onto his bed and lay down. He used the Force to bring over a stuffed bear he'd had since he was a child - one of the very few surviving relics of his childhood, and it was a wonder how the well-loved bear was even still in one piece - and he pulled the bear to his heart, and let himself weep, quietly, into his pillow.
Eventually exhaustion overcame him and he closed his eyes and let rest claim him, intending to only nap for an hour or so.
He woke to the sensation of having his feet rubbed. Nobody touched Dooku's feet - indeed, nobody touched Dooku in general - and the sensation was almost overwhelming in its pleasure... but also the intimacy of the act made him feel ready to cry again. He'd had an ache he didn't even realize he had, a hunger for touch that had been suppressed, and just laying there and allowing Sören to touch his feet was further evidence that he was in over his head with feelings. Attachment. Complication.
He opened his eyes to see Sören sitting at the foot of his bed, rubbing his feet, smiling at him with that shy, beautiful smile.
"Hey, sleepyhead," Sören said.
Dooku opened his mouth to speak, couldn't find words, and then he looked at the clock and gasped. "Shit -"
"Jæja, it got late."
It was after eight PM; Dooku had been asleep for over four hours. Dooku had promised to cook for Sören and it was late to get that started when they both had work in the morning...
"I ordered a pizza," Sören went on. "It's on its way."
Dooku shook his head - he didn't eat pizza, but it wasn't that, he was hungry enough that he would eat it. "I was supposed to cook for you, and I don't want you paying for it. I'll pay."
"Are you sure?"
Dooku nodded. He sat up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sören finally stopped rubbing his feet. Dooku used the Force to pull his wallet out of his pants pocket, and just in time, the doorbell rang. Shyly, hesitantly, Sören used the Force to pull the wallet from Dooku's hand, and quietly hopped off the bed and walked down the hall to answer the door. Dooku swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stretched - Dragos had decided to curl up next to him at some point while he was sleeping, and now Dragos was yawning and stretching with him in unison. Dragos gave Dooku a headbutt and waited for a few pettings before climbing onto the footstool Dooku kept near the bed for the elderly cat's convenience, and gingerly stepping down to the floor. Dragos followed Dooku down the hall, where Sören now had a box of pizza, a brown paper bag on top of the box, and a plastic bag containing a 2-liter of something.
Dooku took his wallet back, and, still disoriented from sleep, he stumbled towards the dining area intending to set the table, but Sören gestured to the living room.
"I don't usually eat there," Dooku said.
"I take it you also don't usually nap when company is over," Sören said, and then teased, "or let said company see you holding a teddy bear."
Dooku's face flushed.
"You looked adorable," Sören said, and leaned in to give him a quick kiss on the nose before using the Force to shove Dooku into the living room.
They sat on the couch together, eating pizza straight out of the box, watching the BBC. The brown bag contained breadsticks and a dipping sauce, and Sören had ordered a 2-liter of Coca-Cola, and the pizza restaurant had sent paper cups with it at Sören's request. The pizza was sausage and mushroom, and Dooku found himself enjoying it, even though it was strange to eat with his hands instead of utensils. The Coca-Cola was also strange to him - the fizz, the sweetness - but he drank nonetheless. Dragos hovered, begging, and eventually slurked away, sulking; they could hear the cat noisily crunching his dry food in the kitchen a few minutes later.
"I'll give him cat treats in awhile to make up for it," Dooku said.
Sören chuckled. "You should give him treats anyway. It was good of him to watch over you while you slept."
Dooku shook his head. "I can't believe I slept that long."
"You must have needed it, já?"
"I suppose I did."
Sören finished the piece of pizza he was working on, and then he said, "Are you all right?"
Dooku raised an eyebrow. "What kind of question is that?"
"Jæja, you're not the kind of person to just casually nap, especially when someone is in your house, even someone you trust." Sören raised an eyebrow in return. "You needed to lay down for awhile... did something happen?"
Dooku's immediate impulse was to say "no", but he decided to go with the truth, being in the presence of another Force-sensitive. "Yes and no."
Sören cocked his head to one side, obviously confused by that statement.
Dooku took a deep breath. "The invite from Qui, just got me thinking about how much I've... closed myself off. And I felt very, very sad, and very, very old."
"Oh, Nico." Sören reached out to take Dooku's hand, and squeezed it; Dooku squeezed back.
Dooku felt his throat tighten and his eyes burn. He couldn't speak, and he didn't want to break down crying in front of Sören. Sören seemed to understand that Dooku was on the verge of tears and explaining it all wasn't happening right now, so Sören just squeezed his hand again, then patted, and handed Dooku another slice of pizza.
They polished off the box together, and then just sat for awhile, and eventually, began leaning on each other, not quite cuddling but not entirely not cuddling, either. Dooku wasn't really paying much attention to the program on the BBC - he let himself drift mentally, comforted by the weight of Sören's presence. He could start to feel Sören's Force signature - a waterfall of light, that was like being in a warm, relaxing bath. He felt safe.
And then, feeling safe made him feel afraid again.
Dooku's eyes snapped open - it was getting late, after ten PM now, and they both had to work in the morning. If Sören stayed any later he'd have to offer to let Sören spend the night and he wasn't ready for that yet. Dooku sat up and cleared his throat. "I should take you home," Dooku said.
Sören nodded, a bit reluctantly; Dooku felt the disappointment, and part of him felt bad for disappointing Sören and part of him felt relieved and happy that Sören was even disappointed at the prospect of not spending the night. He found Sören's interest flattering, even though he had spent most of his life not caring about these things, or perhaps pretending not to care.
They drove to Sören's flat in companionable silence, and at the curb in front of the building, they sat for a moment.
"So remember you have a key now," Dooku said.
Sören nodded. "I'll probably be there before you get home, working on the room."
"Thank you for taking care of that," Dooku said, and then, "and other things."
Sören smiled. "I hope you can get a good night's sleep."
"I hope so too. Rest well, yourself, when you get there."
They lingered for a moment, and then Sören leaned in, planted a quick kiss on his cheek, and rushed out of the car before it could turn into something more.
Dooku in fact couldn't get right to sleep when he got home, feeling giddy at the physical contact. He had to meditate to wind down, and when he slept, he dreamed of Sören beckoning him to a waterfall, bathing together, embracing, held in his light.
The dreams were so comforting and beautiful that Dooku didn't want to wake up, and swore when his alarm went off. As he started his day he noticed it was raining, which felt appropriate, matching the sudden dark mood he was in - feeling old and sad again, feeling like he'd been starved, robbed of so much life, and now he was in the sunset of his years and here was this man he was falling for and he didn't know how to be with someone and he was afraid of making one wrong move in his awkwardness, and having it all taken away.
Dooku managed to pull himself together to do his job, as usual, but everything hurt.
chapter 8 | return to Northern Lights | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index