"...you brought the pineapple."
"Well, just the gold one. The purple one's at home, keeping the plants company. But I had to bring Ananas." Sören pulled out Anthony's barrister wig from his suitcase and set it down on the dresser beside the gold aluminum pineapple. "George would have gotten lonely."
Anthony facepalmed, sides heaving, and sat on the bed, no longer able to keep his laughter silent. "Goddammit, Sören..."
"Besides, there's a pragmatic reason for why I brought Ananas with us." Sören lifted the lid of the golden pineapple, and pulled out the iridescent robin-egg-blue genuine Fabergé egg that Anthony's late grandmother, Anthea, had gifted him back in 2012. The egg was wrapped in silver flowering vines, and inside the egg, Sören kept the two glowing white jewels he'd found, one at Reynisfjara in Iceland, the other at Mount Vesuvius in Italy. "I needed a safe way to transport the egg, and the stones. I wasn't gonna leave the stones behind, in case our place got broken into or something while we're gone."
"You're so protective of those things." Anthony chuckled.
"They're mine," Sören growled, and then he clapped a hand over his mouth, a bit self-conscious over his reaction. But the thought of the stones being stolen - again, his mind helpfully supplied - filled him with rage as white-hot as the stones' glow. It was better to be safe than sorry, even if anyone else thought he was ridiculous for bringing the stones up here.
Sören had dreamt of the two mysterious stones - they were two of a set of three - long before he'd found them. He'd never seen anything like it in the waking-day world, before or since, and the stones had just come to them like they belonged to him. Anthony had also dreamt of the stones, part of a series of shared dreams of what felt like another time, another life, when Sören had made the stones, a tribute to the forbidden love he shared with his brothers.
Nicholas had finally been informed of all of this, while they were on holiday in Italy in October - Sören didn't want him to protest keeping the stones again, like he'd done at the end of 2016, which had driven them apart for awhile. As it turned out Nicholas shared some of the same dreams, knowing without being told that other-Sören had two brothers, and he dreamt of being one of them. The revelation was more unnerving than comforting, because now Sören couldn't dismiss this as just dreams, and that meant there was something going on here - they had been pulled into something much bigger than themselves, and the implications of that were terrifying. Sören was a doctor, a neurosurgeon, a man of science. He didn't believe in God, or gods; he played God in the operating theatre, saving lives. He didn't want to believe in past lives, souls, or any higher powers pulling the strings. The stones were living proof of that.
And yet, Sören couldn't bear to part with them. They were the unsettling, tangible evidence of a more complicated version of reality... but they were also born of the flame inside him, the love that burned for Nicholas and Anthony, so much so that it felt like a piece of him had gone into the stones.
Sören and Anthony looked at the two crystals now, glowing as bright as a lightbulb, casting rainbows all over the ceiling and wall. Sören walked over to the bed, sat down beside Anthony, and took his hand as they watched the jewels floating slightly above the back of the silver phoenix inside the egg where they rested.
"I love you, you know," Sören said quietly.
Anthony kissed Sören's hand and put an arm around him. "I know." He leaned on Sören. "I love you too. More than I can say." He looked down then, and sighed.
Sören had a feeling of why Anthony seemed troubled - his love for Anthony, burning as bright and hot as those stones, stood in direct contrast to the way Anthony's first love, Mark, had broken his heart almost twenty years ago. Mark, who was just a few rooms down.
Mark, who was unfairly gorgeous.
Mark, who Sören had also dreamt about. A son. Who had also become a lover, when the son was of age, after he had been gone for some time, traveling as a bard, and came back looking like a man, all grown up now. Sören didn't condone incest as a rule - he had a fraternal twin brother and the thought of fucking him was repulsive; he was horrified by stories of abuse - but this had been different, like the tales of mythology where the gods knew their own siblings and spawn as lovers. There was a similar feeling of equals among equals, a similar feeling of power. Yet, it was still uncomfortable to think that he'd fucked his own son, "back then", even though his son had been an adult, there was no grooming - Sören had never thought of him "that way" when he was young - and his son had been the one to seduce him.
But it bothered Sören for an additional reason.
It had been one thing to dream about the stones and find out they were real. It was another thing to dream about a person he'd never seen before, and come across him in the flesh... a person who Anthony had a history with. It felt like their paths had not crossed by coincidence. And though Sören had confided in Anthony, and eventually Nicholas, about the stones, just confessing the stones were a dream made manifest was difficult enough, never mind saying that about a person, never mind saying that about someone who'd hurt Anthony deeply close to two decades ago.
"I think I need some air," Anthony said, looking up, and out the window. "You want to go for a walk with me in the garden?"
"Sure."
Nicholas was taking a drive to go sightseeing on his own - they had just arrived on Skye yesterday, and Sören and Anthony both needed a day to decompress after the long trip from London, so they opted to stay behind at the bed-and-breakfast. They would be here through January second, so they had plenty of time for sightseeing on other days.
But, just the garden itself was magnificent. The icicles on the trees and the frost and snow on the shrubbery gave the garden an enchanted feel. Sören imagined the garden was even lovelier in the spring and summer with the flowers blooming. For now, it was majestic in its own way, quiet and peaceful blanketed in white and shimmering crystal. The view of the mountains through the patches of winter fog was breathtaking. Now that he had some time, Sören wanted to sit out here and sketch one afternoon before their holiday was over.
The only sound was their footsteps crunching in the snow, the click of Anthony's cane as he leaned on it, Sören's hand in his free hand. It was so easy to get mentally lost out here, taking in every thorn of ice on the glittering trees, the way leaves looked like they had been sculpted from snow, the silver mists swirling around them. Sören had heard Clan MacLeod - Anthony's maternal ancestors, who were from Skye - had something to do with fairies, and he could almost believe it in a place like this, which didn't even look real. It felt almost like something out of legend. Almost like something from the "time before".
Suddenly there was an extra crunch of footsteps. Sören froze and his heart beat a little faster. Mark had been avoiding them since last night and he really hoped Mark continued on that trajectory, not wanting things to be even more awkward than they already were. Please don't let that be Mark. Please don't be Mark -
"Hi boys, sorry to disturb you, but I made a pot of hot chocolate if you'd like some?" came Elaine's voice.
Anthony and Sören followed Elaine into the kitchen to discover she hadn't just made a pot of hot chocolate, but there was a tray of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, sitting on top of the stove. Anthony's face lit up at the sight of them, and Elaine beamed. "Surprise," she said.
"Mum, how thoughtful." Anthony came over to give his mother a hug.
Elaine affectionately mussed his hair, and then, as she put cookies on a plate while Sören and Anthony sat, she said, "I must admit it's not entirely unselfish of me. I wanted some biscuits to have on hand for later in the evening when I get the munchies."
"The munchies?" Sören was confused.
Elaine nodded. Just as Gitta came in the kitchen from the pantry, Elaine explained, "Yes, when I toke up in the evening I want snacks."
Anthony's eyebrows shot up. He cocked his head to one side. "Since when do you smoke pot?"
"Since the 1960s." Elaine winked. Then she said, "If you mean when I started up again... just a few weeks ago, but it's become a nightly routine."
"I got her into it," Gitta said. "It helps with my arthritis, and a more restful sleep."
Sören didn't disapprove - his main concern was the legality and not wanting to see Elaine get into trouble with the law, even if she happened to know a good criminal defense barrister.
"I can't believe it," Anthony said, before nibbling on a cookie. Then he expressed Sören's one bit of worry. "I do hope you have a safe source for it. I don't want to hear you got arrested."
"Mark grows a couple of plants," Elaine said. "He gives us some as part of his rent."
Sören gave Anthony a curious look. Anthony put his cookie down, chewing more slowly.
"Are you all right?" Elaine asked.
"I'm fine, Mum." Anthony gave his fake courtroom smile before he took a sip of hot chocolate, expression neutral.
"No, you're not." Elaine sighed. "I didn't know, when I invited you here, that was... Mark."
"Of course not. It's a very common name, and I never gave you his surname. Even if I had, he's probably not the only Mark Lauer in the entire United Kingdom." Anthony resumed eating his cookie, no longer hiding his disgruntled facial expression.
"I don't think he expected you either, from the looks of it - he seemed very surprised to see you. I'd mentioned my son Anthony was coming with his two partners, but -"
"Anthony is also a very common name." Anthony nodded. "So there was no reason for him to assume it was me."
"No. I'm... sorry." Elaine sighed. "And I hope you understand, I don't feel right about asking him to go elsewhere while you're here. He does pay rent to live here full-time, and I especially don't want to boot him out just before the holidays -"
"It's fine. Really." Anthony sipped his hot cocoa. Sören knew it wasn't fine, and gently put a hand on Anthony's knee under the table.
"Perhaps you'd like to smoke with me later?" Elaine asked, glancing at Sören, then back at Anthony. "Might help take some of the edge off."
"My mum is asking me to do drugs with her," Anthony said, chuckling. "Wow."
"Marijuana's different," Sören said. "It should be legal, treated the same as alcohol. And I... would enjoy smoking up, yes. It's been a long time." The last time Sören had smoked pot, he was at university in Iceland.
"OK," Anthony said, nodding. "I'll try it."
"Try it? You've never...?" Elaine pursed her lips. "Not even with Mark?"
"No. I didn't know he smoked, either, though I suppose I shouldn't be terribly surprised, seems par for the course with musicians." Anthony sighed.
"Oh, honey." Elaine patted his shoulder. "I'm sorry, again, this is all so difficult."
"Me too." Anthony looked down.
Sören leaned in and threw his arms around him. "We'll get through this, elskan."
Mark took dinner in his room, which was a relief to Sören - he felt kind of guilty about it at the same time, since Mark was a tenant and he didn't want Mark to feel confined to his room like it was some sort of prison - but things were already tense enough, so much so that Sören found himself looking forward to the after-dinner gathering in the greatroom and getting high for the first time in years. Even Nicholas, who had never smoked pot in his life, was going to try it.
The fire crackled in the fireplace; Tobias, Seumas and Miss Balls sat with Sören, Anthony, and Nicholas on the couch. Kirk and Spock sat by the fire - at least Gitta's cats had learned to tolerate being in the same room with their cats, which was progress.
"I still can't believe we're doing this. I'm smoking pot with my own mother," Anthony said, blinking as he watched his mother light the spliff.
Elaine puffed and passed. "I can't believe you're so shocked. You know I was a flower child in the 60s and 70s. And you know it's been a rough year, and marijuana is good for anxiety and depression -"
"Well yes, I... I know. I'm not judging you." Anthony watched as Nicholas took his first hit from the joint, and then he took a long drag, holding it for a moment before exhaling. He started to cough violently, as did Nicholas. Sören tried not to laugh, and then had a severe coughing fit himself after he took a hit, enough where he thought about getting his inhaler, but his lungs quickly calmed down.
"Good. Because I'd hate for us to be on bad terms, but especially over something as trivial as this," Elaine said.
"It has medicinal purposes. It's got... uh... happy brain chemicals," Anthony said.
"THC," Sören said.
"Yes, that."
Elaine smirked as the joint came back to her. After she toked, she threw fake gang signs and rapped, "You down with THC? Yeah, you know me."
Anthony facepalmed, then buried his face in his hands, making wounded animal noises. He stopped after Nicholas had taken a hit and tapped him on the shoulder to let him know it was his turn. Anthony took another puff on the joint, passed it to Sören, and Sören exploded with laughter as the smoke came out of him. "I haven't heard OPP since the 90s, at least," Sören said.
"God," Anthony said. "I was, what... eleven? Twelve? When that song came out."
"You couldn't escape it," Elaine said. "Then there was that dancing bloke with the big pants, er..."
"MC Hammer," Anthony said. "Fuck me, I'm smoking pot with my mother and talking about MC Bloody Hammer, what has this world come to."
"Look on the bright side," Sören said, putting an arm around him. He couldn't help himself. "At least it's not Vanilla Ice."
"Stop," Anthony said.
Mark's voice came from the hall. "Collaborate and listen."
Sören fell off the couch, tearing up. He felt bad about it - he didn't want to encourage Mark interacting with them, he felt for Anthony... and he didn't want to like this guy. But it was too much. Sören wiped his eyes and climbed back onto the couch. Miss Balls immediately began giving him concerned sniffs and a headbutt with a tiny meow. Sören skritched her as he watched Mark come in, walking towards the door, bundled up in his trenchcoat and a scarf.
"I'm going to town for a bit. Does anyone need anything?" Mark asked.
Anthony narrowed his eyes, and Sören could practically hear the unvoiced for you to fuck off, but Anthony said simply, "I'm good."
"I think we're fine, Mark, but thank you for asking," Elaine said, nodding.
"Oh, while you're out in town, do you mind if I clean?" Gitta asked. "I seem to be the exact opposite of everyone who smokes pot - I want to clean and organize things instead of just laying there."
"I don't mind at all, and thank you," Mark said. "I'll see you in a couple of hours."
Mark gave a little wave before he walked out, and Elaine sighed. "He usually joins us," she said. She passed the spliff over to Nicholas, who took a long drag, then Anthony took an even longer drag, looking disgruntled again.
"Anyway, I'm going to tidy up your rooms - a little dusting, vacuuming," Gitta said, getting up. She gave Elaine a hug and took one last puff on the spliff after Sören passed it, before walking out of the greatroom, into the hall. A few minutes later Sören heard the vacuum turn on. Predictably, Tobias's ears flattened to his head and he jumped off the couch and crawled under.
"Poor kitty," Sören said.
"Indeed." Nicholas frowned. "As you know, he particularly loathes the sound of the vacuum."
"I can't blame him." Anthony cringed. "I'm really sensitive to sounds like that."
They finished the joint, and Elaine made another pot of hot chocolate as they settled into position, Sören and Nicholas sitting close together with Anthony stretched out across them. Nicholas put an arm around Sören and pet Anthony's hair, while Anthony stroked Sören's face and played with a curly lock. Curling up on the couch snuggling Anthony and Nicholas with two cats purring away, before a roaring fire, was as close as Sören could get to heaven. Already the pot was working its magic and Sören felt more relaxed than he had felt in months, if not a good couple of years. He thought about asking Elaine to ask Mark if they could have a couple of clippings to take back to London - Sören couldn't smoke within 24 hours of a shift, as he needed to be fully alert and sober to perform surgery, but on those "golden weekends" when he got two days off in a row, it was nice.
Suddenly, looking into the fire, Sören was feeling the urge to paint. He didn't want to get up just yet, or for awhile, savoring the togetherness with his lovers. But for the first time in months, Sören was feeling creative again, after being too burned out from too much work and not enough time to just be. His mind's eye blazed with mental images of the frozen garden... the mountains and craggy hills... thinking of the fairy lore of Scotland... an elven-like man, tall, long flaming red hair, fierce grey eyes, with a handsome face like Mark's, the build of a warrior, a sword strapped to one side. One hand.
A frisson went down Sören's spine. Someone else from before. But who?
Sören closed his eyes. He didn't want to start thinking again of how he'd dreamt of Mark, and how it seemed to be too many coincidences that Elaine's travels had brought her to Gitta, and Sören's family connection to Gitta meant an invite up here for the holidays for Sören and Gitta to reconnect, and here was Mark. He didn't want to fall down the rabbit hole of wondering what was going on with them, or why, how...
The vacuum was off now, and there was the sound of the hall closet door creaking open, which made Sören open his eyes. "She's getting the feather duster," Elaine explained.
"Ah, OK." Sören closed his eyes again and leaned against Nicholas, half-dozing.
A short while later Gitta came out from the hallway, sucking her thumb, brow furrowed. Through the thumb in her mouth she asked, "Elaine, have you seen the aloe vera?"
"Oh shit, I think I used the last of it on my eczema," Elaine said with a frown. "I'm sorry. Do you need some?"
Gitta nodded. "Yes, I burnt my thumb." She took the thumb out of her mouth to show a bright red first-degree burn. She gave Sören a suspicious look before glancing back at Elaine.
Sören swallowed hard. He had a feeling what that burn was from, and it bothered him, a lot. Elaine pulled out her phone, not asking how Gitta had burnt her thumb - which would have probably been Anthony's first question from someone with a burnt thumb who'd just been dusting - and Elaine said, "I'll text Mark and ask him to pick up some gel at the drugstore while it's still open."
"If they've got any." Gitta snorted.
"Mmm, yes, unfortunately. But it's worth a shot." Elaine's fingers began tapping on the keypad of her phone.
Sören really hoped Mark wasn't going to ask how Gitta burned her thumb, if the burn was from what Sören suspected it was from - this had the potential to get very, very weird very, very quickly and Sören was not in the mood for that. At all.
Despite the mellow calm from the marijuana, Sören had trouble getting to sleep. Indeed, as the high started wearing off, Sören felt a rush of anxiety, continuing to ruminate on how Gitta had burnt her thumb - that look she'd given him, that all but confirmed for him that it was on one of the stones. The stones threw off such heat that Sören was surprised he, Nicholas, and Anthony hadn't gotten burned handling them.
Sören decided to try the old tactic of distracting himself and doing something to occupy his mind until it finally cooperated and went to sleep. Instead of a book, or a game, Sören got out his Wacom tablet and tiptoed out to the greatroom - maybe he could draw some of what he'd been envisioning earlier, in preparation for a new painting.
To his surprise, the greatroom wasn't empty. Gitta was out there, Kirk in her lap; she was watching a program on TV with the volume turned down. "Oh, hello Sören," she said softly as he walked in. "I hope the TV isn't keeping you up."
"Oh no, I... can't hear it from down on my end," Sören said. "Um... do you mind if I take a seat?"
"Not at all. Is there anything you'd like to watch?"
Sören shrugged. "I don't care. I was just going to draw."
"Oh! Elaine says you're an artist and have done some lovely work." Gitta gave a sad smile. "I still have that drawing you made me when I left Iceland, of the sheep wearing a kilt."
Sören facepalmed before he shook with laughter. "Oh GOD. You still have that?"
Gitta nodded. Then she winked, her smile less sad. "And now I definitely should hold onto it, in case your art is famous someday, might be worth a fortune -"
Sören cackled. "No, I don't think I'll ever be famous. It's... it's just a hobby. One that I don't have a lot of time for." He frowned as he turned his tablet on.
"But you wish you had more time for it."
Their eyes met. Then Sören just nodded, with a wistful sigh. "I feel like I have to choose art or medicine, and I hate that. They're both a calling, but I don't have time for both. Anyway..." He gestured for her to join him on the couch. "I can show you my older work, if you like." He pulled up a gallery of files.
For the next while Sören showed Gitta dozens of paintings he'd done over the years - he deliberately did not show her the erotic art, thinking it unseemly to show his aunt; Elaine hadn't seen it either - but there was more than enough non-erotic art for her to see, and she marveled over each piece like Sören was the most talented artist who ever lived. The praise also seemed sincere, rather than Gitta's maternal instinct. Sören's cheeks burned like the fire in the hearth, especially when the show was over and Gitta said, "I'd love you to paint something for me. I'd be happy to pay you -"
"Oh, I'd do it for free. You're family, after all -"
"You should still be paid for your work, Sören."
Sören scowled. He wagged his finger, then he smirked. "Maybe you could pay me in brownies. Or weed."
Gitta laughed. "I'll talk to Mark about sending you home with a bag."
Sören wanted to add and clippings for our garden, but he didn't want to push his luck just yet. Instead his focus returned to the tablet. "Anyway, if you give me a subject, I'll try to get my brain to work. I haven't done much art this past year, it's been a rough year, but..."
"Sounds like you've had a lot of rough years."
Sören looked down. He didn't know what, if anything, Elaine had told her, but he also assumed she knew what his father's sister and husband had been like, and being raised by that had set him down a very difficult path in life.
He also didn't want to make Gitta sad by going over the various traumas he'd endured - like the rape that had made him leave Iceland in 2010. Instead he gently put a hand on her shoulder, feeling concern that she was still awake when she smoked pot to help with sleep. "And you're having a rough night, já? Are you in pain?" Bloody hell, I can't stop being a doctor for five minutes.
Gitta replied in Icelandic - it occurred to Sören they'd both been living in the UK for so long they defaulted to English even though they were in private where it wouldn't be rude. "A little. My thumb more than my joints, right now."
Sören exhaled sharply. Here we go. He lowered his voice, even though they were now speaking in their native language and he knew Nicholas didn't speak Icelandic, and Anthony only spoke a little of it; hearing that Mark had sung the Yule Cat song perfectly gave him some pause about Mark being able to understand what they were saying. "Gitta, how did you burn your thumb?"
Their eyes met. "I was dusting in your room, and I picked up the glass egg to dust there on top of the dresser..."
"Jæja."
Gitta looked away. "And the egg flipped open by accident as I was putting it down, and..." Gitta frowned. "Those stones inside the egg are very hot. Like lightbulbs." Her frown intensified as she met Sören's eyes again.
"I'm sorry," Sören said, sincerely. His heart began to hammer in his ears, and he felt slightly sick to his stomach. That had been exactly what he'd been afraid of. "I can put the egg inside the pineapple instead of having it on display, to make it easier for you to clean."
"Thank you, I appreciate it. Though..." Gitta raised an eyebrow. "What is that?"
"I don't know," Sören said, a half-truth. He'd dreamt of making the stones what felt like a long time ago, three of them, and they'd gone right to him in two completely different places. But he didn't entirely know what was going on with them - what they were made of, why they burned like that... the true potential. The power. It felt ridiculous thinking of them as some sort of magical artifact, like he was living in a video game or Dungeons and Dragons, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they were more than just stones, like the tribute of love to the men he loved - the force of that love, that passion, the way he burned for them and had expressed it in the construction of the glass jewels - held some kind of power...
...and Gitta burning herself on them by accident was a sign that they were possibly dangerous. Sören thought of Nicholas's admonishment it belongs in a museum a year ago. While Nicholas no longer pressed him to give the stones to science - and Sören wouldn't, not even with an incident like this - he was now inclined to agree that there might be some sort of hazard involved with the stones, if not to the three of them, then to others.
Sören put a hand on Gitta's hand, tenderly stroking the burnt thumb, like his touch had some sort of healing ability, when he knew it didn't. "Gitta, I need you to do me a really big favor. Don't... tell anyone how you burnt your thumb, if you haven't. That might cause problems for me, if more than my partners and you know the stones are... special."
"I don't like keeping things from Elaine," Gitta said, "but she hasn't asked, so -"
"If she does ask, you can tell her, but tell her the same thing I told you. No one else."
"You didn't steal them from somewhere, did you -"
"No." The answer came out so forcefully Sören was afraid he'd wake someone up, and he felt mortified - he didn't want to yell at his aunt, either - and he quickly gave her a reassuring hug. He stung at the accusation, but he also knew Gitta didn't know him well, and maybe she thought he had good reason to steal them.
In the back of his mind, he thought of other people thinking they - his family - had stolen them. They were stolen from us. From ME, Sören thought bitterly, and he immediately kicked himself internally, not wanting to go down that path... into darkness.
"They're rightfully mine," Sören said softly. "I made them. That's all I can tell you. That's all anyone needs to know. I'm sorry your thumb got burned."
Gitta nodded. "I believe you." She patted him. Kirk finally wandered over and gave him a headbutt. "And he does too."
"Good." Sören skritched the cat and said in English, "Don't throw me in the brig, Captain." Sören thought bitterly, I was already there. Too long. In his mind's eye he could see a prison of darkness, of nothingness, all alone, severed from the people he loved. Cold. Alone. Damned. He felt a wash of terror, and quickly forced his mind back to the present, but he still had chills despite the warmth of the fire. He had no idea what he'd just seen - what he'd just felt - and he didn't want to know.
What he knew was already too much. Something was happening, he was already in too deep, and he felt powerless to stop it.
chapter 3 | return to Learning To Fly | return to Other Tolkien Fic | return to index