Walls Come Down: Chapter 5

Six weeks after he flew back to London, Dooku returned to Berlin. He had a job lined up at the British embassy to practice international law, which had necessitated pulling some strings, but things had worked out in his favor and he wasn't just relieved to have a livelihood already lined up, it would be a nice change of pace.

He and Marcus had regularly been in touch on the phone, and Dooku missed him, and Marcus said he missed him as well, but Dooku was still nervous as he walked to the baggage claim in the airport, wondering if Marcus would be there as he said he would. Wondering if Marcus truly felt the same way, if this had just been a quick fling - they'd spent more time apart than they had together...

"Guten Nachmittag, Liebling."

If Dooku was a dog, his tail would be wagging. He felt his eyes alight at the sight of him - even more breathtaking after the absence. Dooku kept on the iron mask since he was in public, allowing the small smile that would be a huge grin on anyone else, since he felt self-conscious about the way he looked when he smiled more broadly. But Marcus's face lit up, and Dooku gave in to that goofy smile, which made Marcus chuckle and stroke his cheek, a bold move in a public place.

"This is all you've got?" Marcus asked, as Dooku took the two large suitcases off the conveyor belt, a briefcase strapped under his arm.

Dooku nodded. "Most of my possessions are replaceable." You are not.

"All right." Marcus gave a small nod.

Dooku took a moment to admire him, a feast for hungry eyes - Marcus close to seven feet tall, the long dark hair to the middle of his back teased with a bit of hairspray, wearing a leather trenchcoat over jeans, a matching navy blue scarf and gloves in the chill of February in Berlin. Usual Doc Martens ankle-high black leather boots. His silver eyes were shining, and at the look of love in them Dooku felt almost embarrassed that he'd wondered if this was for real, if Marcus would even be there to pick him up.

Though Marcus preferred to walk or take public transportation around town, he did own a vehicle - a Benz, which had surprised Dooku the first time he'd seen it as Marcus had been living in a very small flat above a bookstore, not exactly a place of luxury. The contrast made Dooku wonder about him again as he got in the car and Marcus began to pull out of the airport parking lot.

"We have to stay in my flat for at least a few more days," Marcus said once they were on the road, looking apologetic about it, "but I have some appointments lined up for us looking at places. I didn't want to just choose one without consulting you."

"I appreciate that, but I'm sure anything you would have picked would be fine." Even a few days living together in the tiny studio apartment, while Dooku waited to start his new job, were going to be a bit difficult. It was one thing to visit there, another thing for two men to try to live there.

Marcus sensed the tension and ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Ja, well..." He glanced at the road, and then back at Dooku. "I also wanted to make sure you were actually coming. That you wouldn't..."

"...Leave you hanging?" Dooku raised an eyebrow.

"Ja."

Dooku let out a little laugh, and at Marcus's annoyed glare, Dooku patted his hand reassuringly and explained, "I'm not making fun of you. I worried the same thing, that you wouldn't be there..." His amused relief made a sharp turn to sorrow. His father's words, Nobody wants you.

Their eyes met. Marcus's attention quickly turned back to the road, as they were on the Autobahn now, and Marcus was necessarily driving faster.

After a moment on the road - Dooku's heart racing, he'd never been in a car going so fast, seeing other cars speeding by - Marcus broke the silence, continuing to look ahead at the Autobahn. "I love you, Nicolae. I... want this life with you."

Dooku swallowed hard. He wanted to say I love you in return, but he was feeling too much at the moment. It seemed as if the car hurtling along on the Autobahn was like a metaphor for his life, going from 0 to over 100 in seconds, the danger of crashing ever-present, the rush exhilarating. And Marcus was the one driving, had charged in and taken command of his heart.

He felt alive. He was a stranger in a strange land, so much of the future uncertain, yet he felt like, at last, he was right where he belonged.

Marcus helped him haul the luggage upstairs to his flat. Once they got in the door they stood there for a moment, looking at each other. As Dooku took off his wool trenchcoat, Dooku watched Marcus's eyes raking him - he'd worn a Regent fit navy pinstripe Brooks Brothers suit and grey-and-blue tie for the trip. His own hair and facial hair were a deeper brown, with the first threads of silver. He was wearing a faint touch of cologne, enough to be fresh on the airplane, not enough to overpower anyone sitting near him. The hungry look in Marcus's eyes made Dooku's mouth dry, and he felt himself start to harden; six weeks without Marcus's touch and now, in his presence, he wanted to guide Marcus's hands over him, as he in turn ran his fingers through that glorious mane -

"Where are my manners?" Marcus was blushing. "Coffee, tea -?"

Dooku found himself grabbing Marcus and kissing him hard. That was what he wanted.

They moaned into the kiss, deep and hungry. Nothing else mattered. Dooku had his hands on Marcus's now and was guiding them just as he'd been wanting to do, shivering at the feel of his touch, wanting those hands on his bare flesh, wanting to feel Marcus's body against his...

Marcus surprised him by undoing his belt right away; it was Dooku's turn to blush as he felt Marcus's fingers on the button and zippers of his trousers, and Marcus kissed him back as he yanked down the trousers and Dooku's briefs. Dooku was fully hard now and he groaned as Marcus's hand wrapped around his cock for just a minute, stroking slowly, thumb tracing the veins, rubbing the frenulum, like Marcus had memorized every detail. "Marcus," Dooku husked. "Darling..."

Marcus dropped to his knees and took Dooku's cock in his mouth, swallowing to the hilt, sucking hard, greedy for it. Dooku groaned, a shiver down his spine, and his hands buried themselves in Marcus's hair. Marcus continued devouring him until Dooku had to lean against the wall, trembling, knees threatening to buckle, panting between moans coming closer together, louder. Marcus let the cock slip from his mouth and gave it a few teasing licks, looking up at him with heat in his eyes as he rasped, "I've been thinking about doing this to you all day." A few more licks, tongue on the slit, swirling around the head, lapping precum that dripped. "Been thinking about this for weeks. You don't know how many times I've brought myself off thinking about you..."

"Probably as much as I've come thinking about you." Dooku's face burned, almost embarrassed by the way he'd been jerking off like a horny teenager over those six weeks apart, mind reliving all of the lovemaking before he left Berlin, and entertaining a few new fantasies.

"Mmmmm." Marcus took Dooku's cock back in his mouth, tongue rubbing as he sucked this time, bad hand reaching to cup and rub the balls.

Soon Dooku was grabbing Marcus's hair, pulling it, fucking his mouth, not able to help himself. That just seemed to make Marcus hungrier for it, making noises of enjoyment as he sucked; Dooku watched Marcus switch hands on his balls, Marcus's bad hand rubbing himself through his jeans, obviously aroused. After a few minutes of being right on that edge, ready to explode, gasping for breath, he let go with a cry, spilling into Marcus's mouth, who responded with another hungry "mmmmm" as Dooku felt him sipping at it, swallowing it, tongue licking him clean through aftershocks.

Marcus came up and kissed him, and Dooku moaned at the taste of himself on Marcus's lips and tongue. He could feel Marcus still hard through his jeans, and Marcus took Dooku's hands and led him away from the door. The couch bed had already been folded out, made as if in anticipation of this. Marcus was undressing now, and Dooku got his own suit off, already ready for another round at the sight of Marcus bare-chested, cock throbbing at the sight of Marcus's hard cock springing free.

Dooku went to work right away, Marcus laying on his back with Dooku's head between his legs, sucking him like his life depended on it, stroking himself as he sucked, starving for a taste of the man he loved, the man I want to spend my life with. Just before Marcus could come in his mouth, he grabbed Dooku's head to pull him off his cock.

"I need you inside me," Marcus gasped. "Now."

Dooku grabbed the lubricant from the small table next to the couch-bed - he had to stop himself from using the Force to pick it up hands-free, not wanting to risk exposure just yet - and he worked slick fingers into Marcus as he took some teasing licks at Marcus's cock before sliding up the length of his body, the two crying out at the feel of their bodies pressed together. He kissed Marcus deeply as he began to push into him, and when he was all the way inside and rested for a moment, they looked into each other's eyes, breathless at the feeling of connection, the intimacy, the way they fit together.

Dooku began to drive into him. He'd wanted the first reunion fuck to be slow, sensual, sweet, but they had all the time for that later. He needed. They both needed. Marcus matched his rhythm, bucking underneath him, nails in his back as they kissed again and again. In the back of Dooku's mind he worried about breaking the folding-out bed of the couch with how hard he was pounding into Marcus, urged on by the desperate cries, the scratching down his back, but we need to buy a proper bed anyway.

He didn't care if they broke the bed, he didn't care if the bookstore owner or other neighbors heard their cries of pleasure, the deliciously obscene slap of their flesh, the sound of man-on-man sex, sweet forbidden fruit. He felt like he was being eaten alive, immolated, in Marcus's passion, his own fire rising within him, wanting this as badly as he'd wanted anything. Marcus was tight and hot and slick and his.

"Nicolae." Marcus was trembling, precum practically pouring out of his cock as Dooku began to stroke it in time with his thrusts. "Nicolae. Liebling. Nicolae..."

"I love you." Dooku kissed him deep and hard, feeling Marcus right there, ready to go off with him. "I love you. I love you. I love you..."

They kissed again, climaxing together, coming hard. Coming home.


_


Ten days later they were settled into their new apartment, a two-bedroom in a four-story apartment building a short walk away from the embassy. Marcus's couch served as a couch again, with a new queen-sized bed that they had happily broken in, and while Dooku was at work at his new job, Marcus had been working on making the apartment feel like a real home, decorating. Dooku was pleased that Marcus had a similar simple-but-elegant aesthetic, and favored the colors of the sea, and seaside motifs, sea-themed decor as he did.

One of the irreplaceable items Dooku had packed and taken on the flight was his collection of shells, driftwood, and sea glass from different beaches, and that went up on a shelf above their bed, along with a framed print of "The Ninth Wave" by Ivan Aivazovsky.

"We should go to the sea sometime," Marcus said, taking Dooku's hand in his as he showed him the arrangement.

"I'd like that." Dooku kissed him. We are so much alike.

"I loved going to the sea as a child. Some of my most vivid memories."

Dooku raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were from Zürich. Switzerland is landlocked, yes?"

Marcus looked away. "People go on holiday, you know."

They had met on Dooku taking a holiday, of course. "Hm." Something about that answer seemed a bit odd, but he wasn't going to let it bother him, as Marcus dragged him out to the kitchen to taste-test a sauce he was making with dinner.

Over the next few weeks they continued to improve on their new home together, and Dooku got adjusted to his new routine of working at the embassy. He found that as much as he'd had a passion for defending the disadvantaged and trying to give them a foot in the right direction, the toxic atmosphere of "good old boy" barristers had been getting to him more than he thought it did, and the embassy was like a breath of fresh air. He worked largely with Europeans who seemed light-years ahead of his largely Tory former co-workers on social issues, and he had found his calling with international law even more than he had with criminal defense.

When he wasn't at work, Marcus continued to show him around Berlin, and helped him practice his German. They liked going to the opera and classical music concerts together, and to different parks and gardens to admire Berlin in the glorious springtime. One night, on the way back from a stroll through a park, they passed by an apartment building where trash was being thrown out on the curb, and Marcus rescued an antique mirror, lugging it up to their apartment. He polished it as Dooku prepared dinner in the kitchen, and when the mirror was ready to fit on top of their dresser they spent some time admiring it together.

"I can't believe someone was throwing that away," Marcus said, frowning.

"It was quite a lucky find." Dooku swallowed hard. "I feel like I was thrown away and you found me, too."

Marcus kissed him hard. "You're my treasure."

Dooku kissed him back, choking up.

He almost expected Marcus to drag him to bed, except dinner was still cooking. "I feel like putting on some music to celebrate," Marcus said as they reluctantly pulled away and Marcus shoved him towards the kitchen.

CDs were coming into vogue, but Marcus was a vinyl purist, and that was yet another thing Dooku appreciated about him. Dooku smiled as he turned over chicken to the sounds of Johann Sebastian Bach.

A few songs by Bach were followed by the vocals of Sebastian Bach, singing with his band Skid Row. Dooku was entertained by that as well, that Marcus could go from opera and classical to rock. His smile broadened as he began to serve dinner, Marcus singing along with "I Remember You".

After dinner Marcus changed the pace yet again, putting on Janet Jackson as he did dishes. Dooku raised an eyebrow over the novel he was reading, and laughed to himself as Marcus sang and wiggled his butt a little to "Nasty".

"I didn't know you were a fan of Janet Jackson," Dooku said when the song was over.

"Ja, I like her." Marcus grinned. "And she's hot."

Dooku narrowed his eyes. "...You're bisexual?"

"I don't like labels." At the look on Dooku's face, Marcus came over and took his hands reassuringly. "I'm with you, silly. You don't need to worry." Marcus pulled Dooku off the couch, then. "Here, dance with me."

They danced around the living room together to "Pleasure Principle" and "When I Think Of You". Dooku felt ridiculous dancing, especially when Marcus was twirling him around and dipping him, but he was ridiculously in love, and ridiculously happy. They grinned and laughed like idiots, and collapsed together in a heap on the couch when the song was over. Dooku pulled Marcus close, petting his hair.

"Let's Wait Awhile" got them kissing, even though the song was about waiting to have sex, and "Funny How Time Flies (When You're Having Fun)" heated things up, with Marcus unbuttoning Dooku's shirt and kissing the exposed flesh, tongue licking the dark chest hair, rubbing his nose in it. But before they could get too hot and heavy, Marcus got up at the end of the song.

"These dishes will never get done if we start now," Marcus said.

"Tease."

Marcus winked on his way back to the kitchen.

Dooku made a noise of frustration, but Marcus was practical, and he couldn't say he faulted him for that. After taking a few deep breaths, Dooku decided he needed to calm the sexual tension screaming through his body with some sort of distraction, and he should probably get out of these clothes anyway, so he made his way to the bedroom to change into his pajamas. He took another good look at the mirror, which really was quite nice, and it occurred to him that Marcus had quite a fondness for glass, which he found interesting. Since they'd moved in to the apartment Marcus had been putting little touches here and there, like the odd stained glass picture or glass sculpture. Dooku wondered about the glass ball he'd seen when things were very fresh and new, and sure enough it was in the living room, resting on top of a bookshelf.

Dooku didn't expect to see anything in it this time around - he'd written the vision off as a fluke, a trick of the mind... and then the colors started to swirl in the dark glass. Once again he saw himself wielding a sword against the hammer-swinging giant, going to his death, determined to take the filth down with him. Somewhere in the distance he heard a scream... Marcus's scream.

Dooku gasped and made himself stop looking at it.

Marcus was coming out of the kitchen now and Dooku pretended he was looking at the vinyl album collection. He didn't know if Marcus knew about whatever the hell was going on with the glass ball, nor did he want to alarm him. The time might come for a discussion about it but tonight he wanted to relax.

They ended the evening making love, falling asleep in each other's arms as usual. Dooku's dreams were not usual - he relived the crystal ball vision, saw himself die, felt it.

Flames. Diamond eyes, extinguished. Then, the past - the one who went up in the flames, alive in his arms, looking like Marcus but somehow not. My love. My breath, my life, my soul. Passion. Hunger.

He was in a garden, then, and Marcus was there, playing a harp. His hair was not teased, and looked even better natural. He sang, bright and beautiful, and the flowers opened, golden light streaming from them, filling the garden. He and Marcus were making love there, then, in the grass, in the light, sweet kisses, delicate touch -

Dooku woke to Marcus stroking his cheek and kissing him tenderly the way he had been in the dream.

"How did you sleep?" Marcus asked.

Dooku didn't want to tell him the exact nature of the strange dreams, which confused him more than anything - a dream was just a dream, right? but it had been so vivid, felt so real. He decided though that some honesty was in order. "A bit troubled. Nightmares."

"The past?"

Dooku hadn't gotten into his full life story with Marcus, but what Marcus knew was enough. And though it wasn't a fully honest answer, it didn't feel like a lie either when Dooku said, "I suppose so, yes."

"Awwww." Marcus pulled him close and pet him. "You want to go away for the weekend, now that the weather is getting a little warmer?"

"Like to the seaside?"

"Ja."

"That sounds lovely."

That weekend they did just that, going off to Rostock. Marcus brought his acoustic guitar and for a few hours he played and sang, including the guitar version of the achingly sad, hauntingly beautiful original composition he'd played for Dooku on the keyboard shortly before their relationship began. It brought tears to Dooku's eyes, flowing more freely as he thought of the dreams, the feeling of love lost that had driven him on a suicide mission of sorts, and love found with Marcus in the garden. Dooku didn't know if all of that had been symbolic or perhaps they'd known each other in a past life, and it wasn't something he wanted to try to poke right now. All he knew was that Marcus's music was making him feel raw and vulnerable, and the mental images of the garden kept coming, something he couldn't shake.

After they made love that night and cuddled together, Dooku said to Marcus, "I have a request."

"Oh?"

"Can you go without the hairspray for at least a few days? I want to see what it looks like."

Marcus did not tease his hair as usual the next day, and Dooku found he did indeed like it better, and even moreso after they'd been back in Berlin a few days and Marcus's hair had regained more of its original shape.

Marcus noticed Dooku admiring it the following weekend and seemed almost shy, yet preened, obviously flattered.

Dooku also felt a little shy - this relationship business was still so very new to him - but feeling bold, he made another request. "May I brush your hair?"

Marcus let him. And it was then that Dooku finally saw it. Marcus had pointy ears.

Marcus was sitting in front of the antique mirror when it happened, and was still and calm, as if he knew this moment had been inevitable, that Dooku would find out about it sooner or later. Marcus's hair normally covered his ears, but there they were.

Dooku thought they were lovely, like the rest of him, but certainly not usual. He didn't want to be insensitive, but alarm bells were going off in his head, like he'd just stumbled upon the reason why his gut gave him odd feelings about Marcus every now and again.

Dooku pulled up a chair and sat next to Marcus, who was still seemingly calm, and Dooku took a long moment of looking at him, and those ears, choosing his words carefully before he spoke. The opener was simple and to the point. "Marcus... you're not from Zürich, are you?"

Marcus took a couple minutes to answer that, seeming to word his own response just as carefully. "I'm as much from Zürich as I am from anywhere else."

Dooku raised an eyebrow. He saw that Marcus was attempting to out-lawyer him. "All right. Let me rephrase this. What are you?"

Their eyes met, and held.

Dooku finally gave him a stern look that said I'm waiting and Marcus gave a resigned little sigh. He dropped the German accent - he now sounded vaguely Latin American, but something told Dooku that he wasn't from South America, either - and said, "Turn off the light and sit back down."

Dooku didn't understand why that was necessary, but he did as he was told.

Marcus started to glow with a silver light all his own, like a lamp turned on. His hair fell from the middle of his back to his thighs. His silver eyes were now iridescent like labradorite, and his flawless complexion was even more flawless.

Dooku gasped, and reflexively made the sign of the Cross, a holdover of his Orthodox upbringing. "Tatăl nostru Care ești în ceruri, sfințească-se numele Tău..."

The voice seemed as a thousand voices, echoing without raising his voice. "I'm not an angel, Nicolae."

Dooku stopped the prayer and just stared, his mouth open. Trembling. Marcus reached out and took his hand, and his skin burned like a fever, but the warmth was not unpleasant.

Marcus's voice was back to its usual timbre, though he still had the not-South-American accent when he spoke. "Some of your kind, those of you who have read certain things, would call me one of the Eldar."

"You..." Dooku laughed in disbelief, yet he couldn't disbelieve it. "You're an Elf?"

"I prefer the term Quendi, but yes. I visited Tolkien and told him of my people. I wanted to preserve their history somehow, since there aren't many like me around if at all, but I also wanted it to be considered as fiction to lower the risk of suspicion as the world advances and it becomes harder to survive as I have."

"Which is how, exactly?"

"I move around from place to place, changing my name. Something close enough to my original name so I don't slip up."

Marcus Lauer. Dooku's eyes widened. "You're Macalaurë?" He facepalmed that it had not been more obvious. Dead family... the scar on his palm... music... the sea...

"You've read the Silmarillion, then."

"I'm less familiar with it than I am with the Lord of the Rings trilogy, but yes, I've read about you." Dooku took a few deep breaths. "I... need a fucking drink."

Marcus laughed, as it was so rarely Dooku used the f-word. He got up, turned the light back on, and came back with two shot glasses of whisky. He wasn't glowing anymore, and his hair was to the middle of his back again instead of down to his thighs.

"No, that doesn't look right," Dooku said. "Your hair, I mean."

"All right." Marcus took a deep breath, and his hair flowed down once more. "Better?"

"I suppose." Dooku's hands shook as he held the whisky glass. "You're beautiful."

"Thank you."

"You're also a goddamn liar." Dooku felt a sudden surge of outrage, and had to keep himself in check to not throw the drink in Marcus's face. "How can I ever believe anything you say ever again -?"

"...I've only lied about where I'm from, and my age, which is... considerably older than thirty-six, thirty-seven. And of course, obviously, pretending that I'm human. But Nicolae." Marcus's voice was husky with emotion now as he took the glass from Dooku's hands and took Dooku's hands in his. "My feelings for you are not a lie. Our life together is not a lie -"

"Isn't it?" Dooku took his hands out of Marcus's and folded his arms. "What happens now? Where do we go from here?"

"Well..." Marcus sighed. He looked down, and ran a nervous hand through his hair, and when he looked up he looked away before he closed his eyes, a long moment of his eyes closed before opening them, and Dooku saw they were too bright, with unshed tears. "I am an Elf, and you are a mortal. This never ends well, and I speak from experience. Experience that I... have not allowed myself to have for a very long time. Keeping people at an arm's length. Wandering endlessly, alone. You changed that. I could not keep you from my heart. But this is not a fairy tale, Nicolae. There are no 'happily ever afters' for me. There never have been. There never will be. I've allowed myself to get attached, to love you, to enjoy this comfort for now, but -"

"But what." Dooku was getting angrier and angrier. He stood up, and started to pace around the bedroom.

"But." Marcus followed him around, even though it was just the same room, and when Dooku leaned over the dresser, palms resting on it, taking more deep breaths in his fresh fury, Marcus's arms came around behind him. "I have moved around a lot. Yes, I am 'from Zürich' in the sense that I lived there before I came here to Berlin. And before that I was in the United States for three centuries, before it was the United States. It's a big country, and it was the days before computers keeping pristine records of everything. Now... it's a brave new world we live in. Harder to disappear one place and resurface another, as I don't age and that rather arouses suspicion. There was enough suspicion that I was picked up by the United States government in 1972. I escaped in 1976 and left the country. Fled to Switzerland. Then here, in '82."

"And?"

"I prefer to not stay someplace more than ten years, now. Seven is even pushing it a little, but I can allow myself ten if things are quiet and I like it there enough. In two years, I will have been in Berlin for ten years and have to think about where I go next."

Dooku sat back down, and so did Marcus.

"Were you ever going to tell me about this?" Dooku asked.

"Probably."

"Probably."

"I knew you'd see my ears eventually, and what I told you about them would depend on what kind of questions you asked. I had a feeling you wouldn't believe it was a birth defect."

Dooku snorted and polished off his whisky. "No, that sounds like something only someone very naïve, head-in-the-clouds, would buy. Besides... there were certain things that set me off. Call it a gut feeling, I suppose, but when you told me you were thirty-six, for example, it sounded right and wrong at the same time."

"Mm. I'm not surprised by that."

"So, Marcus." Dooku took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Marcus? Or should I call you Maglor, Macalaurë..."

"I don't mind either way."

Dooku hadn't decided yet, and went with what he was used to calling him for now. "You said there are no happy endings here, and then got into having to move around..."

"It's a difficult life, Nicolae. Seeing the world sounds like a grand adventure until you're forced to do it by necessity, living like a refugee, never being able to put down roots anywhere or build long-lasting, real connections with people. Having to lie about who you are, where you're from. Sure, I keep as close to the truth as I can get away with, but even little things like saying my name is Marcus Lauer, saying I'm from Zürich, saying I'm thirty-six... it adds up. It's not a life I want to force on you."

"If I hadn't found out about your ears and your..." Dooku made a vague hand gesture. "You-ness. Before 1992, when you'd be in Berlin for ten years..."

"I would have just left. Faked my death, or given some shoddy, shitty explanation for why I was leaving. I'm sorry."

Dooku felt a lump in his throat, and his anger faded to grief, feeling like his entire world was being swallowed whole. He'd found love - real love, a kindred spirit, a soulmate - just for it to be taken away, and as angry as he'd been, he'd rather lose a limb than lose Marcus. Losing Marcus, indeed, felt like losing something more than a limb, like a piece of his soul.

"And now?" Dooku looked down.

"We can either end things now, or we can enjoy ourselves and take what comfort we can in this world, in each other, for the next two years."

"And then you'd just... end it."

"Again, Nicolae, I don't want to make you suffer -"

"So you think you'd spare me suffering by making me suffer anyway. Because that's what it is. You assume you know what's best for me, you think you know what I truly want, but I should get a say in my own feelings about the future. What I really want is you. I don't care if I have to move around every ten years. Besides, would I be the one who'd have to change identities every ten years? You don't age, but I will."

"I suppose you could get away with using the same name and background information, sure, but we'd still have to move around and like I said, it gets old -"

"It maybe gets old to you because, like you said, you keep people at an arm's length. You've been alone for a long time... I shudder to think how long. Longer than I've been alive, most likely, longer than anyone currently alive on this planet has been alive..."

"Even longer than that."

"So of course it's going to look miserable when you don't have companionship. But that changes, now. I will go wherever you go, Marcus, if you let me go with you."

"You have a career..."

"In international fucking law, you arse." Another f-bomb. Dooku needed another drink. "I can take that with me anywhere Britain has an embassy. This is not rocket science here."

Dooku stalked out of the bedroom. Marcus called after him, "Where are you going?"

"Belize," Dooku snapped, irritated that Marcus couldn't realize not far since he was in his pajamas, Marcus who had just made a speech about needing to part ways with him suddenly being concerned where he was going.

Dooku came back with the entire bottle of whisky in one hand, and the glass ball in the other. Marcus's eyebrows shot up when he saw it, but he said nothing. Dooku hadn't planned on saying anything about it tonight if at all, but now that it had come out what Marcus was, Dooku remembered the palantiri from the Silmarillion.

"Nicolae." Marcus's hands were shaking now. "I do love you. I would want nothing more than to spend a lifetime with you. But this is for your own good. You are human -"

"I am not like everyone else, Macalaurë." The name slipped out, finally.

"Well, no. You felt something with my music. You feel more deeply than most people. You're a rare gem -"

Marcus's words were cut off by Dooku using the Force to pick up the bottle of whisky and pour them each a glass. Now it was Marcus's turn for his jaw to drop, and Dooku waved his hand to set the whisky bottle down and float the glass over to him.

"That." Marcus leaned back. "What the Hells did I just see."

Dooku raised his glass without touching it, brought it to his lips. "What, indeed."

"How... how long have you been able to do that..."

"I was born this way. I started using this gift in childhood - it was part of why my parents didn't want me. My father tried to beat it out of me. Didn't work so well. I had a neighbor, a little person from India named Yodha, who took me under his wing before I went off to boarding school. He taught me some basic survival tips, and a word for what this is: the Force, he called it. When I was at Oxford in the late sixties and early seventies, things like Transcendental Meditation were all the rage and I started a daily meditation practice that helps me control and hone my connection to the Force. I've met a few other people like me, but not many. Less than the fingers of one hand. We have to keep our existence a secret, for the same exact reason you do. I've heard the stories of government research with 'psychics'. It's not pretty."

"No, it's not." Marcus brought over his own glass without touching it, then. "This is something I've never seen Men do. Only Elves. And even then... well, my family liked to do things very hands-on." He blushed as soon as those words came out of his mouth, and Dooku thought he saw the flicker of the same vision in the garden. "I mean." Marcus cleared his throat.

"Hands-on, you say."

Marcus didn't give the answer Dooku was looking for, though his blush deepened, knowing what Dooku was asking. "We can move things without touching them, but my father was very tactile and it was the same for all of us. And my uncle was very much about strength training and conditioning - much like you with your own fitness regimen - and you can't build that if you only move things with your mind all the time. And of course, living among Men for so long, this tends to stay dormant by necessity. It's something I can do, but not something I break out very often. Only when I think I need to, to prove a point."

"And your point is?"

"Do you have any Elf in you?"

"I think I had some in me this morning."

Marcus spat his drink. He facepalmed, shaking with silent laughter. "Goddammit, Nicolae."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not." Marcus took his hand away from his face, blushing again, eyes twinkling, crinkled at the corners. He laughed some more, and then he started crying. He used the Force to put his glass down. "This is all too much..."

"It is. And it's not all." Dooku used the Force to raise the glass ball, and it hovered in the air between them. "I keep seeing something in the glass."

"I can't believe that thing still works."

Dooku found the response curious, but didn't press it... yet.

Marcus used the Force to set the glass ball down, and then he cleared his throat. "Dare I ask what you saw."

"My death. I was holding a sword, going after a giant with a hammer... oh no." Dooku had the vaguest recollection of the Silmarillion now. "That was Fingolfin's death. But it felt like mine..."

Marcus made a little noise.

"That... that can't be possible." Dooku frowned. "But I had some strange dreams, too, after I had my second vision of the battle."

"What... were they."

Dooku closed his eyes, remembering. "I was with a man who looked like you but was not you. We were lovers. He died in flames." Fëanor. "And then I was in a garden, and you were playing the harp, and the flowers opened, all golden light, and you were singing to me and we made love..."

Marcus let out a shuddery gasp and then he broke down, crying as brokenly as Dooku had ever heard anyone cry.

Dooku took Marcus's bad hand, thumb tracing the geometric scar burned into his palm. Then Marcus got up, and held Dooku tight.

"Fingolfin."

Dooku also let out a sob. My family was very hands-on, Marcus had said just a few moments ago, and... "So we were..."

"Yes." Marcus took Dooku's chin in his hand, stroked the beard, his eyes fierce. "We were like gods. It was different than it is with humans."

Dooku almost remembered that. Almost. Like the memory was at the tip of brain, waiting to be awakened.

"And we were punished by the Valar. Though as the years have gone on, I don't think it had anything to do with incest at all. It was our pride. It was the creation surpassing the creators." Marcus was sobbing again. "You have Elf blood, that was all they needed to incarnate an Elven soul as Mortal... find you again just to lose you..."

"But you have found me again. And dammit, Marcus... don't leave in two years. I know it will hurt to see me get older, get frail. But please." Dooku was crying again too. "Stay with me. Let us be together while we can be. And maybe we'll find our way to each other again, in another lifetime."

They clung to each other and cried and cried, and at last, went to bed together to hold each other and cry some more.

The flood of tears gave way to fire... fire calling to fire. Dooku's first wave of memories were of the passion he had shared with Fëanor, shared with Maglor, shared with Fëanor and Maglor together. He didn't know where Fëanor was, if they'd ever find each other again, but he knew wherever Fëanor was he'd want them to take care of each other with or without him. And that was what they did, making love to climax after climax, tasting each other, taking turns inside each other until they were shattered, spent, and fell apart crying once more.

Laying there in the dark, Dooku traced Marcus's tears with his fingers, kissed them. "Don't leave," Dooku whispered. "Please."

Marcus sighed, and Dooku felt him nod. "You got me."

They kissed deeply, and took each other's hands, squeezing. Then Marcus pulled Dooku close, pet him, kissed the top of his hair, as Dooku's fingers twined in Marcus's long, long hair like he was clinging to a security blanket, with Marcus wrapping some of it around him as if it was one. Their legs tangled together, hearts beating in the same rhythm, and they rocked each other to sleep.

In the morning, Marcus was still there.

chapter 6 | return to Maglor Fanfic | return to index