The next day Dooku and Maglor did indulge in their usual morning lovemaking before checking up on Sören, though they tried to keep it down for the sake of their guest down the hall. When they arrived in the living room Sören was already dressed and was reading one of the Stephen King novels from the bookshelf.
Sören had to work today - he was a waiter at a restaurant in Greenwich, where he had been living before moving in with Justin. He worked approximately 15 hours a week, which had been enough for Justin, but wasn't quite going to cut it if he was going to get a place of his own, and Sören talked about asking his boss for more hours over breakfast, "since it's not like I'm really making art right now anyway."
Dooku felt some anxiety about Sören going in to his usual place of employment, but Sören assured them he'd be fine, and insisted on taking the Tube there and back rather than having Dooku or Maglor drive him. Dooku and Maglor did insist that Sören program their numbers into his cell phone - which Sören had kept off the last couple of days, and upon turning it on winced to see there were a number of missed calls from Justin. Dooku once again felt that hot surge of rage as Sören played his voice mail on speakerphone, with message after message filled with verbal abuse from Justin. A few messages had Justin tearful and contrite - crocodile tears, Dooku thought bitterly - saying "baby come back" and attempting to apologize, "I'll make it up to you", and Sören cried at these.
"Don't go back to him," Maglor urged when the voice mails were done.
"I won't." Sören closed his eyes, hand pressed to forehead as he used the Force to slip the cell phone back into his pocket. Dooku could feel him remembering, and in his mind's eye he could see it - Sören painting and Justin coming in and throwing his canvas across the room, smearing it, knocking over his table of art supplies. Sören cowering, shivering as Justin hit him over and over. The bruises, Justin holding ice to them, tenderly apologizing, saying he'd never do that again. And of course he did. "I've been through this song and dance before. I... I'm done." He swallowed hard.
After Dooku had been in the kitchen at Doi Capaci for just over an hour and a half, the phone call came. It was Sören's number. "I have to take this," he told Natalia apologetically, who nodded, and Dooku stepped off to the side. "Sören, hello."
"N-Nico?"
"Yes. Sören. How's work going?"
A quaver. "He showed up..."
Of course he fucking did. Dooku's feeling of anxiety before Sören left had proved correct. With a sharp sigh, Dooku said, "Is he still there?"
"He tried to drag me off, telling me 'you're coming home now', and I... I shoved him, with my mind. I don't think too many people saw, or would have thought much of it if they did, but I ran. I caught a bus and just kind of blanked out and got off wherever. I don't know where I am..."
"Did he follow you?"
"Probably not? I don't know." Sören started sobbing. "I'm lost. I don't know where the fuck I am, or how to get back..."
"All right, Sören, Mark and I both know London pretty well. Can you see any street signs or landmarks?"
Judging from what Sören told him, Sören had made it to Kingston upon Thames. Dooku gave him directions to the Druid's Head. "Wait there and we'll be out to you shortly."
Dooku was only working the afternoon today and would have the evening off, but he cut his shift even shorter, after he placed the call to Maglor, who had the Jaguar and had the entire day off. Maglor stopped at Doi Capaci and then they drove from Bermondsey into Kingston upon Thames, parked the car, and walked down to the Druid's Head, where Sören was a wreck. They led Sören to the car, and took him home.
Sören's boss had been calling, and Sören had not answered it, and now played his voice mail on the way back. Unsurprisingly, Sören had been fired for running off while he was still on the clock.
"It's just as well," Maglor said. "Justin knows where you work. He showed up there."
"I had a bad feeling that he would, and that gut feeling was right. That will teach me to think I'm worrying too much." Dooku scowled.
"I'm sorry. I..." Sören sobbed some more.
When they arrived at the house in Bermondsey, Maglor finally did what he'd been wanting to do and had been holding back, giving Sören a tight hug. Sören accepted it, his arms encircling Maglor, who pulled him close and stroked his curls, making soothing noises as he pet Sören and rocked him a little, looking at Dooku with angry tears in his eyes. Dooku quietly came over and hugged both of them, and without thinking about it, planted a gentle kiss on the top of Sören's head. He felt protective of him, and ached for the younger man, desperately wanting him to feel safe, and knowing that it would be a long road to getting there.
"All right Sören, sit down." Dooku reluctantly pulled away, and gestured to the armchair.
Dooku made tea, and came back with the tea service. Dragos came out to see his people, and Maglor picked up the cat and put him on Sören's lap, giving Dragos a few pets and affectionately tousling Sören's curls before sitting back down on the couch. Dooku sat beside him.
He used the Force to serve their tea, and then after a moment of quietly sipping tea and relaxing a little, Dooku said, "We'll help you find another job."
Sören frowned. "That's easier said than done. I'm an immigrant, I don't have a degree... well, not one I can use."
Maglor raised an eyebrow. "So you did go to university."
"I went to med school. I had a nervous breakdown during my internship, after losing a patient." Again. Dooku could see it in his mind's eye - Sören was traumatized by witnessing death. Suddenly, a small boy, finding a dead woman laying on a couch... Dooku felt like he was being gently nudged out of Sören's mind, Sören aware of the intrusion in his heightened emotional state. "I started making art while I was in hospital and it just stuck with me, or it did till I lived with Justin."
Dooku heard Justin's voice in Sören's head. Your art's stupid, ugly. It'll never sell. I don't know why you waste your time on this shit -
Sören sighed, staring at his boots. "Anyway... I've been working as a barista or a waiter all these years. I wasn't living alone, I had roommates. Lived with my sister, until." His voice trailed off, as if that was a delicate subject. "Then I came here and I was trying to manage in a single room occupancy till I met Frankie, and her aunt hired me at her coffee shop in Greenwich. And that was OK till..." His eyes misted and his jaw trembled.
"Here in Bermondsey, there's a number of places right within walking distance and at least one of them is usually hiring," Dooku said, but he wasn't satisfied with telling Sören that.
"My boss just fired me. You think he's gonna give me a good reference? I doubt that very much." Sören pursed his lips.
He's right. Maglor folded his arms. "I don't know what you think about the possibility of working for me, at my record shop in Croydon... I'll give you flexible hours..."
"Which one is that again...?"
"The Wax Museum."
Sören cringed. "Frankie and I definitely did go there... she had a huge vinyl collection and she liked to take me to vinyl records shops everywhere, and... and..." Sören put his tea down and lost it. Dragos made a chirp of alarm and stood on his hind legs, paws on Sören's chest, licking the tears on his face, which made Sören laugh and scoop up the cat, petting him, but he was still weeping, so brokenly that it brought tears to Dooku's own eyes.
"Sören, forgive me for asking, but... what happened to Frankie?" Dooku asked.
Sören took a deep breath. "October. Hit-and-run driver. Police still haven't found the guy... girl... whatever. Her aunt Siobhan, who owned the coffee shop in Greenwich, closed up and flew herself back to Northern Ireland - she and Frankie's mum came in the 80s during the Troubles, after their brother got killed - and Siobhan took Frankie with her to Belfast for treatment there. I talk to her once in awhile but recovery is really slow going, she's had a traumatic brain injury and..." Sören let out a sob.
Dooku used the Force to pass over the box of tissues. "Takk," Sören said, taking a wad. He peered at the box and said, "God, I've used so many of your Kleenex, I need to replace this box..."
"Please don't worry about it." Dooku sipped his tea. "So..."
"So... I didn't just lose my best friend, mostly, but I lost my job, my place to live. That was when I had to move in with Justin. He'd been after me to move in with him for awhile and I was wary of it - actually I was trying to break up with him just before Frankie's accident..." Sören gave a sad smile. "We were at a pub, he had some of his mates with him and I wanted to bring Frankie along, and Justin got kind of aggressive with me at the pub and it wasn't the first time Frankie had witnessed him abusing me and she shoved him and knocked him over, kicked him in the balls, broke a bottle over his head and told him next time he laid a hand on me she'd break all of his fingers. Completely humiliated him in front of his friends, he got all the 'you got your arse kicked by a girl' comments... she's this little five-foot thing, balls of steel. Couldn't say I was unhappy about it either, I was pissed at him and very much wanted to be done. She tried to reason with me about leaving him when we got back home that night and then a couple weeks later... the accident. The coffee shop closed down because of the family emergency, and I was up shit's creek with no job, no roommate, and there was Justin to the rescue..."
Dooku and Maglor exchanged glances. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Maglor spoke into Dooku's mind.
I worked criminal law too long to not be thinking what you're thinking, Macalaurë. It was so obvious, and yet somehow Sören didn't see it, or perhaps wasn't letting himself see it, as he had enough horror without the additional of processing that. He didn't even know Frankie - though he could feel how much Sören cared for her, in the Force - but Dooku fought the urge to get up, calmly drive to Justin's flat in the West End, and kill him.
"Anyway..." Sören's smoky voice interrupted Dooku's murder fantasy. "I know I sound like an idiot for turning it down, but working at The Wax Museum is just gonna remind me of Frankie and that'll be too sad..." He let out another sob, and used the last of the Kleenex in the box.
"I understand." Maglor patted him.
"It's so stupid." Sören shook his head. "I'm stupid... Justin is right about me being too sentimental, too much of a crybaby, but I miss Frankie so much, and it hurts... it's been months and it's still so fucking raw... and I'm an idiot, I know I won't be able to get hired somewhere easily having been fired, my boss isn't gonna give me a good reference..."
"Well..." Dooku took a deep breath and pressed his hands together, like he was praying. "I have a bit of a solution, if you're open to it."
Sören looked at him, and Dooku felt the suspicion on his face - Sören had learned to be wary of easy answers and things that sounded too good to be true, because they usually were. It was making Sören wary of this entire arrangement they had, even though Dooku and Maglor genuinely wanted to help him, and they were his best chance at getting back on his feet. Even now Dooku could feel Sören wanting to run away, not knowing where he'd go, afraid to trust again...
"Come work for me," Dooku said.
Sören raised an eyebrow.
"It doesn't have to be waitstaff, either, if you find dealing with the public too stressful right now, which I would if I were in your shoes. Actually, being in my kitchen would be your best bet, because if down the road you decide to work elsewhere, you'll have culinary experience under your belt - I'm sure you've seen the acclaim for my restaurant - and barring something intentionally catastrophic happening I'd give you a glowing recommendation to any chef you wanted to work for."
Sören laughed - it wasn't a funny, amused laugh, it was a bitter laugh. "Justin says I'm a shitty cook."
"He also says Mark is a shitty harpist. I was observing all of... that, yes. And judging from what I could see of the art he ruined, you're not a shitty artist whatsoever, he destroyed some gorgeous work. So I don't think Justin is the best judge of taste here."
Dooku could see it in his mind's eye, Sören trying to be helpful and "earn his keep", working hard to cook things Justin said he liked, even baking cookies and muffins to express the caring that Justin didn't deserve, hearing everything from the faint praise of it's edible to the cold sneer of this is fucking garbage, throwing out an entire tray or pot of food after a few bites. Justin seemed to lay on the worst of the insults for when Sören had gone to the most trouble, and it was clear from what Dooku could see that it wasn't about Sören's cooking capabilities at all. It was painfully unfortunate Sören himself didn't understand that.
"And, well," Dooku gestured to Sören. "Even if he happened to be right and your cooking was awful, which I highly doubt, you're going to be retrained anyway, because what you do in a professional kitchen is a bit different than what is done at a kitchen at home. So don't let what he told you stand in your way of accepting the offer. Not that you should pay that wretched fiu de târfă any mind, anyway..."
Sören let out a sharp exhale and leaned back in his chair. "OK." He gave a small smile. "He did say your cooking was bad, and I tasted it, it's not bad at all." He raised an eyebrow. "Will I be learning your recipes?"
"Yes."
"Then you've got yourself a deal, because the meal I had at Doi Capaci was amazing and I'd love to be able to make that." Sören's smile became a pout. "It's too bad I didn't get to finish the papanași -"
"Would you like me to make that for dessert this evening?" Dooku wanted to do something nice for him.
Sören's eyes lit up. "If you don't mind..."
"I don't mind at all. It would be my pleasure."
Dooku had to go to the store to get ingredients for that, and Maglor came along as he often did, and Sören decided to go with them to try to get his mind off things. Before going to the supermarket Dooku stopped at a place where Sören could get a few uniforms for the kitchen, and when Sören was trying things on and came out to model for them, he couldn't help admiring the way Sören looked in them - it seemed Sören would look good in anything - and already he seemed to stand a little taller, a little less of the submissive, beaten body language that he'd had before. Dooku knew, of course, that it might not last as Sören struggled with his trauma, but at least he had a small piece of hope to hold onto for now.
While Dooku cooked, Maglor played on the piano for awhile, letting Sören watch, and when Dooku came out to let them know dinner was ready, Sören was absolutely rapt, staring at Maglor like he was watching a rock star. Sören gave a standing ovation and whistled when the performance was over; Maglor grinned at him and Sören blushed, giving that shy, sweet smile that took Dooku's breath away.
Dooku made the ciulama de pui that Justin had put down, and Sören marveled, "I can't believe he didn't like this. It's so good."
"Well, thank you." Dooku took a sip of wine. "I certainly try."
"I can't wait to learn how to make this. Then one of these nights you'll have to let me cook for the both of you, to say thank you."
"Don't worry about any of that just yet." Dooku patted him. "Right now, let's focus on getting you where you need to be."
They watched The Lion King after dinner and papanași for dessert, at Sören's request upon browsing their DVDs. Dooku and Maglor stole the occasional kiss during romantic moments with Simba and Nala, and the look of longing in Sören's eyes made his heart break for the young man all over again.
After the movie Sören decided it was time to retire for the evening, and they made up his couch bed. "Do I start tomorrow?" Sören asked.
Dooku nodded. "How does 25 hours a week sound, to start?"
"OK."
"I wanted to give you enough hours to be able to earn a living while still having time to pursue your art again, should you come out of this block." I sincerely hope you do. "I work 40 hours, sometimes 50 hours during busier times of year. You'd be working whenever I'm on and it makes sense for us to start at the same time, with me bringing you into work, but you'd have to go home by yourself or wait for me to finish, or Mark can bring you home if he's available. I can draw up a more formal schedule for you tomorrow, as I work on the schedule for the other cooks." Dooku then told Sören how much he'd be making an hour and Sören's eyes widened.
"That much? That's... that's too much money. You don't have to pay me that much...."
"That's the minimum of what I pay junior chefs. You'll be making more as you put in time and get seniority."
"That's. Wow. Holy shit. That's more money than I've ever made in my life. That's a lot."
Dooku wanted to scream with frustration that Sören considered that "a lot", wondering what kind of privation he'd endured in his life, but he held back, with a small, sad sigh.
"Thank you." Sören was using the English for it rather than the Icelandic takk, and Dooku knew that meant it was a huge deal to Sören, who took his hand. "I appreciate this, so much."
"Well, don't thank me just yet. You may be a friend, but I have high standards for quality and hygiene, I run a very tight ship, and the dinner rush where we need all hands on deck is going to be like being thrown into the deep end of the pool when you don't know how to swim. You'll find I pay what I do for a reason, because you're going to earn every penny of it. I'll do what I can to ease you into it, but..."
"I need this." Sören set his jaw. "I need to feel like I'm capable of something, if that makes any sense."
"It does." You are so much better than you think you are, Sören Sigurðsson.
Looking back years later, Dooku would realize it was that moment when he'd fallen in love with him, the fighting spirit that refused to give up and die just yet... imperishable.