Disclaimer: I do not know Elijah Wood or Viggo Mortensen in any way, shape or form. I cannot know Doctor Hannibal Lecter as he does not, as far as I am aware, exist outside of the imagination of the great Thomas Harris.
Summary: Elijah runs from the wolves. Doctor Lecter is waiting.
Pairing: EW/VM Rating: This Chapter is PG15. Warnings: Slightly AU. Violence. Dark Themes. Off the wall.
Feedback: Yes please.
AN: This just cried out to me: Be assured this is meant to be rather tongue in cheek and camp, not a horror fest, though there is danger and an underlying exploration of relationships and the media. Thank you. Setting: Late autumn in the run up to "The Return of the King" and immediately before the events of "Hannibal", which I have tampered with to suit my purposes, because that is how I am.
The chapter headings are quotations from Dante.
"..and when asked whether it was true that he was secretly married to Viggo Mortensen in Venice, the young actor stunned reporters by confirming the rumour. However, when asked the same question, Viggo Mortensen allegedly smashed a camera and then punched the photographer, who subsequently required several stitches. Mortensen, also a star of `Lord of the Rings' called the rumour a `pack of lies' and stormed off. He has since been holed up in his hotel, the-"
Viggo reaches for the remote control to make it go away.
"..Elijah Wood, meanwhile, shook off pursuers and has not been seen for several hours.."
Viggo flicks off the TV and lies back on the bed. Forty-eight hours earlier he had been in a similar bed with Elijah, complete. He is a fool and a coward. He had panicked. And now the man he loves is out there - alone.
Elijah feels almost physically sick. All the emotions of the past forty-eight hours have come crashing in on him. The indescribable joy, the love, the promises. Then the flipside.
He will use the telephone, call his agent, get someone to pick him up. It will need to be someone who knows the city and can avoid the press. He will never be so stupid again. He will never give his trust so freely again. He will never talk to reporters again. He will never believe anyone ever again.
"We are here," Elijah's benefactor announces quietly and again Elijah is struck by the authority of this man. If he wonders about the wisdom of entering a strange apartment in a strange city with a total stranger, Elijah dismisses the thought. The worst has already happened.
He enters the apartment and is immediately struck by how very old it is. It has that air of achingly beautiful decay he has seen elsewhere in Florence. Viggo had spent several days, before their special day, trying to instil in him an appreciation of the complexities of renaissance art and architecture. He thinks, fleetingly, that Viggo would have loved this place. It is cool, lofty and aesthetically pleasing.
It fits its owner perfectly. As Elijah considers all this, his eyes raised to the painted ceiling, the door is softly closed behind him.
"Would you like to telephone first or take some tea?" He is startled by the voice so close to his ear.
"Er, tea would be very nice, thank you," he replies, looking into those strange, glowing eyes.
"I am Dr. Fell, by the way." The older man smiles and extends his hand. Elijah finds the grip cool and firm.
"Pleased to meet you, Doctor, " he says. Doctor? He should have known.
There may be times when forces outside of the normal, explained world, conspire to work to perform miracles. If that is the case, then such forces now assemble, if only temporarily, to preserve the life of Elijah Wood. Perhaps they had already been marshalled many years ago when his mother drilled into him the importance of good manners. The Doctor appreciates good manners.
"I am Elijah Wood, but I guess you knew that already, if that isn't being presumptuous?" Elijah smiles, trying to relax, but it's difficult. He wants to drink his tea, make his call and be out of there.
Dr. Fell doesn't answer the question, merely stares for a moment, then he smiles and gestures to a comfy chair in the middle of the room.
"Make yourself at home. I have to fetch the telephone in here. There is only one apparatus and it is my study." Elijah has never heard anyone call a telephone an "apparatus" before. It's kind of sweet and old fashioned. The Doctor has small, white teeth, Elijah notices, but his smile doesn't extend to his eyes.
Elijah wanders around the room, fingering the impressive books on their ornate stands, allowing his small hands to softly tinkle the keys on the piano. It is a curious room - dark and yet, not at all gloomy, old and yet, not dead. Dead. A strange word to spring unbidden to the mind of a twenty-two year old.
"Here is your tea. There is milk and sugar if you need it, please help yourself," says the Doctor, and Elijah is once again unsure how a person can get so close without him sensing his presence. His host is, in fact, hovering at his elbow, carrying a silver tray with china cups and a rather beautiful simple teapot. The Doctor's eyes are so close to his own that they could almost mingle eyelashes.
"Thank you," Elijah says and he stumbles backwards into a big armchair. The Doctor virtually pirouettes on his small feet as he sets the tray down on a polished table beside his guest. Elijah wants out. He looks to the door and then surreptitiously at the impressive clock on the wall.
"Actually, Dr. Fell, I really should be going. Perhaps if I could just use the telephone?" he asks, smiling, half-rising from his chair.
"I wouldn't hear of it, you must have your tea. Then I will bring the telephone to you. Here, it's very good," says the Doctor, and there is that wink again.
Elijah forces himself to relax into the big chair and accepts the china cup and saucer. The Doctor has small hands but they are agile and Elijah senses they are strong. Viggo. Viggo has strong hands too. Hands that caress and smooth and probe Elijah's flesh, igniting him, consuming him.
"The reporters," says the Doctor, "why are they in pursuit of you?" He sits very upright and contained in his chair. Elijah thinks he may be paranoid. The man is just being kind, concerned.
"You haven't seen the news? I assumed everyone has, but that's rather arrogant of me. I'm an actor," Elijah pauses to sip his tea from his elegant cup. "I made the mistake of answering questions, well, one question in particular. Should have kept quiet."
Elijah finishes his tea and waits for a reaction from the Doctor. He is unsure whether to feel relieved at his lack of curiosity or peeved. The Doctor simply sits, smiling and making no move whatsoever to fetch the telephone. After a moment, Elijah decides enough is enough. If he doesn't make a move soon he will never leave this place.
He cannot leave this place.
He is rooted to the spot.
The Doctor reaches over and gently removes the cup from the frozen hand of his guest. Only Elijah's eyes are able to move, and move they do, from side to side, flickering, feral. He breathes normally, of course. The Doctor knows his drugs, his dosages; he never makes a mistake.
"You are unable to move. That much is obvious. Your heart is beating a little faster than normal, Elijah, but it is beating. Your lungs are working perfectly. Your brain is unaffected. Your mouth may start to feel dry, but not for a little while yet. You can open and shut your eyes. Do that for me now, please.."
Elijah complies, his eyes squeezing shut and open again, three times for good measure.
"Good. We can start then", says the Doctor, amiably. He hums a little tune as he gathers up the tea things and saunters casually from the room. As he goes, he notices that a book which Elijah has been looking at, touching, has been left out of position on its ornate lectern, and he carefully nudges it back into place.
In his chair, Elijah Wood sits because that is all he can do. And he blinks.
"Viggo", is his only rational thought.