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.
"Viggo, I`m telling you. Damage limitation," his manager is insistent, his voice rasping down the telephone, "deny everything! Let Elijah's management look after him, let me look after you. For God's sake! You went through some fucking marriage ceremony with the guy? You lost your grip on reality, Viggo?"
Viggo lets the man rant on. He has known him for years, has always trusted him but never liked him. He knows the advice is good. Walk away. Deny everything. Cut Elijah loose. He can do that. It's not too late.
But that would mean losing him forever. And didn't he just make a commitment to love him forever, to take the bad with the good?
When he made his vows in the tiny chapel, Elijah's small hand in his, he had meant every word. A new beginning. Elijah had split from Dominic and Viggo had been the good friend to them both. He never meant to fall in love with the little guy. Never. But fall he did. And after six months of sex, of phone calls, of constant companionship and lying to family and friends and most of all to the press, they decided to commit. People commit all the time, don't they? And what better place to do it than in Italy. With just a couple of their closest friends, non-actors. And a beaming, non- denominational priest who was very happy to give his blessing to the non-religious couple, as he had done for other gay couples before them. They made their vows from the heart, unrehearsed and unscripted.
Viggo remembers the ceremony, the joy, the flushed look on Elijah's young face and Elijah's lips. And afterwards, that night there was the bliss, of exploration and ecstasy. They had pushed back the boundaries; they were greedy for each other. Slow kisses, tenderly given and received, soon giving way to frantic caresses, to possessing and being possessed. After six months of making love whenever their schedules allowed, he had been amazed that they could make it so new, but they did..
Then the beaming, non-denominational priest had gone drunkenly round to the offices of the biggest newspaper in Italy and sold his story for enough money to ensure that his days of officiating same-sex marriages were at an end.
Viggo listens to his manager for a moment longer, to the plans for travelling back to the States, the statements he will make, the long-term strategy. He disconnects the phone mid-sentence and pulls on his jacket.
The man he loves, his partner, is out there. His place is out there, too. Elijah.
The Doctor has turned off the lights and has lit candles. They give the room an eerily authentic glow. Elijah, trying to focus on something good and true, thinks Viggo would appreciate the ambience, the fluid tones of light and shade. Sadly, it doesn't take his mind off what is happening to him for very long.
"Elijah. I am going to adjust the restraints. When I do, you will be able to move a little. You will behave, won't you?" asks the Doctor.
"Yes, I will." Elijah replies, surprisingly evenly, given the circumstances.
In the last few minutes the feeling has returned to his body and his tongue is working again. Whilst Elijah was paralysed, the Doctor had removed Elijah's jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his expensive cashmere sweater. Then he had expertly bound him to the chair, working his agile, strong fingers to buckle the leather around his captive, pinioning the wrists securely. Now, Elijah can feel again but the feeling brings with it pins and needles and icy dread. He is afraid, deeply afraid, but strangely calm. This is partly because of the Doctor's low, soothing voice, which gentles him as he works the straps. Their faces have come very close on several occasions and each time Elijah experiences a tiny electric shock.
"You are concerned I am going to injure you?" The Doctor speaks very softly. "It is a possibility. But it is not inevitable, Elijah. Not inevitable at all. Right now all I really want to do is explore your - rage."
Elijah swallows. He looks down at the black leather restraints that contrast strikingly with the white skin of his bare arms.
"My rage? I don't feel rage." Elijah is genuinely puzzled. He licks his lips nervously and tries to work out what this man wants with him. He hasn't undressed him beyond that top layer, or touched him anywhere private; apart from the restraints he has not hurt him at all. But this man is dangerous. Elijah feels he ought to know something about him: there is something there at the back of his mind, a tingle of information, which refuses to percolate into usefulness.
"You may not feel it at this moment because it is submerged by fear, but it is there," says his host. "Tell me what has happened to cause you to harbour something so dark and interesting as rage, Elijah. I am in need of entertainment and it has been sadly lacking in this fair city. The citizens of Florence vent their pettiness and their anger in the public arena, they have no need to internalise their emotions. It is all there for anyone to see. It leaves me with a dilemma: there is no challenge."
The Doctor leans very close into Elijah and lays a finger on his arm. Despite himself, Elijah shivers and he has a flash of memory - his mother with flour on her hands on a sunny day. It lasts only a second. If he is going to die then he wants to see his mother in his mind the instant his heart stops beating. He will hold that image.
Elijah clears his throat and tries to sound as calm as he can. He senses that how he acts in the next minutes will have a direct bearing on his life expectancy. He considers elaboration, subterfuge, embellishment. Considers and rejects. He opts for honesty. It's a wise choice.
"I am in love, Doctor. As simple as that. And I committed to that person. With all my heart and soul. And the fact is that the person I love just didn't make the leap of faith with me." He breathes out and checks the reaction of the man in he chair across from him. In the candlelight, the Doctor's eyes are the colour of the Devil's teardrops.
Lecter nods imperceptibly, probing the face of the young man. Those eyes are quite compelling, glistening in the iridescent glow of a dozen tiny candles. He has seen eyes like those before, but never by the softening kiss of candlelight, sadly.
A leap of faith - the concept appeals to him. He files it neatly away for future reference.
"Carry on. Tell me everything. This other "person". It's a man, isn't it?" he softly urges.
"Yes. He is. A man. Older than me. We met through work, became friends. I had another - " Elijah hesitates to say boyfriend because he instinctively feels the Doctor will wince at the word and he wants to avoid irritating this man at all costs - "lover at the time. I believed I was in love with him. This lover, the first one, made me believe that he felt the same way. We broke up. I was, well, more successful than him and he began to resent me, I think."
Lecter stands and for one dreadful second Elijah expects to feel a blow to the head or a slash to his throat. He has said the wrong thing! But the Doctor is reaching for a glass of water and holding it to Elijah's lips, gently urging him to sip. He realises with a start that he is, indeed, very dry-mouthed and is ridiculously grateful for the kindness.
"Thank you," he says and the Doctor nods.
"Carry on. You are doing very well," the Doctor makes it sound as if Elijah is a promising child attempting some tricky piece of Latin homework.
"We broke up, my lover and me, and this other man stepped out of the shadows. He came to my rescue. He was suddenly there, making me feel that there was hope. He was patient, very patient. To cut a long story short-"
"No!" The Doctor raises his voice for the first time and Elijah grimaces.
"I will tell you when you can cut your story short. Please," he recovers his equilibrium and waves Elijah on, "continue. I need the detail, all of it. We have plenty of time."
Elijah is unsure if this is a good sign or not. He swallows and begins again. "Well, he was there. Never pushing it, just such a good friend. And then we went on a trip together to the mountains, to a cabin he has up there. Six months ago. He taught me how to fish; he caught a dozen and I caught none. It didn't matter. We talked into thenight and when dawn broke we were in bed."
Elijah pauses. He blinks and looks down at the restraint on his arm. He needs to pee, but he is afraid that if he broaches the subject the mood will break and the Doctor will realise what a boring specimen he has under his microscope.
"Do you want all the details, Doctor?" he asks, squirming in his seat.
"I am well acquainted with the act of homosexual love," is the reply and Elijah is unsure if that means the Doctor is a practising homosexual or has simply read up on the literature. The idea that he might be experienced in the same acts which Elijah has come to think of personally as his own makes him feel incredibly uncomfortable. The Doctor, lube in his hand, a come hither look in those flaming eyes...
Elijah shudders deeply, dismissing the image, and tries to focus on staying alive.
"We made love for the first time in the cabin. He was totally different to Do-, to my previous lover. He made me feel alive, as if all my nerve endings had finally joined up and were transmitting the right messages for the very first time. I knew I loved him. He said he felt the same. And then a month ago he started to talk about commitment and marriage. I was unsure, being much younger than him."
Elijah mentally wants to kick himself. Has he insulted the Doctor with the age reference? The Doctor must be years older than Viggo. But there is no backlash. Elijah has by now completely made up his mind that if it comes down to it he will go down on Doctor Fell. Hell, he will open up his legs and stick his ass in the air for Doctor Fell. He will survive this. Whatever it takes.
The good Doctor has made a steeple of his fingers and is studying his young guest. The young man has spirit. He tells a coherent story, avoids self-justification and appears to be disarmingly honest. He also has eyes like crystals and the Doctor can see the pulse in his neck, thrumming madly.
He is a masculine Clarice. Well, in many ways Clarice is more masculine than this young man but they are nevertheless alike -apart from those eyes, they are both, in their own ways, victims of the media. The Doctor has been following events in the States, watching with a connoisseur's eye the unfolding trials and tribulations of FBI Special Agent Clarice Starling. The media pants for her blood as it now seems to yearn for Elijah's.
The Doctor recalls the reason for this whole thing. He wants to practice psychiatry again but that is out of the question. He is a fugitive. At one time he was on the Most Wanted List of the FBI. Those were happy days. Perhaps he will start a new career. Kidnap a series of neurotics, treat them, make them whole again: then butcher them, dispose of the bodies, retain a succulent body part from each case as a knot in his mental handkerchief. He could write up the notes and post them to the more discerning professional journals. Or the Good Food Guide, perhaps. Back to the matter in hand.
"So your lover, this Grizzly Adams with his fishing rod and his rustic cabin, he pressed for commitment?" asks the Doctor, and Elijah is surprised at the sarcasm in the question but wisely ignores it.
"Yes, he did. But I wanted to wait. I wanted to find the right time to come out to the world and this didn't seem to be it. I just wasn't sure. I loved him, but I wasn't sure about jeopardising my career, or his." Elijah is desperate now to go to the bathroom but he is terrified to ask.
"Elijah, I am going to release you," says the Doctor. He has made the name Elijah sound melodic, as if he likes to roll it round on his tongue. He seems to be a man who likes to taste everything. Elijah blinks. "Release me?" he asks. Is this a trick? Is this it?
"You need to use the lavatory. I certainly don't want you to damage those kidneys, Elijah." the Doctor bends to unbuckle the restraint.
"It's down the hall, first on the left. Everything you need should be there. I could make us more tea, perhaps?" The Doctor removes the last strap and Elijah's wrist is suddenly free. He stares at it as if it belongs to someone else entirely. The skin is marked where the strap has dug in, an angry red against purest white.
"Thank you, Doctor Fell," Elijah says, though tea is the last thing he wants, and he gets warily to his feet. He has to squeeze past the Doctor to get by and the physical contact is like a dozen beestings. The Doctor does not move to accommodate him and Elijah finds himself an inch from eyes that are capable of stripping paint. "Viggo. Come get me," thinks Elijah, desperately.
"I have no intention of kissing you, Elijah, your pretty mouth notwithstanding," says the Doctor, unblinking, and there is that strange half-smile again. Elijah realises stupidly that he has leaned in, drawn like Boromir to the Ring, and has to pull back. One second he had been thinking of Viggo and the next...
"I... I didn't ... forgive me," Elijah is blushing as he finally edges past the other man and down the little hallway to the bathroom. He glances left and right to see if there are any other exits but, of course, there are none.
Inside the spacious, antiseptically clean bathroom, Elijah leans against the door and exhales. With trembling fingers he feels for a bolt, to no avail. He is safe, however, even for a moment. He is on this side of a very thick, heavy white door and the Doctor is on the other side. But he has little time to think. He really does need to pee.
For a minute he cannot make himself do it; his body shakes uncontrollably and he feels as if he might vomit into the toilet bowl. Then he manages, and the relief is unbelievable.
There is a light rap at the door.
"The tea is ready when you are," the Doctor's voice is cheery through the wood, and Elijah almost expects him to whistle. His head is clearing now, enough to take stock. He is alive but he is cooped up in an apartment with a very civilised homicidal maniac. He should be cooped up in a hotel room with a very uncivilised *sex* maniac - the man with whom he exchanged vows just forty eight hours earlier. He wonders if Viggo is still in the country. He might be on his way to the airport even now, moving further away from him, if that was possible. His anger has subsided into pure need. He needs Viggo's strength.
"Elijah?"
"Thank you, Doctor Fell, will be along in a minute" he replies, trying to sound as casual as possible. He looks around wildly. There is a window but it is tiny and very high up, over ten feet by the look of it. Fuck these Florentine hellholes. He feels hobbit-sized in here.
"Elijah, come on out, there's a good fellow," it is a voice that will brook no refusal, and Elijah knows he cannot disobey. Quickly, absurdly, he washes his hands and notes the various lotions and creams, the cologne and oils. And a razor. In a glass. An old fashioned cutthroat razor.
Emerging cautiously from the bathroom, Elijah finds the Doctor waiting for him, smiling kindly. He guides him very gently back to the chair. He seems content to leave the restraints off, for which Elijah is very grateful. He tries to smile at the Doctor, a non-committal kind of friendly smile, but his insides are turning to chopped liver.…
"Now, shall we begin again? You committed yourself to this man after he persuaded you he loved you. It was his idea, the coming out?" Doctor Fell manages to make the words "coming out" sound like "invading Poland".
Elijah cringes in the big chair. He glances at the clock on the wall and it is now apparent that his life expectancy is ticking away with the little hand, tick-tocking down to oblivion. He hopes that someone tells his mother he tried to make her proud.
Viggo has bribed a bellhop to get him out of the hotel and past the reporters. It's a close call, as they have all the exits covered. When they spot a member of the hotel staff wheeling a big laundry hamper out through the front entrance, they howl and give chase, their slavering jaws snapping in ecstasy.
The employee runs down the street, the laundry hamper weaving around chaotically as gravity takes it over, and there is a mad moment when he loses control and it plunges into the road and into the path of a delivery van. Time seems to stand still as the hamper is knocked violently aside and dozens of dirty sheets are suddenly billowing in the evening breeze. Paparazzi gather, pushing and shoving to get the best view, cameras clicking, and then sirens are wailing. Police descend.
Viggo slips unnoticed from the hotel and away.
He is outside. He has to find Elijah. He must make him understand why he denied him like Saint Peter did of the man closest to his heart.
"So, he denied you? When the press found out that the two of you movie stars had eloped in Venice. What happened then? And, please, drink your tea. It's quite harmless," says the doctor, with his half-wink.
Elijah eyes the teacup and picks it up as if it were fresh from a kiln.
Lecter watches him sip the tea. He likes the way the top lip encompasses the rim of the delicate receptacle. He is drawn to the gap in the front teeth - this imperfection in an otherwise perfect face is rather alluring.
The Doctor has not engaged in sexual activity for several years and has not felt the lack of it. If he was going to perform the act it would be with Clarice Starling, perhaps. But Clarice is thousands of miles away, in Virginia. And this young man could so easily be Clarice, with those clear eyes and smooth skin and that touching belief in right and wrong. Of course, Clarice would never have allowed herself to be cornered like this, but then there is no one quite like Clarice...
"Only our closest friends knew what we were planning," continues Elijah, misinterpreting the Doctor's reverie for dangerous boredom. "We spent a few days sightseeing. Viggo- "
There. It's been said. The name has been said. The missing link. The Doctor, who has not seen a film in many years and has only the barest interest in the medium, is nevertheless aware that an actor by the name of Viggo Mortensen exists. Indeed, he has read a review of the Sign Language exhibition and admires the artist's work. It brings a rather interesting perspective to the whole case.
Elijah is stricken. He is chewing a nail. The Doctor has already noticed the telltale signs of the oral obsessive; he finds it distasteful and Elijah, realising, drops his hand quickly. It is a habit he had broken, or thought he had until now.
"So, you had your furtive, sordid little fondles in a romantic gondola in Venice and then you hurried off to some secluded little sanctuary to exchange vows?"
Elijah grips the arm of the chair and tries very hard to stay calm. It's difficult. He wants to reach out and smash that smug lookoff that smug face... It hadn't been like that. Not at all. The Doctor is making it all seem squalid and cheap. It had been - beautiful, the most perfect moment of his life.
Heat is rising, and Elijah's lethargy is dissipating. He has been in awe of this guy but when it comes down to it he is only Elijah's height, with only a slightly bigger build. He is an old man! And Elijah's hands are free now... he could rush him...
In the Doctor's quick hand, the razor shimmers and slices through molecules of air on its downward trajectory...