Pairing: Dominic Monaghan/Elijah Wood

Rating: This part is PG15
Disclaimer: We do not know these men, therefore this is total fiction. We make no money from this at all.

Feedback: Yes, always appreciated. Either to perhobfan@yahoo.co.uk or lychelle@mindspring.com

Archive: A Shortcut to Trianne; anywhere else, please ask

Summary: Late 2002, leading up to the premier of The Two Towers. From Dom's POV, Elijah's POV as expressed in his on-line journal, indicated by italics

***~~~***

Journal Entry

What the hell is the problem? How difficult can it be to find out stuff? This guy was supposed to be good but he's an asshole. A real fuck-up.

No, he's not. Not really. Spoke to him on the phone and he sounded like a good guy. Dependable, experienced, polite. It's just so frustrating. You pay money upfront and there' s nothing to show for it. And it's been days. So, yeah, he had to fly out there and set up his base of operations (God, it sounds like espionage), and of course 'discretion is key.' He used that phrase a lot -- my dependable, experienced, polite private dick (and wouldn't Dom snigger at that? If he knew. Which he doesn't. Can't. One more thing I have to keep from him. Not much better than he what he did to me though.)

"Discretion is key, Mr. Wood," he said. "Subtlety. Have to make enquiries without the subject ever being aware of the surveillance. That way, if you chose not to make the results known to the subject, the subject need never know you had the subject investigated. Believe me, Mr. Wood, I've seen it before. Husbands putting a tail on their wives, then they get the report and suddenly it's cold feet time, like do they really want to end their marriage over some tennis pro or some punk from a bar? Happens more than you think. So, yes, discretion is key."

'Subject.' Dominic Monaghan reduced to a 'subject.' The *subject* is busy running round town organising something to celebrate our future and doesn't even know he's a subject.

I'll e-mail the guy, tell him I changed my mind. I don't need to know. I don't have to know. Dom said it was over, it meant nothing. I can let it go. Yeah, sure, I can.

Last night, he surprised me with take-out, steaming and slopping out of its boxes. Didn't tell him I stopped liking that food months ago. About the time the shit hit the fan was when I stopped liking that kind of food. But I ate it, smiled, chugged a beer. Then we fooled around a bit. We didn't make love last night (we did in the morning, though), but honestly... anal sex isn't the best thing to do after spicy food. You really needed to know that, didn't you?

Want to hear something funny? 'Course you do, you heap of junk -- kidding, I love you really, don't crash on me! -- the sex is better than it ever was. I mean, it was fantastic before; but since he came home and we started all over again, he puts so much into it, and I don't just mean the obvious. He's taken it to another level. Nothing is too much trouble, you know. I can see sometimes that he's exhausted, and he still won't give in.

And I don't deserve it, this affection and this hot sex. 'Cos I love him, yet I'm having him investigated. 'Cos I need to know. And there's no way that I'm going to e-mail the guy and tell him to let it drop.

And I hate myself for it.

And I can't let this go.

~~~***~~~

"You look peaky, Dominic." said Ian, sipping his wine, looking quite the opposite.

Dominic laughed, taken a aback by the observation. Sure, he was tired. He was juggling arrangements, pulling together the perfect day for Elijah, while touting for work and seeing casting directors. Not to mention indulging in marathon sex sessions on almost a nightly basis. But he was never happier. "I'm fine, Ian. No worries. Just got a lot on. And you're going to be there, aren't you? You know it won't be the same if you aren't there."

Dominic stabbed his fork into his pasta and made a mental note to consult the caterers about menu choices. His mum was flying in from England for an extended stay, which was great timing, yet he still wasn't sure about inviting her. Some son he was. And there was still the matter of Elijah's mum. Inviting family would have been pushing it probably. Next thing he'd know, they'd be needing matching trouser suits and a priest.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, you know that." Ian nibbled delicately on his linguini. "You two *are* all right now, aren't you?" he asked, one brow raised, perceptive eyes boring into Dom's.

"We are! The day he took me back was the best day of my life, I can tell you. I never thought he'd forgive me, but he has, Ian. He's an incredible guy."

The sound of clinking glasses and forks grating on plates filled the sudden silence between them while they ate and drank. Dominic was surprised that Ian didn't have something to laugh, talk or gossip about. And he liked listening to Ian, but the only ones laughing, talking and gossiping were the restaurant patrons around them, seemingly oblivious to the two actors.

Dominic saw a server walking pass with a dessert tray. He wondered if it would be too over the top to have cake at their little get together. After quickly shooting that idea down, he saw Ian wipe his mouth with a napkin, settling back in his chair, patting his non-existent paunch comically. Then his face took on a more sombre look.

"I saw Elijah the day before yesterday," Ian sighed.

Dominic pushed away his own plate and waited.

"He looked peaky, too," Ian began to play with his wine glass, twisting the delicate stem between his finger and thumb, his eyes everywhere but on Dom.

"Well, what can I say? He's working, after all. And, well, we don't keep office hours, you know." Dominic smiled but he was making another mental note to add to the dozen he had already formulated that morning: check up on Elijah. He might need vitamins or something. Maybe he could persuade Elijah to travel down to Mexico with him, and go surfing with him and Billy. It would do him good -- plus Dom was missing Billy, more than he cared to admit to Elijah.

"He didn't look like himself, Dominic. He looked a little *distracted*." Ian was looking at Dom this time, seemed to be demanding some kind of answer.

"Everything's fine. Honestly. We're working things out. I have a lot of ground to make up, and this commitment thing is going to prove once and for all that he can trust me." Dominic hoped it would, anyway. And the thought of ringing up Elijah's mum seemed to be a good idea after all.

Briefly, Ian looked as if he were going to speak, then looked as if he'd thought better of it, settling for raising his glass, "To you both," he said, simply.

***~~~***

Journal Entry

Dom's having a bath. I just went in there and took him a beer. He was reading the sports page. All soapy, and the bathroom full of steam. I told him to watch out that he didn't get wrinkled, but he just laughed and splashed coconut-scented bubbles all over me. Yeah, funny.

I'm not going to open it. It can wait.

Mom popped by, dropped off some brochures and shit that Dom had apparently asked her to get. He didn't tell me that he told my mom about it. But now that I know... I swear, she's more excited about this than me. She and Dom sat at the table and I stopped counting "aw's" at about ten apiece.

I don't want to doubt Dom anymore. But I know that he's not really like that. It was either for my benefit or my mom's. The last time I heard Dom give a genuine 'aw' was at a basketball game when he saw a little boy wearing a child-sized Lakers shirt. Probably would have shed a tear if it was a Man U jersey.

God, I love him.

I should definitely delete it. That way I'll never know what the detective found out, right? I can live in ignorant bliss. Not knowing. But the subject line is seared in my brain now, and I can't pretend I never saw that -- "Preliminary Report: NZ".

I deleted it. See, I can be mature about this.

And now I'm going to make a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream, and when Dom gets out of the bath, all dripping and damp and smelling of coconut, I'll be waiting for him, and maybe I'll share some of my cocoa before I make love to him just the way he likes. Take the initiative... make him happy. Yeah. I can hear him, emptying the bath... have to go make that chocolate.

***~~~***

Journal Entry

I recovered it from the deleted folder.

He's asleep. Sometimes I look at him, he looks about six years old, his hair damp and his mouth slightly open..

Whatever it says, it won't make a difference. I mean that. I love him.

I just need to know.

Continued with Part Three of "Trust Lost"