第 29 页

“No shit,” said Fingon, unable to stop himself, and Fëanor inclined his head slightly.

“That’s fair. What’s more, I feared Nelyo was being used, or manipulated, and worse – by someone unworthy of him.”

Fingon’s arms tightened over his chest but he held back his sharp retort.

“However, I have come to see that you are not, in fact, a negative influence in Nelyo’s life.”

Fingon narrowed his eyes, surprised despite himself. “No?”

“No. You have supported him, unwaveringly. You are loyal and devoted, and, most importantly, perhaps, you make him happier than I’ve ever seen him.” Fingon blinked, startled, and Fëanor took a deep breath. “It seems, also, that you are a hard-working and honest young man. And I have concluded that, while perhaps there is no one I will ever entirely accept as good enough for my son, you are as close as I am likely to get.”

Fingon opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Fëanor waited, a slightly ironic smile on his lips. “What, no response?”

Fingon let out his breath. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He paused. “It may well be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Thank you, Uncle.”

Fëanor winced. “For the sake of my blood pressure, let us avoid such monikers – Call me Fëanaro.”

Fingon smiled. “Fëanaro, then.”

“Findekáno.”

Grey eyes met blue, and they both reached out at the same to time to clasp hands. Fëanor gave a rare smile, and then leaned forward. Still gripping Fingon’s hand, he murmured, “Hurt him, and I will end you.”

Fingon winced as Fëanor’s hand tightened around his. “Understood.”

“Good.” Fëanor released him and looked around the apartment. “Now. Suppose you show me around? You’ve done interesting things with the space.” He put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “You get good light in here, but it would be even better if you moved that hideous shelf.”

-

It had been a long shift. Maedhros dragged a hand through his hair, trying to shake the weariness from his shoulders. He had to find somewhere better to work, and soon. He was simply not cut out for tending bar. The regulars depressed him and there was something about him that seemed to welcome drunks pouring their life stories out to him. For two hours, today, he’d been subjected to one middle-aged man’s discourse on all the women who had “fucked me out of every last penny I have, y’know what I mean, man? Bitches.” In vain had he tried to discourage him with noncommittal grunts, and deep absorption in cleaning shot glasses, but the man had been undeterred and rambled on, straight through the end of Maedhros’ shift. “You get me, man!” the costumer had called after him when Maedhros had finally excused himself with deep relief. “You and I are cut from the same cloth, brother!”

“What a horrifying idea,” muttered Maedhros. It was with a sense of earning a sweet reprieve, then, that he turned onto Hithlum Ave and started down the block towards the apartment building he was starting to think of as home.

And more importantly, Fingon.

His footsteps already feeling lighter, Maedhros picked up his pace, and was just rounding the corner when he froze. A well-dressed man was descending the steps to their building, flicking his dark hair out of his eyes. He turned purposefully down the street, pulling out his keys and clicking them to unlock the sleek black car parked across from their apartment. Maedhros shrank back into an alleyway, watching as his father got into the car and pulled away from the curb.

What was he doing here?

As soon as Fëanor’s car was out of sight, Maedhros dashed across the street and up the steps to their apartment. Heart thundering in his chest, he yanked the door open, not quite knowing what to expect. Whatever he’d imagined, though, it wasn’t Fingon dancing up to him, broom in one hand, and sweeping him into his arms.

“Hey, babe!”

Maedhros grabbed Fingon’s shoulders and pushed him back. “What did he do?”

“Hm?”

“My father. I saw him leaving. He was here, what did he do? Did he say anything – did he do anything – are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Fingon caught Maedhros around the waist and swung him around, humming.

“Fin. What happened?”

“Well,” said Fingon, releasing Maedhros and leaning on his broom. “First he insulted my clothes. But the pants are yours, so joke’s on him, there.”

Maedhros just stared at him, agonized.

“Then he made snide remarks about how dirty the place was, but I pointed out that I was actively involved in cleaning it, so he could hardly hold that against us. And then–”

“Then?”

“He apologized.”

Maedhros boggled. “He what?”

“I mean, maybe ‘apologize’ is too strong a word.” Fingon looked pensive. “But we had a talk, and he admitted that I was probably good enough for you, after all. And that he wanted you in his life, no matter what, and if your life includes me, then…well. He’s gonna take me as part of the package deal. And you could do a lot worse, because as it turns out, I’m an upstanding and attractive young man.” Fingon grinned. “I’m paraphrasing, of course.”

Maedhros was still frozen, amazed, and Fingon laughed at him. “You need to sit? Should I fetch you a soothing drink?”

“I…Yes.” Maedhros collapsed into a chair, a little lightheaded.

“He told me to call him by his first name.”

“He did?” Maedhros put a hand to his head, and Fingon perched on his lap.

“Well, that part was mostly because he couldn’t handle me calling him ‘uncle’. And I admit I only pulled that one out to see if he’d explode. I was pretty impressed at how well he held it together.” Fingon looked thoughtful. “Your mom must have done a good job on him. Oh, and he wants grandkids before you’re thirty.”

“What?”

“Kidding.” Fingon smoothed the hair away from Maedhros’ brow and kissed him. “You’re too easy. But the apology part, and him wanting us both in his life: totally true. Can you believe it. Maitimo, are you crying?”

“No.” Maedhros wiped at his eyes. “He really said all that?”

Fingon's fingers were very gentle as they brushed over Maedhros’ cheeks, but his voice was still light and humorous. “He really said all that. And it only took him seven years! At this rate he’ll be speaking civilly to my father before I turn thirty. Eh, thirty five.”

Maedhros gave a watery laugh. Fingon wrapped an arm around his head and ruffled up his hair, pressing another kiss to his temple.

“We’re making progress, Mae.”

Maedhros buried his face against Fingon’s chest. “I love you.”

Fingon hummed and nuzzled against the top of Maedhros’ head. “I love you, too.”

---

Turgon dashed down the street, going as fast as he could with his heavy backpack thumping between his shoulder blades. One textbook in particular was catching him with a sharp corner right at the small of his back, and he grimaced as he tried to haul the straps more snugly over his shoulders. He wondered which textbook was the culprit.

“Epidemiology,” he guessed breathlessly to himself. “It would be.”

He came to a halt at the bus shelter, breathing heavily. Wiping the back of his hand over his forehead to brush back his sweaty curls, he bent over slightly to catch his breath. Hopefully the bus hadn’t already come and gone.

He straightened up, and the other occupant of the bus shelter caught his eye.

“Amarië?”

She’d been leaning against the sign that marked the bus routes, staring into space, and clearly hadn’t been paying attention to anything around her. She jumped at the sound of her name, and looked around, confused. Her gaze landed on Turgon, and he smiled at her. Amarië didn’t smile back, and there was something wary in her face as she said, “Oh. Hi, Turukáno.”

He gestured ruefully to his sweaty face and heavy bag. “I was just hoping I hadn’t missed my bus. Do you know if the 72’s come by yet?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, phew. I really, really can’t afford to be late to this class again. I’m behind as it is; I never should have gone to that party last weekend…”

Amarië’s face tightened further. “Oh, you were there, were you?”

Turgon shook his head self-deprecatingly. “I shouldn’t have been, but yes. I went with Findaráto.” He frowned, trying to remember. “I thought you were going to be there, actually.”

“I should have been,” said Amarië, a touch of bitterness in her voice, before she shook herself. “Not that it would have made a difference. I had a morning commitment.”

Turgon watched her, a little confused. Something about Amarië seemed a little off. As she looked away, pulling her bag against her side and wrapping her arms over her B.U. Ladyhawks Basketball sweatshirt, he realized it was the exhaustion in her face, and a certain tone to her voice.

“Hey, Amarië, is everything okay?” He asked it a little uncertainly, not sure if he was overstepping.

“What do you think?” she shot back sharply.

He stepped back, startled at the venom in her voice. “I…I don’t know. Really. Should I know? Oh no, if I missed something Findaráto told me that I should be remembering, I’m so sorry. I’ve been totally overwhelmed and out of it…I know he mentioned that you two hadn’t gotten much time together lately, but…is there a family issue or something?”

Amarië stared at him a while, and then shook her head.

Turgon groped, helplessly. “School stuff, then? Or…basketball? No, that season hasn’t started yet, has it? Is it – ”

“Oh, Turno.” Amarië’s voice was gentler now. “Okay, I’m going to take pity on you because clearly you’re out of the loop, not being intentionally thoughtless.”

“What?”

“Findaráto and I broke up.” And then, as Turgon gaped at her, she shook her head. “No, you know what? I want to make this clear: I broke up with him.”

“What?” Turgon struggled, at a loss for words. “But – When did this – I had no idea…”

Amarië looked at him with some sympathy. “He didn’t tell you, huh?”

“No.”

“Well, that seems in character.” The bitterness was back in Amarië’s voice, and Turgon reached out to touch her shoulder before catching himself and pulling his hand back.

“What happened?”

“You should ask your friend. In fact, I’ll be really interested to see what he has to say about it.”

“Amarië,” Turgon was still trying to keep up. “Did he – ”

“That’s your bus, Turukáno,” said Amarië softly, as the bus pulled up with a hiss and the doors opened. “Better go if you don’t want to be late for class.”

Turgon fumbled in his pocket for his wallet and stepped up. But before the doors closed, he turned back.

“Listen, Amarië – ”

“Just ask him,” said Amarië, and turned away as the bus doors slid shut.

-

Galadriel was pacing the circumference of the living room, muttering to herself as she practiced for her French recitation, and she didn’t even break stride when Turgon burst through the front door.

“Listen, Artanis, I need to talk to Findaráto.”

“Mieux vaut faire, et se repentir, que se repentir, et rien faire.”

Turgon drew up short. He was out of breath again, having jogged straight to their apartment as soon as his class had gotten out. “What?”

“It’s Saint-Gelais. And I’m sure I couldn’t tell you where my brother is.”

“He’s in his room,” said Aegnor, coming down the hall. “Honestly Artanis, are you still – ”

“Yes.”

Aegnor sighed and pointed. “He’s back there, Turno.”

-

Finrod looked up from his desk as his door flew open. “Turukáno. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Turgon cut straight to the chase. “What did you do?”

Finrod’s eyes clouded. “Ah. Who told you?”

“Amarië.” Turgon clenched his fists. “But she didn’t tell me much, only that I should ask you why she dumped you. What did you do?”

Finrod sighed and pressed his fingers to his temples. “Look, Turno, you’re going to want a good little period of being angry with me, which is understandable and totally deserved, but can it please wait? I have forty midterms to grade, and it would be really helpful if you could be upset with me later.”

“No,” growled Turgon. “You’re going to tell me right now.”

“Fine.” Finrod turned in his chair and met his eyes squarely. “But you’re not going to like me very much when I’m finished.”

-

Turgon was still standing, trying to absorb everything Finrod had told him. Finrod stepped away to sit on the windowsill, waiting patiently for Turgon to speak.

“How could you?” said Turgon at last. “Ingo, you know how much it hurts to be cheated on.”

“Not really,” said Finrod, leaning his head against the window. “I’ve never been cheated on.”

“No, but I have, and you were with me throughout that!” Turgon dragged his fingers through his hair, upset. “Do you know how little respect I have for people who cheat?”

“Very little, it would seem.”

“Why are you being so cool about this?” shouted Turgon. “You asshole – Amarië loved you! I thought you loved her! Why did you do this?”

“I’m sorry,” said Finrod, raising his head, “I am cool only because it is easier for me to give you measured responses if I react bloodlessly. Trust that this isn’t easy for me, Turno.”

“Easy for you? Who cares if it’s easy for you? You cheated, and lied – and don’t think I’ve forgotten that this isn’t the first time – How could you throw away something like this? Do you know what I’d give to still have what you and Amarië had? You dick.”

"I know."

"What the hell is wrong with you? How could you do something like this? Why -"

Finrod turned on him then. “About fifty percent of your anger I will believe is moral outrage,” he said, with tight composure, “and well deserved. But the rest, Turukáno, is because you are upset that I didn’t tell you first.”

Turgon’s jaw worked silently, and then he spoke. “I’m your best friend, Ingo,” he said, and there was hurt in his voice. “And I was totally in the dark. I didn’t even know you were having an affair. Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

Finrod smiled wearily. “Because I can’t stand to see the look in your eyes when I disappoint you,” he said. “And forgive me – I wanted to put off that moment for as long as I could.”

“I don’t – ”

“You’ve always thought I was a better person than I actually am,” said Finrod. “Always. And it’s…honestly, it’s the highest compliment I’ve ever received, the regard in which you hold me. But I’ve always been afraid to let you know the truth.” He smiled, and his eyes were over-bright. “I’m not the person you think I am.”

Turgon shook his head, caught off guard, torn between his anger and his instinctive loyalty. “You’re…you’re not a bad person…I just…I always thought…”

“I am petty, and weak, and selfish,” said Finrod softly. “I yield too easily to my desires. I am thoughtless, and I did what I did knowing full well that it would cause hurt. And I did it anyway.”

“So. That's it then? I don’t know you?” said Turgon, his voice tight. “You’re telling me that even though we’ve been best friends since we were ten years old, and I tell you everything – I don’t know you. Know how this could have been remedied, Findaráto? You could have talked to me. Of course I wouldn’t have been impressed with what you were doing, but I’m still your friend. I could have helped you! I want to know what’s going on with you, and why. You can trust me! But instead – ”