第 46 页

Caranthir’s absent pacing had taken him into the living room, and Maglor turned his attention back to Curufin, who had seized Maglor’s arm urgently. His hand was shaking slightly, but his voice was steady. “You need to let me talk to Tyelko.”

“We will,” whispered Maglor. “But one thing at a time, Curvo.”

* * *

Amarië had her headphones in, so she didn’t hear Andreth’s impatient tsk, or her exasperated sigh, and it wasn’t until she looked up that she saw her, standing with her arms folded, in front of the treadmill. Amarië pressed ‘cool down’ and slowed to a walk, trying not to blush. She pulled her earbuds out, letting them dangle around her neck.

“Amarië…”

“Hey, Andreth,” Amarië said, trying to sound cheery, and like she had no idea why Andreth was looking at her in accusation. “What’s up?”

“What’s up is that you’re not supposed to be running, girl. Ten days, remember?”

“Ten days no basketball practice and no ballet,” said Amarië, trying to sound reasonable and only achieving cagey. “A little bit of jogging isn’t going to…”

“Off the treadmill.”

“But – ”

“Off.”

Resigned, Amarië stepped off the machine and immediately listed to the side as her ankle protested.

“You doofus.” Andreth took her arm and hauled her upright, leading her gently but firmly to a bench by the weight machines. “Are you doing your stretches, at least?”

“I should never have told you my PT’s plan,” muttered Amarië. “You are being such a mom about this, I swear.”

“Turnabout is fair play,” said Andreth, unmoved. “You mothered me plenty through my breakup last year – not to mention that horrible bout of norovirus Haleth and I got last semester – so it’s about time I returned the favor.”

“But you have already been mothering me through my breakup, so let’s call it even.”

“Yes, but all that’s done is give me a chance to make angry noises about Arafinwion boys again, so that’s as much a favor to me as it is to you. Anyway, let’s call it time to get some ice.”

Amarië stretched her legs out in front of her and tried to discretely wipe sweat off her face with her tee shirt while Andreth disappeared briefly. She was secretly relieved to have an excuse to stop; whatever protests she might make, her Achilles had been tweaking painfully, and her lungs were unhappy in the muggy air of the gym. Andreth came back with enough bags of ice to chill a small keg and a slightly amused expression on her face.

“Nice Winnie the Pooh shirt, by the way.”

“I like Pooh,” said Amarië defensively.

“If I was as immature as my roommate, I’d make a joke about that phrase.”

“Shhh.” Amarië plucked at the tee shirt in question, her go-to for bad moods or laundry day. “Even Haleth wouldn’t stoop so low.”

Andreth shook her head, smiling, and knelt in front of Amarië to start wrapping her calf and ankle with ice. “You give her WAY too much credit, then.”

* * *

Turgon sat sidewise on a machine that appeared to be for lifting weights with one’s groin, and scribbled some notes in his journal, trying to get his observations down before they faded. He only looked up when a large man, who looked like he’d done quite a bit of groin strengthening already, glowered him, and got hastily out of his way. As he shoved his notebook back into his backpack, he noticed the two girls sitting across the way – Andreth, and Amarië.

He hesitated a moment, then slung his bag over his shoulder and crossed the room. “Hey, Amarië.”

Amarië, who’d been laughing at something Andreth was saying, looked up, and her smile faded. “Turukáno. What are you doing here?”

“I’m shadowing one of the orthopedic surgeons who has a rotation here.” Turgon intended to say something else, ask about her injury, maybe, or acknowledge Andreth, quiet and curious at Amarië’s feet, but instead what came out was, “Listen, what was that voicemail about?”

-

He’d gotten it after a long day of classes, and listened to it on the bus ride home.

“Turukáno? It’s Amarië.” Even through the tinny speaker of his phone, her voice had sounded tight and unnaturally steady. “I know…well, I don’t know how serious you were, so maybe I’m an idiot that I even considered it… but I know we were making noises about you maybe moving into Elinel’s old room, and I just – It’s not going to work. It’s not going to work. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess maybe you were just joking around anyway. But just in case you actually thought … Look, I can’t. You can’t. We can’t do it.”

-

“Was there something unclear about the message?” Amarië’s voice had that unnatural steadiness again, now, and Andreth was looking between them, a slightly concerned tilt to her eyebrows.

“It’s really okay that you don’t want me to live with you,” said Turgon, “or if you found someone else, but…you sounded…did something happen? You sounded almost like you were angry with me…”

“I wasn’t angry,” said Amarië, though she sounded a little angry now. “I had just…Do you really need an explanation?”

“I wouldn’t mind one.”

“I ran into Finrod, okay? I was with Galadriel, and I ran into him, and I thought I was going to be okay, but I wasn’t, I can’t even look at him, and I’ve been avoiding Galadriel for a week now because I’m so scared that if I see her I’ll see him again, I can’t go to her place because he lives there, and sometimes I don’t even want to walk around campus because apparently I’m too much of a coward to even run the risk of bumping into my ex!” Amarië’s voice had gotten louder, and a couple people glanced across the gym at her, curious. Andreth laid a hand on her knee, and Amarië dropped her voice again, her cheeks red. “You’re his best friend; you’re his cousin. And I was thinking about you living with me, and thinking about being terrified to go home, or to come out of my room because he might be there, and I don’t think I could stand it. My apartment is my safe place right now. And if you were there, he might be there, and it wouldn’t be, anymore…” She trailed off, and Turgon bit his lip, contrition and disappointment unexpectedly washing through him.

“I…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not YOUR fault.” She still sounded angry, and Turgon couldn’t tell who it was directed at – him, or Finrod, or herself. “I should be over this already, shouldn’t I? It’s not your fault I’m so emotionally….stupid.”

“You’re not,” murmured Andreth.

“No, you’re not,” Turgon agreed. “It makes sense that you’d feel that way…But,” he couldn’t keep from trying again. “But I could – we could work something out so that he’d never – ”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Turno,” said Amarië wearily. “We can’t make an ‘approved guests’ list for you to observe if you live with me, or some ridiculous special schedule so that I never cross paths with your best friend. It’s just not going to work.”

Turgon’s phone rang, making the other people in the gym look around again. He tried to mute it without pulling it out of his pocket. “I wish that we could figure out…”

“Leave it be,” said Andreth quietly.

“But – ” Turgon’s phone was still ringing.

Amarië looked at him, and now she just looked tired and sad rather than angry. “You should really get that.”

“What? Ah, fine.” Distracted, Turgon dragged his phone out and answered it, only half paying attention. “Hello. Wait, what? Who is this?” He pulled his phone away from his ear to frown at the caller ID, puzzled. “…Is this Curvo? Moryo?” Shooting a nervous glance at Amarië, he turned away and lowered his voice. “Why are you calling me? Um, is this something to do with… What? What happened? Is everyone okay? Why are you calling me, shouldn’t you call an ambulance or – what? Okay. Okay. I’ll come over. But wait, shit,” he had turned in a full circle by now, completely having lost track of where he was, and was facing Amarië again, who was watching him, big-eyed. “I’m way over at the East Campus and I don’t have a car. The bus runs every 40 minutes, but… Yes. Call him. If he can’t, maybe Findekáno can.”

He hung up and stared at the phone for a little while, while Amarië and Andreth waited.

“I…I have to go. I…” He glanced around, pulling his fingers through his hair, a nervous tic that he had never been able to break, despite the snarls it left. “Do you think they have first aid kits here?”

* * *

The kitchen was warm and still filled with maple syrup smells, Fingon’s famed challah French toast reduced to soggy crumbs on the plates dumped in the sink from hours ago.

“More coffee?”

“If I have more I’ll vibrate across the room.”

“Mmm, could be exciting.” Fingon winked, but set the carafe back in the coffee maker. “Ahhh, nothing like taking the day off work, sleeping in and being decadent…” He stretched luxuriantly, and Maedhros, who was propped on one of their high stools, eyed him.

“It’s 25 degrees out. Aren’t you cold without a shirt?”

Fingon kept stretching a little longer than necessary, and Maedhros rolled his eyes – but also didn’t look away. “Ah, but you keep me warm, Nelyo.” He clapped a dramatic hand to his breast. “Oh, but the heat of my love doth keep the blood hot in my veins, and yea, the throb of my cock as well – ”

Maedhros wrinkled his nose. “Never do Shakespeare.”

Fingon let his hand fall and sighed. “I get no respect.”

“None.” Maedhros drank the last cold dregs of his coffee and made a face. “And frankly none is deserved, you hack. You are being particularly weird today.”

“I am being lively and invigorated. I get excited anytime I can take a day off work in the middle of the week.”

“I told you,” Maedhros began. “You didn’t need to do that. It’s only…”

“Shh.” Fingon leaned over the counter and pressed a finger to Maedhros’ lips. “I needed the excuse, okay? You know how many six day weeks I’ve been pulling?”

“Yes.”

“Right.” Fingon let his finger linger on Maedhros’ lower lip and Maedhros indulged him, letting his lips part slightly so Fingon’s finger could brush against his tongue. “Hmm. Yes. Anyway, I promised you – as soon as you quit that job you hate so much, we have a celebration. I take off work, we spend the day naked…”

“Again, it’s 25 degrees…”

“Not in the house, you wimp, and anyway, we weren’t technically supposed to leave the bed after we got back in after breakfast.”

“I got hungry,” said Maedhros wistfully. “I’m still hungry. Is the pizza heated up yet?”

Fingon pulled his hand regretfully back and turned to the toaster oven, where a small frozen pizza was warming. “You’ve still got a few more minutes, babe.”

“Damn.” Maedhros sighed and stretched his legs out. “But I didn’t quit my job, Finno, you know that. I just cut back to a couple shifts a week at the bar.”

“Hey, is one of those shifts the night that depressing old drunk comes in and raves at you about his ex wives?”

“No.”

“See? Progress. Cause for celebration!” Fingon spun the butter knife he’d been using to poke at the pizza, and flipped it once in the air before catching it expertly. “And most of all, we’re celebrating you taking courses at the University two days a week…”

“I can’t believe I have to start doing homework again.”

“…and working afternoons at the after school program.” Fingon pointed the knife at Maedhros accusingly. “Don’t you dare undersell this, Mae. You’ve figured out something you really want to try and make work, and you’re doing everything you need to do to make it happen. You’re getting hands on experience, you’re working on a degree – in a year or so you could be a teacher.”

“That depends on a lot of things.”

“Stop being such a defeatist. Be happy, motherfucker, be proud.”

Maedhros allowed himself a smile. “Fine. I’m happy. Instead of working 30 hours a week at the bar, I’m going to be doing a reading group with elementary schoolers. That will likely have more job satisfaction, right? And I’m going to be leading a poetry and music writing group for the kids along with some other twenty-something who works for the program...”

“Oh yeah? You didn’t mention that part. Who is it?”

“Uh, I don’t know yet.” Maedhros got up and pulled a folder out of his bag by the door. “Rúmil gave me these when I came in to sign my paperwork but I haven’t looked through them yet. Let’s see who I’ll be working with…”

He scanned the papers, and his eyes hit a name halfway down the page. “Huh.”

“What?” The toaster binged and Fingon opened it, trying to lever the pizza out with a butter knife and his bare fingers. “OUCH.”

“I recognize this name. This is…I swear this is the girl from open mic night. The girl Makalaurë liked. Ríanellë…” His voice trailed off, and Fingon yelped as molten cheese got on his hand.

“Damn everything, OW.” He sucked at his finger and looked up at Maedhros. “What is it?”

“Her last name,” said Maedhros slowly. “It’s very familiar…”

“Yeah? She another cousin?” Fingon grinned, but stopped as Maedhros slid the paper over to him.

“Recognize this?”

Fingon frowned. “Yeah, I think I do. But what from? Why is that so familiar?”

“That’s because it was one of the last names of the plaintiffs on the civil suit brought against my father and the company. The families of the victims of Alqualondë. Remember?”

“Oh, shit. That’s gonna be – ” Fingon started to say more, but a high-pitched ring cut him off. “Is that you?”

Maedhros was still staring at the name on the sheet of paper. “Hmm?”

“Your phone, Maitimo. Your phone is ringing.”

Maedhros didn’t move, and Fingon sighed and reached across the counter to grab the cell phone. He glanced down at it. “It’s your little brother.”

Maedhros snapped back to attention. “Which – ”

“Curvo.”

The line between Maedhros’ brows deepened. “He never calls me. What could make him…” He took the phone from Fingon and answered it. “Hello? Curvo? What’s going on?”

“It’s not Curvo, it’s Moryo.”

“Moryo?” Maedhros exchanged baffled looks with Fingon. “What are you doing calling me on Curvo’s phone?”

“Do you have a car?”

“Yeah…or at least, Findekáno does…”

“Good. We need you to go pick up Turukáno at the gym on East Campus and bring him over here.”

“Over where? Why? Wait, Turukáno? Why him?”

Caranthir voice sounded tight with anxiety. “Over here, Nelyo, our place. We need Turukáno to take a look at Curvo…there’s been an accident.”

Fingon watched the blood drain from Maedhros’ face, and Maedhros leaned forward, bracing his fist on the counter. “What happened, Moryo?”

“There’s no time to get into it now!” Fingon could hear Caranthir’s voice loud and urgent, filtering down the line. “Look, go get Turukáno and come over here and we’ll explain.”

“Mor – ” But Caranthir had hung up.

But Fingon was already grabbing his shirt, and his and Maedhros’ jackets from the rack. “Don’t ask questions right now, babe. I’ll drive, you can try your brothers again as we go. And call my brother while you’re at it.”

* * *

Curufin was still sitting where he’d fallen, propped against the kitchen door. Maglor, acting on some vague notion that in case Curufin had suffered a head injury – “Are you fucking kidding me? You are so ridiculous, Makalaurë,” Curufin had said waspishly, having gone sharp-edged and terse to distract himself from his shaking hands – had insisted that he shouldn’t be moved.