Book Three - Moving On

The House Party is an AU set in the 1920s/1930s. Elijah is an American student and Viggo is an artist. The story tells of how they met and their life together. There are various offshoots to the story.

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Working it Out

Oddly, the first nightmare came when he was safe in Viggo's arms, sleeping quietly. Nothing dramatic, not at first, just the hint of something darker at the corner of his dream, a shadow that had no place there, and safe in his bed, he shifted restlessly. Viggo, long accustomed to Elijah's sleep patterns, stirred slightly and adjusted his grip, relaxing his hold, letting Elijah shift before he settled again.

He didn't like the darkness that seemed to be approaching him, knew it had no place in his dream of light and kindness, and he shifted again, trying to see it, trying to look at it so that he could dismiss it as unimportant, but no matter which way he turned, it always seemed to remain on the periphery of his vision, and he turned his head on the pillow, trying to bring it into his line of sight.

"Elijah?" He heard Viggo's voice, but it seemed wrong, somehow, as if was a long way away and getting more distant by the second, so he turned his head again, trying to find him, not wanting to be alone with the shadow, but all he could see was Viggo's back as he walked away.

"Elijah, where are you?"

I'm here. Can't you see me? He watched Viggo move away. Viggo, I'm here. He raised a hand, trying to reach out, but even as he looked a shadow moved in front of him and Viggo disappeared.

Confused, Elijah looked over his shoulder, but it was dark there, too, and he stood for a moment, unsure and perhaps a little frightened.

He moved again in bed, reaching out for Viggo, who had moved away as his restlessness grew, pressing against warm, familiar flesh, searching for the security that always came with being close to Viggo.

Back once more in the dark, something touched him, and he spun around, trying to see clearly, trying to pierce the strange blackness that had surrounded him. In the way of dreams, the blackness had taken on a texture; not soft and smooth as he had always thought darkness would feel, instead it was rough, nasty hidden edges catching at him, catching at his clothes and his skin. He tried to pull away, but he didn't seem to be able to move, and as he paused, wondering what to do, he heard footsteps behind him.

Viggo?

The hands that touched him then didn't belong to Viggo; these hands were hard, pinching him, hurting him, pulling at his clothes, leaving him alone and naked in the dark. There was a pause, no more than a heartbeat, and then the hands were on him again, touching him, pressing him backwards until he had no choice but to lie down. He raised his hands, beating at the blackness, at the hands that held him and touched him so intimately, but there was nothing there. He may as well have fought the moon.

Don't - oh god, don't -

They were laughing at him, his attackers, laughing as they pressed him down to the ground, and even as he tried to struggle they held him harder, bruising him, laughing at him, and he couldn't get away -

Please - Viggo.

"Elijah? Elijah, come on, wake up!"

He heard Viggo's voice, but it still seemed to be such a long way away. Desperately he turned his head towards the sound, and he saw, very distantly, a tiny speck of light in the darkness, and he knew that he had to get to it, had to reach it. He fought the hands holding him, kicking and clawing, desperate to get away, but they just held him harder.

"Elijah!"

He opened his eyes with a start to find himself in bed, Viggo looming over him, the look on his face one of pure panic.

"Wake up, mon amour. Just a bad dream."

Elijah could feel himself trembling and he blinked hard, ridiculously grateful that the blinds were, as ever, not drawn across the windows, and there was enough light to be able to see the room clearly, although he found himself cringing slightly from the shadows.

"Elijah? Are you back?" Viggo stroked Elijah's cheek, and Elijah saw him frown as his fingers brushed away tears he hadn't even known he was shedding.

He reached up and touched Viggo's hand, then his face, then his hand again. Such strong hands; hands that would never pinch, or hit, or hurt.

"I'm back," he said. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

Viggo smiled in pure relief and kissed Elijah's cheek before sitting up, pushing the sheet away. Elijah turned onto his side and admired the line of Viggo's naked back as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Tell me," Viggo said softly, looking over his shoulder. "What did you dream about?" He shifted one hand resting against Elijah's leg. "What frightened you?"

"Are you getting up?" Elijah asked, not ready to answer. "It's still early. Come back to bed."

"In a minute," Viggo said. "I need a drink." He leaned down, and Elijah, not expecting the move, just managed to catch a flinch before it manifested itself. Instead, he laughed softly as Viggo kissed him again before standing up and walking towards the bedroom door.

"God, you look amazing," Elijah said softly. "You have the most beautiful body."

"You're biased," Viggo said, but Elijah knew he was pleased. "I'll be back in a minute."

Elijah curled up facing the door, listening as Viggo moved around the apartment, trying to chase away the last of the dark shadows in his mind.

Viggo came back with a glass of water and handed it to Elijah who hadn't even realised he was thirsty until he started drinking, then he drank three-quarters of the glass before handing it back to Viggo who finished it off and placed the empty glass on the cabinet beside the bed before settling back into bed, pulling the thin sheet over them and pulling Elijah into his arms.

"Now, monster," he said quietly. "Tell me."

"Just a bad dream," Elijah said, revelling in the security he felt in Viggo's arms. "Darkness and shadows and you walking away from me."

"You must have realised it was a nightmare at that point," Viggo said dryly. "As if I would ever walk away from you." He tightened his grip briefly. "Are you all right?"

"Now, yes," Elijah replied. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"Why?" Viggo asked, tilting Elijah's head up. "Why should you ever have to go through anything by yourself?" He stroked Elijah's hair back from his forehead and smiled slightly.

"I know," Elijah said. "It's getting long again. You love it, don't you? You're so predictable." He pulled away and rested his head against Viggo's chest, not wanting those too-sharp eyes to see the shadows that were still in the corners of his imagination. He smiled when he felt Viggo's fingers begin to stroke through his hair. "I hope I never go bald," he said. "I would lose all my appeal then, wouldn't I?"

"I'm afraid so," Viggo agreed. "I would buy you a wig, though."

"Generous man."

They lay in silence for a long time, Viggo's hand still stroking idly through Elijah's hair, and Elijah found himself beginning to doze, comforted by the touch. It had just been a bad dream, nothing more. Understandable, after what he had been through only a few weeks before.

*

He fell asleep, lulled by Viggo's touch, and was finally woken by the sun climbing high enough in the sky to shine directly through the bedroom window, making him squint even before he opened his eyes. He was alone in the bed and he indulged himself for a foolish second, moving to rest his head against Viggo's pillow, burying his face in the soft Viggo-smell. After a second he laughed softly and sat up, glancing around to make sure he hadn't been spotted, and slid out of bed, padding naked out of the bedroom.

"At last," Viggo greeted him as he paused by the room he used as his studio. "Did you sleep well, my own?"

"Very well," Elijah said, leaning against the doorframe, watching Viggo as he worked. "I'm sorry about last night."

Viggo put down the charcoal he had been using and moved across the room, stopping a handspan away from Elijah. Not speaking, he cupped Elijah's chin in his hand and gazed at him, intently enough to make Elijah blink and pull away.

"There are no shadows in your eyes," Viggo said. "Was it such a bad dream?"

Elijah thought briefly of darkness, and of hands touching him and hurting him, and worst of all, of Viggo walking away, and he shook his head.

"No," he said. "Not so bad." He leaned forward and hugged Viggo. "Sorry about disturbing you. Go back to work." He glanced into the studio. "What are you doing anyway?"

"Nothing much," Viggo replied casually. "Just a couple of sketches." He pushed Elijah away. "What do you want to do today? Or at least for the rest of the day, now that you're finally awake."

"Absolutely nothing," Elijah grinned. "I have to do some of the paperwork, but I don't have anything planned. Why? Are you going to whisk me away somewhere?"

"No," Viggo answered. "Go away." He turned away and then looked back. "Monster?"

"What?" Elijah hadn't moved.

"You would tell me, wouldn't you? About the dream?"

"I would tell you anything you wanted to know," Elijah answered. "Don't worry about me, all right?"

"All right." Elijah was aware that Viggo was still unsure, still wanting to speak, but not knowing what to say. He smiled. "Don't worry about me, please."

"I never do," Viggo said, lying shamelessly, and this time he really did move back to his work.

*

Halfway through the accounts, Elijah suddenly and startlingly found himself in tears, the crying fit so strong that he took off his glasses and put his hands over his face, trying to hold in any sound. He didn't understand what was happening, not really. He thought he was over the attack, over Denny's death, over everything. He thought his life was back on track and yet now he found himself crying helplessly while he remembered hands pulling at him, the conviction that he was going to die so strong that he had almost given up, and then the sudden and shocking loss of Denny, his first lover.

The crying fit ended as suddenly as it had started, and he quickly wiped his eyes and blew his nose in case Viggo came into his office. It wasn't that he didn't want Viggo to know how he felt; it was just that he would be upset and hurt, and that was something Elijah never wanted to see. And anyway, it was just a silly dream, that was all.

As if thinking about him had conjured him up, Viggo opened the office door.

"Are you nearly done?" he asked. "It's a beautiful day out there, and I think we should go for a walk, at least. Summer will be done soon enough -" He tailed off. "What's wrong?"

Elijah laughed, sounding slightly clogged up, and shook his head. "I can't do it, can I?"

"Do what?" Viggo moved into the room.

"Hide anything." Elijah looked up as Viggo approached him. "I think the dream may have shaken me up more than I thought."

Viggo moved until he was directly in front of Elijah and then tilted his head up.

"You've been crying," he said softly. "Oh, Elijah - " Elijah moved forward, resting his head against Viggo's belly, shaking his head.

"Don't be kind," he said. "I don't think I could manage if you were kind."

"Tell me why you were crying," Viggo said softly, his fingers once again moving to stroke through Elijah's hair. "I hate to think of it -" He suddenly moved away from Elijah and pulled the room's other chair forward, sitting so that his legs were on either side of Elijah's. Elijah smiled and put his hands on Viggo's thighs. "Tell me."

"I -" Elijah shook his head. "It was just a dream, Viggo. Just a dream, but it brought it all back to me, I think. How close I came to leaving you. And Denny-" He said the name somewhat hesitantly, but Viggo's hands, covering his own, were steady. "I don't want to leave you."

"Can I tell you something?" Viggo asked, his voice hesitant, nodding when Elijah looked up. "The guilt I feel about what happened to you in England very nearly overwhelmed me." He shook his head when Elijah opened his mouth to speak. "If I hadn't asked you to stay with me, if I hadn't been so desperate to touch you and hold you, you would have been safe in bed in the house and you would never have walked into those people - you would have been safe."

"It wasn't your fault," Elijah said, putting one of his hands over Viggo's mouth. "It was an accident of timing, that's all."

Viggo pulled away slightly, holding Elijah's hand close to his lips. "Do you ever regret it?" he asked. "Ever regret what you are, where you are?"

"Who I'm with?" Elijah looked shrewdly at Viggo. "How could I?" He leaned forward, letting his lips brush the back of Viggo's hand, then moving to kiss his lips, making Viggo grunt his appreciation, moving his own hand to the back of Elijah's head, holding him in place as the kiss deepened.

"So don't," Elijah said, finally pulling away, unable to move far because of the grip on his hair, "ever think I regret one thing we have done, you and I, or one thing we will do." He kissed Viggo again. "Don't let this come between us, please. Don't let guilt into our lives." Again, he kissed Viggo, moving willingly when Viggo pulled at his hips, making him move forward out of his own chair until he was sitting astride Viggo's lap, the kiss still continuing, deepening, until Viggo pulled back, laughing breathlessly, slowly unfastening Elijah's shirt, running his hands possessively over his chest before settling them on his hips.

Elijah smiled, moving forward to wrap his arms around Viggo's neck, resting his face against a rough cheek, lips moving over the stubble.

"You make me feel so safe," he whispered. "I would never feel like this with anybody else." He kissed Viggo's cheek, then his neck, and Viggo's hands tightened on his hips.

"You want me?" Elijah asked, his fingers moving softly on the nape of Viggo's neck. "You want to chase the nightmare away?" He felt Viggo tense slightly at the use of the word, so he pressed forward again, his lips against Viggo's ear. "I can feel you against me. It's the most marvellous thing, did you know that? Feeling how much you want me? Can anybody else do this to you?"

"No." Viggo's voice was slightly hoarse, his breathing high and fast. "God, Elijah, what you do to me - what you do."

Elijah moved again until his lips were brushing Viggo's.

"Show me," he said.

He squeaked in amused surprise when Viggo, with a grunt and a heave stood up, clasping Elijah firmly around the waist. In his turn, Elijah wrapped his legs around Viggo's waist and they melted into another kiss, hungry and deep. Viggo turned around and walked a little way towards the door before he let go of Elijah, who slid to stand in front of him.

"I cannot possibly carry you all the way to the bedroom," Viggo said, his eyes laughing. "No matter how romantic it is, and no matter how beautiful you are."

"I thought you wanted to go for a walk on this sunny day," Elijah said, laughing in his turn. "Maybe we should go and get my hair cut."

Viggo laughed and tangled his fingers in Elijah's growing hair, pulling him towards the door. Elijah, laughing in anticipation, staggered along with him, and all thoughts of darkness and fear were forgotten as Viggo laid him down on their bed.

*

Later, as the late summer sun began to set, they did finally leave the apartment, walking slowly towards the river, Elijah's arm linked through Viggo's, their steps matching.

"It's a beautiful day," Elijah said finally, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. "Well, a beautiful evening."

"It is." Viggo smiled, but didn't say anything else, and Elijah nudged him.

"What are you thinking about? You're very quiet."

"I want to ask you something," Viggo said slowly, "but I'm not at all sure how you will react. I think that I may make you very angry, and I don't want that."

"Why would you make me angry? Ask me."

Viggo was silent again for a long time, and Elijah was just about to say something when he finally spoke, almost hesitantly.

"Do you want to go to America?"

"Why?" Elijah asked. "I thought we were going back there when you go and paint Maudie's garden for her, and I'm sure that we haven't arranged that yet." He frowned. "What other reason could there be?"

"Do you -" Elijah saw Viggo swallow. "Do you want to see Denny?"

"What?" Elijah stopped walking. "Viggo, Denny's dead."

"And you haven't said goodbye to him," said Viggo, stopping as well. "I don't mean to upset or annoy you, you know that; but do you think your dream was because of that?"

"Viggo!" Elijah forced a laugh. "It was one bad dream. It's probably more down to the cheese we had for dinner than some deep hidden need to say goodbye to Denny." He took a step forward. "Don't analyse so much. It was just a bad dream." He rested his head briefly against Viggo's shoulder. "And anyway, you won't let me travel at this time of year. You think that this particular time is spectacularly bad for my health, remember? Although how you've managed to persuade yourself that just because it's autumn means I'm automatically going to fall ill is completely beyond me." He paused. "You look sad," he continued. "Like a light has gone out in you. Are you sad?"

"No." Viggo shook his head. "I feel - melancholy - for some reason. Maybe it's just because it's the end of the year." He stroked Elijah's cheek. "I'm very artistic, you know."

"I'd noticed." Elijah smiled, tucking his arm back through Viggo's. "Now, let's eat. I don't want to fade away to nothing through lack of food. How would you ever cope without me?"

"I wouldn't," was the immediate reply.

*

Elijah watched Viggo as he ate. He thought he was being suitably covert, which is why he was so startled when Viggo put down his fork and fixed him with one of his more unsettling stares.

"What?" he said. "You keep looking at me."

"Do I?" Elijah feigned innocence. "Well, it's just because you're in my line of sight."

"Liar." Viggo smiled at him. "What's wrong?"

"Why has one bad dream unsettled you so much?" Elijah asked frankly. "Your reaction seems disproportionate."

"Does it? I'm sorry." Viggo smiled. "It just worried me, I suppose." He looked down at his plate and then reached across the table, picking up Elijah's hands, stroking his thumbs across the thin skin at his wrists. "I don't like seeing you going through something when I can't help you. Dreams are strange things, don't you think? You can be so far away from somebody - in another world - even though physically you're close." He looked up at Elijah. "When you came back to me, you gave me the greatest gift I have ever received-" He trailed off and shook his head. "I don't have the words, and I'm doing it again; rambling and hoping that you hear the two words that matter." He took a deep breath. "People go so far away in their dreams, and I don't want you to do that; I don't want you to go so far away from me that I can't follow." He sighed, moving his hands so that his fingers were tangled with Elijah's.

"I'm selfish," he said. "I admit it. Selfish and possessive, and I wish I could be in your dreams, be waiting for you when you go to sleep."

Elijah frowned and then raised their joined hands to his mouth.

"What a silly, wonderful man you are," he said. "You are a romantic fool, you do know that, don't you?" He smiled to take the sting out of his words. "Thank you for wanting to protect me - because we both know that's what you mmean, no matter how many words you try and couch it in - but my dreams are the one place you can't follow." He paused. "Although sometimes that's just as well - if you knew the dreams I have about you!" He sobered and kissed the knuckles of Viggo's hand. "Stay selfish."

Viggo smiled and then tilted his head slightly to one side.

"People are watching," he said. "We are being positively glared at by a very stern looking man and his wife."

Elijah glanced casually over to the side. "How do you know that's his wife?"

"Well, would you be seen out with somebody like that if you weren't married to them?"

Elijah tried to swallow the laugh with the result that he ended up snorting very inelegantly, causing the couple to scowl, obviously suspecting they were the target of Elijah's amusement.

Viggo laughed and as Elijah watched he looked past the couple, catching the eye of Claude, the owner of the restaurant, and a good friend. Elijah watched a silent conversation, consisting of a couple of raised eyebrows and a nod, and then smiled as Viggo turned back to him.

"Go on then," he said. "Show them."

"Monster," Viggo said, and leaned forward. Elijah did the same, and they met halfway, the kiss soft and sweet and as unthreatening as a kiss could be. They parted but didn't sit back, Elijah laughing into Viggo's eyes before leaning forward again for another quick kiss before he sat back and looked very deliberately at the couple Viggo had pointed out. Clearly embarrassed at being caught, they busied themselves with their food, but Elijah could see the flaming red of their cheeks and he laughed again, this time not trying to hide it, and Viggo laughed as well, standing up and holding out his hand, which Elijah happily took, standing up following Viggo as he weaved his way past their fellow diners.

"I can never decide if you two are good or bad for business," Claude said, shaking his head as they approached, "but one thing is for sure: you make this place a good deal more interesting than a miserable old man and his dried up wife." He reached forward and kissed first Viggo and then Elijah on both cheeks.

"Oh dear," Elijah said. "I think the old man is choking on his consommé."

"Oh well, I know where he keeps his wallet," said Claude casually, nodding his thanks as Viggo settled the bill. "On the whole, I think you're good for business; I shall let you come again."

"You're too good to us," Viggo said, putting his arm around Elijah's shoulders. "We'll see you soon."

They stepped out of the restaurant and Elijah looked at Viggo who looked back at him with such mischief in his eyes that Elijah threw his head back and laughed for the sheer pleasure of being where he was. He stepped into Viggo's embrace and hugged him hard before releasing him.

"Not melancholy now?" he asked.

"No," Viggo said. "Not melancholy. I always find that a little bit of bigot-baiting does wonders for a person's mood." He reached for Elijah's hand and they turned to walk up the road towards the apartment.

"We should feel guilty," Elijah said. "We have done nothing this weekend, absolutely nothing." He squeezed Viggo's hand. "Do you feel guilty?"

"Not even a little bit," Viggo said mildly. "We must be allowed some time to ourselves, Elijah, or what's the point of trying?" He shivered slightly. "It's getting cold. The year's turning again." He paused. "Another year. It's going so quickly."

"But you're happy?" Elijah asked. "Aren't you?"

"Well-" Viggo trailed off and gazed into the distance, sighing mysteriously until Elijah punched him.

"I think we've just had the fourth anniversary of our meeting," he said, absently rubbing the spot on his arm where Elijah's fist had connected. "We should have marked it with something romantic."

"We probably did," Elijah answered. "You're the most romantic person I know - never a day goes by without you doing something wonderful. I'm sure you marked the day, even if we don't really remember."

"You know what I'd really like to do?" Viggo asked, gazing back over his shoulder towards the restaurant. "Take you back in there and - well, take you."

"Lay me down right in their main course," Elijah said, pulling Viggo along the street. "In fact, you could offer me to them as the main course. What do you think they'd say to that?"

"Other than a mindless scream, you mean?" Viggo caught up with Elijah.

"What? I'm very desirable, and don't you forget it."

"I know you are," Viggo soothed. "Come on, let's go home so that I can show you just how desirable."

"When you think about it," Elijah said, slipping back into step with Viggo. "You keep saying you hope I hear the two words that matter. I’ve always thought it should only be one."

Viggo laughed and nodded. "I think you’re right."

Two

Although he hadn't experienced another nightmare, Elijah's sleep patterns were no longer so easy to predict. He would sometimes wake in the night feeling as if he were being stared at, as if somebody was in the room with them. On one occasion he brought the fear from his sleep into the waking world and lay as still as he could, barely breathing, just knowing that if he moved or gave any sign that he was awake whatever had followed him from his dream would touch him, take him away and never let him come back. It was only when Viggo stirred, his hand sliding possessively down Elijah's back, that Elijah had dared to open his eyes, turning his head so that he could survey the bedroom, embarrassed even as he did so. It was empty, of course, and he closed his eyes, burrowing against Viggo and hoping that he could fall asleep again.

After twenty minutes of holding himself as still as possible so as not to disturb Viggo, Elijah sighed quietly and pulled away, sliding out of bed. Shivering slightly, he quickly slipped on one of Viggo's big, baggy work shirts, and left the room as quietly as he could, making for his office, deciding that if he couldn't sleep, he may as well do some work. However, on the way, he detoured, deciding a cup of the dreadful tea Viggo drank may help him to relax.

It was while he was waiting for the water to boil that he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he whirled around, the breath catching high in his throat as his dream came back full force.

There was nothing there of course, but he suddenly decided that he didn't want the tea after all, and would instead go to his office and do some work. He glanced at the big wall clock; 4am, the dead time of the night. He shivered and then laughed softly at his own melodramatic thoughts.

As he made his way down the hall towards his office, he saw the movement again, and this time knew there was something there. Somebody, he corrected himself. An intruder, perhaps? He stood as still as he could, barely breathing, waiting to see what would happen, and then he heard a noise; a high-pitched, odd whisper coming from the pool of darkness just inside his office door.

"Hello?" he said, his voice sounding loud in the stillness. "Who's there?"

You were always such a pretty boy, Elijah - girl-pretty your father used to say-

"Maman?" Elijah stepped backwards, away from the darkness. "Maman, it's not possible."

Such a pretty boy- really, you should have expected those men to attack you, shouldn't you? So pretty-

"Maman?" Elijah's eyes darted from side to side, searching for movement, while at the same time his mind screamed at him that this wasn't happening, that he was asleep.

The hand that brushed the nape of his neck sent him hurtling forwards, cannoning into the wall opposite. He could feel himself start to shake as he hid his face in his hands, feeling his control slipping by the second.

He felt, rather than heard, movement very near him and flinched away from it, not understanding what was happening.

"Elijah?" Viggo's voice was sleep-hoarse, but Elijah clung to the sound. He heard movement again, but this time knew that it was Viggo moving in their bed, and that sound, that real, familiar sound, brought him back to earth, and the shadows retreated, no longer frightening. He straightened up and took a deep breath, shivering in the cold of the apartment.

"Elijah?" Viggo's voice was sharper this time, and Elijah took a step towards the bedroom, passing in front of the study but refusing to look.

"I'm here," he said, moving into the bedroom. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"What's wrong? Are you sick?" Viggo sat up, pushing the blankets aside. "It's cold."

"I couldn't sleep," Elijah answered, climbing back into bed without bothering to take the shirt off. He plastered himself against Viggo, desperate for some warmth, and Viggo obediently pulled him close.

"Are you sick?" he asked again, and Elijah shook his head, eyes tightly closed, trying to forget that he had heard his mother's voice and seen shadows where there were no shadows to be seen. He burrowed even closer to Viggo. He wasn't going mad, he wasn't-

"You're shivering," Viggo said, pulling the blankets around them, wrapping them in a warm cocoon. "Why couldn't you sleep?" He gave a very unViggo-like squeak as Elijah's cold feet brushed against his shins, and Elijah laughed, some of his tension lessening.

"I know how you could warm me up," he said, running his hand down Viggo's back.

"Not when your hands are that cold," Viggo protested. "I'd shrivel away to nothing." He laughed. "Why have you got my shirt on?"

"Because-" Elijah paused, aware that he was going slightly red with embarrassment.

"Because it's comfortable, I expect," said Viggo. "Not because it smells of me and you like to feel wrapped in me. Nothing like that."

"No," Elijah agreed, his mood lifting by the second. "Absolutely nothing like that."

*

The next night the dreams came back. He was walking along a long corridor when suddenly two chairs materialised. His father sat in one, facing him, but he glanced at him without recognition. The other person had his back to Elijah, but he knew who it was immediately, and he stepped forward, hand outstretched to touch the broad shoulder.

Denny -

Denny didn't turn around, but Charles looked up again, frowning. Elijah thought he could see some kind of recognition in his eyes, and he was about to speak when Denny finally moved, standing up and turning round.

So much bigger than Elijah remembered, and as he turned to face him, Elijah stepped back, his hands going to his mouth.

Denny had no face. There was just darkness where his features should be, and then Denny's hands were reaching for him and Elijah just knew that if Denny touched him, he would die. He would be trapped here forever without the one thing he needed, so he put his hands up to try and push Denny away, but his hands were caught in a grip so strong he couldn't escape, and he heard his father's laughter as the awful void came closer to him. He turned his head to the side, trying to pull away, looking around desperately as he tried to escape.

"Elijah?" The voice was loving and familiar, and with a sob of relief, Elijah pulled harder against the hands that held him, looking for the point of light that he knew would be there somewhere.

It was there, in the far distance, a long way away, but as he watched it seemed to come closer, and it gave him more strength to pull on Denny's grip.

Stop fighting, Denny's voice was in his head, and a part of Elijah's mind wondered vaguely where the voice was coming from, since Denny had no face. It's what you've always wanted, you know it is. You can stay with me forever now.

"No!" Elijah tried again to free himself. "Viggo!"

Another hand touched him them, this one warm and comforting, and with a near sob of relief, he turned, his hands now sliding free of Denny's grip without a second thought. Viggo was standing close, his arms held wide, and Elijah threw himself into them.

"Elijah!"

Elijah opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on Viggo who was kneeling on the bed, his hand on Elijah's face. The main light was switched on and there were no shadows, for which Elijah was pathetically grateful.

"I'm sorry," he said. "So sorry -"

"Tell me," Viggo said, and Elijah could see the worry in his face, and hated himself for having put it there.

"Just a dream," he managed, reaching out and resting his hands on Viggo's chest, needing the solidity of him. "Just a bad dream."

"Another one?" Viggo pulled Elijah to him, cradling him as if he were something very precious. "Oh, Elijah, what's wrong? What are you dreaming about?"

"I don't know," Elijah said, burying his face against Viggo's chest. "Darkness and fear. Denny was there, and he was - he wanted me to stay with him. My father was there, and he laughed -." He shivered at the thought of his father's cruel laughter, of Denny's strong hands, before he pulled away and looked down at his wrists, half expecting to see bruises on them, almost surprised when he saw that they were unmarked. He looked back at Viggo. "I didn’t want to tell you, don’t want you to worry – "

"No," Viggo said. "You must always come back to me. Always tell me. Denny's just a bad dream now; he's gone, can't hurt you." He pulled Elijah close again. "You must never leave me."

"I don't understand," Elijah said, beginning to relax as Viggo's strength poured into him. "I don't understand why it's happening."

"I wish I could answer you." Viggo stroked Elijah's hair away from his forehead, and Elijah risked a glance up, not sure what he would see on Viggo's face. He should have known. Only concern and, as always, a love that went deeper than words.

"I'm tired," he said, knowing he sounded like a child. "I'm growing frightened of the dark, did you know? I've never been frightened of the dark before."

"You mustn't," Viggo said softly. "You have nothing to be frightened of. I'm here."

Elijah pressed closer still, his arms tight around Viggo's waist, not wanting to let him go.

"Why is it happening?" he asked, his voice still small. "Why now?"

"I don't know," Viggo replied, reaching down to pull the blankets around them. "But it's cold, Elijah, and late, and you need to sleep. Maybe tomorrow all this will make some kind of sense." He reached up to turn off the light and Elijah tried not to tense, but Viggo felt it anyway, and lowered his arm, the light still blazing. "You don't have to be frightened of the dark, it won't hurt you."

Elijah nodded, feeling foolish, and Viggo once again reached for the light switch, plunging the room into near-darkness, the only light coming through the windows. Elijah shivered, cold and unsettled, and pressed against Viggo.

"It's all right," Viggo said softly, his hand warm against Elijah's back. "Things will be all right."

"He didn't have a face," Elijah said quietly. "Denny. Just blackness where his face should be, and he wouldn't let go of my wrists. I thought I was going to die, and then I would be trapped there with him." He shivered, trying to move even closer to Viggo, even though that was impossible. "And my father just laughed. He didn't even recognise me -" He thought briefly of mentioning the time when he had heard his mother, almost seen her in the doorway of his office, but he kept silent about it. Viggo would think him mad.

"It was a dream," Viggo said, his voice soothing. "He couldn't hurt you - neither of them could hurt you." He paused. "You're not going mad."

Elijah laughed softly and kissed Viggo's shoulder. "Stop reading my mind."

"Try and sleep," Viggo said, turning on his side so that they were pressed together, thigh to thigh, hip to hip. "I'll take care of you."

Warm and secure, Elijah could feel his eyes closing. Briefly, he tried to fight it, not wanting to go back into his dream, but he was so tired - He fell asleep almost against his will, but there were no more dreams that night.

*

When he woke the next morning, he was still pressed against Viggo, whose hand was running slowly across his back, up as far as his neck and down as far as his hip. Elijah shifted away a bare inch and looked up.

"Good morning." Viggo smiled at him from tired eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." Elijah raised his hand and touched Viggo's cheek. "You didn't sleep, did you?"

"Not so much," Viggo admitted. "It doesn't matter. I wanted to be awake in case you dreamed again." He smiled again. "I'll behave like an old man and have an afternoon nap." He moved his hand to rest against the back of Elijah's neck. "I wish I knew what to say to you."

"I didn’t want you to know," Elijah said. "I can get through this…"

"And I can help you," Viggo replied. "Don’t keep secrets, Elijah. We have never done that."

Elijah shook his head, trying to clear it of dark thoughts, before reaching up to kiss Viggo's cheek. "The dreams will stop. I don't have any idea what can have triggered them."

"You've been through so much," Viggo said. "I wish you didn't have to go through this as well." He paused. "Do you think they could be connected?"

"I don't think so," Elijah said. "It's just unfortunate." He sighed and yawned. "I don't want to get up."

"Then don't," Viggo said. "What did you have in mind for today?"

"I have to go and meet M'sieur - I've forgotten his name." Elijah shrugged. "I'm sure I've got it written down somewhere. The man who wants to try and sell some of his work through the gallery. It's good work, but I'm not sure if it's quite what our customers would buy, so we're having a final meeting to try and arrange something."

"Oh, is this the man who - how did you put it? - goes overboard with the green?" Viggo laughed, obviously relieved that Elijah was relaxing.

"The very same," Elijah said. "They're very murky and dark. I'm not sure our customers would like them, they may be a little strong. You'd like them, I think. Why don't you come with me and give me your opinion?"

"Because you have to learn to trust your own judgement," Viggo replied. "You have a wonderful eye and you just have to trust it." He paused. "Well, not a wonderful eye, obviously, because you can't see to the far wall, but you know - ow!" He laughed as Elijah bit him sharply on the arm and then rolled until he was above him. "Are you all right, truly?" he asked.

"Yes," Elijah answered immediately, putting a hand on Viggo's shoulder. "It was just a bad dream." He paused. "I'm sorry," he said squinting slightly, "who are you?"

Laughing, Viggo dipped his head and kissed Elijah's neck, then his throat and his shoulder. Elijah tipped his head back and rested both hands over Viggo's shoulders, still laughing softly.

"Marechal!" His body jerked as Viggo's tongue licked a long wet line down his belly. "I knew I would remember his name." He patted Viggo's head. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Viggo replied, his voice somewhat muffled. "I exist to serve."

"Good man." Elijah's voice trailed off and he shifted restlessly as Viggo's head moved lower.

Three

Elijah shivered dramatically as he walked into the gallery, and Anton glanced up, smiling.

"M'sieur Elijah, good to see you." He stood up and took Elijah's coat, hanging it on the stand inside his office. "The gentleman hasn't arrived yet." He looked at the clock hanging above the door and raised an eloquent eyebrow. "So perhaps you would like some coffee? Chocolate?"

"Coffee would be nice, thank you," Elijah replied, nodding politely at the customers who were taking advantage of the small café to shelter from the northerly wind. He sat down as Anton appeared with a cup in his hand and then sat opposite him.

"Thank you," Elijah said again. "Do you think he's being artistically late, or is he lost?"

Anton smiled. "Could be either," he said. "you can never tell with artists." The door opened as he spoke and Anton looked over Elijah's shoulder, nodding recognition.

"Is it him?" Elijah asked quietly and, when Anton nodded again, quickly took a mouthful of coffee and then turned around, smile politely in place.

"Monsieur Marechal, it's good to see you again," he said, hand outstretched.

"And you, M'sieur. Please, call me Charles."

The name caused Elijah to rock back on his heels, although the flinch was only brief before he managed to recover himself and slip into what Viggo liked to call "business mode".

*

"I have to say, M'sieur, that your work is very strong," Elijah said, gesturing to the examples now laid out on the floor of Anton's office. "Our clientele is perhaps not quite ready for it." He paused. "However, I like it very much."

"I'm glad. My work is not for the faint-hearted." Monsieur Marechal shrugged. "I believe I have a statement to make, and I make it through my work." He looked directly at Elijah. "So, what do you say? Can we do business, you and I?"

"I think we can," Elijah said. "But only for some of your lighter works, at least to begin with. If they sell well, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement about your stronger paintings."

"Good." Charles Marechal nodded, obviously pleased. "If I may ask, you are M'sieur Viggo's friend, yes?"

Elijah nodded. "Yes, that's right."

"Are you aware that you are garnering yourself quite a reputation as a critic? You and M'sieur Viggo are a good team, I think."

"Thank you." Elijah stood up, uncomfortable with the personal direction the conversation was taking. "Well, if you'd like to discuss with Anton the work you want us to display, he will explain our conditions."

"I should like to meet your friend," said Marechal, standing up as well, and Elijah nodded without speaking, leaving the office and nodding to Anton.

"M'sieur?" Anton paused on his way into the office. "You have that look on your face."

"He's very good, Anton. He will make us a lot of money." Elijah resisted the urge to look over his shoulder. "But we need to keep an eye on him, you understand?"

"Of course."

*

Tired, Elijah was grateful when he got home, letting the door slam behind him as he shrugged out of his coat.

The apartment was quiet, and a quick glance into Viggo's study made it clear that the place was empty. He shivered again, deciding to light the fire in the main room before perhaps lying on the sofa for a few minutes. He smiled at Viggo's claim that he would behave like a middle aged man and have a nap - Elijah sometimes thought Viggo was the younger of the two of them.

He walked into the main room and stopped as if he had walked into a wall.

Denny sat on the sofa, his face no longer a void, but now bloodstained and battered.

"Oh -" Elijah couldn't move.

Brought some friends, Elijah -

Elijah's eyes darted around the room, the shadows of the afternoon beginning to deepen. He saw movement and a young man appeared, his shirt covered in blood, hands reaching out for him. It was Evans, the man who had attacked him.

He missed his chance with you, and now he's waiting with me. Denny stood up, and Elijah tried to step backward, out of the room. He could hear his own breathing, high and frightened, and he knew he had to get away, but he couldn't move. Look at his wrists -

Involuntarily, Elijah's eyes flicked to Evans' wrists, seeing the open cuts on his arms, and this time he managed to make some kind of noise, but it was small and terrified.

Your fault. All your fault. You didn't really think you'd get away with it, did you? Denny smiled, the expression horrifying on the battered face. You killed him. You killed your father. You killed me.

"No -" Elijah finally managed to take a step back, and then another, and it somehow seemed to break the stasis and he turned and ran for the door, fumbling with the locks before ripping it open and running down the stairs and out into the cold street.

He didn't know how long he ran, or even where he was going, just wanting to get away from the visions in his mind, the absolute certainty that he was mad, that his mother's illness had been passed on to him and he too was going to be locked away and never allowed out again.

When he finally came back from the dreadful place he had been, it was full dark, frost gleaming on the path in front of him, and he was leaning on the parapet of a bridge, looking down into the inky waters of the Seine. He was shivering uncontrollably and he realised he had forgotten his coat. Viggo would be angry with him when he found out.

"M'sieur?" He startled badly and turned his head, realising whoever this person was had been speaking for some time, which was perhaps why he had come out of his fugue. A young boy, badly dressed and in need of a good meal, was staring at him, concern in his eyes.

"I love him," Elijah said. "He'll be so angry with me."

"Not likely," said the young boy dismissively. "If he loves you." His expression grew wistful. "You're lucky."

"Here." Elijah dug into his pocket and pulled out some money. "You need to eat."

The boy accepted the money and put it in his pocket. "You've just paid for an hour of my time," he said. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," Elijah said. "I want - I want it to go away. I want to forget it."

The boy shivered. "It's going to be cold tonight," he said. "You should go home."

"Should I?" Elijah shook his head. "I don't think I want to."

"Would you rather stay with me? Stay on the streets and turn a few tricks?" The boy frowned. "You looked kind, maybe a little frightened, that's why I spoke to you. You've paid me now, so I'm yours. I know a place we can go, if that's what you want." He stepped closer to Elijah, putting a hand on his arm. "You look kind."

Elijah looked down at the skinny, dirty hand as it rested on his forearm, then up at the boy.

"You're just a child," he said. "Don't do this. Do you have a home?"

The boy laughed. "You're paying for my body, M'sieur, not my soul. Would you like my mouth on you? I could make it so good for you." He stepped closer and Elijah caught a whiff of unwashed body, and he shrugged the boy away.

"No," he said. "I don't - I should go home."

The boy stepped away, his hand going to the pocket where he had put Elijah's money.

"It's all right," Elijah said. "I didn't give you the money so that you would let me use you. You look cold and hungry."

The boy looked momentarily confused, and then nodded, backing another step before turning away and vanishing into the darkness.

Elijah wrapped his arms around himself, cold. He looked around, unsure initially where he was. He had come a long way down the hill, he realised, and it was late, so late. Viggo would be worried, maybe even angry. But he didn't want to go back to that apartment, the place he had loved. Didn't want to think of what had happened in there.

Listless and cold, he turned and began to walk back up the hill, the bulk of the Sacre Coeur on his left. He changed direction suddenly, making for the church, but stopping before he got there. He always carried the keys to the galleries, and it was the work of a minute to let himself in, closing the door behind him and inhaling the scents of paint and turpentine. He felt safe here, he realised, as if nothing could get to him, nobody hurt him.

"I'm not mad," he whispered as he moved around the dark gallery. "Please, I don't want to be mad." Moving around the counter, he crawled underneath it, feeling secure in the small space, and wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking himself slowly.

"I'm not," he whispered again and again. "I'm not."

*

He had no idea how long he sat there before there was the sound of the door opening. He didn't react, simply sat quietly.

"Elijah?" Viggo's voice was hoarse and quiet. "Are you here?"

He didn't answer, blinking as the lights were switched on, listening as Viggo moved around the gallery. "Oh Christ, please be here."

He watched as Viggo's legs appeared in his line of sight, moving slowly before he suddenly stopped and crouched down.

"What are you doing here?" Viggo reached out and touched his leg. "Do you know what time it is? What's wrong?"

Elijah still didn't speak, simply looked at Viggo, seeing the worry in his eyes.

"Come home," Viggo said.

When Elijah didn't move, Viggo nodded once and then crawled under the counter with him.

"I've been worried about you," Viggo said. "It's late, and cold." He put his arm around Elijah's shoulders. "You're shivering, you're so cold." He shifted as much as he could, opening his coat and pulling Elijah close.

"Don't be angry," Elijah whispered finally, his gaze fixed on the floor.

"How could I be angry with you?" Viggo replied. "Will you tell me what's wrong? You didn't come home, and I was worried. I went to see Anton and he told me that you had left the gallery hours ago. Your coat was on the floor at home." He tightened his grip. "You're shivering. What happened?"

"I don't know," Elijah answered. "I think - Viggo, will you look after me?"

"Of course, for ever," Viggo replied immediately. "Tell me what's wrong. Tell me why you were hiding here." He moved as much as he could, tilting Elijah's face up to his. "Will you come home now?"

Too many questions. Elijah leaned into Viggo's warmth, aware of how cold he was, of how badly he was shivering.

"Home..." he said softly. "I went home, but then I came out again."

"I know," Viggo answered, his arm tightening around Elijah's shoulders. "Why did you do that? You didn't even take your coat. Did something happen?" Elijah could hear the pain and worry in Viggo's voice, and he closed his eyes, trying to block out the guilt.

"No," he said. "Nothing happened. You weren't there ... I went out ..." He shook his head. "Shall we go home now?"

"If that's what you want," Viggo said immediately. He didn't move and Elijah, in no hurry to return to the apartment, didn't move either.

"Elijah, what's wrong?" Viggo's voice was quiet and almost frightened. "Please tell me. How can I help you if you won't tell me?"

"I met Marechal today," Elijah said. "He's a bit strange. Wears a large hat, looks like a clown."

"Oh, Elijah." Viggo rested his face against the top of Elijah's head. "Don't do this. Don't keep it to yourself." He sighed. "Did you dream again?"

"If I told you," Elijah said hesitantly. "I think you would have me locked up. I don't understand what's happening, or where the images are coming from." He finally moved, looking up at Viggo. "Please don't leave me. Don't give up on me."

"How could I ever do that?" Viggo said. "I just want to help you, want to understand." He raised a hand, tracing Elijah's jaw with his finger. "Let me help you."

"You do," Elijah replied immediately. "Just by being near. I'm sorry ... I want to tell you, truly I do, but then I start to form the words and they sound so ridiculous that I can't say them. I will tell you, I swear, but give me time. Just don't leave."

With a sound very like a sob, Viggo pulled Elijah into his arms, kissing his hair, his temple, his cheek, anything he could, and Elijah felt something melt inside him, something that he hadn't even realised had been frozen. There was nothing so terrible that he couldn't face it, not if he had this man with him. He moved his head so that Viggo's lips met his own, kissing him until he didn't remember being cold. He slid onto his back on the gallery floor, pulling Viggo with him, both of them laughing, albeit hesitantly, as Viggo's coat got caught under Elijah's back, resulting in Viggo almost strangling himself.

Warm hands on his flesh gave Elijah the strength to push the horrible visions away, barricading them behind a door so strong he was determined it would never be breached. As he moved his own hands, unfastening Viggo's trousers, stroking and twisting until he began to get the reaction he wanted, he was again reminded of the great gift he had been given in this man. He didn't intend to lose it.

Finally moving out from under Viggo, sliding down his body and using his mouth to finish the job his hand had started, he listened to Viggo's breathing, to the words he used as Elijah sucked him, and he realised that was all he could hear. He opened his eyes and craned his neck upward so that he could look up the lean, glorious length of Viggo's body, and that was all he could see. No demons or ghosts. Just Viggo. All he needed.

*

On their way back to the apartment, Elijah swathed in Viggo's coat, with Viggo's arm around his shoulder, felt a certain amount of tension begin to creep in again, and he tried to think of something to say that would somehow delay their return.

Viggo sensed that there was something wrong, and tightened his grip.

"I don't know what happened to you today," he said. "But I'm willing to wait until you're ready to tell me. But I want to say this one thing to you: whatever it is, it can't be worth you falling sick again, or crying or panicking and running away." He squeezed Elijah's shoulders. "We have been through some terrible things, you and I, both alone and together, and you need to remember this." He looked down at Elijah. "We are stronger when we are together."

Elijah nodded, but didn't reply. He couldn't think of the right words.

*

The apartment was empty, of course, the lights switched on, making the place seem homely and comfortable, if cold, since once again the hot water pipes appeared to be broken, and Elijah kept Viggo's coat on as they moved around the rooms, lighting the fires. He didn't want to be alone, and so when Viggo suggested they should both light the fires, he made some flippant remark about "supervising", and Viggo laughed and shook his head.

"I'd like a bath once the water is hot," he said, curling up against Viggo on the sofa. He had felt a frisson of something very like horror as he had sat down, but Viggo had looked at him and held out a hand, and he couldn't resist. "I'm so cold." He shivered and burrowed further into the coat he was still wearing.

"Just don't get sick."

"I met a boy tonight," Elijah continued, ignoring Viggo's comment. "A street boy. I gave him some money because he looked cold and hungry." He tipped his head up to look at Viggo, aware of a growing contentment. "He offered me whatever I wanted."

"And did you take him up on it?" Viggo asked. "After all, you've been wonderfully faithful to me for four years. Don't think I'm not honoured."

"As you should be," Elijah said solemnly. "But no, I didn't, as you well know." He tilted his head inviting Viggo's kiss, grunting when it was duly delivered. "He was very young; it made me sad."

"Try not to think about it," Viggo said. "You can't take every boy or girl off the street, you know that. All you can do is be glad that it's not you."

"That seems very selfish," Elijah said, feeling his eyes growing heavy, but fighting off the need to sleep, not ready to risk what could happen. "But you're the most unselfish man I know."

"Realistic, perhaps," Viggo replied. "I know you, you would like to rescue every lost soul in the world, but how would you do that?" He kissed Elijah's forehead.

"I don't know." Elijah smiled and yawned hugely. "To start with, maybe I should just try and save myself."

"Maybe," Viggo agreed. "Or maybe you should leave that to me."

Three

"It seems so stupid to worry about it," Elijah said the next day as he sat idly on the balustrade of the Sacre Coeur, watching the late season tourists amble by, some of them unable to resist glancing at the tableau he and Viggo presented. Viggo, who was standing between Elijah's splayed legs, his back comfortably against the cold concrete, nodded without turning around.

Elijah laughed and leaned forward, draping his arms around Viggo's neck, reaching idly for the croissant Viggo was eating, laughing again as Viggo slapped his hand away before tearing part off and reaching over his shoulder, still not looking, leaving it to Elijah to capture his wrist so that he could eat the morsel.

"There he is," Elijah said suddenly, his chin tucked into the crook of Viggo's neck. "Mad Marechal."

"You really shouldn't talk about your new client like that - my God, look at that hat!" Viggo laughed and then ducked his head, and Elijah laughed as well, ridiculously happy to be out with Viggo, being foolish and revelling in the weak sunlight. Dreams and visions seemed a long way away right at that moment.

"I told you," he said. "I think he may keep his family under there."

"Well, it would save on rent of course," Viggo said thoughtfully, finally turned around so that he could wrap his arms comfortably around Elijah’s waist. "That is the kind of thing that gives artists a bad name."

"I love you," Elijah said suddenly, and Viggo blinked, then smiled, pleased.

"Of course you do," he said. "Why do you feel the need to tell me now?"

"Because." Elijah raised his hand and tucked a strand of sandy hair behind Viggo’s ear. "Because you put up with me when I have nightmare, when I run away and don’t tell you where I’ve gone." He kissed Viggo’s cheek, and then moved until his head was resting against Viggo’s neck. "Just because."

"It’s nice to see you happy," Viggo said. "Maybe it’s over now."

"Maybe." Elijah pulled away. "Definitely." He looked once more at Charles Marechal. "Of course, some things are just designed to give a person nightmares."

"It’s very green," Viggo said solemnly before turning around again, his back resting against Elijah’s chest. "Do you think perhaps it’s the only colour in his palette? He looks like a giant salad ingredient."

Elijah rested his face against Viggo’s neck , burying his shout of laughter.

"What shall we do now that we’ve mocked him?" Elijah once more leaned forward, his arms draped comfortably over Viggo’s shoulders. "I’m comfortable here, but what about you?"

"Me? I’m wonderfully comfortable," Viggo said. "This is a perfect way to spend a day. Lazy and perfect." He smiled, resting his head against Elijah’s. "Are we expected to invite him to dinner? Mad Marechal and his hat. He could steal our food and conceal it – how would we ever know?" He moved his head, rubbing against Elijah as if he were a cat. "And I love you. More every day, if such a thing were possible."

Elijah tightened his grip to an almost painful degree before releasing Viggo and sitting back, tilting his face to the sun.

"Let’s not move," he said. "Let’s stay here all day."

"Whatever you want," Viggo said mildly. "But when the sun starts to set, you’re putting on that coat. Just because you’re sitting on it doesn’t mean it’s forgotten."

"You make the most perfect nursemaid," Elijah laughed. "I won’t get sick."

"Only because I won’t let you." He suddenly tensed. "The madman is looking this way. I expect that’s your fault."

"Oh good grief." Elijah kissed the side of Viggo’s neck. "Be nice."

"Me? I’m not the one who thinks he looks like a clown. I simply think he looks like a large vegetable."

"Which is of course so much better … M’sieur Marechal! What an unexpected surprise!" Elijah could feel the sharp point of Viggo’s elbow digging into his thigh, and he knew he was going to laugh, particularly when Viggo turned around and scowled theatrically at him.

"M’sieur Elijah, it’s good to see you again, enjoying this lovely day, and M’sieur Viggo, I recognise you, of course."

Viggo reached out a hand, not moving from his position between Elijah’s legs.

"Nice to meet you," he said. "Elijah told me all about you; I’m sure that you’ll have a wonderful relationship with him and with the gallery." He put his hand on Elijah’s thigh. "He’s very easy to have a good relationship with."

Elijah could feel Viggo practically vibrating with amusement, and happily joined in, gently mocking Charles Marechal and his ridiculous hat. Unfair, perhaps, but not cruel, and irresistible on such a perfect day. They both relented in the end and Viggo invited Charles to dinner the following week, an invitation he accepted with such alacrity that Elijah briefly feared for the future of the silverware.

*

"We don’t have any silverware," Viggo said later, as they lingered over a lazy dinner, the open-air café no more than half full as the air cooled. "Will we have to buy some specifically so that he can hide it under his hat?" He pointed with his fork. "Put it on."

"It’s not cold," Elijah protested, and then saw the expression in Viggo’s eyes, and decided not to fight, shrugging into his coat, secretly grateful for the warmth.

"He seems a little eccentric," Viggo said. "Of course he could just be colour blind."

"Eccentric?" Elijah opened his eyes as wide as they would go. "You dare to call somebody eccentric?"

"I’m not, if that’s what you’re hinting," Viggo said. "I’m just – different."

"Different." Elijah helped himself to some of Viggo’s dessert. "Of course you are, my very own." He paused to eat. "That’s very good, by the way. Monsieur Marechal is married to the woman he met when he was seventeen. They have five children – what a thought! He is very middle class. I think he’s actually trying to break out of his middle class life and live a little more dangerously."

"Does he think you dangerous?" Viggo idly stabbed Elijah’s hand with his fork. "Eat your own, it’s the same."

"Yours tastes better. He thinks I’m unusual. The American who lives in Paris with a man. I have a terrible feeling that when he comes to dinner he will drink too much and ask for a demonstration on the kitchen table."

"In that case, make sure you wear clothes that are easily accessible. I would hate to let him down by being unable to unfasten your trousers." Viggo smiled, and Elijah laughed out loud.

"Well, that hasn’t happened yet," he said, reaching over to steal more of Viggo’s dessert.

*

Smiling, replete with good food, sunshine and the sheer joy of being loved so deeply, Elijah lay in bed watching as Viggo moved around the room. The apartment was warm, and felt like home again, no eyes from the shadows, and Elijah hoped that things would be better now.

As Viggo climbed into bed and pulled him close, kissing him softly at first, then more deeply, Elijah closed his eyes and relaxed. Things would be better now.

PART TWO

One

He knew Viggo was watching him, and he tried so hard to look enthusiastically at the breakfast in front of him, but he could feel his stomach tightening and knew that he was going to be sick.

"Please," Viggo said, crouching by his side and giving up all pretence that he was doing anything other than worrying. "You have to eat. You’ll get sick if you don’t eat."

"I’m not hungry," he said. "I’m sorry."

"Please," Viggo said again, and Elijah hated himself for making Viggo worry so much. "I can’t think of the time you last ate properly." He put his hand on Elijah’s leg. "You look so pale, and you’re losing weight. Please try and eat a little."

Feeling that he should try to please Viggo, Elijah nodded and reached for some of the warm bread, the smell of it making him want to heave. He dipped it in the rich chocolate, and brought the morsel towards his mouth. But the chocolate dripping off it made him think of blood and then they were all around him again, all the creatures who populated his nightmares, and he dropped the bread, leaning back in the chair.

"Elijah …" Viggo sighed and tried again. "You don’t eat, I can’t remember the last time you slept properly. I know that you wake in the night – do you really think that I’m unaware of you leaving our bed?" He reached up and cupped Elijah’s face. "You’re – fading – and I don’t know what to do."

"It’s nothing," Elijah said. "You don’t have to do anything for me." His voice sounded dull to his own ears. "Leave me alone, Viggo. It’s better if you leave me alone." He saw, as from a great distance, the massive hurt he had caused, and he knew he should try and make it better, but he no longer had the energy.

Almost a month now. A month of disturbed sleep and horrific nightmares. Of daytime dreaming that was almost worse than the visions sleep brought. He found himself frightened of sleep now, afraid of going to bed. When Viggo touched him and held him, he found little comfort in it, too locked in his own world to appreciate it.

"Should we go to the doctor?" Viggo asked, and Elijah shook his head, just as he always did. If he went to a doctor then it would be official; everybody would know he was mad.

"I have to go to work," he said, standing up and shrugging off Viggo’s touch. "The exhibition is next week."

"Let the exhibition take care of itself," Viggo said. "You need help."

"What do you mean?" Elijah turned around to face Viggo. "I don’t need anybody’s help. I just need to be left alone!" From a distance he watched, horrified, as he raised his hands and pushed at Viggo’s chest. "Why don’t you understand that? I just want to be left alone!"

"Because you don’t mean it," Viggo said, his voice quiet and hurt. "Elijah, if you don’t want me to touch you, then I won’t. If you don’t want me in our bed, then I will sleep in my studio. But you need me just as much as I need you. I don’t know where you’ve gone in your head, and I wish I could find you."

It wasn’t Viggo’s tone of voice or even what he said that made Elijah pause. It was the look in his eyes; so hurt, so lonely.

"I told you once that I never wanted to see you hurt," he said wearily. "And I’ve tried so hard to make sure that you never are, and now I’ve done it. I’m the one who’s hurt you."

"I just … I want to help you, and you won’t let me," Viggo said, reaching out to touch Elijah’s face. "It’s killing me, watching you suffer like this."

Elijah stepped forward into Viggo’s arms, and for a second he felt something melt in him, before he stepped back.

"I can’t," he said. "I have to be on my guard all the time, you see. If I relax or soften at all, they’ll come back."

"Who will?" Viggo asked. "The dreams? The dreams aren’t real, Elijah. We can get you help …"

"No!" Elijah backed away, his mind in turmoil. "No." He turned around. "I have to go."

"Elijah…" Viggo paused and looking back, Elijah saw the way his shoulders had slumped. "Elijah, I love you. I want to help you."

"I know you do," Elijah answered. "But maybe you shouldn’t, have you thought of that? Who wants to love a madman?"

"You’re not mad…" Whatever else Viggo said was lost as Elijah closed the front door and made his way down the stairs.

It was cold outside, the sky grey with the promise of early snow, but Elijah didn’t notice, his coat hanging loosely on his too-thin frame, the cold air making his chest ache and burn. He could feel it coming back, the illness that made Viggo worry so much, and he knew he should do something about it, but he didn’t care. Maybe this time it would kill him, take him away from Viggo’s warmth and light, and leave him in Denny’s grip. He should care about that, but he was beginning to think that Denny was right; he was a bad person, he had caused so much damage in his life; maybe he didn’t deserve Viggo. Maybe he didn’t deserve to live.

Turning in the opposite direction to the gallery, Elijah began to walk. He had no destination in mind; he simply wanted to be alone, to try and escape his ghosts. Maybe if he walked far enough he wouldn’t be able to find his way home, and then Viggo would be rid of him, could carry on with his life.

Some voice inside him, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Maude, told him he was being ridiculous, was wallowing in his own problems. He wasn’t often able to ignore Maude, but he ducked his head and kept walking, trying not to listen.

*

He didn’t get back to the apartment until almost 11pm, walking straight into a toweringly angry Viggo. A Viggo made all the more angry by his concern.

"Just where the hell have you been?" he demanded, coming out into the hall as Elijah closed the door. "You haven’t been anywhere near the gallery for three days, as I discovered today when I thought I’d better go and look for you, try and make you see sense."

"Out," Elijah answered dully, shrugging out of his coat and leaving it on the floor. "Just out." He coughed, his chest thawing in the warm apartment, and Viggo looked at him sharply.

"That cough sounds very familiar," he said, obviously trying to control his anger. "How long has it been developing? Something else you’ve been hiding from me, perhaps?"

"I don’t hide things from you," Elijah answered. "I’ve never hidden anything from you."

"No, you’re right." Viggo held up a hand. "I’m sorry. You don’t hide the fact that you’re not sleeping or eating. You don’t hide the fact that you refuse to get help. You just don’t tell me why." He put a hand over his mouth and sighed before trying again. "Elijah, I’m not angry, you know that. I’m frightened. Will you come into the kitchen and have a drink, tell me where you were today?"

Elijah glanced towards the kitchen and saw his father staring at him. He shook his head, turning around and picking up his coat.

"What are you doing?" Viggo demanded.

"Going out," Elijah replied dully. "I can’t stay here."

"Why?" Viggo’s voice was tired, defeated. "Oh God, Elijah, what have I done to make you hate me so much?"

"Nothing." With a great effort, Elijah tried to speak normally. "Viggo, nothing. I love you, truly I do. I’m just so…." He felt his shoulders sag. "So tired. I feel so lost and I can’t find my way back." He looked at Viggo, took in the new lines of worry on his forehead, and the tired droop of his body. "I’m mad," he said finally. "I know that now. Quite mad." His lips twitched in something that couldn’t be called a smile. "My mother was, and now so am I." He stepped towards Viggo and reached out, touching his face. "I should go, should leave you. You don’t want to live with a madman." He swallowed, surprised at the emotion he felt. "It would be nice if you could remember me sometimes."

"You’re not going anywhere," Viggo said, reaching out quickly and pulling Elijah close. "You’re not mad, and you’re not leaving me. Let me get a doctor, let me find somebody who will help you." He put his cheek against the top of Elijah’s head, rocking them both. "I love you so much, need you so much. I won’t let you go."

Elijah shook his head, wanting to pull away, not wanting to weaken and give in, inviting the ghosts back. But he was cold, and Viggo was warm, and he was so tired… He coughed and heard Viggo’s sharp intake of breath.

"I can’t be sick," he said, but didn’t explain any further. Didn’t explain that the fever dreams were always bad, but now they really would send him the final step into the abyss.

"I’ll look after you," Viggo said, his hand warm on Elijah’s back, and Elijah wanted to cry at the sheer kindness in his tone. "Now, come and have a drink."

Elijah looked toward the kitchen again, ready to refuse, but the shadows were empty, and so he let Viggo lead him there.

*

There were no dreams that night simply because he didn’t sleep. Instead, he sat propped up with pillows as the cough worsened, the weakness and onset of fever beginning to make him shiver. Viggo made him drink but still couldn’t persuade him to eat.

As a grey dawn began to break over the city, his eyes finally closed in sheer weariness, but he didn’t sleep. Instead, his fingers worked softly through Viggo’s hair as he lay on the bed, his head in Elijah’s lap. Maybe it was something about the fever, but the shadows in his mind were empty, and he could have cried for sheer relief.

"I’m frightened," Viggo said softly.

"About me being sick?"

"Partly," Viggo said. "But not so much. We can deal with it, we have before."

"About me being mad, then?" Elijah asked, and felt Viggo tense.

"You’re not mad," he said, raising his head and kneeling on the bed beside Elijah. "You have dreams – you won’t tell me about them, not properly – but I know that they’re bad." He touched Elijah’s hand where it lay on the blankets, before lifting it and tucking it back under the covers. "Why won’t you tell me?"

"Because I can’t," Elijah said. "It isn’t fair on you."

"Why? We share everything. I’ve spent a month – more than a month – watching as you slide into depression and ill health, and I’ve begged and begged you to tell me why, and you never will. Don’t you think that you doing that hurts me more than anything you could possibly tell me?" Viggo paused. "I will never do less than love you. It doesn’t matter."

Elijah coughed, his chest flaring into pain, and Viggo reached over for the glass of water on the bedside cabinet.

"The doctor said he would be here first thing," he said as he watched Elijah drink. "We need him to help you with this, even if you don’t want to tell him anything else."

Elijah nodded distantly, too tired to fight. Everything was happening at such a distance from him. If he tried very hard, he could understand Viggo’s pain, try and take some of it away, but the effort cost him so much and it kept slipping out of focus, as if his world of monsters was more real than the one he shared with Viggo. He knew that wasn’t true, really, but it was hard to concentrate for long.

They sat in silence for a long while, separated by an inch and a thousand words, Elijah feeling the fever burning in his body, making him weaker, and realising how frightened he was of being confined to bed, of being alone with his demons.

"During the war," Viggo said, his voice barely above a whisper. "There was a man – a boy, really – who had been away for a little while, suffering from delusions, visions and such. Shell shock, it was called. The constant pounding of the enemy guns – and your own – can do strange things to a man’s mind and so it was this time. When this young man came back, you could see in his eyes how frightened he was."

Elijah opened heavy eyes and looked at Viggo. He never spoke about the war.

"He saw things all the time. When he woke up one day he saw the Virgin standing near him, and she was crying tears of blood. He knew then that he was going to die that day.

But he didn’t. His friend did. His friend Ralph, who was young and idealistic and so full of life; he died instead. Blown to pieces within inches of this young man, who wasn’t hurt. He was covered in something, though, and he couldn’t work out what it was." He glanced up at Elijah, who could see his eyes were full of tears. "Brains," he said softly. "He was covered in Ralph’s brains and blood and skin." He swallowed. "He felt as if he were going mad when he realised what had happened – that Ralph had died and yet he was unhurt. It was as if a chasm had opened up at his feet and he didn’t dare move in case he fell."

"Don’t…" Elijah began, pulling his hand out from under the blankets and reaching for Viggo.

"He was haunted," Viggo continued as if he hadn’t heard. "He turned his back on God and would sit, surrounded by things nobody else could see, horrible things, visions full of death and hatred and pain." Viggo swallowed. "You see, he thought it was his fault that Ralph had died. After all, he was the one who had seen the Virgin; he was the one who had been chosen to die, and yet – he hadn’t." He paused again.

"The people – the officers and the doctors – they helped him, made him understand that none of it had been his fault – but it took a long time, and this young man didn’t believe them, not at first, but then he began to see that they were right. He will never forget Ralph, never forget what happened, but he learned to move on."

Elijah coughed, trying to muffle the sound, and Viggo blinked, coming back from his tale.

"And so, you see," he said in a different tone of voice. "I know a little about such things. I understand nightmares and pain and darkness." He looked at Elijah again, the tears now spilling freely down his cheeks.

"You don’t – you never talk about the war," Elijah whispered.

"Shall I tell you what I was told, when I saw things, when I woke up screaming in the night?" Viggo said, clearly not realising what he was saying. He leaned forward and cupped Elijah’s face. "I was told to concentrate on one thing, one thing alone. A field of wheat, the blue sky above me, the sound of the river." He shook Elijah slightly. "Concentrate on me, Elijah. I promise you that I will hold it back, whatever it is that frightens you so." He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Elijah’s. "Just tell me."

Elijah closed his eyes, holding onto Viggo’s words.

"You always take care of me," he said finally. "I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you."

"You’re burning up," Viggo said, one worry being set aside for another. "I should go and drag the doctor here by his ears."

"No." Elijah reached out and grabbed Viggo’s sleeve, aware on some level that he was, for the first time, asking for help. "Don’t leave me." He let go of Viggo’s sleeve and twisted his fingers in the blankets. "I’ve done nothing to make you want to stay. Done everything to drive you away. All I can say is don’t leave me, but I wouldn’t blame you – not for one second – if you walked out and never came back." He swallowed a cough.

"Come with me." Viggo threw back the blankets and leaned down to physically pick Elijah up, making him wince as pressure was put on his sore flesh. Viggo stopped, Elijah still suspended above the mattress. "There’s nothing to you," he said. "You’re too light. Is this why you’ve been wearing my shirt to bed?" Once again, tears sprang to his eyes. "We haven’t touched properly, haven’t made love, for such a long time. I thought it was just that you hated me … were you hiding?"

"I don’t hate you," Elijah said. "How could I hate you?"

"Come on." Viggo swallowed. "We’re going to the bathroom. Time to try and get the steam working on your chest."

"What about the doctor?"

"Yes, he can come in if he wants." The joke was small and feeble, but it was still a joke, and even through everything that was weighing him down, Elijah managed a tentative smile.

*

He wasn’t aware of too much after that. The dreams, sometimes, hands reaching for him and threatening him, the pain of trying to breathe. Viggo touching him, talking to him. Nothing was clear, not even the worst of the nightmares, everything lost in a fever haze of pain.

At some point he knew that he was being moved, and it frightened him, made him think Viggo was going to lock him up in a madhouse and he tried to fight, begging Viggo to forgive him, promising he would try to get better if only he wasn’t locked up. He couldn’t hear Viggo’s reply but he was aware of him speaking, soft and soothing, but he still tried to fight.

Don’t fight, Denny said in his mind. Come join us.

Concentrate on me. Viggo’s voice was suddenly, startlingly clear. Concentrate on me.

*

Eventually, he became aware that he wasn’t in his own bed, and he forced open heavy eyes, panicking when he saw the white institution walls around him. He tried to move, but his body was too weak. He must have made a noise because Viggo was there, looming over him.

"Don’t worry, my own." Viggo’s voice was soft, soothing. "You’re in hospital. We had to bring you here this time because you couldn’t breathe." Elijah tried to focus on the worn, worried face above him. "The doctors had to give you oxygen so that you could get better. I’ll just tell them you’re awake."

Elijah made a noise, and Viggo shook his head. "I’ll be a minute, just a minute."

With a fake-looking smile, he disappeared from Elijah’s vision, but true to his word was back very quickly, a young doctor behind him.

"This is the doctor, Elijah." Viggo touched Elijah’s hair very gently. "You’ve been so ill. I was frightened."

"You weren’t strong enough to fight it alone," the doctor interjected. "You haven’t been eating, your friend tells us." He glared, a look which would have amused Elijah under other circumstances. "We’ve had to give you oxygen to help you breathe, drugs to fight the infection in your chest. When we take the mask off, you have to eat." Elijah hadn’t realised that he had an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth.

"He will," Viggo interrupted. "Don’t speak to him as if he were a child."

Huffing slightly, the doctor moved out of Elijah’s sight, and Viggo replaced him, one hand still stroking softly through Elijah’s hair.

"You’ll be better soon," he said softly. "You were bad this time, my own. Too weak to fight it." Now Elijah could concentrate a little better, he realised Viggo’s voice was shaking. "We’ll get the mask taken off you soon," he continued. He moved away slightly and Elijah grabbed for him, making him come back.

"It’s all right," he said. "I’m not going anywhere." He frowned. "Are you frightened again? Do you think that now your mind is clearer that the dreams will come back? You didn’t dream while you were sick, did you?"

Elijah felt hot tears leak from the corners of his eyes and slide down his cheeks and he squeezed his eyes tightly closed as he felt Viggo’s fingers, soft against his skin, wiping the moisture away.

"We’ll beat it," Viggo said, leaning down to kiss Elijah’s forehead. "But first, you have to get better. Stop frightening me." He sat by the side of the bed, taking one of Elijah’s hands in his own. "Get better," he said. "And between us we’ll fight these dreams of yours."

Tired, Elijah just managed to turn his head so that he could see Viggo before falling suddenly and profoundly asleep. Whether it was because of sheer exhaustion or from the drugs still coursing through his system, he didn’t dream. Or maybe it was Viggo’s hand, which never let him go.

Two

He was in hospital for another two weeks before finally being released, the same young doctor standing over him as he ate. He hadn’t wanted to, the sight of food still making him nauseous, but he couldn’t stand to hurt Viggo anymore.

He was surprised by his own eagerness to go home, dragging himself out of his bed as early as he could, and dressing before sitting, trembling slightly as he tried to gather his strength. Maybe it was the fact he was eating again, or maybe simply that he had avoided any dreams for two weeks, but things seemed more positive. Far from right – he could still feel the crushing misery inside, just waiting to re-emerge – but maybe improving.

"Hello." He looked up and smiled as Viggo appeared in the doorway. "How are you today?"

"Eager to go home," he said. "Eager to apologise."

"To whom? Marechal? He didn’t mind that you missed the exhibition, and even if I do say so myself, Anton and I were equal to the task."

"No," Elijah said. "You know what I mean." He held out a hand, which Viggo stepped forward to take.

"Not to me," he said softly, his thumb running softly over Elijah’s knuckles.

"I hurt you," Elijah said. "I may still hurt you."

"Are you ready to talk to somebody about it?" Viggo asked.

"I think I may be ready to talk to you, if you’re willing to listen to me," Elijah said. "I don’t feel mad right at the moment; I just feel – lost. Alone." He blinked, trying to fight back the too-ready tears. "I’m frightened."

"Don’t be," Viggo said immediately, moving closer. Elijah leaned forward and rested his head against Viggo’s hip, then looked up.

"It’s been a long time since you’ve touched me," Viggo said. "It seems forever. I’ve missed you so much."

"I never meant to hurt you," Elijah said, closing his eyes again. "I just – I don’t know."

"Come on," Viggo said, pulling away. "Let’s get home. I’ve got a surprise for you, an early Christmas present, if you will."

"Why do our Christmases never work?" Elijah said, leaning heavily against Viggo as they made their way along the corridor towards the exit.

"They do," Viggo protested. "They’re just not terribly conventional."

They climbed into the waiting taxi and Elijah leaned his head against the back of the seat, exhausted and nervous. He could feel the knots in his belly tightening again, and he swallowed, desperately trying to keep them at bay.

"Concentrate on me," Viggo said softly. "Come on, Elijah, look at me."

Elijah did as he was told, fixing his eyes on Viggo’s familiar, loved face, and he watched as the tired blue eyes softened.

*

By the time Elijah had climbed the stairs to the apartment, he was ready to drop from sheer exhaustion. He had laughingly refused Viggo’s offer to carry him, but he secretly regretted it as his legs trembled with the sheer effort of keeping him upright.

He reached for the door, startled when it suddenly opened, apparently of its own volition, and he had a moment of sheer panic before a very familiar face appeared, wreathed in smiles, work-worn hands reaching for him.

"Mathilde!" He hugged her close, his nostrils filling with the familiar scent of her – bread and starched clothes, cooking, warmth and utter safety.

"See, M’sieur Elijah?" She cupped his face, her eyes shrewd. "You cannot cope without me. I will take care of you now, keep your silly ghosts at bay." She released him and picked up his bag as if it weighed nothing, and shooed him into the apartment, Viggo quietly bringing up the rear.

"How did you get here?" Elijah asked as they shuffled towards the bedroom. "And why are we going this way?"

"M’sieur Viggo telegraphed me," she said, with some importance. "Nobody in our village has ever had a telegraph before. He asked me if I would come and look after you since you managed to make yourself ill again, and I could hardly refuse, could I? And we’re going this way because you are white as a sheet and look fit to drop. Rest for you, M’sieur, then some good, wholesome broth."

"Mathilde and her soup are here to stay," Viggo whispered as he helped Elijah out of his clothes. "Here." He held out the familiar old work shirt that Elijah loved to wear. "Just to keep you warm and protect your modesty." Elijah pulled the shirt on, revelling in the soft cotton feel, and slid gratefully into bed, his eyes already drooping closed with exhaustion.

They were there, at the corners of his dreams, but they weren’t strong enough, at least not yet. He was able to concentrate on the light that was there, and when he woke, late in the afternoon, rested and peaceful, Viggo was there, sitting next to the bed and reading quietly in the fading light.

"Your eyes will be as bad as mine if you keep doing that," he said hoarsely, and Viggo put down his book and smiled.

"Then I will simply borrow your spectacles like some kind of long-married couple," he said. "You look better, not so tired. Did you sleep well?"

"Very well," Elijah answered. "I feel better. Do you think I could get up for a few hours?"

"Of course." Viggo stood up and switched on the main light.. "Do you want to get dressed? You should put some trousers on for the sake of propriety."

"You’re right." Elijah, unable to help himself, glanced into the dark corner of the room furthest away from the door, but there was nothing there, and he allowed himself a brief moment of hope. He looked up as Viggo approached him, and then patted the bed next to him.

"What’s wrong?" Viggo asked as he obediently sat down.

"Nothing." Elijah looked down at his lap. "I’ve been terrible to you, I know that now. I wanted to say thank you for telling me about you – the young man – in the war, about the dreams and the nightmares. Do you think, if I told you about what I’ve been dreaming, you would be willing to listen to me?"

"Talking to me may not be enough," Viggo said softly. "Although you know that you can say whatever you want and it will go no further than the two of us. When I was – ill – during the war, I was sent to a hypnotist, who made me tell him everything. I think it helped."

"Not yet," Elijah said. "I can’t do that." He reached out and lifted one of Viggo’s hands. "I just don’t want them to come back. I want to try and understand why they came in the first place. Do you think you can help?"

"My own, I am willing to at least try." Viggo paused and then pulled away gently, standing up. "Come on, let’s go and talk to Mathilde. Nothing will disturb you with both of us looking after you."

*

"…and so," Mathilde was working towards the end of her story, "my sister Giselle, who was a great beauty in her time – not that you’d know that by looking at her now – decided to extend the house and build another bedroom. Why, I asked her, would you want to do that? In case friends come to stay, says she. Unlikely, I answer, since you don’t have any." Mathilde paused and took a large drink of something that she said was chocolate, although Elijah could smell the extra ingredient from where he was curled in the corner of the sofa. "Anyway, she’s building her extension, and I’m here. Let her do all the work herself, in itself, that should be something for the village to talk about for months. Giselle, actually working!"

"So the invitation was well timed?" Viggo asked politely, and Elijah rested his head against the arm of the sofa and held back a smile, extending his feet until his toes were touching Viggo’s thigh.

"It was, M’sieur Viggo! But then, you know that I would always come to look after you, or our beautiful boy." She smiled at Elijah. "Not such a boy now, of course. You were so young the first time I saw you, and now you’re a man." She shook her slightly-inebriated head. "So young." Elijah watched, amused, as her eyes closed and she began to snore.

"It’s good to see you smile again," Viggo said, his hand gentle against Elijah’s ankle. "Good to touch you again. I’m not fool enough to think anything has gone away, but I feel as if perhaps we’re fighting it together now."

Elijah smiled again and shifted on the sofa so that his head was resting against Viggo’s shoulder, relishing the touch in a way he hadn’t for a long time. He dozed then, barely stirring when Viggo gently moved away and pulled him to his feet, steering him to bed.

He woke up once in the night, startled and unsure of his surroundings, but then he relaxed as he realised he was in Viggo’s arms, where he belonged, and if he listened, he could hear Mathilde’s snores echoing down the hall from her bed in Elijah’s office. Nothing would dare try and frighten him with two such people protecting him. He looked once more into the shadows and rested his head on Viggo’s shoulder, concentrating hard.

*

He woke the next day, still safe, although Viggo wasn’t in the room. Mathilde, on the other hand, was sitting by the bed, darning what appeared to be one of Viggo’s shirts.

"Where is he?" Elijah asked, aware that he sounded rather pathetic.

"Oh, don’t worry yourself," Mathilde said softly. "He’s gone to buy some food. He said that with your amazing sense of timing you were bound to wake while he wasn’t here, but I was to tell you not to worry. He won’t be long." She put down her darning and leaned forward. "How are you, my beautiful boy? You’ve been sick, and you’ve been scared, M’sieur Viggo says."

"Yes, to both," Elijah said, curling up on his side. "I came close to losing him, I think, Mathilde. I wouldn’t tell him what was wrong, and I tried to drive him away."

"Will you tell me?" Mathilde asked, smiling and nodding when Elijah shook his head. "Good, that’s as it should be. M’sieur V should be told first."

"My mother was mad," Elijah said, watching Mathilde for her reaction. "Did you know? No, of course not. She was beautiful, but wild and dangerous as well. You could never tell when she was going to have one of her fits. I loved her so much, my mother, but she frightened me too."

"It doesn’t have to be passed down," Mathilde said. "Just because your mother was sick, doesn’t mean you are."

"I’ve felt as if I am, these past few weeks," Elijah admitted. "I wanted Viggo to go, to get away from me, but he wouldn’t leave."

"No," said Mathilde. "He wouldn’t. He will never leave you." She leaned back. "He will never let anything hurt you, either." She looked up as the front door opened and closed softly. "Talk to him, and soon. He has been so lonely without you."

They both looked up as Viggo appeared in the doorway.

"I knew you would wake when I had gone," Viggo said, approaching the bed. Elijah could see the worry and the sheer exhaustion in his face and he swallowed down the automatic apology.

"We’ve kept each other company," said Mathilde. "Now I should go and see what a mess you’ve made of the shopping, I suppose." She reached down and kissed Elijah’s forehead, stroking his dark hair. "You’ll be well soon enough."

There was silence in the room for a second before Elijah swallowed and blinked. "Come and lie down. You look tired."

"So do you," Viggo replied, moving willingly to the other side of the bed. "Are the drugs the doctor gave you helping you sleep?"

"Yes," Elijah said. "They – my sleep isn’t disturbed."

"Good, that’s good." Viggo turned onto his side so that he was facing Elijah, one hand tucked comfortably under his head. "How are you?"

Elijah pulled the covers up to his chin and smiled. "Feeling better all the time," he replied, then paused.

"Elijah? What is it?" Viggo’s expression darkened.

"Would you do me a favour? Would you send a telegraph to Dominic, or perhaps even book a telephone call to him. Ask him about Evans. Do you remember him?"

"I’m hardly likely to forget," replied Viggo. "But why do you want to ask about him? What do you want to know?"

"I want to know … " Elijah closed his eyes. "I want to know if he’s dead."

"I hope so," Viggo said immediately. "But why do you ask?"

"I hope he isn’t," Elijah said, his eyes still closed. "Because … " He paused. "I don’t know how to tell you."

"Tell me what you can," Viggo said, and Elijah could almost feel the change in the room, the way Viggo tensed and then tried to force himself to relax.

"The dreams the young man had in the war," Elijah began. "When he saw terrible things. I have them." His eyes flickered open, looking at Viggo. "But I have them when I’m awake as well. I see such horrible things."

"Do you see Evans?" Elijah could see Viggo practically vibrating in his need to reach out, but clearly unsure whether the touch would be welcome, so he reached out instead, touching Viggo’s chest, his cheek.

"Would you get into bed with me? When I was sick, I couldn’t be held, and before, when I was going mad, I found no joy in it, but I find now that I miss it. Whether this means I’m no longer mad, or happy in my madness, I really don’t know."

Slipping off his trousers and shirt, Viggo did as he was asked, and Elijah moved willingly into his arms.

"I’m so tired," he said. "I feel as if there’s a black hole inside me that just wants to swallow me. If I lose concentration for a second I feel as if I’ll take a wrong step, and I’ll never be able to climb out." He sighed. "It feels as if nothing matters. I know that I love you, but nothing matters." He coughed and took a moment to try and control his breathing. "The business could collapse, we could lose all our money, and I don’t think I’d care."

"Elijah, mountains could fall, the moon could drop out of the sky, and I wouldn’t care," Viggo replied. "As long as you’re well and safe."

"Romantic fool," Elijah whispered, and Viggo laughed.

"What else?" Viggo asked. "There’s more, isn’t there?"

Elijah hesitated unsure. He felt safe and secure here, warm in Viggo’s arms. The apartment felt like home, but it could change in a second, he knew that.

"Elijah? What about Evans?"

"I see him," Elijah whispered. "I see him and he has huge cuts to his arms, and Denny says he’s dead and it’s my fault."

"You see Denny as well? Where do you see him?"

Elijah buried his face against Viggo’s chest, shaking his head. "Too much," he said finally. "This is too much."

"Are you tired?" Viggo asked, his hand on Elijah’s back. "Perhaps you should sleep." Elijah shook his head. "Mathilde could sit with you again."

"I don’t want Mathilde," Elijah answered. "I want you."

"Then you shall have me," Viggo said. "Tell me, is it just Denny and Evans?"

"Maman and Papa," Elijah whispered. "They look at me as if they hate me, they tell me I don’t deserve to live, that I belong with them…." He pressed closer to Viggo, coughing again.

"Stop talking," Viggo said. "You’ll only tire yourself out."

"I don’t want to sleep," Elijah said, frightened he had said too much, that he would encourage his demons to appear.

"You don’t have to sleep. We can just lie here, would you like that?"

"Mmmm." Elijah closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of Viggo’s body. "When Dominic was ill, I read to him. Would you do that?"

"Read to Dominic? If he asked me." Viggo looked down and the smile was one he saved just for Elijah – his eyes crinkled and softened, making him look twenty-five and very gentle.

"Do you think I’m mad?" Elijah asked. "You haven’t said anything about what I told you."

"What would you like me to say?" Viggo asked. "No, I don’t think you’re mad; I know how it is to see things that aren’t there. I think you’re hurt inside – your heart, not your head – and we need to work out how we’re going to mend that." He leaned forward and kissed Elijah’s forehead. "But we’re going to do it together. I won’t let the ghosts hurt you, won’t let you go away from me like that again." He kissed him again. "You say that you don’t care about anything, that the business could collapse and you wouldn’t care. But you know that I love you, and I think you care about that. That’s all I care about. Possessions are unimportant, Elijah. I just want you well and whole and by my side."

"It all just seems like too much effort," Elijah said. "I should ask you about the exhibition and whether Marechal’s work is selling; I should ask how your work is going; I should tell you of any new plans I have for the galleries – none, by the way – but I can’t. I don’t have the energy."

"You’ve just been released from the hospital," Viggo said. "Your energy will be low for a little while. The other thing – we will take care of that. Maybe you will need to speak to someone – a hypnotist, perhaps – but whatever happens, we will get you better. I’m just so pleased you’ve chosen to tell me something of what you’re going through."

"I don’t want to feel like this forever," Elijah said, tears pricking his eyelids again. "I want to be with you again, feel as if I’m not a burden to you."

"It’s no burden to me to be lying in bed with you on a cold afternoon," Viggo said, his laugh sounding only slightly forced. "Now, what would you like me to read to you?"

"Over there," Elijah moved his head towards the bedside table.

"Dickens," Viggo said. "That man uses a lot of words."

"He was paid by the word," Elijah said. "Apparently."

"That doesn’t surprise me one little bit."

Elijah smiled slightly and closed his eyes, listening to the rhythm and tone of Viggo’s voice, rather than the actual words. It soothed him and he felt as if the black hole inside him retreated a little bit. He put his arm around Viggo’s waist and squeezed, without speaking.

*

He woke that night from a dream of blackness and horror, sweating slightly, his breath whistling in his lungs. Viggo, awake at almost the same time, reached for him, pulling him close, and as he lay still, trying to recover, he heard footsteps in the hall, glancing toward the door as Mathilde appeared, a glass of water in her hand. She handed it to Elijah who took it in trembling hands, drinking a little before handing it back.

"Bad dreams, my beautiful boy?" Mathilde put the glass on the small, somewhat cluttered table beside the bed.

"Yes," Viggo answered for him. "But he’s better now."

"I shall stay." Mathilde pulled the chair towards the side of the bed and planted herself firmly. "I will not have my boy’s sleep disturbed." She glared around the room as if talking to unseen forces, and then reached forward, touching Elijah’s arm. "You sleep, cherie. Nothing will come to you tonight."

*

Three days later, a telegraph arrived from England. Elijah, who had been sitting quietly in the kitchen with Mathilde, looked at it with dread.

"Do you want to wait for M’sieur Viggo?" Mathilde asked. "He should be back from the gallery within the hour."

"I don’t know – I don’t think he would mind if I open it," Elijah said, still hesitating. "I think I know what it is."

"It’s your decision," Mathilde said. "If you know what it is, then open it, it makes sense."

Elijah nodded and opened the envelope, reading the short message, before looking up at Mathilde.

"There!" She said. "Whatever it was, it seems to be good news. You look relieved."

"I am," Elijah said, looking down at the message again.

Evans alive and kicking. Be well soon.

So Denny had lied. Elijah lowered his head to the table.

When he showed Viggo the telegraph later, Viggo smiled, but didn’t speak, leaving Elijah to his thoughts.

*

"He lied to me," Elijah said that night as he lay in Viggo’s arms. "He lied to me when he was alive, and he lied to me now. He said Evans was dead, that I had killed him."

"Now you know better," Viggo said. "So what do you think now? Perhaps everything your demons tell you is wrong, is a lie."

"I don’t know," Elijah said, the tiredness suddenly descending on him. "I don’t know anymore."

"You know that Evans is alive," Viggo said. "You know that for certain. If you dream of him, then you tell him that you know he is alive, that you know Denny lied. Tell him that, and then come back. Remember…"

"Concentrate on you." Elijah nodded. "I do that."

But he didn’t dream that night, and the shadows stayed empty.

Three

The awful black cloud didn’t diminish; Elijah remained tired and disinterested in the world around him. What did change, albeit slowly, was his relationship with Viggo. It began to warm again, it began to feel to Elijah that it was heading slowly back towards solid ground, that Viggo wasn’t always looking at him with pity, and that seemed to provide some light in his darkness.

"Do you think you’re ready to go out?" Viggo asked over breakfast, some two weeks after Elijah’s return from hospital. "Your strength is back, and you seem to be sleeping better."

"I am," Elijah agreed, crumbling his bread rather than eating it, at least until Viggo reached over and touched his wrist, making him stop.

"And the shadows?" Viggo asked. "Are they empty?"

"Not always," Elijah admitted. He sighed. "Maybe tomorrow. I’m tired."

He waited to see what Viggo’s reaction would be, but Viggo just nodded and smiled, touching Elijah’s hand where it wrapped around his bowl of chocolate.

"Tomorrow, then," he said. "I have to go out for a few hours, but I’ll be back by lunch. Mathilde will be here." He smiled. "How are you?"

Elijah smiled, not answering, aware of the pain in Viggo’s eyes, but not able to work out a way to do the right thing.

"I should go," Viggo said after a pause. "I’ll tell Mathilde." He stood up. "I won’t be long."

Elijah listened to him move into the hall, picking up his coat and collecting whatever it was he needed from his study, and as the front door opened, he finally stood up.

"Viggo, wait!" He moved out into the hall. Viggo, the door already opened, half-turned.

"I need to go, Elijah."

"I know." Elijah moved towards him. "Don’t give up on me, please. I’m getting better, I swear I am. Please don’t give up on me now."

"Oh, Elijah. I will never give up on you, you must know that." Viggo leaned his head against the door. "It’s just – hard, sometimes. I’m frightened."

Elijah stepped forward and put his hand on Viggo’s arm.

"If I asked you, would you kiss me?" he asked. "It seems so long since you’ve done anything but comfort me. I feel – lost."

Viggo turned to face him and reached out, touching Elijah’s face.

"You’re not lost," Viggo said. "You’re just a little bit confused." He leaned forward and Elijah watched, almost nervous, but then Viggo’s lips touched his and he moved forward with much more confidence.

"That’s nice," Viggo said when he pulled away. "I miss this."

"We’ll get it back," Elijah said. "I promise you." He blinked and then raised his head again. "More of that?"

Viggo smiled and kissed him, making an odd little noise in his throat when Elijah put his hand up, stroking through Viggo’s hair then down along his arm until their fingers were tangled together, basking in the warmth and familiarity of what they were doing.

Finally, he pulled away, and rested his forehead against Viggo’s.

"I have to go," Viggo said. "I’ll be back soon." He touched Elijah’s face very gently and then pulled away. He looked over his shoulder when he reached the top of the stairs and then quickly ran down them, out of sight.

Elijah closed the door as quietly as he could.

*

He lay on the sofa, listening to Mathilde bustle around the apartment, tidying things that didn’t need tidying. He could feel his eyes growing heavy and he was aware of the shadows creeping in on him. He tried to concentrate on an image of Viggo, but it was hard, and he could feel the atmosphere in the room changing. He curled up as tightly as he could, his fingers against his lips, pressing slightly as he tried to keep Viggo with him.

"No," he said softly to the shadows. "Go away."

Come with me. Denny smiled at him from the big chair by the fire. I’m only waiting for you, then we can both go away and we’ll be together forever.

"I don’t want to come with you," Elijah said. "You lied."

What if I did? It’s all you deserve.

"M’sieur Elijah?"

Elijah looked up, startled, as Mathilde appeared in the doorway.

"What’s the matter? Are you talking to yourself?"

He started to nod and then shook his head. "I don’t know."

"Would you like me to stay here?" Mathilde asked. "At least until M’sieur M comes back?" She moved towards the big chair, but Denny didn’t seem to notice her.

"He’s here," Elijah said. "He wants me. Maybe I should go." He closed his eyes briefly. "I’m tired."

"Where is he?" Mathilde looked around the room. "I can’t see him. He’s obviously too frightened of a woman to show himself. Only wants to show himself to a sick boy." She sat heavily in the chair and for a bizarre moment, she shared the same space as Denny before he vanished. Elijah blinked and looked at Mathilde.

"So, tell me," she said. "Are they still with you, the ghosts?"

"Not so much," Elijah said. "I don’t think that they can compete with you and Viggo." He smiled briefly, but it faded. "It’s me, Mathilde. I feel so useless and tired. I just feel like giving up."

"Don’t say that!" Mathilde sounded genuinely angry. "If you gave up, what do you think M’sieur M would do? He would die without you." She paused. "And me? What about me? Do you want me to lose my beautiful boy?"

"No," he said. "I don’t. You’ve been wonderful to us."

"I have," Mathilde agreed. "And it would be the height of rudeness if you just gave up and left us." She leaned back in the chair. "I would hate you, and so would that man of yours." She smiled. "I’ve never seen two people who need each other so much. It would be wrong to leave him alone."

"I kissed him today," Elijah said. "For the first time in a long time, I kissed him properly."

"Good," Mathilde said. "It’s a good sign."

*

"Hello." Viggo appeared in the doorway, smiling down at Elijah who was still lying on the sofa. Mathilde was fast asleep in the chair. "She’s not guarding you too well."

"Oh, she is," Elijah said. "She’s done a marvellous job." He sat up and patted the sofa next to him, making Viggo smile and sit down. As soon as he was settled, he moved again and put his head in Viggo’s lap.

"I saw Alfred today," Viggo said, his fingers in Elijah’s hair. "He says hello, sends his love."

"Your hands are cold," Elijah said. "Is it still cold outside?"

"Mmm." He put his fingers against Elijah’s cheek, and Elijah laughed, squirming away before settling down again. "I’ve invited him to dinner."

"Alfred?" Elijah looked up, his stomach clenching. "Viggo…"

"No, listen to me. We can’t stand still, can’t just let this go on. We have to beat it, and who better to help us than our friends? He only knows that you’ve been sick, he doesn’t know – any details. I asked him, and he’s going to bring Victoria and little Alain." He stroked Elijah’s hair. "Please – they love you, they’re worried about you."

"If I hate it, would they understand?" Elijah said quietly. "If I see shadows, will they understand?" He reached up and caught Viggo’s hand, holding it in both of his.

"Yes, they will." Viggo took a deep breath. "And I also invited Anton and his family."

"Viggo!" Elijah let go of his hand and sat up. "You should have asked me."

"You would have said no," Viggo said. "You have to move on, please Elijah." He shifted and reached out so that the tips of his fingers were just brushing Elijah’s hand. "These people are our friends, they care for you. What do you think they would ever do to you?"

"Nothing." Elijah shook his head, confused. "I don’t know. I’m not ready…."

"Please try," Viggo said. "For me."

Elijah almost laughed. "Oh, that’s cruel. When have I ever been able to refuse you when you say that?" He looked down at Viggo’s hand where it touched his.

"They love you," Viggo repeated. "Will you?"

Elijah nodded and Viggo smiled, relieved. "And then perhaps we could go out somewhere? Just for a walk? Would you perhaps like to go and see your lady? You haven’t been there for a long time."

"Perhaps," Elijah said, and he saw the hurt register once again in Viggo’s eyes. He knew that he should react, and he knew he should hate himself for being so passive, but he couldn’t find the energy. He should hate himself for hurting Viggo, but even that seemed dim and far away.

"I would like to kiss you again," Viggo said, almost shyly, and Elijah didn’t know how he was supposed to feel.

"Did I do that to you?" he asked finally. "Did I make you so unsure that you have to say that? You know that you can kiss me whenever you want." He shrugged. "My body has been yours since the first night."

"I want …" Viggo paused. "I want you to come to me because it’s what you want, not because you somehow think you should." He touched Elijah’s hand again, and sighed. "I just … you’re not the only person who feels lost." He sat up as soon as he had spoken. "No, I didn’t mean that, please don’t get upset."

"I’m not upset," Elijah said. "I know what I’m doing to you." He felt the tears begin again and cursed to himself, then forced himself to look up at Viggo. "I just don’t know how to stop."

*

He lay in bed that night, stroking Viggo’s naked back as they kissed, tongues tangling together. It felt so right, so downright comfortable, that Elijah could almost feel the darkness receding.

"God," he sighed as Viggo pulled away, smiling down at him. "You make me believe that one day you’ll put your hands on me and my cock will be hard again." He smiled and touched Viggo’s cheek. "I love you."

"I can keep you safe," Viggo said. "If you’ll let me." He kissed Elijah again. "We don’t have room in our lives, in our bed, for darkness. We’ve always been about the light, you and I."

"But we seem to have had so much darkness," Elijah said softly, his hand moving to Viggo’s waist. "It feels as if it’s a fight, sometimes."

"Sometimes it is," Viggo said. "But it’s a fight that’s worth the winning." He paused. "So much has happened to you, it’s wrong and it’s cruel, but maybe these things happen to you because you are strong enough to beat this, to win against all the forces ranged against you."

Another kiss, still soft and familiar, and then Elijah took a deep breath.

"What?" asked Viggo.

"Could you … I’d like to see you," Elijah said, slightly embarrassed. "Can I see you?"

"What do you mean?" Viggo asked.

"I miss your body," Elijah admitted. "I’d like to see it, feel it against me."

"Would you take this off?" Viggo touched the thick shirt Elijah still wore, and Elijah swallowed. He had been half-expecting this, and he was still unsure as to what his answer would be.

"I won’t touch you if you don’t want it," Viggo said. "I’ll keep you warm, you know that. I know that nothing – intimate – will happen, but I would like to feel your skin again." He stroked Elijah’s face. "But don’t do it just because you feel you should. Don’t ever do anything unless you want to."

Elijah took a deep breath. He knew that what he was being asked to do went beyond a simple request. It was somehow symbolic. He had worn the shirt to bed since before he had fallen ill, and Viggo had never asked why, had even taken to wearing a shirt himself. Now, as he tried to move them on, he was asking Elijah to do this – to show himself again.

With fingers that he knew were trembling, Elijah reached up and began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, lying still on the bed as he reached the final one, pushing the sides of the shirt apart.

"Oh…" Viggo put out a hand, but didn’t touch him, and with a deep breath Elijah sat up briefly to shrug out of the shirt and drop it on the floor. He lay back down again, acutely aware of his vulnerability, aware and vaguely embarrassed about his complete lack of arousal.

"Not so long ago I couldn’t look at you without my cock getting hard," he said. "I miss that." He laughed, embarrassed. "Do you still get hard for me, or am I so undesirable now?"

"I get hard," Viggo said solemnly, unfastening his own shirt and dropping it on the floor in his turn. "You have only ever had to look at me to cause that effect." With a brief look for permission, he leaned down and kissed Elijah’s shoulder. "Maybe not so much, not now I’m so worried about you, but I know that will change as soon as you are well again."

He lay down and pulled Elijah to him, and Elijah sighed in pleasure at the sensation of Viggo’s long, lean body against his. They didn’t speak, simply lay in silence for a long while.

Eventually, Elijah swallowed, and cleared his throat.

"Mathilde sat on Denny today," he said, and felt Viggo’s reaction all the way through his body.

"What?"

"He was on the chair talking to me when she came into the room and sat in the same chair," Elijah said. "She sat on him."

"She would," Viggo said. "Bless the woman." He laughed softly. "Maybe she’s shown you how to deal with him – laugh at him, dismiss him." He paused. "Do you see him so much now?"

"No," Elijah said. "and never maman or papa, or Evans. I think they may have left me. I hope so."

"Still such a sadness in your eyes, though," Viggo said softly.

"Your friend in the war," Elijah said hesitantly. "He recovered, didn’t he? Or did he never lose the sadness?"

"I think he carries with him a capacity for sadness," Viggo replied, obviously reluctant. "But he has something now, something that makes him happy, and that helps." He kissed Elijah’s forehead. "But he talked to somebody, and that helped as well. Helped him to control the sadness, maybe."

"Will you wait until I’m ready?" Elijah asked, relaxing in the warmth of Viggo’s body. "I don’t want people putting electricity into my brain to make me better."

"As if we would let them," Viggo replied, and Elijah smiled.

"That’s the closest you’ve come to saying you will talk to somebody," Viggo continued, and Elijah could hear the smile in his voice. "I’ll wait as long as you like as long as you give me that hope."

"I don’t want you to be sad," Elijah said, his voice muffled as he began to fall asleep.

"How could I be?" said Viggo softly.

Four

Elijah could feel his breathing speeding up, feel his palms begin to sweat as he watched the clock on the kitchen wall slowly tick around.

"Chere Elijah." Mathilde approached him and put her hands on his shoulders. "These people are your friends. You’ve been cooped up here too long. Time to stretch your wings again." She leaned down, her cheek against his hair. "Why are you frightened?"

"I don’t know," Elijah admitted. "I feel as if I’m some kind of clinging, frightened little animal, Mathilde, hiding in my apartment, relying on those I love to take care of me. I’m ashamed."

"No." Mathilde pulled him close. "You have nothing to be ashamed of." A sudden knock on the door made them both start slightly. "Now, my love, be brave and greet your friends."

Elijah stood up and turned, hugging Mathilde before moving out of the kitchen and into the hallway just in time to see Viggo open the door, revealing Anton, his wife Yvette, and their two children, Marius and Sophie. Seeing Elijah, Marius gave a shrill cry and toddled forward on solid little legs, arms outstretched to his favourite uncle.

"My boy!" Elijah scooped him up and held him close, inhaling the little-boy scent of him, laughing as Marius kissed him rather sloppily. He tucked Marius comfortably onto his hip and reached for Yvette, kissing her hand and making her laugh, before shaking Anton’s hand and finally kissing a shy Sophie. He saw expression in Viggo’s eyes as he closed the door, and couldn’t help but smile. He looked pleased, almost proud.

Marius punched him to attract his attention, and he glanced down, laughing.

"Well, little man, you’re going to be up very late tonight visiting your uncles. It’s a little early to start punching me." He rubbed his nose against Marius’ making the little boy laugh, the sound so infectious that Elijah laughed as well. He glanced up and saw Viggo smile, and then reached out to take Yvette’s hand. "Come on," he said. "Let’s go into the main room."

*

Alfred and Victoria, along with little Alain, arrived some twenty minutes later, and they were soon all seated in what Elijah referred to as the main room – their huge, high-ceilinged lounge. There was a fire blazing high, and the room was comfortable and warm.

Elijah sat on the sofa, Sophie on his knee and Marius shyly cuddled into his side, and he told them tales of ancient times when the handsome knight always won the day and evil was never allowed to exist for long.

"…and so they travelled, and Marius showed Sophie the world," Elijah said, coming to the end of his story. "They met princes and princesses, fought dragons and scaled mountains. And Marius carried Sophie's heart, bruising it sometimes, but never hurting it so that it couldn't be fixed, and Sophie learned that you do carry your home with you; distance makes no difference in the end because no matter where you go, home is just over the next hill."

He smiled down at the children and then glanced up at Viggo, whose head was bowed as he looked into the fire. He seemed to feel Elijah’s gaze because he looked up and smiled, and Elijah felt his whole body relax when he saw that it was the old Viggo who smiled at him – the relaxed, beautiful artist, not the tortured, unhappy man who had been forced to the surface recently.

"You tell a beautiful story," Alfred said from his chair in front of the fire. "You have a gift with children, Elijah. It’s a sad thing…" He tailed off, his face turning red, and Elijah laughed, his spirits lifting with every second.

"Oh, I make a good uncle, perhaps," he said. "But I would much rather be able to hand them back at the end of the day." He kissed Sophie, now dozing against his chest, and ran his hand through Marius’ silky hair. He smiled at Yvette as she picked up Sophie, and then at Anton who did the same with Marius. Finally free to move again, Elijah stretched mightily and then stood up, moving over to Viggo, putting an arm around his waist before looking at the tableau in front of him.

"You look happy," Viggo said, kissing Elijah’s temple. "Your face looks soft again. It’s been so sharp for so long."

"I was thinking much the same of you," Elijah said softly. "I feel – less empty, if that makes sense? I’m not fool enough to think that an evening with our friends will suddenly miraculously cure me, but I do feel …" he shrugged.

"And the shadows?" Viggo asked. "Are they empty?"

"Yes," Elijah replied. "On a night like this, how could they not be?" He looked up as Mathilde entered the room, nodding at him, and he pulled away to hand her a drink, kissing her cheek.

"Bless you," he whispered. "Thank you for everything." He pulled back. "You’ll stay, won’t you? Stay as long as you like? We don’t want you to go."

"Eventually I will have to go back," she said. "And see what Giselle has been doing in my absence. But not for a little while yet." She took his hand. "Now, come and eat."

*

At one point in the evening, as he was returning from checking on the now-sleeping children, he saw the shadows move, and took a step backward, his breath reaching high in his throat.

"It’s me," Viggo said, stepping quickly into the light. "I was coming to see how you were."

Elijah nodded, relaxing again and moving into Viggo’s embrace.

"I can’t believe that I ever rejected this," he said. "Why did I do that? Why did I refuse to let you touch me?" He shook his head. "Never again."

"I’m glad," Viggo said, tightening his grip. "I know the blackness is still inside you – as you say, one night won’t cure you – but tonight, it’s a step forward isn’t it? You were frightened earlier this evening – don’t deny it – but now I think you’re pleased that our friends are here, is that right?"

"That’s right," Elijah agreed, the tips of his fingers tracing Viggo’s face, as if re-learning it. "I remember things now – things from before. How much I love you, how much we laugh. I miss that." He rested his head against Viggo’s shoulder. "It’s still there, the blackness, but perhaps today it feels as if it’s further away." He was silent, enjoying the feel of Viggo’s arms around him. "I think we should go for a walk tomorrow. What do you think?"

"It’s cold," Viggo said. "But it’s been a beautiful day today, and perhaps it will be again tomorrow. We don’t have to be out for too long, of course. But it would do you good to get away from here." He kissed Elijah, who sighed his pleasure. "But we have been away from our friends for too long," he continued. "Shall we go back to them?"

Elijah nodded and, his hand clasped in Viggo’s, they made their way back to the main room, where Alfred and Anton were engaged in some complicated discussion about art, and Yvette had been cornered by Mathilde, and he smiled. Shadows had no place in their home.

*

"Will we see you at the gallery soon?" Anton asked quietly, Marius held close against his chest, wrapped up against the bitter cold. "We’ve missed you."

"I hope so," Elijah replied. "Thank you for coming, Anton, Yvette. You have done me a world of good." He kissed them both. "And Anton, I can never thank you enough for all the help you’ve given me over the last few years. I never expected to be so sickly – I was always so healthy when I was young." He shrugged. "I gave up my health for love!" He cast his eyes dramatically to the ceiling. "A fair exchange."

"Take as long as you like, you know that," Anton said. "Although at some point M’sieur Marechal needs to see you – he’s feeling a little neglected I think."

"His hat would chase away the shadows," Viggo murmured, his breath lifting Elijah’s hair and making him look around.

"I’ll see you soon," he said, kissing Anton again and watching as he led his family down the stairs, before taking Viggo’s hand and going back into the main room, settling on the sofa, his head on Viggo’s shoulder, smiling at Alfred and Victoria as they sat close together on the love seat Viggo had made himself not long after they had moved in.

"How are you?" Alfred asked quietly. He was still shy, but no longer painfully so, and he and Elijah were on their way to becoming good friends, each finding something in the other that they had been lacking.

"I don’t know," Elijah said honestly. "I have days when I can’t move I’m so frightened, and then I have days when I want to scream and shout and rage." He shrugged. "I don’t know."

"And physically?" Alfred asked. "How is your chest?"

"Do you know, I think we have both forgotten about that," Elijah answered.

"No," Viggo said darkly, and Alfred laughed.

"Better," Elijah said. "Much better."

"I’m glad." Alfred sipped his coffee. "You’ve worried me. Worried us."

"I know, I’m sorry." Elijah shook his head. "I hope you’ll be patient with me, at least for a little longer."

"As long as you need," Alfred answered immediately. "We only want you well again."

"Thank you," Elijah said, feeling ridiculously close to tears. He closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to say anything without risking embarrassment, but he managed a small smile as Viggo pulled him close.

He listened as they chatted about nothing, little inconsequential things that go towards making up a life. He smiled sometimes, and listened, but he didn’t talk much for the rest of the evening, tired now that he was relaxed and comfortable. At some point as the night became morning, Mathilde appeared and sat down next to him, and he reached out and took her hand.

*

Alfred and Victoria left as the first signs of life began to stir in the street below, and Viggo led Elijah to bed. Mathilde had long since given up and Elijah could hear her snoring softly in her room.

Without speaking, Viggo pushed Elijah until he was sitting on the bed and slowly began to unfasten his shirt, looking at him for permission. Elijah looked down watching Viggo’s hands, raising his hips so that Viggo could remove his trousers before sliding into the bed, pulling the covers around his shoulders as he watched Viggo quickly undress, climbing into bed next to him.

"A good night," he said, tucking his head under Viggo’s chin. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome." Viggo smiled sleepily. "I’m tired. You?"

"Yes."

"Let’s sleep then. Then we can see what the day offers us."

Five

Elijah woke first the next day, late into the morning, and he lay still, listening to Mathilde’s quiet singing as she moved around the apartment, and to Viggo’s slow steady breathing next to him. Idly, almost casually, he moved his hand, resting it on Viggo’s face, then his neck, fingers stroking down the long tendon there. Viggo’s breathing hitched slightly, so he stopped, waiting.

He didn’t understand why he had done it, why he had rejected Viggo, spent all that time hiding behind his illness, wearing a shirt in bed – when had he ever worn anything in bed with Viggo – and trying to push him away. The shadows seemed to be empty more often than they were peopled now – just the flash of something in the corner of his eye from time to time – but it felt as if that phase was coming to an end. Telling Viggo about it, having Mathilde’s common sense pervade the apartment both seemed to have helped. Almost unconsciously, his hand began to move again, across the planes of Viggo’s chest. The huge black hole was there, and he was only too aware that if he stopped concentrating for even a second, he would be dragged back into it; the tiredness that weighed him down so badly hadn’t left him, but he had a feeling that some of the joy was coming back into his world.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his hand finally still. "I only ever mean to bring you joy, and I bring you so much trouble. I’m tired, do you understand? So tired. I used to have so much energy – do you think I’ll ever get that back? I feel old and used up." He moved his head, kissing Viggo’s shoulder. "I want you to make love to me again, want to feel you against me, inside me perhaps, but I don’t think I would react, and I know how that would make you feel." He paused, as if listening. "But you wouldn’t be using me," he continued. "I’m just tired, that’s all, that’s why my body isn’t reacting."

With a deep breath, he took one of Viggo’s lax hands in his and moved it slowly until he could feel the strong fingers brushing against his flaccid cock. "You touched me there before, when I had been sick. It felt so comfortable."

Finally Viggo moved, turning onto his side and pressing himself against Elijah, his fingers moving, stroking and cupping. Elijah closed his eyes briefly, almost panicked by the lack of his own response.

"I do understand." Viggo’s voice was quiet and full of sleep. "The mind and the body don’t always work together, do they? Your soul is tired, I think and all your energy is concentrated on making that better." He opened his eyes, gazing at Elijah. "You are better, don’t think you’re not. And you will recover from this horrible thing that’s happened to you."

"I don’t want you to feel as if it’s your fault," Elijah said almost hesitantly, his fingers stroking across the hair growing on Viggo’s chest. "None of this is your fault."

"I do know," Viggo answered, his fingers still moving and stroking. "But still, let me feel a little guilty. After all, what is an artist whose soul is not tortured?" He laughed and after a second, Elijah laughed as well.

"That’s better," Viggo said. "I miss you laughing. I miss us laughing over some ridiculous thing that nobody else would understand." He pulled away slightly and Elijah moved to rest his head on the same pillow, so that their noses almost touched.

"What would you like to do? Shall we go for a walk, as we said? Find a bistro somewhere and have lunch?" He raised his head, looking towards the window. "A late lunch, I suspect."

"I think I would like that very much," Elijah answered. "Shall we go to the Louvre? I love that place, and there are plenty of restaurants around."

"Sounds perfect." Viggo hugged him and then rolled away. "First, a shower. Shall we see if we can get out without Mathilde making you wear a scarf?"

"Even if we got past her, you wouldn't let me set foot out of the door, and you know it," Elijah answered, watching Viggo as he walked across the room, gloriously naked.

"Are you awake at last?" Mathilde knocked perfunctorily on the half open door and then peered around, her eyes growing wide as she took in Viggo's nakedness. Elijah, still huddled under the blankets, smiled to himself.

"Good morning, Mathilde," Viggo said with complete unconcern. "We are indeed." He paused and then moved towards the door, pulling her into the room. "My darling Mathilde, you have been wonderful, more than wonderful," he said. "You have taken care of us both and helped Elijah to feel safe again. And he does." Viggo glanced over. "He's not better, we both know that, but he is so much improved." He paused. "We don't want you to go, but please know that if you want to leave, then we understand."

"Much the same as chere Elijah said yesterday," Mathilde said. "I'll stay a little longer. Give Giselle time to miss me." She looked at Viggo, her eyes moving down his body, and then back up, completely shameless. "Only a very foolish person would give up the chance to see a sight like this." She reached out and pinched Viggo's hip, making him start and step back. "I haven't seen you like this for a long time." She looked down again, her gaze very obviously fixed on Viggo's groin. "You've grown."

Elijah hid his head beneath the blankets and laughed.

*

It was cold outside which for some reason surprised Elijah, but he was wrapped in his coat and, as expected, his scarf, and his hand engulfed in Viggo's as they walked down the street.

"There are a lot of people," he said, glancing around.

"Mmmm," Viggo agreed. "Are you all right?"

"Of course. I'm not dying," Elijah said. "And I'm not going mad."

Viggo didn't reply, but he squeezed Elijah's hand until he lost all feeling in his fingers.

*

It was, Elijah admitted later, a wonderful day. He was warm, he was safe, and the black pit seemed to be still further away. Perhaps it was being away from the apartment, perhaps it was being with Viggo and discovering each other again, but whatever the reason, he laughed more than he had in a long time, and he could see the effect it had on Viggo, taking away the dreadful haunted look and replacing it with one that could almost be called hope.

He sat quietly in one of the huge echoing rooms of the Louvre watching as Viggo moved from painting to painting, sometimes almost dismissing them in a few seconds, sometimes spending minutes in front of them, hardly moving. At one point he turned around and beckoned Elijah over, his face alight with an expression Elijah had missed without realising it, and he obediently stood up and went over to him.

"Look!" Viggo pulled Elijah to stand in front of him, his arms comfortably draped across Elijah’s shoulders. "Have you ever seen such beauty in something so simple?"

Elijah studied the portrait in front of him, but he was more interested in the way Viggo’s body felt against his, the way he felt all-encompassed and wonderfully secure. He leaned back, resting his head against Viggo’s.

"It’s beautiful," he said, reaching up to touch Viggo’s hands where they were clasped together.

Viggo smiled and pressed his lips to Elijah’s temple, and they stood like that for a long time.

"M’sieur Elijah?" Elijah jumped, startled out of his contented daydream by the sound of his name, and he looked in the direction of the voice.

"Oh," he said, blinking and trying to bring himself back from his comfortable world. "M’sieur Marechal, this is a surprise!" He felt Viggo’s arms tighten briefly before releasing him as they both turned to face the newcomer.

Charles Marechal still wore his ridiculous hat, now paired with an equally ridiculous and florid scarf. His handshake was warm and his expression earnest as he asked after Elijah's well being.

"Much better, thank you," Elijah said. "It’s a problem I have from time to time – the cold weather and I don’t always get along." He saw no reason to explain that it had been something more this time. "I’m so sorry that I never got to the opening. To be perfectly honest, I haven’t made it as far as the gallery yet, although Viggo tells me that he and Anton were more than happy to help."

"It was marvellous to be able to work with M’sieur Viggo," Charles said. "And as I’m sure Anton has told you, the sale of the work is perhaps a little slow, but I’m very pleased with it. You have a good eye, M’sieur Elijah, you knew what would sell and what wouldn’t."

"He does," Viggo agreed, his hands resting on Elijah’s shoulders. "He doesn’t give himself enough credit sometimes." He laughed politely. "I didn’t realise the amount of work he does until I had to try and do at least some of it."

"Well, I’m working on several new pieces," Charles said. "Perhaps I could come to the gallery and see you?"

"Of course," Elijah said. "Er … I’m not sure yet when I’ll be back. We don’t have a telephone at home yet, but perhaps I could contact you from the gallery when I’m back and we can arrange something? I think I may have a lot of work to catch up on."

"That would be wonderful." M’sieur Marechal stood for a moment as if expecting the conversation to continue, but when both Viggo and Elijah simply smiled at him, he shook their hands and turned away, ambling back through the large room.

"You really mean to go back to work?" Viggo asked. "Are you sure?"

"Well, I can hardly mope around all day, can I?" Elijah turned and hugged Viggo. "Hopefully the work will give me something else to think about. I have been thinking about it a little bit, and at least to start with I think I would want to go into the gallery, rather than stay at home. I don’t want to be there alone, not for a little while."

"I wish I could be with you all the time, you know that…" Viggo began, but Elijah shook his head to quiet him.

"No, you have your work to do and I have mine. I have to learn to stop depending on you."

Viggo reached up to cup Elijah’s face in his hands and looked at him for so long that Elijah began to feel something that was almost concern.

"I like you depending on me," Viggo said finally. "But I do understand. We should depend on each other, yes?" He moved one hand to tuck a strand of Elijah’s hair behind his ear. "But don’t rush back, don’t go until you feel able to manage, and please, I beg you, don’t just assume that you can do everything at once."

*

In the end, Elijah was too tired to stay out while they had dinner, and so Viggo used the telephone in the Louvre to contact Claude and arrange for some food to be prepared for them so that they could pick it up on their way home.

Which is how the three of them Viggo, Elijah and Mathilde, came to be sitting in the kitchen eating a delicious meal of chicken cooked with thyme and rosemary, potatoes sprinkled with garlic and parsley and vegetables so crisp that they were almost uncooked.

"I have to admit," Mathilde said, finally pushing away her plate, "that man knows how to cook."

"Wait until you taste the meringue he has given us for dessert," Viggo said. "You will cry tears of envy." He laughed as she hit him, and Elijah laughed as well.

"So how are you now, my beautiful boy?" Mathilde asked, reaching across the table and touching Elijah’s face. "You look happier. You have colour again."

"I am happier," Elijah admitted. "I … I don’t know how to explain it, not properly. I know that the black hole is there, but today – perhaps it started last night when we had our friends visit – it feels a little further away, as if I could take a step backwards and not fall into it."

"And the shadows?" Mathilde asked frankly. "I know M’sieur Viggo thinks we should be quiet about this, pretend the shadows don’t exist, but I think that is just foolish." She narrowed her eyes. "Well?"

"Better," Elijah said after a pause. "I don’t see anybody now. Sometimes the shadows move a little bit, but nothing appears." He shook his head. "I don’t know why."

"Because you are stronger than they," Viggo said. "Because you’ve faced them and you’ve beaten them."

"No, not beaten," Elijah said slowly. "But – beating, maybe." He reached out to take Mathilde’s hand and then Viggo’s. "I have such wonderful friends," he said. "I can never say it often enough: thank you."

Viggo raised Elijah’s hand and kissed it, but didn’t speak, and Mathilde looked at him, a smile on her face that said more than any words.

*

It was, perhaps, almost inevitable that Elijah would dream that night. Of shadows and figures touching him, wanting him to come back to the black hole that they guarded. Elijah fought them, his eyes fixed on the point of light that had always been there; now it was larger than ever before, almost close enough to touch, and when he reached out his hand, Viggo was there, holding him close and whispering his name. When he fought his eyes open, it was Viggo who was there, touching him, not some nameless, threatening shadow. That knowledge made him willing to go back to sleep, and this time there were no dreams, or if there were, he didn’t remember them.

Six

Mathilde left the week after that, maintaining that she had to return to make sure Giselle hadn’t destroyed the house in her absence. They both went with her to the station, where she hugged Viggo and kissed his cheek before wrapping Elijah in her arms, holding him fiercely before pushing him until he was at arm’s length. She touched his face very gently, but didn’t kiss him, and somehow it was all the more intimate for that.

"Come and see me very soon," she said as she climbed onto the train. "Giselle needs somebody to sleep in the newly built spare room, after all." She raised her eyebrows. "Although heaven knows what she’ll have done by the time I get back. She never could be trusted." As the train began to pull away, she leaned out of the window and took hold of Elijah’s hands. "My beautiful boy," she said, and then let him go, her eyes never leaving his as the train pulled away.

"Well," Viggo said, nudging Elijah. "Somebody else falls under your spell."

Elijah nodded and just managed to refrain from saying something witty. Instead they made their way out of the station.

"Viggo? I’d like … do you think we could go to the gallery? Just for a little while?"

"Really? Oh, of course!" Viggo’s face said more than any words ever could. "We’re closer to the Sorbonne here, or would you rather go and see Anton?"

"No, let’s go to the Sorbonne. I just want to be back in the gallery, I’ve missed it." He paused. "That has to be a good sign, surely."

"Most definitely," Viggo agreed. He looked down at Elijah and touched his shoulder very gently. "I’m so glad."

Elijah held tight to Viggo’s hand as they made their way to the metro, not even noticing the looks some people cast their way.

*

"M’sieur Elijah! Oh, M’sieur, it’s good to see you!" Louis, the manager of the gallery, appeared from out of his office, hand outstretched. "It’s been too long. You’re looking very well."

"Thank you," Elijah said. "I’m feeling much better."

"This cold weather," Louis said. "It plays havoc with us all, I think."

Elijah nodded. "Could I have cup of coffee, do you think?" he asked. "And perhaps we could go over the accounts? I have such a lot of catching up to do. I’m sorry to spring this on you."

"I pride myself that the accounts are always up to date," replied Louis with perhaps a touch of sharpness. "Come into the office where it’s warm." He looked over Elijah’s shoulder and raised his voice. "Adele! A coffee for M’sieur Elijah!" He looked at Viggo who was standing slightly apart, looking on. "M’sieur Viggo?"

"No, I don’t want anything," Viggo said, "but thank you. I shall just have a look in the gallery and see whether the artists want anything. I won’t be far away."

Elijah nodded, not speaking.

*

He didn’t need Viggo until he looked up, his shoulders and head aching, and temporarily forgot where he was. The office was dark and full of shadows, the desk lamp casting the only light, and he was alone.

Panicked, he looked around trying to find the door, stumbling to his feet so that he could get out. As he made his clumsy way across the room, the door opened and Viggo appeared, smiling his reassurance.

"You’re at the gallery, remember? I’m here."

"I … I forgot." Elijah practically threw himself into Viggo’s arms. "I thought I was alone in the dark again."

"You’ll never be that," Viggo said. "I promise you I’ll never let you be alone again." He hugged Elijah and then released him. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes I am now," Elijah answered, slightly embarrassed. "I’m sorry." He looked around. "Where’s Louis?"

"He went home over an hour ago," Viggo replied. "I let him go. You’ve been sitting there all day, did you realise?"

"No!" Elijah looked at the clock over the fireplace and was amazed to realise how late it was. He looked back at Viggo. "Perhaps I’m more ready for work than I realised."

"Perhaps," Viggo agreed solemnly before his face dissolved into a grin so huge Elijah thought his face was going to split in two.

"I never thought I’d be happy because I want to work," he said musingly, watching as Viggo moved into the office and switched off the light, leaving the books open on the desk.

"I’m glad," he said. "But all this can wait for another day. You’ve done enough." He shepherded Elijah out of the office, locking it behind him, and then through the gallery, switching lights off as he went.

"Have you been waiting for me?" Elijah asked. "Why didn’t you just say?" He picked up his coat and quickly fastened it.

"Because I was enjoying myself watching you," Viggo replied. "I feel as if you’re coming back to me."

"I hope so." The late evening was cold, the sharp air wiping away Elijah’s headache, and he tilted his head back to look at the sky. "Look at the stars," he said. "So beautiful."

"You are." Viggo stepped forward and kissed him. "I’ve missed you."

Elijah linked his arm through Viggo’s his hand inevitably moving to tangle with Viggo’s deep in his coat pocket, and they turned towards home.

*

Perhaps it was because he was tired after the day’s events, perhaps it was because the apartment was their own again now that Mathilde’s albeit welcome presence had gone. Whatever the reason, as Elijah lay comfortably in bed, Viggo propped up on one elbow by his side, their kisses deep and sweet, he found himself moving his hand, resting it on Viggo’s waist before sliding it down to his hip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh.

"It’s been a long time since you touched me like that," Viggo said softly, his lips brushing Elijah’s cheekbone. "You’ve been ill a long time.

"I know." Elijah nodded. "I’ve missed so much, haven’t I? You told me about the war and I just accepted it and carried on as if it wasn’t important." He sighed, trying to look away from Viggo’s honest, kind gaze as he felt guilt begin to creep up on him. "The most important time of your life, and I just said, "very well", and moved past it." He couldn’t move away, Viggo’s hand cupping his face, forcing their gazes together. "I’m sorry."

"I never wanted to tell you," Viggo said. "Perhaps now you know why. But I think that you needed to know, at least at that point." He smiled. "And you know what the most important time of my life is. It’s now. The war and all those horrors belong to the past, which is where we need to send your own demons." He kissed Elijah’s cheek.

"I can remember now," Elijah said, somewhat hesitantly. "Remember you touching me, trying to comfort me, only I turned away. I know that I hurt you, and all I can offer is that I never did it on purpose. I never wanted to hurt you, I just couldn’t help myself."

"Nothing matters," Viggo replied. "You’re coming back now. I know you’re still sick; I know you in all your moods, and this new one is something I am having to learn about – but things are better, and they will improve, you just have to believe it."

"Sometimes I do," Elijah said, his hand idly moving again, stroking up Viggo’s waist and moving to rest on his chest. "Tonight, I do. I believe that I will be well again. But tomorrow?" He shrugged. "Tomorrow frightens me." He pulled at Viggo. "I would like to feel you against me, over me. I know that nothing can harm me when you’re like that."

"My pleasure." Viggo kissed him again and shifted until he was lying on top of Elijah, who parted his legs until they were resting either side of Viggo’s thighs. He sighed, then smiled.

"This is perfect," he said. "You’re so warm and safe and … ow! Heavy."

"Sorry." Viggo shifted his hips slightly and Elijah nodded his appreciation. Viggo pulled the blankets over them until they were cocooned in darkness, and although Elijah tensed slightly, he soon relaxed, comforted by the weight of Viggo’s body on him and the softness of his voice.

"I want to make love to you," he whispered, his fingers stroking the hair on Viggo’s chest. "Very soon." He moved his hips, feeling Viggo’s semi-hard cock. "You know that you can do whatever you want to me, whenever you want."

"I don’t want to do that," Viggo replied, his breath hot against Elijah’s face. "Whatever we do, I want us to do it; I don’t want to do it to you. I’m not going to use you." He rested his head against Elijah’s shoulder. "But I miss you," he said frankly. "My body misses you. Misses being buried inside you, watching your face as I move…" He groaned. "I don’t want to talk about it."

Elijah laughed, aware that Viggo’s cock had very definitely twitched. He tightened his arms and legs around him, and they fell silent.

Seven

It was almost a week later, as the dismal February gave way to an equally dismal March, when a letter arrived from Dominic. Elijah looked at the familiar writing as he walked towards Viggo’s study.

"Can I sit with you?" he asked quietly, trying not to disturb Viggo’s train of thought. "Just for a minute."

"You can sit with me for as long as you like, you know that," Viggo replied, glancing up from where he was kneeling on the floor in front of a huge canvas covered with various shades of green and red.

"Your hands are covered in paint," Elijah observed mildly as he sat down, revelling in the warmth of the roaring fire. "Why can’t you use a brush like everybody else?"

"Because, my own, I am not everybody else." Viggo sat back on his heels and pushed a strand of hair away from his forehead using the back of his hand, although judging from the paint smears on his face, he had clearly not been so careful previously.

No, Elijah thought. You’re not. You’re more than I could ever have expected. He didn’t speak though, just smiled and rolled his eyes slightly.

"Dominic has sent a letter," he said, holding up the envelope. "I just wanted to read it whilst you were here. I don’t…" He looked down, hesitating. "I don’t know what it says."

"Well, of course you don’t," Viggo said. "Unless you have suddenly become psychic." He crawled over and knelt in front of him, paint-smeared hands resting on Elijah’s trousers, neither of them noticing. "Don’t be frightened, please." He paused. "There are whole days now when I forget that you have been through this; days when it feels as if it never happened – yesterday when we went to the Bois du Boulogne and you were incredibly rude to that – lady."

"She wasn’t a lady," Elijah protested, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And I simply said that she was over-charging." He shrugged. "Truth hurts."

"She would have hurt you if you hadn’t hidden behind me," Viggo protested. "I thought you were going to run away."

"I probably would have if I hadn’t been laughing," Elijah confessed, casually parting his legs to let Viggo move closer. There was a warmth in his belly now; a warmth that had been missing for such a long time, and it was all centred on Viggo. He leaned forward suddenly and kissed him, his arms tangling around Viggo’s neck, holding him as close as he could.

"You have been so good to me," Elijah said as he pulled back. "I see you now and I realise how tired you are, how much you have given up to be with me, how much I have put you through. I don’t have the words either." He shrugged. "I love you. Thank you." He rested his forehead against Viggo’s, staring into clear blue eyes. "Thank you for not leaving."

"I have nowhere to go," Viggo said, his hands moving gently on Elijah’s legs. "Plus, I own half this apartment. Do you think I would give it up without a fight?"

Elijah laughed and kissed him again, then leaned back in the chair, turning his attention once more to the letter still clutched in his hand.

"Open it," Viggo said. "It’s better to know."

His hands shaking, Elijah nodded, opening the letter and taking out the single sheet of paper.

"Read it," Viggo said, resting his head against Elijah’s belly. "Tell me."

"’Dearest Elijah and Viggo’," Elijah read, his voice slightly husky. "’I apologise for the long delay in answering your last letter, and also apologise for the brevity of this one. I promise to do better.

First of all, I hope you are both well, and that you, Elijah, no longer suffer so badly from nightmares. Maybe you should consider help? I realise this is a thing that no self-respecting Englishman should suggest, but you, as a foreigner, could possibly carry it off!"

Elijah laughed and moved his hand to rest on Viggo’s head, his fingers twisting strands of hair into helpless tangles.

"Some things never change," Viggo said. "He’s still very English."

"Isn’t he, though?" Elijah laughed again, then continued. "’I just have to thank you, Viggo, for being there and taking such good care of him You are both so lucky.

But enough of this polite chatter. Now for my news! My dear friends, Helena is expecting our first child – I am overwhelmed! Who would have thought that God would first grant me such a beautiful wife, and then continue to bless me in this way. Of course, I hope for a son, but as long as Helena and the child are well, I don’t mind too much if we have a girl. The child is due in October, and you will both, I hope, stand as godparents’."

"How wonderful!" Viggo looked up. "Although I think he has yet to realise that we are unlikely to be accepted as godparents due to our – proclivities." He laughed. "We are walking, talking sin – or at least you are. I am merely your helpless slave."

"As it should be," Elijah said. "But we shall see. It would be nice to be godparents." He sat forward, dropping the letter onto the floor. "What marvellous news – bless Helena for making him so happy." He cupped Viggo’s face in his hands, gazing at him intently, trying to work out what to say.

"What’s wrong?" Viggo asked, covering Elijah’s hands with his own. "This is marvellous news."

"Yes, I know," agreed Elijah. "I – I have something to tell you. I’ve been wanting to tell you since yesterday, but I haven’t known how to start. But this…" He waved in the general direction of the letter, "…this celebration of life. I want to tell you."

"Then tell me," Viggo said. "You don’t look frightened, so I think perhaps you don’t have anything bad to tell me."

"Yesterday morning," Elijah began, "you were already out of bed when I woke up and then we were late, and things got forgotten." He tailed off, feeling himself blush. "Well, not forgotten, but it became – inappropriate."

"Elijah!" Viggo leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Elijah’s waist and pulling him forward so that he almost slid off the chair. "Tell me!"

"I was hard," Elijah whispered, watching Viggo’s face for his reaction. "For the first time in – a long time – I was hard."

"Really?" Viggo’s face lit up, and Elijah almost laughed.

"Really. And I curled up in the space where you lie, and touched it. It felt – perfect." He wasn’t blushing anymore as he watched Viggo’s response, the way his face changed, his eyes widening and dilating slightly, his hand coming up to touch Elijah’s cheek, his mouth, his throat.

"And that was why you were so happy yesterday?" Viggo asked. "Why you laughed and why the whole world looked at you and fell in love with you all over again." He paused. "Why the rest of the world should envy me."

"It’s a silly thing to be happy about, don’t you think?" Elijah kissed Viggo’s slightly open mouth, no more than a gentle pressing together of their lips. "But it made me feel – whole."

"Tell me what you thought about as you touched yourself," Viggo whispered. "Did you think of me?"

"Of nothing else," Elijah answered immediately. "Of your hands and your mouth, and how wonderful you are. How hard and lean your body is, and the way you make me feel when you touch me. Of how I want to wake up next to you every day for the rest of my life and feel your hands on me." He kissed Viggo again. "You’re warm," he said. "I can feel it."

"The way you speak…" Viggo trailed off.

"I don’t know if this is the right thing," Elijah said, leaning back so that he could see Viggo’s reaction. "Maybe I shouldn’t say this, but … touch me." He lifted Viggo’s hands and kissed the back of them.

"I’m covered in paint," Viggo said mindlessly, and Elijah looked up and smiled.

"So am I." He paused. "What better way could there be of finally ridding myself of my demons? I have you, I only want you…" He put his hands back on Viggo’s face. "Don’t turn me down, please."

"Never," Viggo said immediately. "I just … I don’t want to frighten you."

"The only time you have ever frightened me was when you wore that ghastly orange shirt out in public," Elijah replied immediately, laughing because Viggo laughed, and that was all that mattered. That Viggo was happy. "I don’t know if I can react," he continued. "I don’t know if I will even be hard again, but believe me when I say that this is what I want."

When Viggo still hesitated, Elijah moved, once again taking hold of Viggo’s hands, pressing them against his belly before sliding them lower. "Please," he said. "I want your hands on me."

"God, Elijah…" Viggo looked down and then up into Elijah’s face, his fingers moving almost of their own accord, stroking gently. "I want this so much, have missed you so badly…" Elijah could feel how his fingers shook where they stroked him, and he covered them with his own.

"I’m sorry I did this to you," he said softly. "Sorry I made you frightened of me, of my body and my mind." He kissed Viggo. "I’m not miraculously cured, don’t think that, but – I’m healing. And this is how you can help me."

He moved then, sliding off the seat and straddling Viggo’s lap, making him groan.

"I feel you," he said, his lips against Viggo’s ear. "I can feel how much you need me. Please, I need you too." He pulled back. "I don’t want to be frightened anymore." He heaved in a quick breath as he felt Viggo’s hands move, sliding up his back underneath his shirt, warmth and security in every brush of his fingers, and he leaned back slightly. Viggo followed the movement, his lips soft and hot against Elijah’s throat, before moving down and laying a trail of kisses over his shirt, working his way from shoulder to shoulder.

"Take it off," Elijah whispered. "I don’t mind. I want you to."

With a quick movement, Viggo flipped them until Elijah was on his back. Elijah made a disgusted sound as he realised he was half on the painting Viggo had been working on, but didn’t protest further as Viggo began to slowly unfasten his shirt, looming above him.

"I won’t be able to stop," he said. "Tell me now if you don’t want this, because I won’t be able to stop." He unfastened the buttons on Elijah’s shirt, kissing the exposed skin as he went.

"Don’t ever stop," Elijah whispered, his hands against Viggo’s shoulders. He shivered as the air touched his skin, but then Viggo was there again, his own shirt thrown feverishly to the side, and Elijah groaned at the sensation of warm skin pressed against his own. He turned his head as Viggo kissed his neck, seeing a shadow in the doorway. As he watched, it coalesced into Denny, but he seemed insubstantial, almost wavering in the light. As Viggo moved his hips, Elijah groaned again, his eyes closing involuntarily, and when he forced them open, Denny had gone.

"You’re hard," Elijah said, turning back to what mattered, his fingers tight in Viggo’s hair. "I knew you were, wonder how many times you’ve felt like this and tried to ignore it." He raised his hips obediently as Viggo, clumsy in his desperation, pulled down his trousers, kicking them off when they got stuck on his shoes. He watched as Viggo removed his own trousers, then held open his arms.

"You’re not hard," Viggo said, hesitantly touching Elijah’s cock. "Are you sure…?"

"Yes, I’m sure," Elijah answered. "Please. I’m lying half on a painting here – which feels very cold and unpleasant – but I don’t care. I just want to feel you against me. I want to feel you come." He raised himself on one elbow – his back leaving the painting with a strange sucking noise. "Let me touch you."

Obediently, Viggo moved closer, gasping and closing his eyes when Elijah’s fingers brushed against him.

"Oh…" Elijah saw Viggo’s jaw tighten as he gritted his teeth, and he felt a wave of – something – go through him. Oddly, it felt a lot like peace. He moved his hand, tightening his fingers, his eyes never leaving Viggo’s face, and he felt the resulting shiver all the way through his arm and into his body, the feeling igniting the familiar but long-missing warmth in his belly.

He moved his hand and lay down, ignoring the feeling of unpleasant dampness on his back. Viggo, almost hypnotised, moved with him until they were pressed together, Elijah’s legs wrapped around Viggo’s hips, his body being shifted further across the painting with each movement of Viggo’s body above his.

"I love you," Viggo whispered, his face ducked into the crook of Elijah’s shoulder. "From the second I saw you, and that has never changed. It never will."

"I know," Elijah replied, his arms wrapped around Viggo’s shoulders, holding him close. "The one thing I’ve been able to hang onto is you." He turned his head, kissing Viggo’s sweaty hair, urging him on.

They both cried out when Viggo came, the enforced abstinence making his orgasm long and intense. For Elijah, it was victory, the knowledge that he was still desirable, still loved, even after all he had done. For Viggo, it was pure relief and release.

They lay still, Viggo lying heavily on Elijah, his breathing so harsh as to sound like sobbing, as Elijah slowly moved his hand through the sweat that had formed on Viggo’s back.

"Elijah…" Viggo finally spoke, then coughed as his dry throat closed. "You are … everything." He propped himself up, an elbow either side of Elijah’s throat, looking down, his eyes full of something that echoed the feeling of peace Elijah had experienced. "I say the words, and you say you hear them, and I can only hope you do." He dipped his head, kissing the sweat away from the hollow in Elijah’s throat. "The two words, or the one word, or the three words that matter. But I can talk until I’m blue in the face; nothing will show you how I feel as well as what we just did." He raised a hand, stroked the hair back from Elijah’s face. "And now you’re covered in paint." He laughed. "I always said you were a work of art."

Elijah laughed, and then fell silent again, wanting to hang onto this perfect moment, not knowing how long it would be before it happened again.

"Shall we go to bed?" Viggo asked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Elijah’s expression. "Shall we have a bath and then go to bed? Would you like that?"

"Very much," Elijah replied, blinking to hide his over-emotional reaction. "We haven’t done that in too long."

*

He slept away the rest of the morning and a good part of the afternoon, warm and content in Viggo’s arms. When he woke, Viggo smiled and kissed him and made love to him, taking Elijah in his hand and then his mouth and bringing him home. When it was over, Elijah perhaps cried a little, his face against Viggo’s shoulder, but neither of them mentioned it. Afterwards, they talked and touched, laughing sometimes as they rediscovered the joy of being together.

Eight

"I have to go," Elijah said, his arms around Viggo’s waist and his head resting on Viggo’s shoulder. "No, I really have to."

"I notice you’re not exactly racing for the door," Viggo answered, not relaxing his own grip on Elijah. "Not fighting me off."

"Come with me," Elijah said.

"No." Viggo finally pushed him away. "You said you wanted to do this alone, and I have to work on the painting that we ruined last week." He smiled, looking so ridiculously young that Elijah blinked.

"Look at you," he said, all playfulness gone. "I didn’t realise something until this very second." He swallowed. "You were sick, too. Me being sick made you sick. And now you look – different. As if you’re improving, getting better."

"I am," Viggo replied. "Much better now." His fingers moved across Elijah’s face. "Things don’t look so bleak. The progress you’ve made in just a few days is wonderful. We just have to try and maintain it."

"We," Elijah said. "You’ve never stopped saying that, did you know?"

"Why should I?" Viggo asked, genuinely mystified, and Elijah reached up to kiss him.

"I really should go," Elijah said, hearing the nervousness in his voice and trying to hide it.

"Do you want me with you?" Viggo asked. "You said you wanted to do this alone, but you know that I will happily come."

"No. I want to – I have to – do this alone." Elijah stepped back. "Come and meet me for dinner?"

"Of course. I’ll be there before it gets properly dark."

With a grateful smile, Elijah left the apartment and clattered down the stairs, only too aware that he hadn’t heard the door closing. As he reached the first landing, he looked back and smiled at Viggo, who smiled back and finally closed the door.

Elijah had been confident about this, that he could get to the gallery alone, but as he stepped out into the cold air, he suddenly wasn’t so sure. There were a lot of people about, and they all seemed determined to walk into him, their faces blurring and beginning to form into a familiar face; one that he didn’t want to see…

"M’sieur Wood?" Elijah’s head snapped around at the sound of his name. An elderly man was standing by the open door of a taxi. "Your taxi, sir."

Elijah breathed out a huge sigh of relief and made for the car, slamming the door behind him, before opening the window and craning his head as far as he could, trying to see if Viggo was watching him. He couldn’t see him, but knew that he was there, so he blew a theatrical kiss of thanks before settling into the seat. Bless Viggo for doing this – for realising what may happen and taking steps to prevent it. Elijah shook his head. More than he deserved.

*

"M’sieur Elijah!" Anton was waiting for him when he arrived at the gallery, a cup of chocolate steaming on the counter, the fire blazing. "M’sieur Viggo said you would be by today, and I’m so glad that he was right." Anton bustled about, making sure Elijah was comfortable, sitting him in the chair closest to the fire and building up the blaze until it felt to Elijah as if one side of his face was about to singe off completely. He shifted away as Anton turned to pick up the chocolate.

"Thank you," he said, gesturing to the chair on the opposite side of the fire. "Please, sit down." He glanced around, nodding in approval at the bustle of people around him. "Business is good?"

"Very good," Anton replied. "In fact. I have to confess that M’sieur Marechal’s work is attracting a lot of attention." He leaned forward. "A lot of attention from some very influential people."

"Now that I’m better I’ll try and talk him into letting us have some more of his work," Elijah said. "Do you think our clientele would take to his darker pieces?"

"I think so." Anton shrugged. "At the end of it, M’sieur, your word is what counts, and you have never let us down so far, or taken a bad step." He paused, watching Elijah take a sip of the chocolate. "In fact, something arrived yesterday from M’sieur M. He said that we were to display it, but never sell it. It seems very – inspired by M’sieur Marechal."

"I think if we’re talking about two M’sieur Ms, you should perhaps call him Viggo, or M’sieur V, if you prefer," Elijah said, smiling. "It will get very confusing." He looked around. "What did he have sent? He never said anything." He put down his cup. "Where is it?"

"Opposite the office door," Anton nodded vaguely. "Not the best place to display it, in my opinion, but he was adamant that it should be there for today, and that we should move it tomorrow."

His interest definitely piqued, Elijah stood up, walking towards the office door. When he saw the work Viggo had delivered, he almost laughed.

"M’sieur?" Anton looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

"He thinks that I never hear the words," Elijah replied. "Or rather, just recently I suspect that he thinks I hear them, but don’t believe them. Tell me, does this piece have a name?"

"It’s on the bottom of the canvas," Anton replied. "M’sieur E? Are you quite well?"

"Oh yes," Elijah said. "Quite well." He looked at the canvas on the wall, the greens and reds mixed up into a brown, unappealing sludge colour where his body had slid across the canvas as Viggo had pressed him down. He dug in his pocket until he found his spectacles, perching them on his nose as he peered closer. When he saw the name of the piece, he didn’t know what to call his reaction.

Monster.

Two meanings for that word now, as Viggo well knew. He had used the word on purpose, Elijah knew, and he put his hand up, fumbling off his spectacles and slipping them back into his pocket.

"M’sieur?" He looked up as Anton moved to his side. "Is everything all right?"

"Of course. More than all right." He straightened up. "Now, shall we get on?"

*

It was a long, tiring day, but ultimately rewarding. Elijah worked his way through most of the backlog of work that had piled up during his absence, and although he noticed that Anton didn’t leave until Viggo arrived, he never mentioned it.

"Hello," he said when Viggo appeared in the doorway to the office. "How are you?"

"Fine." Viggo smiled. "And you?"

"Fine." Elijah stood up, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Are we alone?"

"Absolutely." Viggo closed the office door. "Why do you ask?"

"You …" Elijah took a step towards Viggo, and then another. "…are the most ridiculous, beautiful man. Did you want me to run home and throw myself into your arms?"

"No," replied Viggo. "I wanted you to stay here and work. I wanted to tell you that I am never far away from you, in case the darkness and the dreams come back." He opened his arms as Elijah approached. "Do you like it?"

"Very much." Elijah. "It’s a lovely gesture."

"I just don’t want you to feel lost again," Viggo said, his lips against Elijah’s forehead. "I want you to know how much I love you." He shook Elijah slightly. "In case you don’t hear the words."

"It made me think," Elijah said. "Made me understand something." He tilted his head up so that he could look at Viggo. "I’m tired, Viggo. I’m tired of being frightened and of trying to avoid the black hole in my head. And I’ve made you tired, and that is wrong of me." He stopped and swallowed.

"You have been kind and patient with me for so long, and you take the painting that I ruined and make it into something that matters to me, to us. A thing nobody else knows about. I’ve been very selfish."

"No…" Viggo began, but Elijah shook his head to quiet him.

"If you promise me that they won’t stick electrodes in my brain, do you think we could find somebody for me to talk to? I don’t want to carry this with me anymore."

The kiss that followed told Elijah that he had done the right thing.

The End