I think this is the right chapter, yes? Remember, I had a mix-up a while back, so if something seems off don't hesitate to tell me!:)


"Hugh Jackman or Hugh Grant?"

"Hugh Grant," said Russell. "I think he's a better actor. Although they're both cute."

"You have better taste than me," sighed Finn dramatically. "I picked Hugh Jackman, just because he's so hot."

"He does make a nice Wolverine," said Russell.

Finn waved a fork full of lettuce at Russell. "Agreed! Neither are my favorite actor, though. Hmm...Christian Bale or Michael Keaton?"

Russell momentarily looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Er...who's Michael Keaton?"

Finn gasped, appalled. "You don't know who Michael Keaton is? How does one live in this world? He was only the last decent Batman before Bale."

"Bale was Batman?"

"I'm surprised you even knew who Hugh Grant is..."

"Oh, you know me, chock full of-"

Russell was cut off by the ring of the cafe's doorbell, or, more accurately, the voices of two arguing men drowning it out. Finn and Russell rolled their eyes as the sounds of two incensed businessman squabbling over deals washed over them.

Then, almost as if on cue, they recognized the voices and turned in horror to see their respective fathers walking in the door.

Nolan Fingolfin was the textbook definition of tall, dark, and handsome, his suit impeccably pressed and his black hair perfectly parted and cut. Unlike Curu Feanaro, the lines in his tanned face were not deep and his general expression tended towards amiability.

Except now, when his face was contorted with frustration as he practically shouted at Feanaro, whose face was shining with the same emotion. It occurred to Finn that they looked strangely similar.

Feanaro, however, was slightly taller, slightly darker, and slightly more handsome. His dress was, at first glance, just as conservative, but if you looked closely you could see the signs of genius tucked away., an untucked hem here, an unbuttoned collar there. His own long black hair, tied in a sleek ponytail, was his only obvious concession to eccentricity.

"What do we do?" whispered Russell, leaning forward so he wouldn't be heard.

What a ridiculous situation. Finn almost wanted to laugh. Russell, seven foot two and a former prisoner of war, was so flabbergasted by the situation that he was trying not to be noticed through whispering.

It wasn't just almost funny. It was funny. Finn let out a snort of laughter and covered his mouth with his hand. Russell stared at him.

"You're not helping," said Russell, a growing whine in his voice.

"Do you think they'll notice us?" asked Finn through hiccups of laughter.

Russell cast a look in the direction of the two multimillionaires as they found a table only three away from theirs. "It'll be even more obvious if we leave."

"So we just sit here, pretending like they're not here?" asked Finn. "I have a feeling we won't be able to pick up our conversation right where we left off. I'm not sure I want to, actually. Your lack of knowledge about actors is appalling."

"I'm sure I was somewhere overseas in a prison when Michael Keaton was famous," replied Russell, eyes flicking to where their fathers were ordering drinks.

Finn raised his eyebrows. "You weren't a five year old POW. You're out of your depth, love."

"You caught me," admitted Russell.

There was a couple seconds of silence before Finn said, "I'm surprised they came here. It's not exactly the prime location for millionaires."

"Billionaires," corrected Russell automatically.

"What?"

"What, your dad's not a billionaire? Mine is."

Finn was finding it hard not to laugh. "Don't tell my dad. He'd have a coronary."

"My dad probably picked this place," said Russell thoughtfully. "He likes to do that, to throw his competitors off their toes."

"From his reputation, it sounds like-"

It was in this moment, when Finn and Russell were discussing the business habits of their estranged fathers, that they were noticed.

"Wait a moment, Nolan, I'd know that red hair anywhere," came a booming voice. Finn and Russell flinched.

"Oh Eru," said Finn.

"Shit," said Russell eloquently.

Curu pushed his way past tables to get to his eldest son, his dark eyes expressive as he smiled, clapping Russell on the shoulder.

"Russ," said the billionaire. "You never answer my calls. It's like you've dropped off the face of the earth."

"I am disowned," said Russell politely.

Curu didn't seem to have recognized Finn, which, in truth, was a little annoying. Feanaro was supposed to be renowned for his artistic inclinations, and here he was, an artist. He must not look at artist bios when he went to galleries.

"You're disowned in public," said Curu. "Privately, you know I don't actually care about the whole gay thing. I remember when I was-"

"Curu, you old dog, where the hell did you go?"

Finn covered his face with his hands. Now his father was shouldering their way to the table. He had the sudden urge to start laughing again.

"Finn," said his father in surprise. "And...is that...aren't you..?"

He gestured towards Russell in shock, seemingly unable to complete his sentence.

Curu, being an exceptionally talented and intelligent man, turned to Nolan and states flatly, "That's your son."

"Yes," said Nolan. "And that's your eldest. I think I have that right, don't I? The crippled one?"

Russell hid his arm under the table and blushed.

"Oh Illuvatar," said Finn.

"Could this get any worse?" asked Russell to Finn, a whine creeping into his voice.

Finn shrugged helplessly.

"Russell Mikhail Feanaro, I ban you from dating this vagabond this instant!" ordered Curu.

"Mikhail?"

Russell sighed. "Some of us carry heavy burdens."

"My son is no vagabond!" objected Nolan, pounding on the able and making their plates shake. "If anything, your son is a...is a...tramp!"

"How dare you! My son is a Captain in the United States military!"

"Was," said Russell. "I was a Captain."

"My son is a well-recognized artist! I would have thought you, with your art studios and hippie ponytail, would respect that!"

"You've never defended my art before now..." said Finn, grumbling.

"Oh, for the Valar's sake," said Russell. "I'm thirty-one years old, I don't need this."

Russell stood up, and both fathers fell silent. Finn took the moment to peel a couple of crusty bills from his wallet and slap them on the table.

"Father, is was nice to see you," said Russell. "Hello, Mr. Fingolfin, it's been a while. Sorry we couldn't meet under more pleasant circumstances. I'm afraid we must be going."

"Say hi to mom for me," added Finn, waggling his fingers at his father as he let Russell steer him out of the cafe.

Once they were clear of the restaurant, they both burst into nervous laughter.

"I can't believe we just did that," said Finn. "Are you really thirty-one?"

"What, you didn't know?"

"I thought you were older."

"Flattering."

Finn didn't look back as he grinned and grabbed Russell's hand, whistling merrily as they walked away.


I think there's a hair stuck in my throat.