***Confrontations***
It started on Saturday night. Vicki, Dale and Sheryl had asked me to come out with them to the pub, for a "girls night out". They hadn't bothered asking Keighleigh; she and Duck were so much of an item that it was almost inconceivable that she'd go out without him. They also hadn't asked Maggie, partially because she was regarded as being "stuck up" and "snooty" by Vicki; but mainly because she happened to be a lot better looking than all three of them, even when she was covering up her elven good looks. I don't know why I was invited along. Hang on, scratch that. I knew *precisely* why I was invited along. I was the skipper. I got to watch the three of them get roaring drunk, throw themselves at whichever men they fancied, and then I got the joyous task of dragging them back to their place at the end of the night; provided, of course, that they hadn't found someone else to take them home. I was also less good looking than any of them, so I could be safely be brought along without jepoardising their chances with whichever men were in the bar. Sometimes I really do curse my good nature.
Today was one of those times. I'd spent a hard day working in the van: Joy had been off with flu, so I'd had to do everything myself. I was tired, and I had the beginnings of a sinus headache. All I really wanted was to take a nice long bath, and head off to bed at about eight o'clock and sleep for about twelve hours. I certainly didn't want to go off to the pub with three confirmed pissheads and spend my night watching over the three of them to make sure that they didn't get paralytic, or assaulted. I also didn't want a night of listening to the bitchy comments that Vicki made about everyone the moment she got even slightly pissed. So I was in a sour mood to start with, a mood which didn't improve when Vicki told us which of the pubs in town we were going to. The Sportsmans Arms. The footy pub. The one that the entire Warriors and Falcons teams would be at, busy celebrating their win (in the case of the Warriors) or commiserating on their loss (for the Falcons). I should have known. Vicki had lately got a lot more blatant in her chasing after Boris. It seemed that with Dale having openly admitted defeat in trying to get Larry to fancy her, and Sheryl having got nowhere with Arthur for the last three years, Vicki was trying to score points. Or rather, just to score. The clothes she was wearing tonight suited her blonde prettiness very well, and covered up slightly less flesh than my rather ratty scarf. I felt like mentioning that a transparent chiffon blouse, no matter how "modest" the cut, is not the sort of thing you wear into a bar full of rowdy, randy footballers. It was *not* going to be a good night, no matter how I sliced it.
I followed them in, and took my place at the front of the table. It was my job to get the first round of drinks. Vicki tried to kick things off by ordering a cocktail. One of those ones with the double-entendre names. I looked at her, the beginnings of the headache a distant pain behind my eyes.
"Vicki, if you want to make yourself look like a desperate fool, go right ahead. But kindly leave me out of it," I told her. She looked affronted (something else that boded badly for the night) but changed her order to a rum and coke. I had no doubt that she'd be ordering the cocktail she'd wanted me to ask for a little later on in the evening. Within Boromir's hearing, no doubt. My temper worsened. Sheryl and Dale apparently came to the conclusion that trying my patience tonight would result in the pair of them either walking home, or calling a cab, neither of which were really on their agenda. They ordered nice safe drinks as well. One brandy and dry; one gin and tonic. I walked up to the bar, placed their three orders and asked for a lemon, lime and bitters for myself. The barman was a bloke I vaguely remembered from uni. I think he was doing a course in Psychology. Presumably he got enough raw material here to keep him busy. He quickly set up the drinks for me and gave me a sympathetic smile.
"You their skipper?" he asked. I nodded ruefully.
"I don't envy you," he told me. "Look, if you need a hand, the name's Dean, just give me a yell and I'll be over there in a jiff, okay?"
"Thanks," I said, giving him a half-smile. "I'll let you know."
I'd just got the drinks onto a tray to take over, when the Warriors team came through the door. Boromir at the head of the pack, of course. One of the nice little side-effects for him of being immortal was that his ability to consume alcohol had apparently become infinite. He could get to the happy stage on one or two drinks and stay there all night, with no ill-effects and no hangover the next morning. Add to this his very real gift for command and instilling cameraderie in a group of followers and you had a man who fit the bill for "Life of the Party" at any boozy gathering of the footy team.
He gave me a cheerful greeting, grabbed the tray away from me and passed it to one of his teammates. Then he enveloped me in a big bear hug, lifting me off the floor, with a kiss on the cheek included as part of the package. A large part of me was very pleased to see him and extremely happy to get the hug (had his hand slipped rather low on my hip deliberately?). The other part of me happened to be the bit which had been looking over his shoulder and had seen the angry, posessive, vindictive expression on Vicki's face. It definitely wasn't going to be a good night. Vicki got up from our table and came over to presume on her friendship with me, to get a hug of her own. She also planted a kiss on his cheek (she'd been aiming for his mouth. He'd dodged) and batted her eyelashes at him. I took the tray back from the team member who'd been holding it for me and carried it over to the table. Sheryl and Dale had wandered over to say hello to the Warriors players as well. I grabbed my drink, sat down and watched.
Vicki was all over Boromir like a rash. He apparently didn't mind. Presumably after six thousand years, he was used to it. I slowly drank my drink, small sips at a time. He seemed to be almost playing up to her. How could he stand it? She was so obvious, so very posessive, and kept throwing glances at me, as if to say "hands off". Dammit, I was his niece, as far as she knew. I had more right to be touching him than she did. I finished my drink and realised that I really didn't want to watch this all night. I also didn't want to cause a scene, which is what would almost certainly happen if I tried to talk to Vicki about this. She was onto her third drink already, which meant that she wasn't going to be reasonable any time soon. If, indeed, she ever was. Instead, I walked over to where Dale was talking with a couple of the players.
"Dale, I'm sorry, but I'm really not feeling too good. Must be this flu that's going around. I'm going home. Do you mind telling Sheryl and Vicki for me?"
Dale nodded. Thank all the gods she wasn't stupid. "I'll tell them. No hard feelings, okay?"
"Okay."
I walked out of the bar, not stopping, not looking back. Drove home, said a brief hello, then goodnight to the rest of the household and went up to my bed. I hadn't been lying about not feeling good. I was feeling furious, although I didn't know why.
***
"Dale, where's Sarah? I want to go somewhere else."
"Sarah went home ages ago."
"Why?"
"Why do you think, Vicki?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
"All right, I'll tell you. Sarah left because she's not the doormat you seem to think she is. She won't tamely watch you throwing yourself at her uncle and then ferry you to wherever you want to go next. Use a bit of bloody common sense, Vicki, for god's sake!"
"What business is it of hers what I do? Bloody jealous cow."
"Vicki! He's her uncle."
"Fuck her. She wants him. I can see it. She can't have him. He's *mine*."
"You're drunk. Or just plain stupid."
"She just wants him because I want him. I'm better looking than she is, bloody jealous fat cow. He's fucking mine. Sarah can just fuck off. Who'd want her anyway? Fat bitch."
"Well, if you're that fucking sure, you'd better lower your voice. 'Your' man just heard every word you said, and he doesn't look happy."
***
Next morning, I woke up feeling tired and headachy, with a sore throat as well. Maybe I did have the flu after all. It figured. I could get through entire terms without any ill-effects, but the minute I started a holiday, I came down with whatever was flying about at that point in time. I decided to go downstairs and make myself some hot honey and lemon, to soothe my throat.
I got to the kitchen and saw that the only person there was Boromir, sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. He looked up at me and I guessed from the way that he looked at me that he might have been depending on me or my presence to crowbar Vicki off him. As if! Vicki wasn't going to listen to anyone else about him, least of all me. I was only his niece; even if I'd been his wife, I wouldn't have stood a chance of standing between Vicki and what she wanted. Her opinion of men was simple: they were put there to serve her whims, her needs. Nobody else mattered. I almost turned and walked back to my bedroom again, but decided to brazen it out. I walked over to the pantry and started assembling ingredients.
"Why did you head home so early last night?" His voice from behind me. He was still at the table, by the sound of things.
"I wasn't feeling well," I replied. I'd found the honey, but there weren't any lemons available. I'd have to go outside and pick one from the tree. I walked toward the kitchen door, only to find my way blocked.
"No, Sarah. Don't tell me half the truth. Why did you leave so early?"
"I am telling you the truth. I left because I wasn't feeling well. I'm still not feeling well now: my head aches, I'm tired, and my throat's sore."
"Now how about the rest of the truth?"
"What do you mean 'the rest of the truth'? I've told you all there is to tell. Now let me get to the door."
"Why? So you can escape? Answer the question, I'll let you through."
"No, so that I can get myself a lemon from the tree. My throat hurts, I need some lemon and honey."
"Here." He tossed me a lemon from the basket on top of the freezer. "Now will you stop hedging and tell me the truth?"
"What truth do you want to hear, dammit?" My voice was starting to rise, both in volume and in pitch. "The one that says that I left because I didn't want to see my friend throwing herself at you like the silly tart she is? The one which says that I knew where she wanted to wind up by the end of the night?"
"That would be a start, yes. Although why you persist in calling Vicki a friend of yours is beyond me. I've seen orcs that were more loyal to their comrades than that young woman is to her so-called friends."
"You don't have to tell me that. I already know she's about as sincere as a political promise. I suppose you'd also like the truth that says that I was sickened by your accepting her advances, letting her come on to you that way? Dammit, you can do so much better than her."
"Such as? Which of them would you pair me up with, Sarah, if Vicki isn't good enough? Sheryl? She's interested in Aragorn, not me. I stopped picking up his leftovers long ago. Dale? Same thing, only change the name of the lust object to Legolas."
"None of them. You're too old for all of them. Way too old. If they knew your real age they'd be sickened."
"Oooh, nasty."
"Stop patronising me, dammit. Hells, it's not like it's any of my business which damn fool tart you fuck next. It wasn't any of my business in the first place. What is my business is why I left last night and I've told you, it was because I was feeling ill. If I have any other reasons, they're my business and none of yours. Now stop bloody well hounding me."
Silence from the other side of the room. I was tense, quivering with fury. Part of the fury was at myself, because I'd realised just which person I wanted to put into Boromir's bed. Me. The other part of the fury was at Boromir, for making me aware of this. He must have seen the fury in my eyes and guessed its source, because he smiled at me, walked forward and kissed me full on the lips.
He was damn good at it.
"Just a taste of what you're missing," he said, as he broke the contact.
I threw the lemon at him. Hard. Then stomped out of the room, past Aragorn, who'd apparently just come down, back to my bed.
Back in my bedroom, I realised that at least part of the reason I was so damn angry was that I'd been forced to face up to a colossal amount of truth in a short dose. Firstly, Vicki wasn't a friend, no matter how much I wanted her to be. Instead, she was just using me as a way of getting an introduction to Boromir and Aragorn (I'd seen the looks she'd been giving them. I used those same looks myself, when I was weighing up whether or not to buy a piece of software, or a book) or a convenient skipper. I couldn't understand why Dale stuck with her, aside from the very straightforward reason that they were flatmates.
I'd heard her comments, the ones she made behind my back, when she thought I couldn't hear. I'd heard about her "party trick" of impersonating me, making fun of my failings. I'd heard her comments about my weight, all the nice snide ones that she made with a smile on her face. I had no idea why I'd put up with them for so long. Maybe it was just inertia. Maybe it was just that I didn't want to make a scene, drag her face through the mud. Maybe I was just a fool.
That last was starting to seem very likely. Especially when I contemplated how I felt about both Boromir and Aragorn. Damn it, I wanted them. Problem was, I couldn't really make a play for them. For starters, all of the arguments I'd use against my friends getting together with them were true of me. They were far too old, they could do much much better and to top it all off, they were both my ancestors. I could probably find out the exact degree of consanguinity from Frodo, Sam, Merry or Pippin, but I was sure that it'd be fairly high. If I was honest, I'd have to admit that it was a nice thought, but highly unlikely.
Mind you, if that were the case, why did Boromir say what he said? Why did he do what he did? Or was he just teasing me?
***
"Is there any particular reason why you have to stage scenes first thing in the morning?"
"Not really. She's interested."
"I know. I've known for a while."
"I'd say she's the one."
"So would I. But would she?"
A rueful grin. "Judging from this morning's effort, I'd say not."
***
I wound up falling asleep again shortly after my slightly confused thoughts had finished hamsterwheeling about the question of what had been intended by that kiss. This was rare for me - usually I'm pretty much diurnal most of the time. It was a pretty good indicator that I had the flu. So were the killer headache, the low fever, the very sore throat and the fact that I felt like death warmed over. I'd been awoken by my phone ringing, something I only really identified after I'd managed to separate that out from the ringing in my ears. I picked the phone up from my bedside table and answered it.
"Yes?"
"Hi, Sarah, it's Vicki," came the voice at the other end. A very tense voice, strangely enough.
I suddenly felt about twice as tired as I had been originally. "Vicki, I'm tired; I'm feeling ill. This had better be good, okay?"
"Oh that's fine. Just put Boris on, okay?" She actually sounded upset. Very very angry.
"He's not here. I'm in my room, on my own, with a massive headache and a case of flu. Why the hell would I have Boris in here, Vicki?"
"You're lying."
"I'm not. What happened last night, Vicki? Did he finally decide that he could do better than you?"
"You've got a hide asking me what happened last night! You walked out and left us there, in a pub with two teams of drunken footballers. We could have got raped!" Her voice was shrill at the other end of the line.
I'd finally had enough. I didn't know what the hell had happened last night, and quite frankly, I'd now reached the point where I didn't damn well care. My head ached, I was tired out, I just wanted to curl up and sleep. Instead, I had Vicki being cryptically bitchy at me over the phone. Bugger that.
"Vicki, you chose that pub. You knew the risks. I left a message with Dale when I left. I presume she passed it on, because she's usually pretty good about those sorts of things. If you've managed to finally bitch yourself into a corner with regards to Boris, that's your problem, not mine. I'm hanging up now."
I did just that. The phone rang again within seconds.
I picked it up and answered. It was Vicki again, this time with a tirade of abuse and demands that I put Boris onto the phone right now. I started to wonder whether she was in her right mind - I suspected that she wasn't. Neither was I. I hung right back up again. The phone rang again within seconds.
"Vicki, if that's you, you can just fuck right off!"
"Ummm.. no. It's Maggie. We were supposed to be having a PC study session, remember?"
I sighed, feeling close to tears. "I'm sorry Maggie, but I can't make it. I think I've got a bad case of the flu. I feel like someone's scraped me out of my grave to be honest. D'you mind if we make this next week?"
"No problems. Are you at home? I'd heard that you were planning on going on a pub crawl with Vicki, Sheryl and Dale."
"Yes, I'm home. And don't remind me about Vicki, okay?"
"I rather gathered that you'd reached the end of your tether with her."
I gave a half-snort, half-laugh, part-sob. "I've got to go, Maggie. If I stay here talking for much longer, I'm going to collapse."
"Fair enough. Switch your phone off after this call, okay? You don't need any more disturbances. Bye."
"Bye."
I switched the phone off and slowly eased myself back onto my pillows. A few minutes later, there was a gentle tap at my door. I winced and called out, "Come in".
It was Merry, who was carrying a tray which had a cup of hot honey and lemon. I smiled weakly at him.
"We got a phone call from Arwen. Lucky Frodo took it, she was gabbling in elvish. Anyway, we're all under strict instructions to make sure that you rest up. Oh, I'm to take your phone down with me, as well. It can charge in the lounge room. Now, drink that up."
He picked up the phone and was out the door on silent feet very shortly afterward. I drank the drink and lay back on my bed, trying to get back to sleep. Unfortunately, sleep eluded me for a fair while. I caught it eventually, though.
***
"She's not all that well, but she should be a bit better after a bit of sleep."
"Where's her phone? Arwen said that Vicki was apparently harassing her."
"Here it is. I said I'd leave it in the lounge room to charge."
"What, in the same room as Boromir? But... oh!"
"Precisely."
***
It started on Saturday night. Vicki, Dale and Sheryl had asked me to come out with them to the pub, for a "girls night out". They hadn't bothered asking Keighleigh; she and Duck were so much of an item that it was almost inconceivable that she'd go out without him. They also hadn't asked Maggie, partially because she was regarded as being "stuck up" and "snooty" by Vicki; but mainly because she happened to be a lot better looking than all three of them, even when she was covering up her elven good looks. I don't know why I was invited along. Hang on, scratch that. I knew *precisely* why I was invited along. I was the skipper. I got to watch the three of them get roaring drunk, throw themselves at whichever men they fancied, and then I got the joyous task of dragging them back to their place at the end of the night; provided, of course, that they hadn't found someone else to take them home. I was also less good looking than any of them, so I could be safely be brought along without jepoardising their chances with whichever men were in the bar. Sometimes I really do curse my good nature.
Today was one of those times. I'd spent a hard day working in the van: Joy had been off with flu, so I'd had to do everything myself. I was tired, and I had the beginnings of a sinus headache. All I really wanted was to take a nice long bath, and head off to bed at about eight o'clock and sleep for about twelve hours. I certainly didn't want to go off to the pub with three confirmed pissheads and spend my night watching over the three of them to make sure that they didn't get paralytic, or assaulted. I also didn't want a night of listening to the bitchy comments that Vicki made about everyone the moment she got even slightly pissed. So I was in a sour mood to start with, a mood which didn't improve when Vicki told us which of the pubs in town we were going to. The Sportsmans Arms. The footy pub. The one that the entire Warriors and Falcons teams would be at, busy celebrating their win (in the case of the Warriors) or commiserating on their loss (for the Falcons). I should have known. Vicki had lately got a lot more blatant in her chasing after Boris. It seemed that with Dale having openly admitted defeat in trying to get Larry to fancy her, and Sheryl having got nowhere with Arthur for the last three years, Vicki was trying to score points. Or rather, just to score. The clothes she was wearing tonight suited her blonde prettiness very well, and covered up slightly less flesh than my rather ratty scarf. I felt like mentioning that a transparent chiffon blouse, no matter how "modest" the cut, is not the sort of thing you wear into a bar full of rowdy, randy footballers. It was *not* going to be a good night, no matter how I sliced it.
I followed them in, and took my place at the front of the table. It was my job to get the first round of drinks. Vicki tried to kick things off by ordering a cocktail. One of those ones with the double-entendre names. I looked at her, the beginnings of the headache a distant pain behind my eyes.
"Vicki, if you want to make yourself look like a desperate fool, go right ahead. But kindly leave me out of it," I told her. She looked affronted (something else that boded badly for the night) but changed her order to a rum and coke. I had no doubt that she'd be ordering the cocktail she'd wanted me to ask for a little later on in the evening. Within Boromir's hearing, no doubt. My temper worsened. Sheryl and Dale apparently came to the conclusion that trying my patience tonight would result in the pair of them either walking home, or calling a cab, neither of which were really on their agenda. They ordered nice safe drinks as well. One brandy and dry; one gin and tonic. I walked up to the bar, placed their three orders and asked for a lemon, lime and bitters for myself. The barman was a bloke I vaguely remembered from uni. I think he was doing a course in Psychology. Presumably he got enough raw material here to keep him busy. He quickly set up the drinks for me and gave me a sympathetic smile.
"You their skipper?" he asked. I nodded ruefully.
"I don't envy you," he told me. "Look, if you need a hand, the name's Dean, just give me a yell and I'll be over there in a jiff, okay?"
"Thanks," I said, giving him a half-smile. "I'll let you know."
I'd just got the drinks onto a tray to take over, when the Warriors team came through the door. Boromir at the head of the pack, of course. One of the nice little side-effects for him of being immortal was that his ability to consume alcohol had apparently become infinite. He could get to the happy stage on one or two drinks and stay there all night, with no ill-effects and no hangover the next morning. Add to this his very real gift for command and instilling cameraderie in a group of followers and you had a man who fit the bill for "Life of the Party" at any boozy gathering of the footy team.
He gave me a cheerful greeting, grabbed the tray away from me and passed it to one of his teammates. Then he enveloped me in a big bear hug, lifting me off the floor, with a kiss on the cheek included as part of the package. A large part of me was very pleased to see him and extremely happy to get the hug (had his hand slipped rather low on my hip deliberately?). The other part of me happened to be the bit which had been looking over his shoulder and had seen the angry, posessive, vindictive expression on Vicki's face. It definitely wasn't going to be a good night. Vicki got up from our table and came over to presume on her friendship with me, to get a hug of her own. She also planted a kiss on his cheek (she'd been aiming for his mouth. He'd dodged) and batted her eyelashes at him. I took the tray back from the team member who'd been holding it for me and carried it over to the table. Sheryl and Dale had wandered over to say hello to the Warriors players as well. I grabbed my drink, sat down and watched.
Vicki was all over Boromir like a rash. He apparently didn't mind. Presumably after six thousand years, he was used to it. I slowly drank my drink, small sips at a time. He seemed to be almost playing up to her. How could he stand it? She was so obvious, so very posessive, and kept throwing glances at me, as if to say "hands off". Dammit, I was his niece, as far as she knew. I had more right to be touching him than she did. I finished my drink and realised that I really didn't want to watch this all night. I also didn't want to cause a scene, which is what would almost certainly happen if I tried to talk to Vicki about this. She was onto her third drink already, which meant that she wasn't going to be reasonable any time soon. If, indeed, she ever was. Instead, I walked over to where Dale was talking with a couple of the players.
"Dale, I'm sorry, but I'm really not feeling too good. Must be this flu that's going around. I'm going home. Do you mind telling Sheryl and Vicki for me?"
Dale nodded. Thank all the gods she wasn't stupid. "I'll tell them. No hard feelings, okay?"
"Okay."
I walked out of the bar, not stopping, not looking back. Drove home, said a brief hello, then goodnight to the rest of the household and went up to my bed. I hadn't been lying about not feeling good. I was feeling furious, although I didn't know why.
***
"Dale, where's Sarah? I want to go somewhere else."
"Sarah went home ages ago."
"Why?"
"Why do you think, Vicki?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
"All right, I'll tell you. Sarah left because she's not the doormat you seem to think she is. She won't tamely watch you throwing yourself at her uncle and then ferry you to wherever you want to go next. Use a bit of bloody common sense, Vicki, for god's sake!"
"What business is it of hers what I do? Bloody jealous cow."
"Vicki! He's her uncle."
"Fuck her. She wants him. I can see it. She can't have him. He's *mine*."
"You're drunk. Or just plain stupid."
"She just wants him because I want him. I'm better looking than she is, bloody jealous fat cow. He's fucking mine. Sarah can just fuck off. Who'd want her anyway? Fat bitch."
"Well, if you're that fucking sure, you'd better lower your voice. 'Your' man just heard every word you said, and he doesn't look happy."
***
Next morning, I woke up feeling tired and headachy, with a sore throat as well. Maybe I did have the flu after all. It figured. I could get through entire terms without any ill-effects, but the minute I started a holiday, I came down with whatever was flying about at that point in time. I decided to go downstairs and make myself some hot honey and lemon, to soothe my throat.
I got to the kitchen and saw that the only person there was Boromir, sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. He looked up at me and I guessed from the way that he looked at me that he might have been depending on me or my presence to crowbar Vicki off him. As if! Vicki wasn't going to listen to anyone else about him, least of all me. I was only his niece; even if I'd been his wife, I wouldn't have stood a chance of standing between Vicki and what she wanted. Her opinion of men was simple: they were put there to serve her whims, her needs. Nobody else mattered. I almost turned and walked back to my bedroom again, but decided to brazen it out. I walked over to the pantry and started assembling ingredients.
"Why did you head home so early last night?" His voice from behind me. He was still at the table, by the sound of things.
"I wasn't feeling well," I replied. I'd found the honey, but there weren't any lemons available. I'd have to go outside and pick one from the tree. I walked toward the kitchen door, only to find my way blocked.
"No, Sarah. Don't tell me half the truth. Why did you leave so early?"
"I am telling you the truth. I left because I wasn't feeling well. I'm still not feeling well now: my head aches, I'm tired, and my throat's sore."
"Now how about the rest of the truth?"
"What do you mean 'the rest of the truth'? I've told you all there is to tell. Now let me get to the door."
"Why? So you can escape? Answer the question, I'll let you through."
"No, so that I can get myself a lemon from the tree. My throat hurts, I need some lemon and honey."
"Here." He tossed me a lemon from the basket on top of the freezer. "Now will you stop hedging and tell me the truth?"
"What truth do you want to hear, dammit?" My voice was starting to rise, both in volume and in pitch. "The one that says that I left because I didn't want to see my friend throwing herself at you like the silly tart she is? The one which says that I knew where she wanted to wind up by the end of the night?"
"That would be a start, yes. Although why you persist in calling Vicki a friend of yours is beyond me. I've seen orcs that were more loyal to their comrades than that young woman is to her so-called friends."
"You don't have to tell me that. I already know she's about as sincere as a political promise. I suppose you'd also like the truth that says that I was sickened by your accepting her advances, letting her come on to you that way? Dammit, you can do so much better than her."
"Such as? Which of them would you pair me up with, Sarah, if Vicki isn't good enough? Sheryl? She's interested in Aragorn, not me. I stopped picking up his leftovers long ago. Dale? Same thing, only change the name of the lust object to Legolas."
"None of them. You're too old for all of them. Way too old. If they knew your real age they'd be sickened."
"Oooh, nasty."
"Stop patronising me, dammit. Hells, it's not like it's any of my business which damn fool tart you fuck next. It wasn't any of my business in the first place. What is my business is why I left last night and I've told you, it was because I was feeling ill. If I have any other reasons, they're my business and none of yours. Now stop bloody well hounding me."
Silence from the other side of the room. I was tense, quivering with fury. Part of the fury was at myself, because I'd realised just which person I wanted to put into Boromir's bed. Me. The other part of the fury was at Boromir, for making me aware of this. He must have seen the fury in my eyes and guessed its source, because he smiled at me, walked forward and kissed me full on the lips.
He was damn good at it.
"Just a taste of what you're missing," he said, as he broke the contact.
I threw the lemon at him. Hard. Then stomped out of the room, past Aragorn, who'd apparently just come down, back to my bed.
Back in my bedroom, I realised that at least part of the reason I was so damn angry was that I'd been forced to face up to a colossal amount of truth in a short dose. Firstly, Vicki wasn't a friend, no matter how much I wanted her to be. Instead, she was just using me as a way of getting an introduction to Boromir and Aragorn (I'd seen the looks she'd been giving them. I used those same looks myself, when I was weighing up whether or not to buy a piece of software, or a book) or a convenient skipper. I couldn't understand why Dale stuck with her, aside from the very straightforward reason that they were flatmates.
I'd heard her comments, the ones she made behind my back, when she thought I couldn't hear. I'd heard about her "party trick" of impersonating me, making fun of my failings. I'd heard her comments about my weight, all the nice snide ones that she made with a smile on her face. I had no idea why I'd put up with them for so long. Maybe it was just inertia. Maybe it was just that I didn't want to make a scene, drag her face through the mud. Maybe I was just a fool.
That last was starting to seem very likely. Especially when I contemplated how I felt about both Boromir and Aragorn. Damn it, I wanted them. Problem was, I couldn't really make a play for them. For starters, all of the arguments I'd use against my friends getting together with them were true of me. They were far too old, they could do much much better and to top it all off, they were both my ancestors. I could probably find out the exact degree of consanguinity from Frodo, Sam, Merry or Pippin, but I was sure that it'd be fairly high. If I was honest, I'd have to admit that it was a nice thought, but highly unlikely.
Mind you, if that were the case, why did Boromir say what he said? Why did he do what he did? Or was he just teasing me?
***
"Is there any particular reason why you have to stage scenes first thing in the morning?"
"Not really. She's interested."
"I know. I've known for a while."
"I'd say she's the one."
"So would I. But would she?"
A rueful grin. "Judging from this morning's effort, I'd say not."
***
I wound up falling asleep again shortly after my slightly confused thoughts had finished hamsterwheeling about the question of what had been intended by that kiss. This was rare for me - usually I'm pretty much diurnal most of the time. It was a pretty good indicator that I had the flu. So were the killer headache, the low fever, the very sore throat and the fact that I felt like death warmed over. I'd been awoken by my phone ringing, something I only really identified after I'd managed to separate that out from the ringing in my ears. I picked the phone up from my bedside table and answered it.
"Yes?"
"Hi, Sarah, it's Vicki," came the voice at the other end. A very tense voice, strangely enough.
I suddenly felt about twice as tired as I had been originally. "Vicki, I'm tired; I'm feeling ill. This had better be good, okay?"
"Oh that's fine. Just put Boris on, okay?" She actually sounded upset. Very very angry.
"He's not here. I'm in my room, on my own, with a massive headache and a case of flu. Why the hell would I have Boris in here, Vicki?"
"You're lying."
"I'm not. What happened last night, Vicki? Did he finally decide that he could do better than you?"
"You've got a hide asking me what happened last night! You walked out and left us there, in a pub with two teams of drunken footballers. We could have got raped!" Her voice was shrill at the other end of the line.
I'd finally had enough. I didn't know what the hell had happened last night, and quite frankly, I'd now reached the point where I didn't damn well care. My head ached, I was tired out, I just wanted to curl up and sleep. Instead, I had Vicki being cryptically bitchy at me over the phone. Bugger that.
"Vicki, you chose that pub. You knew the risks. I left a message with Dale when I left. I presume she passed it on, because she's usually pretty good about those sorts of things. If you've managed to finally bitch yourself into a corner with regards to Boris, that's your problem, not mine. I'm hanging up now."
I did just that. The phone rang again within seconds.
I picked it up and answered. It was Vicki again, this time with a tirade of abuse and demands that I put Boris onto the phone right now. I started to wonder whether she was in her right mind - I suspected that she wasn't. Neither was I. I hung right back up again. The phone rang again within seconds.
"Vicki, if that's you, you can just fuck right off!"
"Ummm.. no. It's Maggie. We were supposed to be having a PC study session, remember?"
I sighed, feeling close to tears. "I'm sorry Maggie, but I can't make it. I think I've got a bad case of the flu. I feel like someone's scraped me out of my grave to be honest. D'you mind if we make this next week?"
"No problems. Are you at home? I'd heard that you were planning on going on a pub crawl with Vicki, Sheryl and Dale."
"Yes, I'm home. And don't remind me about Vicki, okay?"
"I rather gathered that you'd reached the end of your tether with her."
I gave a half-snort, half-laugh, part-sob. "I've got to go, Maggie. If I stay here talking for much longer, I'm going to collapse."
"Fair enough. Switch your phone off after this call, okay? You don't need any more disturbances. Bye."
"Bye."
I switched the phone off and slowly eased myself back onto my pillows. A few minutes later, there was a gentle tap at my door. I winced and called out, "Come in".
It was Merry, who was carrying a tray which had a cup of hot honey and lemon. I smiled weakly at him.
"We got a phone call from Arwen. Lucky Frodo took it, she was gabbling in elvish. Anyway, we're all under strict instructions to make sure that you rest up. Oh, I'm to take your phone down with me, as well. It can charge in the lounge room. Now, drink that up."
He picked up the phone and was out the door on silent feet very shortly afterward. I drank the drink and lay back on my bed, trying to get back to sleep. Unfortunately, sleep eluded me for a fair while. I caught it eventually, though.
***
"She's not all that well, but she should be a bit better after a bit of sleep."
"Where's her phone? Arwen said that Vicki was apparently harassing her."
"Here it is. I said I'd leave it in the lounge room to charge."
"What, in the same room as Boromir? But... oh!"
"Precisely."
***