A/N: PWP. Honestly, it's angst and fluff. But hopefully it's thought provoking angst and fluff. This was hard to write so I hope it's fairly in character...

Oh yeah, I'm going on vacation next week for 10 days so it will be a while until the next update. I'm thinking one to three more chapters. It depends. Well, enjoy, review, you know the routine!



He stood very still. He stood tall and straight and noble, his fingers delicately spread against the trunk of the tree. And Aragorn looked up at him.

"Would you mind telling me why you simply ran off like that? Legolas, your mortality has nothing to do with your emotions. You are still the same man you were days ago. But this...you don't even seem to be a new person. It's as if you are two souls, condensed into a single body. It's like..."

Legolas took a step closer, laying a finger on Aragorn's lips. "I'm sorry I ran away like that. There were certain suspicions that I had to confirm."

"Oh? And what were you told?"

"That I was correct," he replied with a shrug. "That I'm as naive and foolish as I always feared I would be." He shook his head. "God, that I'm as destructive and impulsive and rash as I always swore I would not be!"

Aragorn smirked, "Usually I'd tell you that I would kill to be as 'impulsive' as you. But lately I really must agree with you. I feel like..." He tossed his head, slightly bitter, "Like I hardly know you anymore."

"Do not take it so lightly," Legolas bit out, shielding his face with his hands, speaking muffled. "Don't...don't smile, Aragorn..."

"What's wrong?"

"I shouldn't have...shouldn't have...I'm sorry..."

"For running away? You don't do it often."

"No! No. Not for...not for running...for..." He took away his hand and desperately threw himself at Aragorn. His mind reeled.

Solace.

Warmth.

Love.

He'd stolen it. The one provision he could never provide.

With a half-nauseating, half-blinding start, he pressed his lips against Aragorn's. He felt none of the cliched passion, none of the smoldering doubt, none of the sweet ecstasy he expected. He felt guilt. He felt numb. He felt skin against skin. His arms wrapped around the man's waist, pulling him closer. His lips moved against Aragorn's as feather light touches as he whispered, "I'm sorry..."

And where he expected a furious shove there was no force. Maybe, he thought, Aragorn would push him away, revolted. Maybe it would all end. A kiss, so little in its connotation, was enough to do that.

And then, where he thought there might be heat, there was nothing. Some part of his mind had toyed with the idea of confession and touches, of Aragorn's tongue mapping the outlines of his mouth like a compass.

But, nothing.

The man pulled back, gently. "Legolas, what happened?"

Legolas bit his own lip. He wanted to kiss him again. To beg for hate or love. Just hit me. Just hug me. Just rebuke me. Just ravish me. Just scoff at me. Just seduce me. Just...just...just...

"Aragorn..."

No. The line between love and hate could not be drawn at indifference.

"I can tell. I can tell that something's wrong. It was in your posture when you stood, and in your lips when you kissed."

Legolas ran his fingers over his lips. "I told you...I have nightmares...They haunt me in the day as well. They whisper and taunt...they cry within my head...like they're dissecting my mind and body..."

"I learned. Learned how to block them. How to pretend I didn't hear the names. But that voice! It was always with me. Never...never..." he faltered, "It's trivial. All of it. Aragorn." He snapped his head up, staring directly into the ranger's eyes. "If loving someone is willing to die for them. Willing to sacrifice everything for them. Willing to endure anything to appease them, then please tell me. Did you love Arwen?"

"Legolas, we already..." he paused, "Did?"



It was raining. The cold, teasing touches of liquid against skin. Touching then flinching away. Tangible then melting away in a moment. Some stayed. Some slid down his skin while some just sort of dissolved into his skin.

Don't touch me.

There is no such thing as a mistake.

There is only spite. There is only irony. There is only this. And the fact that...

"I made him cry," Legolas whispered desperately, "I made him hit me. I made him leave me. I've killed two people in one day. Tears are so...helpless. They come and come and make you think you'll feel better. But you don't." He touched his face. It still stung. Just as well. He almost wished Aragorn had done something more permanent. More painful. //Good. Make me repent. Don't let me forget this.//

No matter how much you say you'll protect someone, there's always some way to break a promise. No matter how many promises you make, how genuine and sweet they are, there's always something that might snap them. "I promised myself...to protect all of them. And I'm just falling, faster and faster. I pledged myself. And it was a lie."

Saying the truth is always the right thing to do. Everyone tells you that. And when you tell it, there's this empowered, embittered, conflicted feeling within you. If it's right, why do these tears make it feel so wrong? "I told him. I told him the truth. About Galadriel. About him. About Arwen. About m..." Legolas shook his head. No. There's no use lying now. "Not about me. What was there to tell about me anyway? I callously destroyed her life. I don't deserve an explanation. I don't deserve some staged, rigid excuse for my actions."

Nothing justifies death except justice. Or possibly mercy. And, which do you place before the other?

It's funny, really. How something can happen and seem so cataclysmically horrible. And then you think about it, and it rains, and it's cool and refreshing and suddenly it hasn't been moments but eons. And you just can't let it //go//.

Legolas got up. He'd probably been sitting still for mere hours. Grief, while sporadic, is not fleeting. With a start, he stood up.

For the second time that day, he ran. But it wasn't tiring and stressed or tense this time. It was velvety and rushed and...Oh, God...

"Aragorn."

The man looked up. He hadn't moved an inch. His face was streaked with tears. Guilt clenched Legolas' chest. Suddenly, he felt them on his skin. Water, everywhere. And for all the dry sobs and stinging eyes, nothing had felt so real and desperate as this.

"They say that we hear everything," he whispered, voice breathy, "No matter if we're not listening. No matter if we can't remember it on command. Somehow it's there. Somewhere, stored in our mind. It's...what am I saying? I..." He stumbled forward.

"I swore to protect you. And I lied. You're hurt. I'm hurt. The fellowship has broken. But I won't break anymore promises to you, Aragorn. I...I swore also to tell you everything. About this. About you. About me. And now I seem to be out of words. Look, without my immortality, I'm even getting stupid." He gave a raw laugh, so short it hardly made a sound. "This will sound so hypocritical...so fake...this is...so pathetic...that..."

He dropped to the ground, "I think...I'm in love with you. No, that's a lie. Another. I know it, Aragorn. God, I know it."