| Move On (1) delica |
Date: April 13, 2003 Pairing: VM/SB/OB Rating: PG-13 (for the language) Archive: RugbyTackle, Green Opals, Enigma Summary: Sean and Orlando returned from the South Island mudslide trapping. Disclaimer: NOT true. Absobloodylutely fictional. Feedback: This fic took me a lot of thinking, and I still haven't thought through it. Please let me know what do you think. Note: There are three things always haunting in my mind: Sean's fear of flying; Viggo's nearly drowning; Orli's broken back (and rib). Beta: Again, English is not my first language and utmost thanks to my beta goddess Natalierichards. * * * * * Flying Short grass on the ground gave way for the huge descending shadow. Once the helicopter touched down, the waiting group strode forward in eagerness. Only that Sean couldn't even notice them. Dashing out of the chopper, one could hardly move forward unaffected by the strong wind stirred up by the propellers. That's something Sean really hated to fight against or push out with. The unbeatable current wrapped him up, suffocating every bit of his whole damn life. When both feet touched the solid ground, weak legs betrayed his overwhelming dreadfulness and knees reached down. Fists were so tightly clenched that he forgot to open them before hitting hard on the wet soil. For a second he thought he was going to bend further down, kissing this ever-so-lovely earth. Orlando jumped out of the chopper behind Sean, and pushed back a step by the gust. But he was not unfamiliar with air resistance so he instinctively got along with it, and might not be aware that he was actually happy to play with it. It was then he saw Sean on his knees, and without second thought, Orlando stepped forward to grab his arm. Viggo reached the other side of Sean at the same time, and grabbed his other arm. Orlando was surprised how fast and swift Viggo had come over to them. The two exchanged a quick look and helped Sean on his feet. Orlando put up a smile, which never reached his eyes. Viggo nodded briefly in return, understandingly. Before Sean's brain started to function, he was trying hard to suppress the disturbance in his stomach, barely felt his arms clasped by a strong and warm hand on one side, a reassuring and cold hand on the other. No need to turn his head to find out. He already knew. Like recognizing his own limbs. "Thanks, mates." He forced a smile without looking up. Ever so distantly, Sean realized people were closing around them. Hobbits threw themselves at the two survivors, laughing and crying, screaming and speaking, embracing and draping all in one delightful mess. "Welcome back." When Sean finally looked up, Peter was there, grinning like a hobbit. Fran was next to him, smiling over them. For the first time in these couple of days he took a deep breath and relaxed into the safe and secure feelings these faces around him offered. "How are you doing?" Viggo asked in a low voice, neutrally. Not a slightest hint of worry or relief. Just THAT. Sean always admired his composure. Sean Bean's a tough bloke. So they said. Sean laughed silently to himself. He never wholeheartedly played along with it. Maybe, once in a while he was convinced too. But now. "I'm fine." He met Viggo's gaze and captured the concern in those eyes, so unswerving that he almost felt ashamed of the answer. "We're fine," Sean turned to Orlando, who to his surprise was staring at Viggo. "Oh, yeah. We're fine." Orlando echoed. * * * Nailed "I'm not a very good flyer. It's the turbulence which really gets me." Viggo remembered when Sean revealed to them he hated flying, they didn't really think he meant it seriously, at least not like THAT. It became something that couldn't be laughed off easily after their shooting at the snowy mountain, when Sean swore he would never fly on chopper again. To prove that he was a man of his word, Sean made his own way to the next remote shooting location by walking and climbing, in full costume, a few hours before the others set off. "Oh, man. You are nailed." Viggo couldn't help teasing Sean, yet at the same time knew only too well there was no joking. As a matter of fact, Sean flew quite frequently, back home, to wrap up his marriage, a third one. He never talked much about his repeated failure, nor showed much towards that. Flying was already awful enough for him, and what he had to face after the fearful experience was something too much for him to even start thinking of. Sean listened to Viggo talking about his son all the time. Sean had never left his girls this long before, and found himself start thinking about how much he loved them and missed them and hated to leave them. Yet time span in this other end of the world was painfully twisted, sometimes appeared to be stopped, or lost. And Sean tried to remember so that he could forget, tried to concentrate so that he could be distracted, tried to laugh hard enough for tears to surface. But there were times when circumstances overcame him. There were times when he was too tired to feel bad, for himself, for this bloody world. If there's always a cause for an effect, an action for a reaction, someone up there must be in a real nasty mood pointing his finger to him. Sean had tried so hard to avoid flying yet at the end of the day he got nailed, once more, even harder. The South Island mudslides left Peter no other choice but to airlift Sean and Orlando out. That crazy shooting schedule had already been seriously delayed by the weather, and it would be too big a price to get any more set backs. After some brief examinations by a doctor, they were taken to the hotel where the cast boarded. Sean settled on the couch in his own room, bending forward with elbows on the lap and his head down, staring at the square inch of floor right in front. He was exhausted but refused to drift off. "What's wrong?" Viggo placed a mug of tea into Sean's hand, squatted down on his side and glanced up, which was the only way to read Sean's face. Sean looked dazedly from Viggo's face to the tea, concentration dispersed, emotion fragmented, too spent to make an effort putting himself together. "Orli," Sean never meant to make Orlando feel responsible for the whole trapping event, or any part of it. But he let himself out on him. He could not resist the very urge to tell Viggo about the gripping of Orlando's kneecap during the chopper ride. "He's a nice lad, got a good heart." So finally Sean had to say it aloud, admitting to but himself. Orli. Viggo noted. So that was it. Orlando would get it over somehow. If only Sean could. "I bet my ass he'll take the piss out of you for that until the end of your days." Sean tried to chuckle it off but it sounded like a choke, hurrying to take a sip. Big hands with blunt and long fingers, Viggo noticed, gripping the mug with almost every single muscle of the forearms and upper arms. Strong yet weary, barely able to hold on to what little was left. "He'll be okay." Viggo took the mug from him, smiling faintly while standing up. "Now shut up and get some sleep." Sean closed his eyes and thumped his head back, mouth opened as if going to utter something. Yet no words came out. * * * Dream So Orlando was not okay. Viggo just knew. But Bloom would not be in his own room by himself anyway. Viggo tried Lij's and Dom's rooms, and found the younglings in Billy's, having some kind of welcome-back party. Orlando sat on one end of the couch wiggling and laughing dramatically. Upon seeing Viggo enter he met his eyes and grinned. "Hey, how's my elf boy?" Viggo asked in a soft voice, standing at the side of the couch putting one hand on Orlando's head to caress his Mohawk. "Care to join us?" Expression switching between Orlando and Legolas. Sometimes it's for fun, sometimes it's a need. "Um, having fun? Good for you." Viggo knew that trick, all too well. Hand moved down to place on his shoulder. Orlando bounced onto his feet, waving off his hobbit friends. "See you later." And followed Viggo out of the room without looking back. "How are you doing?" Viggo repeated over his shoulder when both of them went down the hallway. "I'm fine." Viggo stopped and turned around. Orlando stood shifting his weight from one foot to another, both hands inside the rear pockets of his jeans. "You sure?" "Of course." "Yeah. Of course." Orlando shrugged, eyes looking away. "Orli, look at me." Viggo urged in a serious tone, stepping forward. "We're glad you're back." "I know." Beautiful eyes wide open with exhaustion. "Come on, back to your room." "I'm not a kid." He laughed out in silence. "Indeed." Viggo tugged on his sleeve and didn't let go until he moved along. Once back to his room, Orlando flung himself onto the bed and stretched out. "Your knee still hurts?" "Ah...hah." "Did you tell the doctor?" "Uh...huh." Viggo sat down on the armchair across the room. "That's no point to piss with yourself." Orlando rolled on one side and buried his face into the pillow. "Sean's not mad at you." Orlando grabbed the coversheet and pulled it all the way up to cover his head. Whatever had happened, it must have cut deeper than Viggo could have ever thought. "Please, Vig." Murmuring from the pillow through the coversheet, vague but clear enough to hear. "What?" "I'm too fucking tired to talk." "All right, then sleep." "Can't." "Ever sleep in the last few days?" "Not really." "Need anything from the doctor?" "Nay. Don't want drug." "Want me to talk you to sleep?" "Yup, why not." "Trust me." Viggo thought he heard a long sigh. "I'm glad you're here." So he wanted to get up and walk over to the bed, wanted to stretch down beside him and cuddle him, wanted to offer him comfort and tell him everything would be fine. He thought he even wanted to give whatever Orlando would take. But Viggo could not move. "Yeah, me too. Welcome back." When the last word settled, Viggo closed his eyes, surprised by how tired he felt. He dreamt of a fast-flowing river carrying him deep into the bottom of the current. Strong and swift. He kicked against something solid to push himself up for air and light. For life. Out of the water, heavy rain pouring down like curtain, hitting him hard. Being hampered by vast amount of water, Viggo shouted. |
| tbc |
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