*****
"When the night falls on you,
You don't know what to do,
Nothing you confess
Could make me love you less
I'll stand by you,
Won't let nobody hurt you."
*****
Viggo woke up a few hours later. The room was dark, though he could hear noise outside telling him it had to be still early in the evening. Rolling over in the bed, he found it empty. A quick scan, while his eyes adjusted to the darkness, showed him Sean sitting in the only chair of the room, wide awake.
Before Viggo could say "Deja vu," though, Sean asked him for his cell, to call his agent back in L.A.
Viggo let his head fall back on the pillow, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "It's in there." He gestured vaguely with one arm in the general direction of Sean's bag, passing his other hand over his hair, not caring if that would make it stick up even worse.
Sean clicked on the lights, then got up and went to sit on his side of the bed, rummaging in the bag until he came up with what he was looking for.
"How long did I sleep?" asked Viggo, stifling a yawn, then stretched a little. He felt good enough, all things considered. He still wasn't that old, he mused--he would have to tell Henry that.
"A little more than five hours," Sean absentmindedly answered, while punching numbers on the phone.
Viggo peered up at him, debating whether or not investigate if Sean had rested at all, then decided not: he had already slept for almost ten hours, and even if he *had* been--both emotionally and physically--exhausted, too much sleep was a sign of depression, he believed. Seeing him so alert was actually a comfort.
While Sean spoke with his agent, his back to Viggo, Viggo leaned over, took possession of the bag, and from a pocket fished out a pen and a notepad. He sidled up till he was sitting against the headboard, bent a knee to support the pad and scribbled on the first sheet. When Sean said into the phone, "Wait a sec," Viggo just reached out over Sean's shoulder and gave him the notepad.
Sean turned, his eyes slightly widened in surprise, and Viggo felt actually pleased about the grateful, affectionate smile tugging at Sean's lips while he read Viggo's Idaho number and address to his agent. It still wasn't a real smile, not by a long shot, and Sean's eyes were still somewhat dull. Still scared. But it was the second smile since last night, and that surely had to count for something. Viggo was a Positive Thinking kind of guy.
Sean disconnected, and turned to sit against the headboard as well.
"So?" Viggo prodded.
Sean sighed, scratched his jaw. "My lawyer got a deal with the prosecutor," he said. "As long as I keep in touch and they can reach me, I'm allowed to stay out of town."
"Good."
"'til the court hearing."
There was a silence. Viggo reached over, felt Sean's shoulder under his hand, and squeezed. He let his hand linger there.
"So," he said after a while. "Want to hit the road again?"
Sean looked at him then, and for a moment he looked like he was about to say something; but in the end, he just shrugged.
Viggo let his hand fall back onto the coverlet.
*****
After a quick shower, Viggo felt completely rested and firing on all cylinders again. He went to pay for the room and give back the key, and when he got back to the car, he found Sean in the driver seat.
"Um," he said.
"Get in," said Sean.
Viggo guessed he really had nothing to object to: after all, he *was* tired of doing the driving, and beside that, it was good to see Sean out of the somewhat catatonic state of earlier in the day. Back in charge of his life--or at the very least, of Viggo's Saturn.
It was about eight p.m. when they got back on the highway, and Sean insisted he could drive all night, he had had all the rest he could ever need. After a bit of arguing, Viggo gave in, just told him to follow the road until the exit he had told him before, then he would give directions.
At some point, Viggo nodded off again. He thought he dreamed, but wasn't certain. Some place with tall grass, lots of wild flowers, and a sense of peace, of safety. Of someone watching over him, happiness adrift in the wind. He knew that place--he thought so, but couldn't really tell.
*****
They reached Idaho some time in the early hours of the morning. Sean woke Viggo up just before leaving the highway, and refused again to switch places, so Viggo settled for giving him directions from the passenger seat, and reflected that it was a shame they were arriving in the middle of the night: mountains loomed dark and imposing all around them, and as the road started to climb, Viggo thought he would've loved to see Sean's reaction, because the landscape would soon become breathtaking.
He decided not to dwell on it and concentrated on the road, instead. Hopefully, he'd have plenty of time to show him the sights. It didn't really matter, anyway. What mattered was... well, was Sean. Viggo knew he could help him, and he wanted to--so badly, in fact, it was almost ridiculous.
They drove on for a couple more hours, and finally left all signs of civilization behind. Viggo lowered the window, taking in a deep breath, not caring if it was cold. God, but how he loved the very air of this place. He looked over at Sean, who seemed oblivious to everything that wasn't the road.
"We're almost there. Tired?"
"Just a bit." Sean glanced back at him. The sun was about to rise, and a pale gray light was creeping its way into the valley they were in now. Viggo saw how dark Sean's eyes looked in the lit interior of the car. Then, with a hand, Sean gestured all around. "It has to be beautiful here--you know, when you can actually see."
Viggo could only nod. Then, feeling absurdly proud, "You will see," he smiled; and in his heart, he made that a promise.
The rest of the way passed in silence.
*****
When they arrived at Viggo's cottage, the sun had just risen over the mountains, pale and white and probably just about to go out again, hidden by gray livid clouds coming over it from the north.
Viggo took a moment to silently congratulate himself for having asked his housekeeper to come over the previous afternoon--to make sure all worked properly and stock out the fridge--then showed Sean his room, which was on the first floor, just below his own room, and attached to his studio. While Sean settled, he went to the kitchen and decided about breakfast.
Sean joined him a little later, and sat at the counter, watching Viggo work.
"Almost ready," Viggo said. "I just made coffee."
Sean nodded, took the mug Viggo handed him, filled it. Then he stared down at it. Viggo felt again the unease of the night before, when he had gone to Sean's in L.A.
"What's up?" he asked, softly.
Sean continued to stare into his mug. Then he said, "You haven't asked me anything."
Viggo looked at him. Took in the drawn face, the slightly ruffled hair. The details, like the tight curve of his lips, the two days' growth of stubble, the lines around his eyes and mouth, the long nervous fingers, clenching and unclenching around the pale yellow china mug; the inane little things, like the fine blond hair on Sean's wrists, showing under the sleeves of his dark green sweater. And the way he sat, hunched over and stiff at the same time, on the stool. The way he wasn't looking at Viggo.
He turned back to the cooking.
"Yeah," he just said.
He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a slight exhalation of breath.
"Thanks," Sean quietly offered, after a while.
Viggo nodded, without turning back around, and reached into the cabinet on his left to take out two plates.
*****
After breakfast--which was a rather short and silent affair--Sean went to rest in his room. Viggo made sure the phone worked fine, then went in his studio. He barely looked at the half-filled canvas strewn all over the room, the scraps and sheets of paper littering the floor, and sat down on the futon facing the huge glass window occupying almost a whole wall of the large room. Even though it was now full morning, the valley was still drowned in shadows: the wind had picked up, howling as it blew through the trees, lifting golden whirlpools of fallen leaves. The rain wouldn't be long now.
For some reason, Viggo thought about New Zealand. Well, okay, so he knew the reason: that kind of weather never failed to remind him of the Helm's Deep shooting, how it had never really stopped raining for all of that time.
The filming of the Helm's Deep scenes had taken the last three months with Sean on set--so he and Viggo had pretty much had to spend those last months apart.
Viggo relaxed on the futon and looked at the world outside, dark and almost unreal in the dim morning light, and let himself remember.
He'd been living so much inside Aragorn's head back then. Trying to be him--to act like him, to think like him. To feel what Aragorn would feel.
So much so, indeed, that he had actually started worrying if maybe this had begun to color his perceptions of things: of the film, of the people in the film... of his castmates.
He had noticed it when, separated from Sean because of the Helm's Deep shooting, he had realized for the first time how much, of late, he had been thinking about Boromir.
And maybe that was how it had started, trying to get into Aragorn's skin and seeing Boromir with Aragorn's eyes. But really, Viggo knew better than that.
It'd gotten worse after Boromir's death scene. Viggo caught himself thinking, 'It's so unfair. He's going to die, and he'll be forgotten.'
He re-read The Two Towers and The Return of the King, just to be sure, and yeah: only a couple of fleeting mentions of him again, then nothing. No more Boromir, never again.
Forgotten.
Yet he could've bet his right arm that Aragorn had not forgotten--because he could feel Aragorn's pain, so keenly. He was sure Aragorn never forgot Boromir, in all his long life. Never.
But of course he wasn't really the kind of guy who liked to live for too long in Denial-land, so after a time--and a few drinks--he'd faced the truth and could finally be honest with himself about it: it wasn't that Boromir would die and be forgotten that upset him.
It was that Boromir would die, and Sean would leave.
And Viggo would be forgotten.
Left behind.
It had really struck him then, and for a while he hadn't been sure what to do, what to make of it.
Actually, he still hadn't a clue.
Having Ian on his case hadn't helped one bit, either. Viggo smiled, remembering the long talks they had used to have back then. What an annoying man Sir Ian could be, when he put his mind to it. Which he often did. Viggo had also caught Orlando and Elijah trying to sneak up on them once or twice, and even then he couldn't help but to be amused: yeah, Viggo's Got a Secret. A Big fucking Secret.
What a laugh.
The first raindrops spattered against the glass.
*****
Viggo was actually attempting to do some creative work--which was to say, he was trying to clean up the studio a bit--when a familiar trilling sound intruded in the dim-lit rainy peace of the early afternoon, and he was suddenly reminded that he had left his cell-phone still in Sean's bag. And it was indeed from Sean's room that the trill was coming.
Groaning, he made to knock on Sean's door, but just then it opened and a slightly rumpled Sean handed him the offending object without comment. Viggo smiled apologetically, tried not to stare at Sean's bare chest, and took the call.
"About time! Where the fuck *are* you?"
"Good afternoon to you, too, Orlando."
Orlando didn't seem in the mood to appreciate sarcasm, though. "I left like two hundred messages on your machine. I thought you went missing as well! Oh, yeah, Sean's missing. Nobody seems to know where he is."
"He's with me." Viggo chanced a glance at Sean, saw him standing there, looking as if he didn't really care about the conversation--although his eyes were fixed on Viggo. Viggo had to look away.
After a little pause, Orlando said, "That's what I figured." Viggo could detect the faintest note of relief in his voice, and it made him smile. He didn't tell where they were, Orlando didn't ask. Some of them, Viggo thought, had actually managed to grow up.
He didn't know what that said about him.
"Look," Orlando was going on, "d'ya think I could talk with him?"
But when Viggo turned his head again, Sean had already gone back to his bed--though he'd left the door ajar. Viggo lowered his voice. "Not right now, Orli."
"All right." Muffled sounds. "Oh, the guys say hi."
"The guys?"
"Yeah." There was a smile in Orlando's voice. "Me and the hobbits--well, me and Lij and Dom. Astin and Billy called here, when they couldn't reach Beanie. Even John called. Said he knows some big name Hollywood lawyer, if Sean thinks he'll need it, John can get hold of him in no time." There was another brief pause, and Orlando's voice was serious again. "It's gonna get better, Vig. And we don't care. Tell him, okay?"
Viggo wished he could reach out, hug all of them. "Will do," he settled for instead.
"Ya take good care of him, ya cunt, or I'll...!" Dom's voice stopped just as abruptly as it came, and sounds of wrestling--Viggo figured--ensued. This actually surprised a laugh out of him, and when the phone went dead, he found himself still grinning.
Take care of Sean. Yeah, he thought. He glanced briefly into the shadowed bedroom, whispering a muted "G'night," before silently shutting it again.
He planned on doing just that.
*****
Summary: Viggo needs to go somewhere.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: A Long JourneyChapters: 9 Completed: Yes
Word count: 30289 Read: 12258
Published: 31 Jul 2009 Updated: 31 Jul 2009