Summary: Viggo needs to go somewhere.

Rated: NC-17

Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo

Warnings: None

Challenges:

Series: A Long Journey

Chapters: 9 Completed: Yes

Word count: 30289 Read: 12249

Published: 31 Jul 2009 Updated: 31 Jul 2009

"Don't be ashamed to cry, Let me see you through, 'Cause I've seen the dark side too."

Sean wasn't really sure how much time he stayed like that, cradled into Viggo's arms, crying his eyes out like a damn baby. He hadn't thought he could still cry so much, and strangely even that thought was enough to make him cry longer still.

At last, thoroughly finished and disgusted with himself, he just sat there, spent, feeling numb all over, with only the warm weight of Viggo's arms around him, of Viggo's body close to his, keeping him connected to reality. Albeit barely.

He didn't know what to do. Or what to say, for that matter. He'd been living in a nightmare for the past twenty-four hours; and that was enough to let even his shocked mind realize that the nightmare was no nightmare at all.

He had fucked everything up. So bad.

Viggo had been the last straw. He had spent all the day thinking, trying to shut out the reporters' voices detailing his 'misadventure' to the whole sodding world right from his own sodding lawn. When the phone had started ringing, he'd ripped it out of its socket. Then he'd hurled his cell across the room, allowing himself a moment's satisfaction when he heard it crash on the opposite wall.

He had accurately avoided thinking about his daughters. He just couldn't cope with that right then.

He just couldn't.

His L.A. agent had been the one who had come to bail him out. She had been half out of her mind, but Sean hadn't really listened to what she had been saying. He just caught the one word.

"Why?"

Fucked if he knew.

He couldn't think of that, either.

So, he'd thought of Viggo.

They had had a pleasant dinner, the past night. It had been good seeing him again after over six months. Sean couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so much, or so hard. It had been... more than good.

Viggo would be so mad, Sean had thought. Surprised – nah, not that. He knew Viggo well enough to know there wasn't much that could really surprise him anymore. But he'd be shocked, that he would be – Sean was sure Viggo would never condone him to have been so stupid to actually get caught at it.

Viggo would think back to their lovely, wonderful evening, and be disgusted with Sean. Mad at Sean, for having spoilt what could have been a good memory.

And so after all Sean couldn't cope with thinking of Viggo, either.

After a while, he decided he was angry himself. Fucking press. Fucking people. What the fuck was to them what he did in his fucking private life? Who the hell did they think they were? It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. Fucking bastards! It wasn't...

And that had been when he first realized he was crying. It had only made him so much more furious.

He had never been more afraid.

And then, in the darkness, in the midst of the silence all around him – of the nothing that his life had so quickly become – he had heard Viggo's voice, calling his name.

And it had sounded so afraid, too.

* * *

Tears could last only so long, then they dried up, burning your eyes, stinging in your throat, leaving you numb all over, a dreadful silence filling your head. Wrapped up in Viggo's arms, Sean thought he could fall asleep, just like that. Dreaming that he could be safe once again.

Viggo was stroking one hand gently along his back, the other entangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck. Sean could feel Viggo's chin on top of his head, and though they were not in the most comfortable of positions, he found himself slowly relaxing, something tight in his chest giving way, uncurling as with a long sigh.

Viggo had to have felt it, because he gradually slowed his hands, and without removing his chin from Sean's head he asked, softly, "Have you eaten?"

The question sounded so incongruous, that for a moment Sean actually considered laughing at it: for what do you eat when your life is falling apart?

Then again, it wasn't all that funny. So he just shook his head.

Viggo straightened up, disentangling himself gently, and tugged on the sleeve of Sean's shirt. "Come on. I'll fix you something."

Sean just stared at him.

Viggo sighed, without letting completely go of him – one hand he kept on Sean's shoulder, the other was still on his arm, just above Sean's wrist.

"I won't have you falling over your face, Bean. And besides," he added, and here he actually had he cheek to wink, "my ass's fallen asleep."

At that, Sean had nothing to say. He let himself be lifted onto his feet and followed Viggo downstairs in the darkened house. He didn't think to ask why Viggo was feeling the need to led him by his hand, as if that wasn't Sean's own home, that he knew better than Viggo did. He didn't ask, and he didn't let it go.

He watched, still a little dazed, as Viggo rummaged around in his kitchen's drawers, taking out things with a minimum of fuss, as if he were in his own kitchen. From a cabinet Viggo took out some wax candles – Sean didn't even remember he had those – and when he lit them, the small kitchen was bathed in a soft yellow glow, for which Sean felt immediately grateful: he didn't think his sore eyes would adjust so well to the brighter electric lights.

After a while, he was presented with tea and a plate of toast. He looked at it, then up at Viggo. "I'm not hungry."

"I know." Viggo's voice was still soft in the soft light, his eyes almost dark, and Sean found out he couldn't look into them for very long. "Just eat, okay?"

As he hadn't an answer for that either, Sean obeyed. "Good," nodded Viggo, and patted him briefly on the shoulder. "I have something to do. Be right back."

Sean didn't look up when Viggo left the room. He continued to nibble on histoast, curving his free hand around the mug of tea, letting its warmth soak into him. Muted footsteps sounded over his head, telling him Viggo had gone back to his bedroom. He didn't care. He stared at the flame of a pale yellow candle on the counter before him and kept on eating.

After what seemed hours, but probably wasn't, Viggo was back at his side,looking down at his still almost full plate and untouched tea, but without commenting on it. Sean glanced up, and saw his own green sportbag on the floor near Viggo, who followed his gaze. "Look, I know you are probably dead on your feet and all, but hold on for a little more, all right? You can always
sleep in the car."

Sean thought he was hearing things, but when he looked at Viggo, there was faintest trace of a smile on his lips. Then Viggo bent and picked up Sean's bag.

"Feel like a little walk?"

* * *

They didn't exactly sneak out in the night: as Viggo put it, they were just being careful not to be spotted; and, as luck had it, they weren't.

Only when Viggo was settled next to him and had the engine running, Sean thought of asking where they were going.

"Oh. My house. In Idaho," Viggo replied, turning his head, one arm braced around Sean's seat to maneuver out of his parking spot.

"We're driving all the way," he added when he turned back to the road, as in an afterthought. "No flying."

Though greatly relieved by this bit of news, Sean was still a little out of it, the numbness of just minutes before being quietly replaced by confusion.

"But... we can't. I mean, I can't. My agent..."

"Oh, yeah. She said she'd take care of it with your lawyer, just to call when we get there."

Sean opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. Then tried again. "You talked with my agent?"

He noticed that Viggo had the grace to look a bit sheepish. "Well... yeah. While you were eating."

Sean just stared at him.

Viggo shrugged, looked briefly at him, then back at the road. "I. Hm. I saw your address book in your room, so I thought..." Another brief look.

"You don't mind, do you? I mean... much?"

Sean wasn't very good with words today, so in the end he settled for shaking his head. He was feeling a bit overwhelmed... but in a kind of nice, not-quite-as-frightening-as-before sort of way.

Traffic was almost non-existent in the pre-dawn hours, so they got out of L.A. relatively fast and smooth. Viggo had inserted some CD in the car player, and a soft, soothing music was flowing out – not country, thank God.

"I think I'll go to sleep," Sean said over the music.

Viggo turned briefly his head to flash him a warm, approving smile, and said nothing.

Sean slept.

* * *

The light woke him up. For a moment, Sean was in the blissful ignorance of half-sleep, not really remembering where he was or what was happening; then he opened his eyes, saw the landscape running swiftly by, and everything came back. He shut his eyes again, stifling a groan.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," came the soft greeting from his left.

"What time is it?" Sean mumbled, without bothering to turn his head away from the window. It wasn't a particularly bright day: sunlight kept coming and going as clouds rolled over the sun, then away again. It didn't look like rain, though.
"About half past noon."

This got his attention. He straightened up, turning to look at Viggo.

"What?"

Viggo smiled, sparing him a brief glance before returning his attention to the road. A blue-striped pick-up truck passed them on their left. "You were pretty out of it. It's good you could sleep for a while."

"For a while? I've been sleeping for ten bloody hours!"

"Yeah." Viggo shrugged, then he shifted on the seat, rolling his shoulders a bit, surreptitiously easing the tension in them.

Sean winced. It meant Viggo had been driving for as long. He took another look around, saw a Nevada State sign passing them by, and winced again. From the look of things, Viggo had probably driven for that whole time.

"We have to stop."

"You hungry?" Viggo glanced at him again, and though now that he looked closer Sean could see the signs of fatigue on his face, Viggo's eyes were as clear and attentive as usual. Sean just shook his head, nonplussed.

"No, you daft sod. You have to eat. And sleep," he expanded, still trying to grasp the fact that he'd slept away a good half of the journey.

At this, Viggo's eyes seemed to cloud over a little, and Sean realized Viggo was looking at him with some concern.

"You sure?"

And this, of course, was the real question. Stopping to eat somewhere meant... people. Staring at him, most likely – and not for the usual reason people stared when they recognized him. Sean considered it – damn, he was no coward. He didn't hide from people, nor he run from his own issues. He couldn't believe what he'd gotten himself into. It still felt, at times, like a nightmare, like it was happening to someone other. He still did not seem able to fully understand that his life has changed so much – overnight, really. And through this all, Sean was suddenly grateful that Viggo wasn't bothering to fake a cheerful tone, or to act as if all were fine with Sean's world.

"Hey, know what?" Viggo's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. When he looked over, Viggo pointed at a sign that was quickly approaching in front of them. "I think I wanna burger. Let's stop at that drive-through."

* * *

Sean tapped his fingers on the side of the dashboard, waiting for Viggo to come back with the keys. He should have insisted, he kept repeating to himself. He should've insisted on going with him to pay for their room, instead of just sitting there and agree to let Viggo do it, and waiting for him outside in the car-park of the anonymous-looking motel, like... like some cheap whore Viggo had picked up on the street.

The analogy failed to amuse him.

He got out of the car as soon as Viggo reappeared, collecting his bag – Viggo hadn't one, it seemed – and followed him to the door of their room, that happened to be just the one in front of which they had parked... at the farther end of the parking lot from the office. At that hour, the place was very nearly empty, so he had a strong suspicion Viggo had expressly asked for that specific room. Sean didn't question him about it, though.

The room was nothing special, kind of small, but with a king-sized bed at its center. Sean thought about raising an eyebrow, then considered Viggo had in all probability let believe he was alone. He dropped his bag on the floor on one side of the bed, and felt tired all over again.

Viggo did the same survey of the room, then got to inspect the small bathroom. "It's not too bad," he informed Sean coming back out into the room. He lay down on his side of the bed, stretching. "Why don't you have a shower first?" He wrinkled his nose. "Don't take this personally, of course."

And yet again, not for the first time since he'd seen Viggo the night before, Sean felt as if he could actually still remember how to laugh. And though that was a hideous concept, he found himself smiling nonetheless.

Viggo just smiled back, and had his eyes closed even before Sean had nodded his assent.

Sean took his time in the shower, feeling as if he needed to clean himself inside and out, yet knowing it was a stupid thought. He would've stayed under the hot spray for hours, but probably using up all the hot water wouldn't be very nice to Viggo, so he got out, donned a clean pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt (wondering idly how many drawers Viggo had had to go through before finding them) and went back to the bedroom.

As he found out, he shouldn't have bothered. Viggo was still where he'd left him, fast asleep, one arm over his middle, the other near his face on the pillow, the hand slightly curled up.

Sean padded softly over to the bed, and looked down at him.

It had been almost three years, he reflected. In New Zealand. He'd been taking a stroll through the woods during a break from shooting, still in his Boromir's costume. He'd entered a clearing not that far from the set, a shock of yellow and white under the bluest sky Sean had ever seen; and there'd been Viggo, asleep in the grass, he too in his Aragorn's costume, his sword by his side, loosely held in his right hand, all rugged-looking and exhausted and strangely not out of place at all.

Sean's first impulse had been to wake him up, maybe with a light kick, teasing him a bit. Instead he'd found himself settling down in the grass, watching his friend sleep, while a soft breeze sighed over them, brushing the tall grass and the flowers, ruffling lightly the long, dark hair of the
Aragorn's wig. They had been filming the Lothlorien scenes those days, and Sean had thought of Boromir and Aragorn. Of Boromir mostly, watching over his sleeping captain. It had felt right.

Viggo had stirred after more than an hour had already passed, and when his eyes had opened, they'd focused on Sean almost immediately, as if Viggo had known all along he'd find him there when he awoke. And after all, Sean had thought, smiling back at him, neither of them bothering to talk, wasn't that right? Aragorn would have known Boromir would watch over him, protecting his rest. And what if no one else would ever trust him as much? Aragorn did.

Viggo did.

Sean looked down at Viggo now, in a somewhat ratty motel room somewhere in Nevada, three years after that afternoon in a world that was so far away, it could've really been Middle-earth. Viggo's hair was short now, back to its natural colour – blond, ever so slightly darker than Sean's own, with a touchof silver at his temples. The sun had decided to come fully out after all, and
in its light, Viggo looked rather golden, golden hair and golden skin, golden all over.

And though he was now sleeping, and Sean was awake, just like that lost New Zealand afternoon, the feeling of peace wasn't there, as it had been back then; for even if Viggo was asleep, Sean could tell he was the one who was being still watched over now, taken care of.

He went to the window to draw the blinds close, blocking out the sunlight. New Zealand was far away. And it would never be like that again.

He silently went back to the bed, managing to remove Viggo's shoes without waking him, then stretched down beside him, facing away. And stared, his eyes wide open, into the alien darkness.