Fingers Crossed.
Dec. 30th, 2003 12:50 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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rugbytackleI'm new to this. New to this community and to LJ in general. So, if I do this wrong, please be lenient. This story is un-beta-ed as I am not fortunate enough to own one of these marvellous, indispensable creatures. So any criticism is more than welcome. I've written two or three RPS recently, but I'm still a virgin...
Title: Sleeping Beauty.
Author: Arden Elear
E-mail: thedarkvoice@hotmail.com
Rated: PG
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen x Sean Bean
Disclaimer: They're real. This is not.
Warning: RPS; Real person slash. Don't read it / do read it. Make an adult decision.
Feedback: Not required.
Archive: No.
Summary: It takes some people a long time to wake up. Especially to themselves.
Sleeping Beauty: One. (Accidents.)
The flight touched down and Sean felt the usual surge of relief. The woman sitting next to him smirked as he pried his fingertips from the armrests. Then she rose, slipping past him into the aisle.
Hadn’t been a bad trip though. Having it broken into two parts, with a stopover in Sydney, had worked out better than he’d expected. The idea of two flights had filled him with horror when he’d heard about it, but arriving back in New Zealand with no jet-lag was great. Anticipation had helped too. Sean had been looking forward to this for weeks and he felt relatively chipper, which was a plus.
Once he was free of customs and comfortably settled in the taxi, the sense of expectancy grew.
He’d missed this; the country, the people, but most of all, his friends on the shoot.
A cold and miserable time back home had only made him realize how much. He had friends in England, good friends, but like him, they were mostly mobile, going where the work was at any given time. Meeting up with them was always a problem. Friends drifted; you could feel incredibly connected to someone for the duration of a shoot or the run of a play, but once it was over, it was . . . over, basically.
But not here in Middle Earth. He grinned to himself as the taxi rounded the bend before the hotel. Here was the longest shoot he’d ever been involved with; the tightest connections he’d ever made. Here was the group of people he felt closest too. Hobbits and elves and humans, cast and crew and doughty old wizards, all of them felt like family and he’d missed them badly. Here was home right now.
**
Sean tapped his fingers lightly on the desktop as he waited. He looked around the lobby, seeing a few familiar faces and exchanging smiles and nods. A few too many familiar faces, actually. Weren’t they supposed to be at work?
He thanked the concierge absently as she handed over the key to his room and leaned down to pick up his bag. That’s when he spotted Orlando heading for the stairs.
“Hey! Elf!”
Orlando stopped and turned, a smile lighting his face.
“Hey, yourself!” He greeted, enfolding Sean in a quick embrace. Orlando opened his mouth to say something else but it was cut off by a loud, excited screech and Sean found himself staggering under the weight of hobbits.
“Oomph.” He choked, trying to pry a hand from around his throat. “Nice to see you, too. Get OFF!”
The hobbit surge untangled itself to reveal Dom and Billy, both speaking at once; bright chatter that he could not make head nor tail of. He raised a hand for silence.
“Love the enthusiasm, guys, but aren’t you supposed to be working?” He glanced at Orlando, who’d hung back from the melee. “I know Peter’s still down at the Gardens with Christopher Lee, but didn’t he tell me on the phone that we were doing more of Moria?”
It was Moria, he was sure of it. They’d used a body double for long shots while he’d been gone and now that he was back they were scheduled to return to Moria for close-ups, starting tomorrow.
“Shoot was cancelled.” Billy piped up. “For us at least. They’re shooting interior views instead. Can’t very well run around inside Moria without Aragorn, now, can we?”
Without Aragorn?
“Why? Where’s Viggo?”
The hobbit faces changed when he asked, but it was the look on Orlando’s face that gave Sean pause.
“Orli?”
“He’s in his room.” Orli told him. “Been told to stay in bed. Didn’t Peter say anything to you?”
“Tell me now.” Growing tension made his voice rough. What the fuck had happened?
Dom broke in. “He almost drowned. Up at the river. They were shooting Aragorn’s Return yesterday. Current pulled him under.”
Sean’s heart constricted, his breath stopped. “But, he’s all right?” He looked over at Orlando for reassurance, seeing his concern mirrored in the young man’s eyes.
Orlando nodded. “Yeah.” He said softly. “Inhaled half the river, but he’s okay. Doctor’s been and he’s been ordered to rest up. But he didn’t even want to take one day off.” Orli finished.
Yeah, I bet. Sean thought. I know exactly what Orlando means.
Viggo was his best friend on this shoot. The two of them hung out all the time, despite their differences. Sean loved stuff like gardening, talking football, or just vegging out in front of the telly, while Viggo preferred more artistic endeavors. So Viggo painted or wrote while Sean watched his game, comfortable in each other’s company, while pursuing different interests in the same space. He’d looked forward to seeing Viggo more than anyone else, so fond had he become of his brilliant, if slightly eccentric friend.
But Viggo, calm, rational, quiet Viggo also had a wild streak a mile wide. It usually manifested itself as a wicked sense of humor and an already legendary penchant for practical jokes, but it was also evident in his stubborn insistence on doing most of his own stunts. He had this thing about artistic integrity that drove poor Peter mad and his friends to drink and premature ageing.
If he could get away with doing it, he would, and you could play a lively game of join-the-dots on his bruises as a result. It sounded like he’d gotten away with it again. Or rather, almost gotten away with it.
Sean didn’t know what he’d do if something had happened.
He felt his temper rising, anger flushing his cheeks red.
It was adrenaline, he realized, a reaction to the scare, but he couldn’t stop it.
“Fucking IDIOT!” He growled.
Dom and Billy both jumped with fright at the vehement tone and took a couple of quick steps back.
“Umm. We’re going.” Billy breathed, grabbing Dom by the arm and beating a hasty retreat. “See you later.” They scarpered.
He turned to Orlando. “He insisted, right?”
Orlando was not intimidated by Sean’s outburst; could see the worry that the rough voice concealed. He nodded, confirming Sean’s suspicions. “And he’s not one bit sorry, either.”
“He will be when I’m through with him.” Sean promised. “What room’s he in?”
“445.” Orlando told him.
“I’m in . . .” He checked his key. “447. Good. Walk up with me.” Orlando helped him pick up his bag and together they headed for the lift. “And tell me what you know.”
**
Sean folded his arms and waited for Viggo to answer his knock. It didn’t take long, which just proved that the rotten sod hadn’t been in bed like he was supposed to be.
“Sean!” Viggo smiled, peering around the door.
He was wearing the old tracksuit pants he usually slept in, faded blue and white, hems unraveling around bare feet, the drawstrings almost ready to give way. Sean could see the fresh grazes on his bare chest and a couple of big, dark red marks around his ribs that were going to be beautiful, big purple and green bruises. He looked a little pale, but otherwise okay.
“I didn’t expect you ‘till later.” Viggo opened the door fully. “Come in.”
“You stupid, fucking wanker.” Sean didn’t move; didn’t smile back. “What the fuck did you think you were playing at, eh?”
Viggo blinked.
Sean watched his friend processing.
“Oh.” Viggo said. Followed by, “Umm.”
Sean brushed past him and marched down the short hall into the living area. The suite was identical to his own, except reversed. A tiny living room and kitchenette, another door leading off to the bedroom and bathroom, and a balcony overlooking the road. However, he wasn’t interested in the layout, or the view, he was still trying to keep a firm hold on his desire to bloody well throttle Viggo. The sight of the fresh bruises and cuts had made his heart clench once more, all possible combinations of ‘What if?” raging around his brain.
As soon as he heard Viggo’s feet padding across the carpet, he rounded on him.
“And don’t you umm me, mate. You go off your fucking head at Orli for that para-jumping, gliding, bungee whatever-you-call-it, nonsense and then you go tackling a set of fucking rapids without a boat??”
Viggo raised his hands in a gesture of peace. At least he had the good grace to look shamefaced. Or was he just embarrassed at being caught without having an excuse prepared?
“Look, Sean . . . “ He began, obviously expecting to be interrupted.
Sean raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“I, err, umm. It was an accident.”
Sean had him by the short and curlies and he knew it. He gave him a shot of sarcasm, just to keep him backpedaling.
“Noooo.” He breathed. “Really?”
Viggo bought his eyes up to meet Sean’s, starting to look a little angry himself.
“Okay. No excuses. But I’m fine.” He spoiled it by ending on a pleading note.
“Yeah. You look it.” He spoke as he raked his eyes across the red marks, deliberately dropping his gaze to the bruises.
Sean finally unfolded his arms from across his chest, only to start stalking across the floor toward Viggo, raising an admonishing finger as he went.
“Stuntmen, Viggo, are paid to do these things for us. And there is nothing, no artistic veracity,” He poked Viggo in the chest with a forefinger for emphasis. “Nothing that can justify nearly drowning yourself for the sake of thirty seconds of footage.”
He was satisfied to see Viggo take half a step back. Good. He knows I’m seriously pissed off.
“What about your friends, eh?” He went on. “Did you think of them? Or your family?”
Viggo’s eyes darkened and Sean punched it home. “What about Henry?”
Viggo sucked in a breath and he dropped his head.
Sean’s anger suddenly washed away, leaving him feeling hollow and empty. He ran a hand across his face, surprised to see that it trembled. Maybe he was finally getting through to the daft git, but it was all starting to make him feel a bit teary-eyed.
The things Orlando had told him in the lift kept replaying in his mind.
“The river guide guy was telling me this morning how they all panicked. He didn’t float to the same place they had. It dragged him into the white water. Everyone was yelling, ‘Where is he? Can you see him?’”
“He went under and didn’t come back up and they couldn’t get across the current. It was flowing too fast.”
“Sucked him under. Held him down. They couldn’t see him. Then the river just . . . spat him out. Right next to the boat.”
Sean’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. Reaction, he told himself. Shock. But he went on, inexorably pushing his point home. But his voice softened.
“Henry’s coming next week, isn’t he?”
Viggo nodded. Sean was talking to the top of his head, but he didn’t mind. Made it easier, actually.
“He could have ended up coming to your funeral, Vig.” He whispered. “I could have flown in for a reunion, only to find it was a wake. Did you think of that?”
Viggo shook his head, the soft fall of gold shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight. Finally, he raised it again, meeting Sean’s gaze with eyes that glistened too brightly.
“I’m sorry.” He bit his lip. Went to speak again, but Sean cut him off, laying his hands on Viggo’s shoulders.
“Don’t say sorry. Just . . . promise. Okay?”
Sean dragged his friend into his arms and hugged him fiercely. Viggo was crying openly now, he could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest and the damp of tears penetrating his shirt. His own tears were absorbed by the soft fall of Viggo’s hair as he pressed his face against it. Reaction. That’s what it was. He could feel himself shaking. Viggo too. The shock to his system finally telling. He lost track of how long they stood there like that, Sean’s arms wrapped around Viggo’s shoulders, Vig’s arms tight about his waist.
A sudden coughing fit broke the deadlock; a choking, dry sound from abused lungs. It doubled Viggo over and he pulled away to fight it, clutching at his stomach.
“Right, you. Bed.” Sean told him, glad of something to do.
He propelled Viggo across the room without waiting for an answer. The bed was messy; so he had been in it at some point. Now he was going back there, like it or not.
Sean kept one hand on Viggo’s arm, in case he decided to bolt, while he pulled the covers down with the other, finally easing his friend down into the bed to tuck the sheets back around him. The pillows were piled up, probably the doctor’s idea, so he left them. The coughing finally subsided and Viggo relaxed, but he was noticeably paler.
Sean spotted a couple of pill bottles and a carafe of water on the bedside table. He picked them up to read the labels and then checked the time.
Viggo was watching him carefully through red-rimmed eyes. When he saw Sean check his watch and begin to open the first container, he held out his hand, resigned to his fate.
Silently, Sean handed him first one pill and then the other. Viggo took them and swallowed them down without protest, but pulled a face at the aftertaste.
Sean was amused, but knew better than to show it. If Viggo was going to play the passive victim then he’d let him; much better than having to fight to get the sodding pills down his stubborn throat as was usually the case.
Viggo was watching him from beneath his lashes, trying to figure out if he was still mad or not, or if he’d truly calmed down. Let him wonder, Sean smiled to himself. Won’t hurt him.
“Get some sleep.” He ordered.
But Viggo shook his head. “Can’t.” He said. His voice was rough and throaty, either from the coughing or from the earlier bout of tears.
“Why not?” Sean prepared for an argument.
Viggo only shuddered and turned his face away.
“Vig?”
“I close my eyes. . .” It was almost a whisper. “I close them and the water closes in over my head.”
Fuck!
“S’allright, mate.” He soothed. He could handle this. He hoped.
“Look. Umm. . .”
Think, Sean!
“What if I stay here? Okay? I’ll . . . I’ll lay down right here. Won’t go away. How’s that?”
He could do it for his kids; he could do it for Viggo, right? Just ‘till he fell asleep. Which wouldn’t be long if he’d read the label on that pill bottle right. Vig’d be out like a light in no time.
“Worth a try.” Dry, self-deprecating humor. Well, that was better than the fear he’d heard in Viggo’s voice a moment ago.
“Okay, then.” Sean wriggled himself into a comfortable position, lying half on his side, head propped up on his elbow. Viggo was next to him, but under the sheets, their faces were level and Viggo now turned back toward Sean, his eyes half closed already. More exhaustion than medicine probably, but every little bit helped.
“So,” Viggo asked quietly, a little smile playing across his face. “How was England?”
Sean started to tell him, dropping his voice to a lower register when he noticed Viggo’s lashes starting to flutter closed. He kept talking, nonsense mostly, waiting for Vig’s breathing to even out, his chest starting to rise and fall in the slower rhythm that signified sleep.
Even when he was sure, he stayed. Just watching him breathe.
So close. You stupid cunt! The thought that he might, they all might, have lost Viggo, was terrifying. He was sure he’d have his own set of nightmares about it.
Silly, stubborn sod!
He won’t do it again, Sean reassured himself as he slipped quietly off the bed. I think I finally managed to hammer it home. I hope so.
Title: Sleeping Beauty.
Author: Arden Elear
E-mail: thedarkvoice@hotmail.com
Rated: PG
Pairing: Viggo Mortensen x Sean Bean
Disclaimer: They're real. This is not.
Warning: RPS; Real person slash. Don't read it / do read it. Make an adult decision.
Feedback: Not required.
Archive: No.
Summary: It takes some people a long time to wake up. Especially to themselves.
Sleeping Beauty: One. (Accidents.)
The flight touched down and Sean felt the usual surge of relief. The woman sitting next to him smirked as he pried his fingertips from the armrests. Then she rose, slipping past him into the aisle.
Hadn’t been a bad trip though. Having it broken into two parts, with a stopover in Sydney, had worked out better than he’d expected. The idea of two flights had filled him with horror when he’d heard about it, but arriving back in New Zealand with no jet-lag was great. Anticipation had helped too. Sean had been looking forward to this for weeks and he felt relatively chipper, which was a plus.
Once he was free of customs and comfortably settled in the taxi, the sense of expectancy grew.
He’d missed this; the country, the people, but most of all, his friends on the shoot.
A cold and miserable time back home had only made him realize how much. He had friends in England, good friends, but like him, they were mostly mobile, going where the work was at any given time. Meeting up with them was always a problem. Friends drifted; you could feel incredibly connected to someone for the duration of a shoot or the run of a play, but once it was over, it was . . . over, basically.
But not here in Middle Earth. He grinned to himself as the taxi rounded the bend before the hotel. Here was the longest shoot he’d ever been involved with; the tightest connections he’d ever made. Here was the group of people he felt closest too. Hobbits and elves and humans, cast and crew and doughty old wizards, all of them felt like family and he’d missed them badly. Here was home right now.
**
Sean tapped his fingers lightly on the desktop as he waited. He looked around the lobby, seeing a few familiar faces and exchanging smiles and nods. A few too many familiar faces, actually. Weren’t they supposed to be at work?
He thanked the concierge absently as she handed over the key to his room and leaned down to pick up his bag. That’s when he spotted Orlando heading for the stairs.
“Hey! Elf!”
Orlando stopped and turned, a smile lighting his face.
“Hey, yourself!” He greeted, enfolding Sean in a quick embrace. Orlando opened his mouth to say something else but it was cut off by a loud, excited screech and Sean found himself staggering under the weight of hobbits.
“Oomph.” He choked, trying to pry a hand from around his throat. “Nice to see you, too. Get OFF!”
The hobbit surge untangled itself to reveal Dom and Billy, both speaking at once; bright chatter that he could not make head nor tail of. He raised a hand for silence.
“Love the enthusiasm, guys, but aren’t you supposed to be working?” He glanced at Orlando, who’d hung back from the melee. “I know Peter’s still down at the Gardens with Christopher Lee, but didn’t he tell me on the phone that we were doing more of Moria?”
It was Moria, he was sure of it. They’d used a body double for long shots while he’d been gone and now that he was back they were scheduled to return to Moria for close-ups, starting tomorrow.
“Shoot was cancelled.” Billy piped up. “For us at least. They’re shooting interior views instead. Can’t very well run around inside Moria without Aragorn, now, can we?”
Without Aragorn?
“Why? Where’s Viggo?”
The hobbit faces changed when he asked, but it was the look on Orlando’s face that gave Sean pause.
“Orli?”
“He’s in his room.” Orli told him. “Been told to stay in bed. Didn’t Peter say anything to you?”
“Tell me now.” Growing tension made his voice rough. What the fuck had happened?
Dom broke in. “He almost drowned. Up at the river. They were shooting Aragorn’s Return yesterday. Current pulled him under.”
Sean’s heart constricted, his breath stopped. “But, he’s all right?” He looked over at Orlando for reassurance, seeing his concern mirrored in the young man’s eyes.
Orlando nodded. “Yeah.” He said softly. “Inhaled half the river, but he’s okay. Doctor’s been and he’s been ordered to rest up. But he didn’t even want to take one day off.” Orli finished.
Yeah, I bet. Sean thought. I know exactly what Orlando means.
Viggo was his best friend on this shoot. The two of them hung out all the time, despite their differences. Sean loved stuff like gardening, talking football, or just vegging out in front of the telly, while Viggo preferred more artistic endeavors. So Viggo painted or wrote while Sean watched his game, comfortable in each other’s company, while pursuing different interests in the same space. He’d looked forward to seeing Viggo more than anyone else, so fond had he become of his brilliant, if slightly eccentric friend.
But Viggo, calm, rational, quiet Viggo also had a wild streak a mile wide. It usually manifested itself as a wicked sense of humor and an already legendary penchant for practical jokes, but it was also evident in his stubborn insistence on doing most of his own stunts. He had this thing about artistic integrity that drove poor Peter mad and his friends to drink and premature ageing.
If he could get away with doing it, he would, and you could play a lively game of join-the-dots on his bruises as a result. It sounded like he’d gotten away with it again. Or rather, almost gotten away with it.
Sean didn’t know what he’d do if something had happened.
He felt his temper rising, anger flushing his cheeks red.
It was adrenaline, he realized, a reaction to the scare, but he couldn’t stop it.
“Fucking IDIOT!” He growled.
Dom and Billy both jumped with fright at the vehement tone and took a couple of quick steps back.
“Umm. We’re going.” Billy breathed, grabbing Dom by the arm and beating a hasty retreat. “See you later.” They scarpered.
He turned to Orlando. “He insisted, right?”
Orlando was not intimidated by Sean’s outburst; could see the worry that the rough voice concealed. He nodded, confirming Sean’s suspicions. “And he’s not one bit sorry, either.”
“He will be when I’m through with him.” Sean promised. “What room’s he in?”
“445.” Orlando told him.
“I’m in . . .” He checked his key. “447. Good. Walk up with me.” Orlando helped him pick up his bag and together they headed for the lift. “And tell me what you know.”
**
Sean folded his arms and waited for Viggo to answer his knock. It didn’t take long, which just proved that the rotten sod hadn’t been in bed like he was supposed to be.
“Sean!” Viggo smiled, peering around the door.
He was wearing the old tracksuit pants he usually slept in, faded blue and white, hems unraveling around bare feet, the drawstrings almost ready to give way. Sean could see the fresh grazes on his bare chest and a couple of big, dark red marks around his ribs that were going to be beautiful, big purple and green bruises. He looked a little pale, but otherwise okay.
“I didn’t expect you ‘till later.” Viggo opened the door fully. “Come in.”
“You stupid, fucking wanker.” Sean didn’t move; didn’t smile back. “What the fuck did you think you were playing at, eh?”
Viggo blinked.
Sean watched his friend processing.
“Oh.” Viggo said. Followed by, “Umm.”
Sean brushed past him and marched down the short hall into the living area. The suite was identical to his own, except reversed. A tiny living room and kitchenette, another door leading off to the bedroom and bathroom, and a balcony overlooking the road. However, he wasn’t interested in the layout, or the view, he was still trying to keep a firm hold on his desire to bloody well throttle Viggo. The sight of the fresh bruises and cuts had made his heart clench once more, all possible combinations of ‘What if?” raging around his brain.
As soon as he heard Viggo’s feet padding across the carpet, he rounded on him.
“And don’t you umm me, mate. You go off your fucking head at Orli for that para-jumping, gliding, bungee whatever-you-call-it, nonsense and then you go tackling a set of fucking rapids without a boat??”
Viggo raised his hands in a gesture of peace. At least he had the good grace to look shamefaced. Or was he just embarrassed at being caught without having an excuse prepared?
“Look, Sean . . . “ He began, obviously expecting to be interrupted.
Sean raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“I, err, umm. It was an accident.”
Sean had him by the short and curlies and he knew it. He gave him a shot of sarcasm, just to keep him backpedaling.
“Noooo.” He breathed. “Really?”
Viggo bought his eyes up to meet Sean’s, starting to look a little angry himself.
“Okay. No excuses. But I’m fine.” He spoiled it by ending on a pleading note.
“Yeah. You look it.” He spoke as he raked his eyes across the red marks, deliberately dropping his gaze to the bruises.
Sean finally unfolded his arms from across his chest, only to start stalking across the floor toward Viggo, raising an admonishing finger as he went.
“Stuntmen, Viggo, are paid to do these things for us. And there is nothing, no artistic veracity,” He poked Viggo in the chest with a forefinger for emphasis. “Nothing that can justify nearly drowning yourself for the sake of thirty seconds of footage.”
He was satisfied to see Viggo take half a step back. Good. He knows I’m seriously pissed off.
“What about your friends, eh?” He went on. “Did you think of them? Or your family?”
Viggo’s eyes darkened and Sean punched it home. “What about Henry?”
Viggo sucked in a breath and he dropped his head.
Sean’s anger suddenly washed away, leaving him feeling hollow and empty. He ran a hand across his face, surprised to see that it trembled. Maybe he was finally getting through to the daft git, but it was all starting to make him feel a bit teary-eyed.
The things Orlando had told him in the lift kept replaying in his mind.
“The river guide guy was telling me this morning how they all panicked. He didn’t float to the same place they had. It dragged him into the white water. Everyone was yelling, ‘Where is he? Can you see him?’”
“He went under and didn’t come back up and they couldn’t get across the current. It was flowing too fast.”
“Sucked him under. Held him down. They couldn’t see him. Then the river just . . . spat him out. Right next to the boat.”
Sean’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. Reaction, he told himself. Shock. But he went on, inexorably pushing his point home. But his voice softened.
“Henry’s coming next week, isn’t he?”
Viggo nodded. Sean was talking to the top of his head, but he didn’t mind. Made it easier, actually.
“He could have ended up coming to your funeral, Vig.” He whispered. “I could have flown in for a reunion, only to find it was a wake. Did you think of that?”
Viggo shook his head, the soft fall of gold shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight. Finally, he raised it again, meeting Sean’s gaze with eyes that glistened too brightly.
“I’m sorry.” He bit his lip. Went to speak again, but Sean cut him off, laying his hands on Viggo’s shoulders.
“Don’t say sorry. Just . . . promise. Okay?”
Sean dragged his friend into his arms and hugged him fiercely. Viggo was crying openly now, he could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest and the damp of tears penetrating his shirt. His own tears were absorbed by the soft fall of Viggo’s hair as he pressed his face against it. Reaction. That’s what it was. He could feel himself shaking. Viggo too. The shock to his system finally telling. He lost track of how long they stood there like that, Sean’s arms wrapped around Viggo’s shoulders, Vig’s arms tight about his waist.
A sudden coughing fit broke the deadlock; a choking, dry sound from abused lungs. It doubled Viggo over and he pulled away to fight it, clutching at his stomach.
“Right, you. Bed.” Sean told him, glad of something to do.
He propelled Viggo across the room without waiting for an answer. The bed was messy; so he had been in it at some point. Now he was going back there, like it or not.
Sean kept one hand on Viggo’s arm, in case he decided to bolt, while he pulled the covers down with the other, finally easing his friend down into the bed to tuck the sheets back around him. The pillows were piled up, probably the doctor’s idea, so he left them. The coughing finally subsided and Viggo relaxed, but he was noticeably paler.
Sean spotted a couple of pill bottles and a carafe of water on the bedside table. He picked them up to read the labels and then checked the time.
Viggo was watching him carefully through red-rimmed eyes. When he saw Sean check his watch and begin to open the first container, he held out his hand, resigned to his fate.
Silently, Sean handed him first one pill and then the other. Viggo took them and swallowed them down without protest, but pulled a face at the aftertaste.
Sean was amused, but knew better than to show it. If Viggo was going to play the passive victim then he’d let him; much better than having to fight to get the sodding pills down his stubborn throat as was usually the case.
Viggo was watching him from beneath his lashes, trying to figure out if he was still mad or not, or if he’d truly calmed down. Let him wonder, Sean smiled to himself. Won’t hurt him.
“Get some sleep.” He ordered.
But Viggo shook his head. “Can’t.” He said. His voice was rough and throaty, either from the coughing or from the earlier bout of tears.
“Why not?” Sean prepared for an argument.
Viggo only shuddered and turned his face away.
“Vig?”
“I close my eyes. . .” It was almost a whisper. “I close them and the water closes in over my head.”
Fuck!
“S’allright, mate.” He soothed. He could handle this. He hoped.
“Look. Umm. . .”
Think, Sean!
“What if I stay here? Okay? I’ll . . . I’ll lay down right here. Won’t go away. How’s that?”
He could do it for his kids; he could do it for Viggo, right? Just ‘till he fell asleep. Which wouldn’t be long if he’d read the label on that pill bottle right. Vig’d be out like a light in no time.
“Worth a try.” Dry, self-deprecating humor. Well, that was better than the fear he’d heard in Viggo’s voice a moment ago.
“Okay, then.” Sean wriggled himself into a comfortable position, lying half on his side, head propped up on his elbow. Viggo was next to him, but under the sheets, their faces were level and Viggo now turned back toward Sean, his eyes half closed already. More exhaustion than medicine probably, but every little bit helped.
“So,” Viggo asked quietly, a little smile playing across his face. “How was England?”
Sean started to tell him, dropping his voice to a lower register when he noticed Viggo’s lashes starting to flutter closed. He kept talking, nonsense mostly, waiting for Vig’s breathing to even out, his chest starting to rise and fall in the slower rhythm that signified sleep.
Even when he was sure, he stayed. Just watching him breathe.
So close. You stupid cunt! The thought that he might, they all might, have lost Viggo, was terrifying. He was sure he’d have his own set of nightmares about it.
Silly, stubborn sod!
He won’t do it again, Sean reassured himself as he slipped quietly off the bed. I think I finally managed to hammer it home. I hope so.
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Date: 2003-12-29 02:31 pm (UTC)PS. no spaces, I just added them to show how its done without actually doing it to my instructions.
Balrog
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Date: 2003-12-29 10:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-30 01:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-29 02:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-29 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-29 02:38 pm (UTC)Tara
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Date: 2003-12-29 06:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-29 08:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-12-30 12:20 am (UTC)I can't wait for more!
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Date: 2003-12-30 03:11 am (UTC)Welcome! Lovely story, thanks for sharing. Nursey!Sean is great. Hope there is a sequel in the works?!?!
Fingers crossed
Date: 2003-12-31 07:10 am (UTC)Well done!