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Title: All good things must come to an end.
Series: Proverbial
Chapter: 6/?
Rated:
Pairing: SB/VM
Disclaimer: RPS: Real Person Slash. Read it/Don't read it. Make an adult decision.
Warning:
Feedback: Nice, but not required.
Archive: No.
Overall Summary: A series, based on proverbs and featuring Sean as he goes about getting what he wants and possibly more than he bargained for.
Chapter Summary:
Author: Arden Elear
Email: rishalin@lycos.com
Live Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/arden_elear/

Out of sight, out of mind.

Takes a bit of doing, peeling the hobbits off. But I manage it, give a quick wave and slide into the passenger seat. Everyone who is working today seems to have shown up to say goodbye; lucky I thought to turn up early so there'd be enough time for the tears and empty promises.
I look over my shoulder as the car begins to move away and Vig is standing on the trailer steps, arms folded and he raises one hand in a negligent wave and smiles.

I don't want to go. My gut is churning and my brow is moist with sweat, hands shaking. And I'm looking out the rear window and he's getting smaller and further away and he's standing there, staring after the car and I yell-at-the-driver-and-he-stops. Run back down the dirt road, tripping over tree roots and tussocks of dead grass and flying-up-the-stairs-and-his-face-is-astonished-and-happy and I grab him and . . .

I'm sitting bolt upright in the bed, drenched with sweat and wide awake.

Not-a-fucking-gain!

Every night now. Fucking hell! This is ridiculous! I've been home for more than four months now and these stupid dreams just keep coming! I don't get it. I don't understand what's wrong with me. Maybe a cup of tea will help?
Mind you, none of the other cups of tea at three a.m. have helped, but the ritual of making it is soothing, as is sitting on the sofa inhaling the warm scent of fresh brew.

So another cup of tea it is and here I am on the couch again. Sitting in the dark.

It's not always the same dream. I dream about all kinds of stuff, but they've all got New Zealand in common. I dream about mountains and blue screens and stunties in costume. I see Orlando at the pub, the hobbits and Ian screaming with laughter on the set, Viggo swinging his sword around, Viggo scribbling on a piece of paper with the point of his tongue poking out in concentration. Viggo getting changed, Viggo getting naked . . .

Yeah. There's the problem right there. Too much of a good thing and all that. A long shoot, one man exclusively. I screwed up. Got dependant. And now I'm paying for it with lost sleep. But, four months worth? Time to let it go; long past time. But it's harder than it seems.
New Zealand is over and how pathetic am I? Clinging to it in the 'bitter watches of the night'. Shit!
It no longer exists, Sean. Principal filming is over and done with, the cast and crew are long gone and the extraordinary experience has been dismantled, piece by piece.
Ian and John are here; Orlando's been and gone again, same with Dom and Billy. Elijah, Liv and Vig are back in the U.S.A. where they belong and you need to get-over-it-Bean!

The family has dissolved. The man is gone! And that's what you wanted.

Isn't it?

No.

Extraordinary. Charming. Fascinating. Sensual. Talented. Beautiful. Viggo.

Face it, Bean.

Sean Bean, Man-About-Town, Master of the Casual Fuck and the Fly-By-Night has gone down for the third time. Is drowning. Choking on his independence. And he can think of quite a few people who'd be laughing themselves silly right now if they knew. And that price that they used to demand, the one that made you squirm and fidget and laugh sarcastically about? You'd pay it now and gladly, wouldn't you?

Give up bits of yourself, like you swore you'd never do again, and not miss them at all. 'Cause they'd be safe with him and you know it.

And, let's be honest here. The reason I dream is because I know I've screwed up.
I'm the stupid tosser who laid down the rules and emphasized them every chance I got. I'm the fucking moron who insisted that it was just for the duration and no longer, that there was no emotional baggage allowed and I'm the dickhead who's changed his fucking mind!

Or gone out of it.

And there is absolutely nothing I can do to rectify the situation. I told him and he took me at my word. He didn't invest in me, kept it as casual and as easy as I did.
As I thought I did.
Vig has moved on and I'm just a memory by now. A pleasant one; I can at least hope for that. I was his first (and please-God-let-me-be-the-only.) and that makes me special, unforgettable. I know Viggo; he wouldn't dismiss me.

The premiere is in a couple of months. I'll see him then. Maybe then these stupid, pointless dreams will stop.
The yearning for an intimacy that's lost, in a place that's been packed away in crates, stored in warehouses, is on the other side of the fucking world, will fade away and I'll have me back again. The 'me' who doesn't wake up in a cold sweat every night, dreaming about a man he shouldn't still want and the feelings he can't bear to put a name to. The old me.