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vigorli2009-04-05 08:31 am
snow-days1.livejournal.com) wrote in vigorli2009-04-05 08:31 am
Seeing the Light (2/?)
Title: Seeing the Light
Author: Snow Days
Rating: PG 13 for language and general emotional trauma.
Pairing: OB/VM
Summary: When Orlando is diagnosed with an incurable, but treatable, disease, he loses all hope and love of life. Can Viggo help him see the path he strayed from? OB/VM
Feedback: Of course.
Disclaimer: Never happened. Not pretending it did. Don’t know anyone featured in this story, complete fiction, just for fun, etc. Also, I don’t have this disease, and any symptoms are researched, not experienced. I’m sorry if I hurt anybody with this material.
A/N: When I say AU, I don’t just mean AU because Orlando’s perfectly healthy, but also because the filming schedule will go whatever way I want. Just to point that out. Just moved overseas and my new DVDs haven’t arrived yet, had to sell the old ones. I also reserve the right to change anything. So yeah. Just to make absolutely certain ;) Also, I’ve been to hospital once in my life and was discharged after eight hours, so know nothing about them.
*********
Viggo gritted his teeth almost painfully as he watched Orlando being loaded into the ambulance. The same two thoughts were continuously resonating throughout his brain: one, that Orlando didn’t deserve to be there, he shouldn’t be there. Two, that Viggo loved him, and he had never spoken of his feelings.
Orlando had thrown up again while they were waiting for the rest of the paramedics, and again after they had taken his blood pressure. By now nothing was coming up, it was simply dry heaving, but it took a while to stop, something that had worried the paramedics.
“Too low,” muttered the man who had been taking Orlando’s blood pressure, “far too low…”
They continued to mutter between themselves, deliberately keeping quiet so the others couldn’t hear them, something that Viggo hated, though he understood. They didn’t want Orlando’s friends jumping to conclusions about his health with no diagnosis. Eventually they seemed to agree on something, and one tore apart the material covering his right arm; it would take too long to pull up with the leather wrist guards he wore still on. Orlando was injected with some kind of mixture, he continued to clutch his stomach for a few moments, then his arms dropped exhaustedly as he lost consciousness, still leaning on Peter.
“What’s wrong with him?” Viggo demanded.
“We don’t know,” said a man.
“Don’t know?” cried Viggo, his anger taking over. “You don’t know? How can you not know? You could have just ki – done something you’ll regret! What if whatever you just stuck in him reacts?”
“Mr Mortenson, please!” the paramedic cried. “It was simply an injection of adrenaline, salt water and sugar, to be simple. We have a suspicion of what is wrong. If we are right, that will have saved his life. If not, it will not do any harm to him, and we can test him further when we get him to the hospital.”
“What’s you suspicion?”
“Viggo, shut up,” Dom said. “Not the time for arguments.”
They had laid Orlando on the ground, putting his feet on a pillow to try and coax blood to flow to his head. He had remained unconscious all that time, and had only woken up, to the relief of everybody, when the ambulance was stopping in front of them. He had remained on the ground, still feeling very ill, not that the others would have let him up anyway.
The paramedics from the ambulance were now quizzing the paramedics from the shoot. They told Peter to come with Orli to the hospital, as he had been the only one to see the whole episode in its entirety. They would allow one other, and Ian loudly nominated Viggo.
Viggo stared at him, the knowing expression on Ian’s face suddenly making Viggo feel very small, very happy and very confused all at the same time. Did Ian know about his feelings? Viggo pushed away the thought for later. Now, he had to focus on his other friend.
He joined Peter and Orli in the ambulance. The paramedic was running around, doing various things he shouldn’t have had to do. Viggo couldn’t watch. It was utterly ridiculous, considering the amount of extremely frightening movies he’d ever watched, but he thought he was going to vomit as the medic put a saline drip into Orlando’s arm, and he winced in sympathy when he did such a small thing as shining a penlight in Orlando’s eyes to check his pupils.
The paramedic quizzed Pete on exactly what had happened, writing down everything on a clipboard.
“There’s something else,” Viggo muttered. “It might be nothing, but this morning he was really tired… and vague too. He didn’t do anything last night, I know he just went to bed… does this matter?”
“Possibly,” muttered the man, writing that down too. “What about yesterday? Any odd behavior?”
They both shook their heads slowly. “What about his appetite?” asked the paramedic.
Peter and Viggo looked at each other. “Why don’t you just ask him?” Viggo muttered.
The medic gestured to the stretcher. Sometime during the examination, Orlando had fallen asleep. “I don’t want to wake him, he needs sleep. So, appetite?”
“I don’t pay that much attention to the actors at lunchtime, to be honest,” muttered Peter. “I’m usually going over scripts.”
“He wasn’t there,” said Viggo darkly. “He must’ve just gone off to sleep as soon as filming ended.”
The medic frowned slightly and wrote something else. By that time they had arrived at the hospital, and Peter and Viggo were told to go to the waiting room while they finished with Orlando. They were silent for a few moments, until a little boy who looked around the age of four began bawling at the sight of the “big scawy sword” and “cavemen”. Viggo – and Orlando, for that matter – had not changed out of costume yet. Pete laughed humorlessly and pulled out his cell phone to try and get one of the make up ladies to come down.
A couple of hours later, the rest of the Fellowship as well as a make up girl arrived, but they still had not heard from the doctors. Once Viggo was de-Aragorned, they had had enough. It had been hours – what was going on?
Dominic stood up and stormed over to the reception desk. The others watched, only half their mind focused on the confrontation between Dom and the nurse. The other halves were all focused on the inside of a room somewhere down the corridors of this building, with a young, sick, and probably scared, friend of theirs who they still couldn’t see.
Dom came back, shaking his head angrily and scowling. “Idiots. She said the doctor was supposed to come and tell us he was fine for visitors an hour ago. She’s going to take us now.”
The group, clearly too large for the nurse’s liking, judging by her rigid posture, walked down the hallway to a room on the right. She opened the door and stood aside, letting them enter.
“Where the fuck have you been?” came a voice.
Viggo thought he was going to burst into tears of relief. Instead, he walked slowly up to the bed and sat down on the chair next to it. “Hey… how are you feeling?”
Orlando was, thank God, sitting on the bed, still in full Legolas gear (minus boots, armor and weapons). He looked pale and drawn still but infinitely better than before. “Apart from bored and lonely because I thought my friends had forgotten me, I’m great.”
The makeup artist took her bag and went to sit on the bed behind Orlando, starting to remove his wig. “Do they know what happened?” Billy asked.
“They got a blood sample and they’re analyzing it now,” said Orlando. His sudden bout of energy he had had upon sighting his friends disappeared and he slumped slightly, his smile vanishing and his face looking even whiter.
There was a relatively awkward silence, broken by Beanie. “You’re scared,” he remarked as if commenting on the weather.
Orlando, without knowing why, lashed out. “What do you think? You wake up one morning feeling absolutely fine then throw up everywhere and randomly faint in the middle of the day, get taken to hospital, have all these nasty things done to you with needles and shit like that, only for some doctor to come into your room and say ‘Tests aren’t back yet, but don’t expect good news’! So you sit there for hours, thinking of shit like how you’re going to lose your motherfucking job, when you know it’s the only one you’re going to get, wishing your friends were here, but no, they were probably all off drinking, because that’s all you ever do, drink… every single fucking night!”
There was a moment’s silence. “That is not fair to assume that of us,” John boomed.
“Yeah, not our fault the doctor didn’t tell us we could see you,” said Elijah angrily. He knew the drinking comment had been largely aimed at him, and it had stung, and it wasn’t as if Orlando hadn’t done his fair share of getting smashed anyway!
“Shut up, Lij,” muttered Sean Astin and went to sit beside Orlando. He put a comforting arm around him, as much as he could without disrupting the removal of the pointy ears. “Don’t worry, Orli, it’ll be fine, you won’t lose your job.”
Peter felt rather than saw Orlando’s eyes drift towards him, and he jumped into the conversation. “You won’t lose your job,” he said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. He didn’t want to fire Orlando, he was perfect for Legolas, not to mention that they’d have to film every single Legolas scene over again, but if the tests came back and Orlando simply wasn’t up to the physical challenges of the role…
They were interrupted by a soft knock. Standing at the door was a fairly short man who looked very friendly: there were the tiny hints of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, he obviously smiled a lot. Now, however, he was not smiling at all. “I have your results from the blood test, Mr Bloom,” he began, moving into the room. “It has confirmed our earlier suspicions. Like I said, you’re not going to like it…"
TBC
Author: Snow Days
Rating: PG 13 for language and general emotional trauma.
Pairing: OB/VM
Summary: When Orlando is diagnosed with an incurable, but treatable, disease, he loses all hope and love of life. Can Viggo help him see the path he strayed from? OB/VM
Feedback: Of course.
Disclaimer: Never happened. Not pretending it did. Don’t know anyone featured in this story, complete fiction, just for fun, etc. Also, I don’t have this disease, and any symptoms are researched, not experienced. I’m sorry if I hurt anybody with this material.
A/N: When I say AU, I don’t just mean AU because Orlando’s perfectly healthy, but also because the filming schedule will go whatever way I want. Just to point that out. Just moved overseas and my new DVDs haven’t arrived yet, had to sell the old ones. I also reserve the right to change anything. So yeah. Just to make absolutely certain ;) Also, I’ve been to hospital once in my life and was discharged after eight hours, so know nothing about them.
*********
Viggo gritted his teeth almost painfully as he watched Orlando being loaded into the ambulance. The same two thoughts were continuously resonating throughout his brain: one, that Orlando didn’t deserve to be there, he shouldn’t be there. Two, that Viggo loved him, and he had never spoken of his feelings.
Orlando had thrown up again while they were waiting for the rest of the paramedics, and again after they had taken his blood pressure. By now nothing was coming up, it was simply dry heaving, but it took a while to stop, something that had worried the paramedics.
“Too low,” muttered the man who had been taking Orlando’s blood pressure, “far too low…”
They continued to mutter between themselves, deliberately keeping quiet so the others couldn’t hear them, something that Viggo hated, though he understood. They didn’t want Orlando’s friends jumping to conclusions about his health with no diagnosis. Eventually they seemed to agree on something, and one tore apart the material covering his right arm; it would take too long to pull up with the leather wrist guards he wore still on. Orlando was injected with some kind of mixture, he continued to clutch his stomach for a few moments, then his arms dropped exhaustedly as he lost consciousness, still leaning on Peter.
“What’s wrong with him?” Viggo demanded.
“We don’t know,” said a man.
“Don’t know?” cried Viggo, his anger taking over. “You don’t know? How can you not know? You could have just ki – done something you’ll regret! What if whatever you just stuck in him reacts?”
“Mr Mortenson, please!” the paramedic cried. “It was simply an injection of adrenaline, salt water and sugar, to be simple. We have a suspicion of what is wrong. If we are right, that will have saved his life. If not, it will not do any harm to him, and we can test him further when we get him to the hospital.”
“What’s you suspicion?”
“Viggo, shut up,” Dom said. “Not the time for arguments.”
They had laid Orlando on the ground, putting his feet on a pillow to try and coax blood to flow to his head. He had remained unconscious all that time, and had only woken up, to the relief of everybody, when the ambulance was stopping in front of them. He had remained on the ground, still feeling very ill, not that the others would have let him up anyway.
The paramedics from the ambulance were now quizzing the paramedics from the shoot. They told Peter to come with Orli to the hospital, as he had been the only one to see the whole episode in its entirety. They would allow one other, and Ian loudly nominated Viggo.
Viggo stared at him, the knowing expression on Ian’s face suddenly making Viggo feel very small, very happy and very confused all at the same time. Did Ian know about his feelings? Viggo pushed away the thought for later. Now, he had to focus on his other friend.
He joined Peter and Orli in the ambulance. The paramedic was running around, doing various things he shouldn’t have had to do. Viggo couldn’t watch. It was utterly ridiculous, considering the amount of extremely frightening movies he’d ever watched, but he thought he was going to vomit as the medic put a saline drip into Orlando’s arm, and he winced in sympathy when he did such a small thing as shining a penlight in Orlando’s eyes to check his pupils.
The paramedic quizzed Pete on exactly what had happened, writing down everything on a clipboard.
“There’s something else,” Viggo muttered. “It might be nothing, but this morning he was really tired… and vague too. He didn’t do anything last night, I know he just went to bed… does this matter?”
“Possibly,” muttered the man, writing that down too. “What about yesterday? Any odd behavior?”
They both shook their heads slowly. “What about his appetite?” asked the paramedic.
Peter and Viggo looked at each other. “Why don’t you just ask him?” Viggo muttered.
The medic gestured to the stretcher. Sometime during the examination, Orlando had fallen asleep. “I don’t want to wake him, he needs sleep. So, appetite?”
“I don’t pay that much attention to the actors at lunchtime, to be honest,” muttered Peter. “I’m usually going over scripts.”
“He wasn’t there,” said Viggo darkly. “He must’ve just gone off to sleep as soon as filming ended.”
The medic frowned slightly and wrote something else. By that time they had arrived at the hospital, and Peter and Viggo were told to go to the waiting room while they finished with Orlando. They were silent for a few moments, until a little boy who looked around the age of four began bawling at the sight of the “big scawy sword” and “cavemen”. Viggo – and Orlando, for that matter – had not changed out of costume yet. Pete laughed humorlessly and pulled out his cell phone to try and get one of the make up ladies to come down.
A couple of hours later, the rest of the Fellowship as well as a make up girl arrived, but they still had not heard from the doctors. Once Viggo was de-Aragorned, they had had enough. It had been hours – what was going on?
Dominic stood up and stormed over to the reception desk. The others watched, only half their mind focused on the confrontation between Dom and the nurse. The other halves were all focused on the inside of a room somewhere down the corridors of this building, with a young, sick, and probably scared, friend of theirs who they still couldn’t see.
Dom came back, shaking his head angrily and scowling. “Idiots. She said the doctor was supposed to come and tell us he was fine for visitors an hour ago. She’s going to take us now.”
The group, clearly too large for the nurse’s liking, judging by her rigid posture, walked down the hallway to a room on the right. She opened the door and stood aside, letting them enter.
“Where the fuck have you been?” came a voice.
Viggo thought he was going to burst into tears of relief. Instead, he walked slowly up to the bed and sat down on the chair next to it. “Hey… how are you feeling?”
Orlando was, thank God, sitting on the bed, still in full Legolas gear (minus boots, armor and weapons). He looked pale and drawn still but infinitely better than before. “Apart from bored and lonely because I thought my friends had forgotten me, I’m great.”
The makeup artist took her bag and went to sit on the bed behind Orlando, starting to remove his wig. “Do they know what happened?” Billy asked.
“They got a blood sample and they’re analyzing it now,” said Orlando. His sudden bout of energy he had had upon sighting his friends disappeared and he slumped slightly, his smile vanishing and his face looking even whiter.
There was a relatively awkward silence, broken by Beanie. “You’re scared,” he remarked as if commenting on the weather.
Orlando, without knowing why, lashed out. “What do you think? You wake up one morning feeling absolutely fine then throw up everywhere and randomly faint in the middle of the day, get taken to hospital, have all these nasty things done to you with needles and shit like that, only for some doctor to come into your room and say ‘Tests aren’t back yet, but don’t expect good news’! So you sit there for hours, thinking of shit like how you’re going to lose your motherfucking job, when you know it’s the only one you’re going to get, wishing your friends were here, but no, they were probably all off drinking, because that’s all you ever do, drink… every single fucking night!”
There was a moment’s silence. “That is not fair to assume that of us,” John boomed.
“Yeah, not our fault the doctor didn’t tell us we could see you,” said Elijah angrily. He knew the drinking comment had been largely aimed at him, and it had stung, and it wasn’t as if Orlando hadn’t done his fair share of getting smashed anyway!
“Shut up, Lij,” muttered Sean Astin and went to sit beside Orlando. He put a comforting arm around him, as much as he could without disrupting the removal of the pointy ears. “Don’t worry, Orli, it’ll be fine, you won’t lose your job.”
Peter felt rather than saw Orlando’s eyes drift towards him, and he jumped into the conversation. “You won’t lose your job,” he said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. He didn’t want to fire Orlando, he was perfect for Legolas, not to mention that they’d have to film every single Legolas scene over again, but if the tests came back and Orlando simply wasn’t up to the physical challenges of the role…
They were interrupted by a soft knock. Standing at the door was a fairly short man who looked very friendly: there were the tiny hints of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, he obviously smiled a lot. Now, however, he was not smiling at all. “I have your results from the blood test, Mr Bloom,” he began, moving into the room. “It has confirmed our earlier suspicions. Like I said, you’re not going to like it…"
TBC
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