Mea Culpa 7/?

[imogen-lily.livejournal.com]

Mea Culpa

Author: Imogen

Disclaimer: I don't know these guys, it's all made up.

Summary: abuse ruins everyone's lives. Who picks up the pieces?



*beep*

"Dr. McCoy! Doctor! He's coming round!"

*beep*

"About time. All right, stand back. Don't crowd him."

*beep*

"Give him some space, keep checking his vitals."

*beep*

"Come on Orlando, don't quit on me now, you can do it, just open your eyes."

*beep*

"Orlando?"

*beep*

"…Orlando? Orlando can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand?"

Whose voice was that? He didn't recognise it…where was he? Everything was too bright, too noisy, it hurt his eyes…no not just his eyes, everything hurt.

"It's going to be OK Orlando, I promise, just try and relax, we're going to take care of you." The voice was soothing, quiet. He felt himself relax momentarily.

Slowly his eyes seemed to focus as he took in a woman standing over him. Was she an angel? Strange looking angel in a white coat and nametag. Did they have nametags in heaven…was he in heaven…or hell? Was his Dad here? He suddenly missed him so much, would he be able to see him again? But what if it was Hell, was this his punishment…it couldn't be heaven, surely, they didn't have pain in heaven did they?

His mind struggled to piece together the disjointed memories. The last thing he remembered was that he'd been on the bathroom floor, then everything had gone black; there was nothing after, just…peace, stillness. There was no anger, no words. He had felt truly free, at peace for the first time in years. Now that peace was gone, and he couldn't understand why. He wanted to ask a thousand questions but his mouth wouldn't work, and he felt his eyes itch.

He longed to be part of the peaceful oblivion again and desperately tried to reclaim it, his eyes flicking shut, before a hand gently caught his arm

"Oh no you don't, mister. You're staying with us this time. Open your eyes Orlando, it’s OK, you're home." the voice was gentle, coaxing. Reluctantly the eyes parted again.

"That's better. You've proved a very stubborn patient Orlando. Don't worry about your eyes, they aren't used to light yet. It'll take them a bit of time to adjust; I'll get one of the nurses to give you something to help. They should sort themselves out within the next few hours."

"Wh-where am I? What's happening?" his voice came out dry and cracked. Why did everything feel so confussing?

"St. Mary's Memorial Hospital. I'm Dr. Elizabeth McCoy, I've been overseeing your progress for the past few days."

"Days?! W-what's happened? Why am I here?" he felt a sense of panic rise within him. This didn't make any sense.

"Slow down Orlando, I assure you I'll try to answer all your questions, but you must relax, your body is exhausted after the ordeal it's been through. You've been here three days Orlando, well almost four, if you count today and you've been unconscious the entire time, which explains why you don't know what's going on. We were beginning to wonder if you were going to actually wake up at all, so this is definitely good news," she smiled kindly. He felt marginally soothed by this.

"I don't, I mean, where…who…?" As Orlando desperately tried to work through the layers of haze and muddle in his brain, his eyes tried to adjust to the hospital lights. His throat was dry.

"It's OK Orlando, I realise this must be confusing for you. Just try not to move too much, your body's still in shock."

Confusing? This was beyond confusing, beyond painful. He desperately tried to sift through the myriad of images assaulting his brain. There were so many images, flashes of things as they all formed together in a rather disjointed fragmented memory. He remembered the bathroom; he spent a long time in there, but why, he couldn't seem to remember...then it hit him: Mark.

Mark…Mark...was he here? The idea terrified him beyond anything he could recall. He remembered the bruises, the snarls and cold laughter, had he laughed like that? There was something else though, he couldn't remember what though. Something was different about this one. Mark had been different; something had changed. Something must've happened. He saw himself on the bathroom floor…was he crying?

He remembered pain, different from the kind he was feeling now, such a lot of pain, he'd wanted to stop it, reached blindly for a bottle; he couldn't remember what it was. He'd probably taken one too many. They hadn't worked; the pain still remained, still clung to him. The painkillers hadn't stopped it, nothing had. He'd taken more pills, just tried to do anything, in a desperate act to soothe the pain.

He vaguely remembered the knife, how smooth and cold it was, how it had glinted invitingly. He hadn't wanted to, but if he could just turn his pain outwards, give it a physical manifestation. Anything was better than the current pain he was in. The relief of feeling the blade against his skin…then the tablets, it'd been too much. Perhaps he'd planned it after all; maybe in his subconscious he knew it was the only way out, the only true way.

Memories of that night, unwanted and unbidden, came flooding back, almost choking him. The feelings of exhaustion and despair, loss and terror whirled in his brain. He'd tried to kill himself, wanted to. He remembered being on the floor, and then…peace, nothing. What had happened? He wasn't dead, everything hurt too much, too bright, too vivid to be an afterlife.

Dr. McCoy let a smile touch her lips, albeit a sad one. "What do you remember?"

"I…I…was on the floor, in my bathroom and then I just felt, peaceful. Everything had hurt so much, it wouldn't stop...I didn't want to…I just wanted it to stop!" burst from Orlando, who immediately began dry coughing, his throat irritated from being unused. There was no point in lying to her, she probably knew what he'd tried to do, seen it.

"It's alright Orlando. No one's blaming or judging you. I just want you to get well, so do your friends."

"F-friends?!" He felt his heart soar and then crash. They couldn't possibly be here, not now, not after everything he'd put them through.

"Yes, we’ve had Mr Monaghan and Mr Wood to keep the nurses company, they've rather endeared themselves to the staff. Mr. Monaghan found you unconscious and rang the ambulance; Mr. Wood came with you both in the ambulence. If they'd found you just a few minutes later, you wouldn't have made it. They saved your life Orlando" she answered gravely. "They've been here since you were brought in, three days ago."

Oh God, they must hate him! He would never be able to make things right between his friends, they'd gone through so much because of him, how could he put them through more? All he'd wanted to do was protect them, keep them safe from Mark, and stop the hurt. Dominic and Elijah would never forgive him, he didn't deserve forgiving. It wasn't supposed to happen like this; he wasn't meant to survive, he didn't deserve to live. He considered begging the doctor to send Elijah and Dominic away, but the slightly more alert side of his brain reasoned that he might as well let them reject him now and get it over with.

He wanted to go back to England, to go home. Maybe America had been a home to him once, but too many things had happened. He couldn't stand anyone discovering what had happened, how he'd fallen. He desperately wanted to be with his Mum and Sammie. He wanted to curl up with them, to be held and be told everything would be OK, that they still loved him, that they forgave him. He wanted their warmth and forgiveness. He wanted to be with Bast, to hear his humour, his advice...he wanted to be home, but he couldn't. To see him like this would tear them apart. They were always all so protective of him, always checking on him, looking after him. Once apon a time, he'd maybe resented that slightly, hated being protrayed as weak but now it seemed they were right after all. He was weak.

"They've been beside themselves with worry. I assume you'd like to see them. Don't worry, I've told them they shouldn't stay for too long. I don't want you to overexert yourself, you're not out of the woods yet Orlando, not by a long shot" she offered with a somewhat comforting smile, but with an obvious warning in them.

Orlando nodded listlessly. Dr. McCoy stepped outside the room for a few moments, and Orlando felt his heart begin to pound. If only he could freeze time, then Dom and Lij couldn't come through the door, he wouldn't have to loose them. How was he ever supposed to face his friends again, or anyone else for that matter, after what had happened, what they had seen? You weren't supposed to 'quit' because things got too tough; you fought and kept going no matter what, and he couldn't do that. How utterly pathetic.

"Orli?" came a quiet voice. Elijah. So out of place and seemingly stripped of emotion. Dom was standing next to him, a silent tower of support.

The scene was so familiar, with Elijah and Dominic supporting each other. He should've been by their side, not lying in the bed sick and defiled. Finding he couldn't meet their eyes, not wanting to see the damage he must've done to his friends, Orlando kept his eyes firmly on the blanket, his entire body lying prone on the bed. He just wanted them to leave. Why were they here, could they not see how weak he was?

He guessed they'd be trying to offer each other support, as they always did. No other words had been spoken since Elijah's soft exploration of his name…he'd noticed the use of his nickname. It was so long since he'd heard it and it sounded strange.

Mark never called him Orli, Little Brother, OB or Elf Boy, none of the stupid nicknames that had been given him. He'd always been Orlando, and a long time ago that would have bothered him, but that's who he was now. He couldn't be Orli or Elf Boy anymore, all that innocence had long been stripped away. Orlando was solely Mark's creation; he should really be proud of himself.

How would he have reacted if Dominic or Elijah tried to kill themselves? He didn't want to imagine that, there were so many options he could've taken, but no, he had to take the most dramatic, the most attention grabbing one … `look at me, I'm suffering'. He should've just left, not told anyone. That would've kept Dom and Elijah safe. No…that wouldn't have worked; Mark would not have accepted Dom and Lij not knowing where Orlando was.

God there were no easy answers. Run away and Dom and Lij were still in danger, stay and he was in danger…die and everyone's safe. It still sounded pathetic in his ears. Oh poor Orli, everyone hates him, Mark doesn't love him, Viggo doesn't, oh boo-hoo, play the tragic martyr, die and everyone will remember, claim how brave you were, how selfless. What a lie. Death had been an escape, end of story. He should've got a grip, should’ve dealt with the situation better. It was pathetic at his age that he'd become a quivering wreck just because of one…well, maybe two men. No wonder Mark hated him.

He could give a speech to thousands of people, or act on some of the biggest movies ever, and yet he couldn't control his boyfriend, couldn't face his friends. Surely he hadn't always been this weak, this clingy? What ever happened to the independent fun loving Orli? He'd never have let this happen. He was too full of confidence, he'd cared about himself, believed in himself. Where had that gone, and more to the point, when?

Elijah and Dom stood at the far end of the room. It seemed so clean and sterile, so - white. Like a mental ward. Except Orlando wasn't mad, there was no need for a straightjacket or padded walls, well not yet anyway. Was this the 'suicide watch' unit? Dom felt Elijah shudder against him. No wonder people had to be watched closely in this place. He couldn't remember a worse place. Not even the public toilets back in England were this bad.

Finally their vision was directed towards Orlando. He was awake, but his head lay listlessly against the pillow, his whole body turned away from them. Perhaps this was a bad idea; maybe Orlando needed some space, Dom considered. He couldn't even begin to imagine what thoughts were circling in Orlando's head at the moment. Dr. McCoy suddenly appeared at the door, and indicted for them to move forward. Hesitantly they obeyed. Orlando didn't move. Surely he knew they were there?

"Thank God you're awake!" blurted Elijah, sounding unnaturally shaky.

There was no reply to his outburst. Dom didn't know what to say and Orlando wasn't talking, wasn't even looking at them. There was a terrible silence between the three men. Dom and Elijah hovered, neither quite sure where to sit, or stand.

"We're gonna make sure you get better Orli, the doctors say you can go in a few days, they're gonna move you to another ward then we can get you, can get you out of here. We'll take you with us; have some fun…go somewhere different. It's up to you what we do; just say the word… You know we still love you, right? Orli?" the speech was rambled, shaky with a slight hesitation at the end. Frankly he feared what Orlando's response would be. Elijah hadn't paused for breath, but it was better than this awful silence.

"We meant what we said Orlando. We will be there for you. None of this was your fault. We don't hate you or blame you, we never did and never will," Dom whispered, beginning to reach out to touch Orlando and then pulling back at the last moment. Touching really wasn't what Orlando needed right now.

As Dr. McCoy stood in the corner, she saw the friends trying to reach Orlando, if only metaphorically. It wasn't working. She'd seen such reactions before, not as common as anger, which was truthfully what she'd been expecting. Orlando was closing himself off, no doubt convincing himself he had no need for help and support, or possibly was undeserving. From what she understood, it seemed Orlando had been with this partner, Mark, for about four years. Not the longest period she'd dealt with but still too long. One day in an abusive relationship was too long.

Sometimes she loathed her profession, to see such heartbreak on a day-to-day basis. But to be reminded of the evil that could awaken in people, the cruelty they were capable of, it saddened and sickened her. When a child was diagnosed with cancer, it was heartbreaking, but no one's fault, there was usually no target to blame. But when she was faced with someone who had been abused for years, by someone who claimed to love them…she struggled to remember that there was good in the world.

She'd dealt with child rape cases, murders, homophobic attacks, hate crime, killing sprees – domestic abuse was just one angle of how society could fall to such malevolent depths. To see Orlando brought in, face the glaring obvious fact he's tried to kill himself then to slowly piece together the events leading up to it, she had to wonder if there was any point to her job. She saved people, saved and mended their bodies but was that possible when they were so content to rip out each other's hearts and souls?

Even as the thoughts formed in her brain she knew why she carried on. It was for people like Orlando, for the victims. It was people like Elijah and Dominic who restored her faith, to see their tender and unwavering devotion to their friend, to see Mr. Mortensen's heart breaking as he sat, pouring his heart out to the unconscious man. To see a family, if not a blood one, band together in the face of adversity, gave her some glimmer of hope. True, humans could be the most vicious depraved creatures on earth, but just occasionally you'd get a glimpse of exactly what an `angel without wings' was like.

She noticed Orlando take a deep shuddering breath; he still hadn't faced his friends.

"Orli? This is gonna be alright, we're going to take care of you… get your through this, no matter how long it takes. Orli? Aren't you going to look at us?" Elijah pleaded. Orlando seemed to shudder a little and further buried his head into the pillow, but again made no sounds.

Viggo he could handle, Dom he could handle, Christ he could even handle Mark right now, he had no reservations in what actions he would direct towards Mark.

But now with Orlando…how do you react to your best friend trying to kill himself? Elijah had no idea what to say to Orlando, everything seemed false or inappropriate. Mentioning Viggo was out of the question, Orlando's family wasn't a good idea either, the abuse couldn't be touched on. What the hell was he supposed to say, how could he say anything that wasn't going to make this worse? He'd been told more than once (usually by Dom) that he was suffering from a chronic case of foot-in-mouth syndrome and he couldn't hurt Orlando, he wouldn't.

What could he say…health – no, work? Pleasantries? What the hell could they talk about, what did you say at a time like this? Elijah didn't believe in talking about the weather, as safe a topic as it was, he really couldn't give a fuck if there was a hurricane outside. He wasn't angry, not with Orlando, at least not anymore he was just too relived that Orlando was awake, but he wasn't sure how much more of the silent treatment he could take.

If Orlando cried or yelled he could deal with that, knew how to react, he was prepared for that, but this silence was unnerving. Orlando just wasn't a silent person. That didn't mean he was a chatterbox, Elijah himself held that distinct privilege, but he just communicated with you, whether by words his body language, his gestures, even his eyes spoke volumes. You knew where you stood, but now he couldn't read Orlando and that hurt him.

If nothing else, you always knew where you stood with Orlando. There was no hiding, no concealing – or rather there hadn't been before Mark, before the…

He wanted to yell at Orlando, shake him for putting himself and Dom through that. The image of Orlando lying on the floor could never be forgotten, the memory branded onto his mind. He wanted to force Orlando to look at them, to make him cry, make him admit and accept what had happened. Why wouldn't he look at them? Was it that hard to face people who loved you? He wanted to understand, he really did and to an extent he did. He'd lived through it, seen the injuries, seen Orlando slowly become introverted, scared.

It was like one of those God-awful detective movies, where you knew what had happened, all the clues were there and you just couldn't quite piece them together. Seeing the last four years like a film reel in his mind. Should he really be surprised his friend had gone to such desperate lengths? God he hated hindsight.

"Orlando, can you just look at us? Please? Just for a moment, we're worried about you," Elijah sighed; it was no good.
At that moment Dr. McCoy stepped forward and Elijah took the hint for once. He looked at Dom for a moment then back at Orlando. There didn't seem to be much more he could say.

"I'm going to go now Orlando, ok? Just for a smoke or something. God you'd kill me if you knew how much I'd smoked…I won't be long, I will come back Orli," he promised as he hesitantly patted Orlando's shoulder.

As he brushed by Dom, he was sure he saw tears in Elijah's eyes. Through Elijah's valiant effort at conversation he remained mostly silent. What was he supposed to say to make this better? How on earth could he reassure Orlando?

Was there anything he could reassure his friend about for that matter, and what about Viggo? Sooner or later either he or Elijah would have to confess the Dane’s presence to Orlando, and he didn’t even want to think how Orlando would take that. He didn’t even know where the man was right now, surely he wasn’t going to run away again? Deciding to deal with it when the time came, he pushed thoughts of Viggo out of his head to concentrate on his friend, the friend he had so very nearly lost. Dom almost trembled at that thought.

"Ok, I never thought I'd have to admit this, but he's right, about everything Orlando. Well…not about Elvis being better than the Beatles obviously, cause that's just plain wrong but about us being there for you."

He took a pause, this wasn't coming out how he intended. This wasn't working, why couldn't he say anything right? He'd never had any problem talking to Orli, the man was like a brother to him, and now he couldn't offer the comfort and reassurance Orlando desperately needed without sounding like a total oaf.

"Look…I know you don't want to see anyone right now and that's ok, I can understand that, I'm not blaming you, and I don't hate you for that, so don't think that. And we don't hate you either. Yes you scared the hell out of me but I don't hate you, nor does Elijah. I'm not mad, we never have been. Why would you think we wouldn't?"

Orlando shifted slightly as if poised to move, but nothing came of it.

"You can't love me…not now. You…Mark, he…" Orlando whispered, clutching the pillow further to his head, his voice sounding raspy.

"Shhh. You don't have to tell me anything Orli. I…we know, both me and Lij. Dr. McCoy told us everything, about the rapes and we don't care," he whispered soothingly.

Orlando suddenly went rigid, and slowly turned to Dom, his eyes wide in horror.

"…no… but, I didn't… he…" Orlando found he couldn't form a sentence and felt the tears prick his eyes at the shame of his secret being revealed, the whole dirty sordid truth of his abuse. He'd hoped to keep at least that bit from his friend, have some last remaining semblance of dignity but clearly the gods weren't in a merciful mood.

"Orlando, I'd never, ever blame you for something like that, no one would, and if they did they're a sick fuck who doesn't deserve you as a friend! It's changed nothing, you're still my best friend, my family, and you always will be. I meant it when I said me and Lij love you. We. Love You. That love's unconditional Orli." He swore as he looked directly at him, but Orlando's eyes remained fixated on his blanket, but it was obvious tears were rolling down his cheeks. Dom slid into the chair against the hospital bed and took Orlando's hand in his.

"Nothing's changed Orli, nothing that matters. You're still Orlando Bloom, amazing actor and heartthrob extraordinaire, you're still my brother, mine and Lij's, the Fellowship still loves you, your friends and family all love you, that's never going to change." The only thing that's going to change is someone getting a much more bloody gruesome death than we'd originally planned. Dom added mentally, but thought it was a good idea not to mention that particular piece of infomation to Oralndo. "People admire you Orlando, they really do. I do. Look Orli…I…if you're looking for someone to blame you, I'm not him, I love you." His voice took on a more firm tone but kept his voice soft as he gently squeezed Orlando's hand.

Dr. McCoy's head popped through the door. "Mr. Monaghan? Dominic… sorry, time's up. Orlando needs to get some rest."

Nodded he pushed himself up from the chair. "I meant it Orli, every word," he said, his voice low and deadly serious. He gave Orlando's hand a last gentle squeeze before he left the room, his feet seeming to drag on the floor.

Dr. McCoy gave him a sympathetic glance as she moved towards Orlando, clipboard in hand.

Hearing the door click, signaling Dom's departure, Orlando took a shuddering breath. "Why don't they hate me?" he murmured, not truly expecting an answer.

"I think Mr. Monaghan gave you the answer. They love you Orlando, and that means they forgive you."

"Love…doesn't that go hand in hand with hate? Mark loved me, now he hates me. What makes Dom and Lij any different, won't they end up hating me?" he asked, desperate for answers that no one could provide.

Dr. McCoy didn't respond immediately as she carefully measured Orlando's pulse finding it still too weak for her liking.

"I suppose it depends on the person. It seems to me that love, for Mark at least, goes hand in hand with controlling and violence. Maybe he was brought up that way, I don't know. I'm not really the person to ask I'm afraid, I just deal with the consequences of people's actions," she replied as she carefully inspected Orlando who felt rather like an insect on display, and tried hard not to squirm in discomfort.

"You seem to be recovering reasonably well so far, but you're not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. I meant what I said - you have to rest. Your body's been working over time to compensate for your injuries, even if you don't feel like it, it’s been fighting like hell for you, return the favour and give your body a break, let it recover."

"Please, I can't stay here. Can't I just leave? I'm awake now, doesn't that mean I'm better? I just want to go home," he pleaded, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and childlike.

The problem was, where was home? Certainly not with Mark. Mark didn't love him or want him anymore. Dom and Elijah had no doubt had enough of him. They'd endured more than he'd ever had a right to expect for his sake, for his pitiful friendship. They said they forgave him, they understood, but just because they forgave him (which was beyond a miracle) didn't mean he'd forgiven himself.

"Sorry Orlando but I'm the doctor here and I'm pulling rank. This bed will be your home until I say otherwise. Look Orlando, I'm going to level with you. We weren't sure if you were going to make it at all, you're lucky to be awake. Your vitals aren't nearly as strong as I'd like. You've had a lot of drugs messing up your system. Your internal organs are badly bruised and not just from the drugs, and while not enough to affect them permanently, you're going to be on medication for a while, powerful ones and it won't be pleasant, I'm afraid. Your arm will need to be in a splint for a few weeks. The nerve endings on a few fingers have been damaged too and some of the bone was shattered by the force of the impact it received. The actual impact when you collasped, wasn't so severe, but rather it was the result of several smaller impacts, basically, the bone was partly fractured before your fall, this just made it worse. I've reset the bone, so that should heal well, and the meds will take care of the bruising. That's not the main problem though."

Here she paused. She hated doing this; it made her feel like the Wicked Witch of the West.

"B-but I can't stay here," he interrupted, surrendering all last vestiges of dignity and a note of begging could be heard in his voice.

"I've only been awake a few hours and I'm getting claustrophobic, I can't stay here days, let alone weeks. Am I being punished for trying to end everything? Someone wants me to feel even more loathsome than I already do," he demanded, or at least it would have been if it hadn't come out in a broken whisper.
Dr. McCoy looked at him for a moment.

"Orlando, just try to calm down. I want you out of here as much as you do. It'll mean I've done my job properly and I do think you'll be OK to go home soon. It's not just your injuries that are keeping you here...you tried to kill yourself Orlando. It's pretty obvious why, but whenever we have an attempted sucide we have to treat things...differantly. we have to make sure you're not a risk to yourself before we can let you go, it's why you've been put on this ward. It also means, I'm afraid, that you're here to stay until I can convince a pannel that you will be OK, that you aren't going to try jumping off a bridge as soon as we let you go" she paused for a moment, seeing Orlando stuggle to take in what she'd told him. She hated this policy, but policy was policy.

"I need to do some more tests and talk to my colleagues but the good news is, that you're not what we consider a 'Class A emergency' and they'll accept my dianoisis. Basically, I don't think they'll expect that you'll keep attempting to take your life. THey'll say it was due to `extreme external factors' meaning they don't believe you'll attempt to take your life again, they don't consider you a risk to yourself. So you'll be able to go home, accompanied I might add, in a couple of days."

At hearing Dr. McCoy's words he didn't to know whether to cry or laugh, maybe he should do both. A horrible thought hit him, she'd said `home'.

Home…we could go home, but where was home exactly? Not the home, the life he's shared with Mark, certainly. Mark would never take him back, not now and he didn't think he could go back even if Mark let him. He would have to start again, rebuild his life; maybe moving away wouldn't be so bad. He missed England, or perhaps Ireland would be nice, it was quiet there. It didn't matter where really; he was just so tired, so exhausted. Dr. McCoy seemed to have left without his realising as he felt himself drift off again.

Viggo tried very hard not to glare at the figure that was currently, rather unnecessarily and repeatedly prodding him in the back.

"Stop being such a wiener and go in!" hissed Elijah. "You've been with him before. He's asleep now anyway, he’s not going to bite you in his sleep. Why won't you just go in?" he demanded, hands folded across his chest.

Viggo struggled to think of a reasonable excuse. "He could wake up, I can't risk-"

"You don't seem to risk anything anymore. Jesus Viggo! What the hell’s happened to you in the last few years? You were never afraid of anything, where's that Viggo gone? So you're scared shitless, so am I, get a fucking grip will you?? Did you ever think that Orli might actually need you?"

"Elijah you don't understand! He was unconscious; I could say what I wanted, I didn’t need to worry about him accidentally hearing me or something. What if he wakes up? How the hell am I supposed to explain why I'm here?" Yes he wanted to protect and care for Orlando, but to walk in and face Orlando after so many years, he doubted Orlando would welcome him. After all, he was the cause of Orlando's suffering. Maybe he could protect Orlando from a distance, make sure that Mark never got anywhere near Orlando again; keep in contact via Dom and Elijah, that would be better…

"How about the truth, you’d be surprised how often it works. Look, I thought Dom was wrong ringing you, I tried to stop him, I thought you’d mess things up even further, do you think you can prove me wrong, believe me I’d really like to be for this. Look, forget trying to protect Orlando OK? It's too late for that. We've all failed to protect him but that doesn't mean we can't fix things. He still loves you Viggo, no matter what's happened. You just need to find a way to reach him. He thinks no one loves him, that he's unworthy of love and forgiveness. Mark completely fucked up his mind, Orli needs you to un-fuck it. Remind him what real love is Viggo," Elijah's tone was soft, his eyes pleading.

"You love him Viggo, use that to help him." Slowly Elijah's words seemed to make a connection in the deep recesses of Viggo's brain and he nodded slowly.

Taking a deep breath he slowly opened the door and crept softly to the bed. He felt a small smile creep over his face as he saw Orlando sleeping, looking so peaceful. The sleeping face was so familiar, achingly so. He longed to reach out and caress Orlando's curls, reach up and pull Orlando into his embrace. He was pleased to note several machines were gone. He was breathing by himself, but that now only allowed Viggo to focus on Orlando's more external injuries the cuts and bruises, the broken arm.

Gazing around the room, he chose a delightfully cheap looking plastic chair and sunk into it, his gaze never leaving Orlando. No words or heart filled confessions spilled from his lips that night, he just watched Orlando. The rhythmic breathing becoming almost hypnotic.

For a moment Viggo could almost pretend he was back with Orlando, that they were in bed together and spending the night gazing at his lover as he'd done countless times before, he could pretend that all was right with the world. He silently prayed Orlando's dreams were peaceful, because he wasn't sure that Orlando's life would qualify as anything but a nightmare. No matter how much support he was given, Orlando still had to face reality, feel the pain and Viggo couldn't stop that, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

He'd been so absorbed in his thoughts while gazing at Orlando, that he felt his eyes prickled in discomfort as the sun's rays began to peek through the curtains. Had he really watched Orlando through the whole night? Strange how time became irrelevant when Orlando was around. Rolling his stiff neck, Viggo reluctantly dragged himself up, grateful that Orlando had (peacefully? He hoped so) slept through the night. Stealing himself to walk away before Orlando woke, he paused for a moment, reaching out to ghost his hand over Orlando's hair.

"I love you my angel, my Orlando," he whispered, stopping himself from kissing his forehead.

Forcing himself to turn away, he stole one last glance of his love before he began walking to the door. As his hand touched handle, he heard a rustle.

"V-Viggo?" came an all too familiar voice, shaky and tired but still as soft and beautiful as ever. His eyes closed momentarily in pain, in gratitude and fear. There was no way to escape now.

Slowly he turned around to meet a pair of very familiar eyes...

TBC

Comments

[elfinobsession.livejournal.com]

It's odd how something as painful and terrible as this chapter is on the surface can carry such a quiet grace. Lij and and Dom are wonderful and the final line made me weep. I hope they can all heal together.

Btw...I love that you cast Gillian as his Doctor. Thank you for providing me with a face.

[dreamerswings42.livejournal.com]

Painful and heartbreaking, but somehow encouraging that they are all standing by Orli. Orli will just need to learn that people who love you don't physically beat you. I wanted to smack him when he said Mark wouldn't take him back now! JEEZ why would he want Mark to take him back??! Arrrggghh. I so hope that Orli can heal with the Boys help. Thanks for another good chapter.

[teamane.livejournal.com]

Wounderful!!! I'm shamely cleaning my tears :D
I love it, the way Orli wakeup and the reality keeps pushing into his mind, like in a limbo... (almost like waking at monday after the end of holiday, so painful!)
I like the realistic way Orli acts, just like the victims of domestic abused, always finding guilt in themselves.
I'm glad he has such good friends.
:D