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[vatulele.livejournal.com]

Title: Two Months
Author: Vatulele
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: PG
Summary: Orlando’s leaving Viggo...Again. Based off of the song ‘Never Again, Again’ by Lea Ann Womack.
Warnings: None
Beta: No one yet, anyone one to be my beta?
Disclaimer: FICTION, FICTION, FICTION, FICTION. None of this ever happened, and it most likely never will, if it does, I’m a psychic and you all should fear me. I don’t mean any harm by writing this, so please don’t sue me Mr. Bloom’s and Mr. Mortensen’s lawyers because for all the money it would cost to take me to court, I wouldn’t be able to reciprocate because I’m just a poor, lowly girl with mediocre writing skills.
Feedback: A must have like sparklers on the 4th of July.

Dedicated to the lovely Nariel Vardamir who pointed me to inspiration with this song.



Told in Viggo’s POV

“I’ll only be gone two months. I promise.” He cradles my head in his smooth hands and he gently bumps his forehead against mine. His dark hair mingles with mine, our faces fit perfectly and I can feel soft puffs of air comming from his beautifully, crooked nose. “I’ll come back as often as I can, it’s just, I need to do this one Vig.” He pulls away from me turning back to his chore of packing. He’s going to Toronto, for two months. Two long months we planned to spend in Idaho. He folds his socks carefully. Yellow, blue, orange, red, stripes, circles, one says ‘I love my Dog’ and all are gently placed in his large, black, cumbersome suitcase. That suitcase should have frequent flyer miles. It goes everywhere with him. I notice he starts throwing socks in the cavernous belly of the suitcase with increasing vigor. I rise up from the bed and grasp his hands wich are holding a pair of lime green socks. His dark eyes gaze up at me. “You’re not mad are you?” For being thirty seven, he still acts like the same worried, insecure kid that walked off the plane in Wellington fresh from drama school. I shake my head and wrap my arms around his thin frame. How could I be?

He may leave me, again, and again, but he’ll always come back to me again. “I’m being a stupid pratt,” He sniffs and I push him back and see his tears. I wipe them away with my thumbs. “Must be having to lose all that weight, messing up my hormones or something.” He lets out a choked laugh. He’s had to lose 20 lbs in a week to play a quadriplegic druggie. He reminds me of when he was young, cheeks sunken in, the scar on his back more prominant than ususal due to his vertabrae seemingly ‘popping’ out of his skin. Even his collar bones have become more pronounced. Once he’s done with this movie I’m never letting him go again. Never again. Or at least not untill he’s properly fed.

“C’mon old man, finnish helping me pack.” Breaks me out of my reverie. I smile and grab some of his favorite t-shirts from the closet and sneaking one of mine in there as well. That’s tradition. Whenever one of us goes away, no matter how short the trip, we hide one of our favorite things in eachother’s suitcases. The last time I went away it was Orlando’s entire necklace of charms. The last time he went away I put my journal in his bag. Now it’s my favorite Met’s shirt that gets stowed away with the rest of his clothes. All too soon our packing ends and his cab will be here in five minutes. Five minutes is hardly enough time to show my love how long two months will be without him. But...I’ll try.