Fic: Ties That Bind

[imogen-lily.livejournal.com]

Ties That Bind

By Imogen

Disclaimer: I don’t know these actors I haven’t met them and have no idea of their sexual preferences. No profit is being made from this.

Pairing: VigOrli

Summary: Life doesn’t follow a map

Rating: PG-13

Notes: This part two of the ‘Exception to the Rule’ mini-series set in the future where Viggo and Orlando have a daughter, Freya. Since a lot of people were curious, this part is told from Orlando’s PoV. There will be a follow up with Viggo's PoV, and possibly a final chapter set further in the future.

Note 2: As with Freya's PoV there is a 'handwritten' version availible at my LJ if any of you wish to see it.

Feedback: Please! You were all so encouraging with the Freya PoV, I’d love see what you think of the ‘follow up’

Thanks to Mags and Steph for beta’ring it both. This story is dedicated to you both. Love you!!



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To say my life hasn’t turned out as planned would be something of an understatement.

For most of my life I’d always had a fairly clear plan of what my life would be, but sometimes the details were a bit sketchy. It was mostly the usual things: partner, children, a place on earth to call my own. Until I was about sixteen I imagined a wife and three kids; hell, there was probably a white picket fence there for all I know.

But I learned fairly early on that fate has a habit of kicking those plans in the teeth, or throwing them out the window completely, which when I think about it, is just as well since I was never one to follow the rule book. Ask my mum or the number of doctors who’ve had to re-set various bones.

I think one of the things that first attracted me to Viggo was that he marched to the beat of his own drum, so to speak. It didn’t hurt that he was one of the most gorgeous people I’d met, male or female. Of course, Viggo doesn’t see that; his own beauty.

People sometimes label me as the ‘pretty one’ but, to me, it’s Viggo. Not that he’s pretty because he’s too ‘manly’ for that. The whole cleft chin doesn’t really give him a feminine appearance, but he is beautiful and, what’s more, he’s got the most beautiful soul I’ve ever seen. I swear I’m not normally this poetic. He brings out a lot in me that I otherwise keep hidden.

But I don’t regret a single moment of it. I refuse to. To do that would be to lose everything I have and, by everything, I mean Viggo, Freya and Henry. Yes, I count Hank (God knows how Fre gets away with still calling him ‘Hen’. Must be the puppy eyes…) as my child, despite that he is now fully grown man with his own life and that I’m not blood related to him. He’s the son of my heart. I’ve known him since he was twelve, and I couldn’t be more proud of him. Vig and Exene did an amazing job and I only hope I am doing half as good a job with Freya. I still get terrified at times that I could’ve been a better father, given up a job role, taken out more time to hug her or read with her; just normal bonding stuff.

I’m a tactile person; always have been. I hug and kiss indiscriminate of gender, and yes, God help me, I squee and giggle like a girl at times and low though it is, I’m not above using ‘puppy dog eyes’ or pouting to make my displeasure known. Some people get nervous around me, especially when I was younger; probably thought I’d dry-hump their leg or something.

But despite my openly affectionate nature, I’ve always been pretty discriminating when it’s come to my partners. Of course, as I’m with Vig it’s rather a moot point anyway, since I take the whole ‘till death do us part’ thing pretty seriously.

I’ve learnt so much from him; I’m spent almost all my adult life with him when I think about it. I sometimes forget I’ve been with him since I was 23. Not bad going as far as ‘Hollywood marriages’ go. I sometimes wonder where all that time has gone. Strange how the years slip away without you noticing. It wasn’t that I didn’t so much notice time slipping away because that would imply I haven’t cared or noticed the time I’ve been with Viggo, but it’s more a case of time almost ceasing to exist, or at least matter when you’re insanely happy and in love…

Our relationship has been one of the most important things in my life. It defines me; anchor’s me in a way that nothing or no one else really can. Actually, that’s not true. Viggo isn’t the only person that anchors me, although at times it feels like it. Freya does that quite well, too.

I shouldn’t really wax lyrical about my daughter. She’s at an age where parents are universally and irredeemably uncool and just generally being in the same vicinity as her is worthy of embarrassment. I think she refers to her beloved parents as ‘randy geezers’. She’s really been hanging around Dom and Beanie too much. I’ll have to talk to them about that.

I think she likes using ‘Brit speak’, as she refers to it. She certainly doesn’t come off as an American teenager. She hasn’t quite got an American accent, and tends to slip into British slang when she’s trying to impress a boy – or when she want to prove just how mature she is. Don’t ask. I’ve been trying to figure her out for fourteen years without any success. So I’ve gracefully admitted defeat.

This really brings me to what all this is about, Freya. In many ways she really is my world. I know she’d hate to hear that, but she is. I sometimes wonder if she knows just how loved and how important she is to Viggo and me. Looking at her I realise how lucky I am to have her.

Children were always something I was adamant I wanted and I figured that someday I’d have some. Three was my ideal number. I didn’t mind the gender, but I remember when growing up how small my family seemed with just Mum, Sam and me. I wanted my children to have a bigger family. I know most kids aren’t massive fans of their siblings when they’re growing up. God knows me and Sam weren’t, but I like to think we’ve grown to appreciate and rely on each other over the years.

I remember when I first got together with Vig. All my plans for life sort of went right out the window. I’d planned at Guildhall to be a theatre actor, believing I could do Lear and Macbeth with the best of them. I never got into acting with the goal of being a ‘sex symbol’ or a movie star. I’d heard too many stories of how people had been chewed up and spat out in their quest for fame and glory. I didn’t want that. Also, more importantly, with the theatre I could be myself. Actors working in theatre were forgiven for not being 100% Full Blooded Hetro Male. I’ve lost count of the number of stage actors who were and are gay or bi. It’s a natural refuge for them. Theatre doesn’t care about blockbusters, pleasing the Moral Majority or its opening weekend box-office. Yet somehow I got sucked into the world that I was determined to avoid.

I’m not going to go into detail about Lord of the Rings because, frankly, there’s nothing new I could add. By now everyone knows I met Viggo there, we fell in love and shagged like bunnies happily ever after. Only it’s never quite that simple. Yes, we fell in love and shagging like bunnies was definitely part of the equation. I hope to God Freya never reads this because like all teenagers, she denies her parents have sex….ever! We all know how wrong and gross that is, but there was – and still is, lot of bunny shagging and, my God, that sounds so wrong phrased that way.

I’m aware I’m babbling; hard to believe I still do that, (Vig calls it ‘endearing’ I call it me being a prat) so I better get back on track again, I guess.

But my life has been far from the fairytale people try to paint it. They see someone who effortlessly won a part of a prancing (or nancing as some bastard Hobbits who will remain anonymous call it) blond elf and then managed to snag some major Hollywood films and roles based on his appearance and ability to speak nicely. I suppose that’s why the critics have always relished taking a chunk out of me, even now I’m an Oscar Winner. I can’t please all of them. Some snidely say I ‘won by an arse’. Now I know how Nicole Kidman feels when people say she won by her ‘Virginia Woolf nose’.

I try not to be narcisstic about my performances. I don’t read through the papers to get every review; that would be an act of masochism and I’m only like that for Vig…please just pretend I didn’t say that. But I have to keep a balance. As long as I feel I’ve done well, my fans aren’t disappointed and Vig and Freya are happy (of course a teenager will never give verbal approval, but I’ve occasionally spotted the odd smile) that’s all I can ask for. I’m very lucky that I have an extremely loyal fan-base, and that directors still trust me. I’ll admit I was amazed when Ridley wanted me for his prohibition epic. I would’ve thought the whole Kingdom episode was enough to put him off. I still get so pissed off when I think how much they butchered that beautiful movie. I only hope enough people got to see the real version. Anyway back to my fan-base (Hank and Freya refer to them as my ‘posse ‘n’ peeps’. Sigh.)

I’ve made some less than successful or conventional films over the years, but my fan bases have stuck by me. Yes, I’ve lost the majority of my ‘teen base’ or ‘tween’ as Freya calls it, but I can’t say I’m heart-broken. Johnny insists it’s because I’m still a pretty boy. Bloody wanker. He keeps ‘idly’ suggesting we make another film, just to see if the screens would explode with our ‘combined hotness.’ Vig thinks it’s a distinct possibility, saying the screens deserve some pity after the Pirates trilogy.

Yep, all my friends and hubby (God I love calling him that) are wankers. I need better friends and a better husband, only kidding.

You know, it’s weird, for someone who’s done speeches in front of thousands of people, you’d think it’d probably be the easiest thing in the world to speak like this, but it isn’t. That’s because this is my heart talking, and that isn’t something I show the world. My heart’s thoughts are private; something the public has no right to. Despite my affectionate manner, I’ve always liked to keep my personal life just that- personal. I don’t like to go around spilling details or dropping hints about my partner or personal heartache, so for me to do it even like this is…strange. Even though no one will see this, it’s hard because there’s so much I want to write down, to confess, admit; remember. So much has happened in my life.

Acting has always come naturally to me. To absorb yourself in someone else’s life is comforting at times. It’s a cliché, I know, but fame really is a two- edged sword. The biggest problem being that there is no ‘off’ button. I can’t suddenly stop being Orlando Bloom, The Actor. Believe me, at times I’ve tried. I’m not trying to garner sympathy or anything, because, when all’s said and done, I chose this life. If I wanted complete anonymity I could’ve chosen to be a teacher or a plumber but, having said that, being so suddenly thrust into Hollywood was a bit of a shocker, to put it mildly. If it hadn’t have been for Viggo and the Fellowship to support me during those few whirlwind years, I think I would’ve gone to pieces.

Most days I can handle media intrusion. I can put up with derogatory comments about my acting ability, my looks and my choice of partner. I can even put up with the interruptions of daily life when a fan wants an autograph or some prat decides to launch into a ‘God hates fags’ spew. It’s amazing that it still offends some people. I’ve always had a ‘don’t like, don’t watch’ perspective to things. Vig says I’m too enlightened for most people. Me? Enlightened, pfft! Hardly agree with that. Some days it feels like I’m still this wide-eyed boy from Canterbury. I don’t see Orlando Bloom Superstar or Oscar winner when I look in the mirror; I’m just someone who’s trying to get by each day and, really, that’s the best I can hope for. It’s all anyone can hope for.

Anyway, back to Vig and Freya. I sometimes think they really are my entire world. Of course the worst thing about that is the possibility that you could lose that world. For most people, it’s a vague possibility that lurks in our minds; sometimes jolted to the forefront when we hear about a car-accident or something. For me, it’s something that very nearly happened and why I cling to every precious memory, every day.

It seems as if I’ve come so close to loosing my world more than once. I don’t wonder how I would function without Freya and Viggo in my life because it terrifies me too much to even contemplate. I always thought I knew what true fear was before I became a parent or even before I met Viggo. Before all of that, to me true fear was losing my believed father, or finding out I wasn’t truly Orlando Bloom, that I was someone else’s child.

It was falling out of a three- story window, thinking I was go to die. It was hearing I would likely never walk again, then wishing I had died.

It was months of painful rehabilitation learning to walk again.

It was flying off to New Zealand to work with people I’d never met before for eighteen months.

Then I fell in love and fear took on a whole new meaning. Amidst the giddiness and ecstasy, there was fear and insecurity over how we’d manage our relationship, both to ourselves and the outside world. How would we deal with a 19 year age gap and being on set? I can still remember the fear surrounding our first fights, thinking it would be over for us, that Viggo would get sick of being with someone so much younger, fear over what would happen after New Zealand…

Then came Henry and fear of his reaction, how he viewed me, if I was good enough for Viggo…the list was endless. At times I could’ve driven myself to distraction with my incessant insecurities.

In spite of all that, nothing can top the fear you experience as a parent. I still remember Freya being born; waiting for her to take that first breath out of the womb was the longest and most painful experience of my life. She was three weeks early and looked so little and so fragile, as if the most minute of movements would break her. I remember crying and desperately thinking; why wouldn’t she cry? It was only a few seconds, but it was agony.

I so badly wanted to protect her from all the evils and hurts of the world but I can’t do that. I’ve had to learn and stand by while she’s fallen off a bike and grazed her knee, had injections, caught chickenpox. I still remember how terrified I was when she broke her arm falling off a swing when she was six. She looked so pale and small as Viggo and I held her on the way to the hospital. She was calmer than the pair of us. The worst thing, though, has been the prejudice she’s had to endure at having two fathers. It’s not just adults that are cruel; they pass their beliefs onto their children and Freya has had to suffer through their narrow-minded bigotry. I sometimes wonder if I have been selfish to have a child and subject her to this, but I can’t regret my choice. I love her too much.

So many people can hurt her. Classmates, tabloid stories…I remember she was so mad when they reported me having an affair with that clingy co-star of mine, Kate, I think (there are so many ‘Kate’s’ in Hollywood, it’s easy to loose track. At least she believed me that I’d never betray Poppy. I thought she was going to explode, and she has quite a temper when she chooses to, and then there’s just the general everyday crap she has to put up with from them.

I still want to skin that little bastard, Luke, for what he did to her. Hank might’ve claimed dibs on beating him up, and I love that he’s so protective of her, but every father reserves the right to deliver his own brand of justice to any male one who upsets his daughter. I don’t care if Freya ‘took care’ of him. I can still remember her crying for days in her room because of that jerk.

Most of my fear has been illogical and I can admit that. All parents fear for their children, fear that something will happen to their partner, that something will come along and destroy their life. We all have our moments of insecurity; then have to brush them aside and get on with life.

It’s what we do or we’d become too scared to live; only sometimes our world does fall apart. It was years ago, but just thinking about it still scares the shit out of me at how close I came to losing everything. I could blame Christian and the photo shoot, but really all Christian did was show the cracks in a slowly disintegrating marriage.

I suppose I should explain Christian. Christian DiMattio, world famous photographer, mentored by Bast, and darling of Vanity Fair. He’s intelligent, charming and extremely good looking. He’s also my ex. First boyfriend to be exact. First everything really. We bolstered each other up a lot during school and then Guildhall. When I got the Ring’s gig we still hooked up occasionally, (although only as friends when Viggo came into the picture) and kept track of each other’s careers. I was pleased he had done so well. He’d worked hard to get to where he was.

Who’d have predicted the two ‘class queers’, ‘Whorli’ and ‘Christy’ would’ve been the most successful in our class? And Freya complains about being nicknamed Freebie….

I hadn’t heard from Christian in a couple of years; then out of the blue, my agent Frankie, Robin the Pit-bull having been ‘removed’ from my services after she was rather vocal in her disapproval of mine and Viggo’s plan to out ourselves. She blamed Viggo for ‘throwing my career away’, so I told her to go, I threw her away you could say.

I’d just been home from my last movie shoot less than a week. It had been a gruelling ten-month shoot and I wanted to just spend some time with Freya and Vig and just relaxing; maybe even doing some sculpting. Vig had been bugging me about putting some of the pieces in his exhibits, but I’d always refused. The last thing I wanted to be accused of was nepotism, besides a lot of my sculpting was really just a way of relaxing, not serious at all.

Christian told me about a special photo-shoot and exhibition being held in Paris, and had practically begged me to be part of it. That’s one thing about Christian. He’s very persuasive.

The idea was that each of the celebrities would make a piece of art, being photographed and interviewed by Christian during the process, and then snapped with the finished product. I’d immediately agreed on the sole condition my normal ‘fee’ to Vanity Fair would be added to the charity proceeds. After that the artworks would go on sale and the entire value would be given to a charity of our choice.

Because of the sheer time it took, I ended up waiting about a month to hear from Christian but, by that time, I was practically dying to go.

Viggo had been unaccountably crabby ever since I mentioned the Vanity Fair shoot. I ended up cutting my conversations short with him, which I don’t normally do because I love talking to Viggo.

We’d ended up arguing over stupid things that came up from nowhere. Mostly over stupid things like making Sidi behave better (Viggo) or leaving paint covered clothes everywhere (me) and Freya seemed to come up a lot as well. We both seemed to have different ideas about how we wanted to raise her.

We’d ended up having a massive argument the night before I left for Paris when I picked up Freya from school to find her crying because of a group of WASP-ish children taunting her about her ‘sinning fathers’. I’d suggested sending her to a more private school, to potentially decrease the chances of bullying. Viggo had been dead set against it and an argument just grew from there. Thankfully Freya was asleep by this time. I sometimes think he forgets how difficult it is being a child. Bullying comes from the most ridiculous things: being too short/tall/fat /thin/rich/ poor/ smart….the list is endless but having two fathers…that is a time-bomb waiting to go off and I told him all of this. So, relations between us weren’t brilliant when he saw me off. It was the first time we hadn’t kissed goodbye. It hurt.

Needless to say, I was surprised when Viggo came down to watch the photo-shoot and was a complete pain in the arse from the beginning. From the moment I mentioned the shoot with Christian he’d been distant, brooding, but now he was snappish and bordering on rude to Christian. I was so embarrassed, especially when Christian was clearly trying to be polite.

It didn’t help that he (Christian) was like me in many respects. We were the same age, enjoyed the same things, had the same weird sense of humour and had a childlike streak to us. He wasn’t intimidated by my huggy nature; in fact he’s probably more tactile than I was.

During the shoot Christian’s hands always seemed to be touching me, my shoulders or stroking my hair, or leaning over as I was sculpting, yet I didn’t feel invaded or intimidated by it. It was just how Christian was and, in some ways, it was almost comforting. It’d felt so long since Viggo touched me.

Christian and I talked about everything and I ended up confiding in him my problems with Viggo. Christian said we probably just needed some time out and I agreed. Every time I looked up I seemed to see Viggo’s glowering face; jaw and fists tense as he pretended to read a book. After being with someone so long, there’s very little you don’t notice about them. Viggo and I notice everything about each other.

By the third evening, I’d had enough of Viggo’s sulking and demanded an explanation. He confessed he didn’t like Christian. He felt Christian was being too familiar; ‘taking liberties’ he called it, and had a reputation of something of a lothario with his clients.

I didn’t take this too well, after all, Christian was one of my oldest friends and who’d know him better than I would? More to the point, I told Viggo that I trusted Christian and he (Viggo) was acting like a jealous child. Viggo’s response was to pack his bags and head home. I never felt so alone as I did as I watched him go. He didn’t look back and I didn’t ask him to stay. Pride has always been humanity’s greatest downfall.

I tried to ring Viggo the next day and apologise but he refused to speak to me; putting me straight onto Freya instead. He’d never done that before. It’s a horrible thing to be rejected by someone you love. Thank God for children and their un-conditional love.

The sculpture took longer than I anticipated. Christian wasn’t happy with the photo angles and we had to re-shoot half of them. During that time we mostly talked; sometimes late into the evening when all the photographing was done. It felt easy to talk to him, although I’m sure the wine probably helped loosen my tongue. I told myself Viggo was wrong.

So what if Christian hugged me or stroked my shoulder? He’d always done that. Besides ex- lovers were bound to have a sense of familiarity. It was nothing that Eric, Beanie or Johnny hadn’t done a hundred times and they weren’t even ex-lovers. Viggo had never complained about that, or numerous hobbit glomps, so why did Christian bother him so much? I never complained about his still close friendship with Exene, so why couldn’t he give Christian……and me….the benefit of the doubt? It felt as if he didn’t trust me and it hurt.

At the end of the shoot I felt more relaxed and freer than I had in years, even though I was still hurting about Viggo’s attitude, and didn’t think twice about agreeing to dinner with Christian.

I know what you all must be thinking. Dinner alone with a handsome man in Paris is just asking for trouble but, at this point, I was beyond caring. If Viggo wasn’t going to make an effort to reconcile why should I? I’d tried for three days to talk to him and each time been rebuffed.

The dinner was amazing, but what else do you expect from the French? We talked and laughed about the shoot, school, our lives – everything really. Christian confessed he was surprised to see me married with a child, especially as I was married to someone ‘as crusty and old’ (Christian’s words) as Viggo.

By the end of the meal I’d consumed quite a bit of wine, and normally would’ve taken offence to Christian’s comment about Viggo’s age, but instead I was practically leaning on Christian and didn’t see anything wrong with his suggestion to come back to his hotel for a nightcap.

With Christian I had someone I could really talk to; unburden myself. Once that had been Viggo, but slowly and surely, a wall had recently sprung up between us, one which I had no idea how break down, and I was tired of trying.

As I was telling this to Christian I found myself crying in his arms. For myself, for Viggo, for what I was losing. I was about to apologise when I felt Christian kiss me; not the comforting kind of kiss but an all encompassing kiss, like the ones that used to make me weak in the knees, so many years ago, as he clasped onto my arm, trying to pull me closer.

Horrified, I pushed away from him, demanding to know what he was doing. Christian’s easy smile confirmed everything. I felt like such a complete idiot. Always the charmer. When he leant over to kiss me again, I got really angry; practically sprang up to get away. As I was grabbing my bag, Christian caught my arm, leant towards me and cupped my face. He asked why I was leaving, if things were so bad with Viggo as they seemed from what I had told him than he’d wait for me to separate from him. I told him he’d obviously forgotten something important about me. I was a fighter. I didn’t look back as I left Christian. He was smart enough to know when he’d lost. He lost me years ago, but it took me a while to realise this.

I spent the entire journey back agonising over what to say to Viggo. I knew it wasn’t just Christian and the shoot that had knocked us this far off course. I felt as if I barely knew Viggo anymore and was desperate to just re-connect with him, to give our marriage a fighting chance. I’ve never been one to give up easily. I refused to face a future in a wheelchair and I refused to lose my marriage.

That resolve seemed to die as soon as I got home. Everything was eerily quiet. I found Freya tucked in bed but no Viggo in our room. Instead I found him draped over his desk in his art room, a half finished canvas pushed to one side, slash marks marring the potential beauty of the piece. More telling still were the small collection of beer bottles empty on the desk, not to mention a half- drunk bottle of wine. Viggo was never much of a drinker but, when morose, he can drink Johnny under the table, and that takes some doing. Drinking was always a bad sign. Tentatively, I reached out my hand and shook him awake.

I wished I hadn’t.

After Viggo’s bloodshot eyes managing to focus on me, he frowned; then his eyes narrowed. He asked what I was doing back and I explained the shoot with Christian was finished and I was back home. Viggo looked at me for a moment, then smiled bitterly, asking how much Christian paid to fuck an ‘old buddy’, pointing out I should have got at least a hundred. Viggo has an acidic tongue when he’s drunk. I felt all the air go out of my lungs at once.

Then, without another word, he walked away into the kitchen. I felt so dirty. My husband had all but called me a whore. I could’ve left then, but I didn’t. I’ve never have known when to quit.

Instead I followed him into the kitchen. Ever mindful of our sleeping daughter, I hissed at him that I’d never slept Christian during the shoot; I’ve never wanted to. I looked Viggo in the eye and told him I’d always been faithful to him, that Christian had just been a friend and an ex. At Viggo’s disbelieving face I admitted Christian had kissed me but that I pushed him away.

At that point Viggo burst out laughing, it was an ugly sound, bordering on the hysterical. I was terrified he’d wake up Freya and demanded he keep the noise down. The last thing I wanted was for her to hear this. No child should here their parents fighting.

I asked him what I could do to make things better, if not for us than Freya. Viggo whirled on me stating it wasn’t his problem, Freya was more my child than his. At that point I snapped, and retorted I should’ve slept with Christian. The second I said it, I regretted it, but I didn’t apologise. As I turned to leave, Viggo grabbed me, shoving me against the door and demanded to know where I was going. Without thinking I replied ‘to get fucked by someone who’s not you.’

I knew I’d crossed the line when Viggo hit me.

I heard more than felt the punch as it connected with my jaw, though it hurt. You wouldn’t think it, but Viggo is a strong guy, and he’d pulled his punch at the last minute, but it still hurt like hell. I remember the sickly feeling of blood on mouth, and I was just frozen.

The second it was over, probably even before that, Viggo looked horrified. Sick with himself. We both knew we’d crossed some unspoken line. He immediately removed his grip, his eyes darting over me assessing the damage and reached out to touch me, but I pulled away, tears in my eyes. He had an expression of anger mingled with fear. I heard him try to apologise but I wouldn’t listen, I couldn’t even look at him; the man I’ve loved for so long. I just remember telling him to get out, there was no raised voice, no anger in my tone when I told him that, it probably came out as more of a whisper than anything, but I couldn’t stop trembling.

As illogical as it was, I was terrified he’d end up hitting Freya as well, even though he’s never hurt her, or me before. Viggo left without a word and, that evening, I cried myself to sleep, my face aching but my heart shattered.

Next morning I made sure to carefully cover the bruise before I woke up Freya, there was no way I ever wanted her to find out what had happened last night. She adored her Poppy and that was how it should be. I had no idea when Viggo would be back and, frankly, I didn’t care. I told her Poppy had gone to visit grandma for a bit. She nodded and stroked my face, as if she was trying to heal the pain there.

Frankie advised me to apply for a legal separation, citing it was best for not only Freya but for myself. It seemed she’d figured out what’d happened between me and Viggo without any words being exchanged. I eventually agreed to meet with a solicitor, and have some papers drawn up, if only to get her off my back for a while. She was scary when it comes to protecting me. I almost broke down when they arrived the next day.

As the days slipped by, I finally gathered up the courage to ring Viggo. He sounded terrible and admitted he was staying at a hotel ‘for now’. When I asked why he hadn’t gone to stay with Sean or one of our other friends he replied he was too ashamed. I told him to go stay with someone who’d actually take care of him. A part of me yelled to just take Viggo back but, even if he hadn’t hit me, I couldn’t. It was like we’d forgotten how to love each other. It essentially came down to this: were we prepared to fight for our love?

The question was answered when Dom, Billy and Lij demanded I meet them for lunch, since I’d become pretty much a recluse since Viggo walked out. Initially I refused on grounds of Freya needing me, but the bastards brought in Mum to handle that, and Mum was adamant I got out of the house.

When I met at the appointed place (a rather nice looking hotel room), I found a gaggle of shifty looking hobbits that ushered me into a side room, only to be confronted by Viggo. They must’ve seen the surprise and murder in my eyes because I’ve never seen any creatures move so fast. For about ten minutes we just stood there feeling awkward.

He looked worse than he sounded. It wasn’t so much his appearance, he’s never been overly fussed with being immaculately dressed and coifed at the best of times, but it was the eyes that were the most haunting. They just looked so broken and at that moment I knew I had to fight for us, regardless of what happened, because I loved him.

Suddenly Viggo pulled me close to him, wrapping his arms around me as he buried his head in my hair and cried. He kept apologising for everything; then I started crying and apologising. That was when we began to talk again. Properly this time. No accusations or blaming. We’d both acted badly after all. He admitted he’d left because he was scared. Viggo’s a pacifist, always has been, and the idea that he could hurt someone he loves terrified him. I can relate to that.

My mum seemed more than happy to take care of Freya for a couple of days while Viggo and I sorted things out and ‘re-connected’ If I didn’t know better I could’ve sworn she sounded smug.

It wasn’t easy. Unlike the movies, a swooping kiss or an ‘I love you’ doesn’t magically fix things, it was slow and painful but we worked at it.

I can still remember Viggo’s face when I told him I wanted him back home. He never kissed me for so long. But more than that was Freya’s face when she saw Viggo come through the door. He just scooped her up and twirled her around as she clung onto his neck. It wasn’t until Freya called my name that I seemed to snap out my trance. While still in Viggo’s arms, she flung her arms around me, and demanded that ‘Poppy kissed Daddy.’ Who am I to disobey my daughter?

I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a kiss so much.

Being there in Viggo’s arms, with Freya wrapped around me, I couldn’t have wished for anything more. I know the whole separation affected Freya a lot more than she let on, but she still refuses to talk about it, claiming ‘it’s so yesterday.’ I think that’s her way of telling us that she’s glad her Daddy and Poppy are still together and ‘suck face’, although we try to keep the PDAs to a minimum. I’d hate to emotionally scar her for life. Hank claims his sister should remain innocent and unafraid.

Of course, that being said, I’m beginning to wonder if Milo might turn out to be more than a friend. Milo’s not the only one who makes puppy dog eyes when he thinks no one is watching…

END

Comments

[littlegreenleaf.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much for the dedication! It's a great fic, darlin'. And it's all yours!!!

Love you!

[imogen-lily.livejournal.com]

You deserve the dedication sweetie! I'm so glad you like it, your opinion means a lot to me, and I'm not just saying that.

*hugs you very tightly*

love you!!

[stormatdusk.livejournal.com]

this is adorable... and addictive! can't wait for more.

[imogen-lily.livejournal.com]

thanks so much! it's good to know it's addictive *g*, I'll get on with writting Viggo's POV as soon as possible

thans again!

[foxrafer.livejournal.com]

This is a great addition. I'm really curious to hear Viggo's side of the story now.

[vatulele.livejournal.com]

Lovely, lovely chapter! This is a very good (mini?) series and the more I look at the banner for this fic the more Anne Hathaway looks like a combo of our two favorite men. Can't wait for Viggo's side of the story!

[imogen-lily.livejournal.com]

thanks so much! Freya's Pov was orginally a one-off but it's sort of become a mini-series. I agree with you about Anne Hathaway. I really like her as an actress anyway but I thought she definately looked like she could be related to Orli and Viggo.

Hopefully Viggo's PoV should follow in a few days, as long as the muses co-operate

thanks again for the feedback!