vigorli

Title: Breathing Room (12/?)
Author: Rainweaver13
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Summary: Shooting stars and falling dreams

Rating/Warnings: R. All made up. Fiction. There's not a lick of truth in it.
Disclaimer: Don't own them; don't know anything about them - they are their own.
A/N: Feedback helped a lot with this chapter, which was a stone bitch to write. It'd help with the rest, too, I bet.
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Previous Chapters Look under Personal Fics

January 2003

"Have fun in Japan?"

"It was all right. Better than some. Wish you'd been there."

"Looked like you were having a good time with Karl, from the pictures."

A long-distance chuckle. "About like the good time you were having with those models at that party in London."

"I wasn't in bed with those models."

"You've got to be kidding. That was a photo stunt, Lan. John and Yoko. Give peace a chance. Or haven't you noticed there's a serious rush to a ridiculous war going on?"

"Didn't look so serious, all smiles and peace signs."

"Your country's complicit, too, y'know. Tony Blair's just operating as an enabler-"

"Look, I'm tired. I don't want to talk fucking politics."

"Fine."

"I miss you, Vig."

"Miss you, too, Lan."

February 2003

"Babe, I'd love to be able to just drop everything and fly across the world to spend a weekend with you, but it's not that easy."

"It's not like you're working on a movie."

"There's more to my life than movies, Lan."

"Oh, and you're saying there's not to mine?"

"I never said that." Soothing. "I've just got an exhibit coming up in New York in early March and another in Cuba in May, and that takes a lot of prep work. There's Perceval just getting off the ground. And I'm still doing promo for Hidalgo in South America."

Sigh. "I know you're busy. But just for a weekend?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"I love you, Vig."

"Miss you, elf boy."

March 2003

"You were in town and you didn't come by. What's up?"

"I had a lot of people to see. And I figured you were too busy with your shows and stuff."

"Orlando, you know I'm never too busy for you."

"Really?"

"Really."

March 2003 take 2

"You make a nice-looking couple."

"Don't bullshit me, Viggo. You know I hate this."

"Then say no. You can do that."

"I can't. Robin says the rumors about me being gay are getting too widespread. She says they'll hurt my bankability. Kate's my cover."

"...."

"Viggo?"

"First time I've ever been covered. Just trying on the idea."

"Don't try to guilt me, dammit. I knew you'd never agree to this. That's why I didn't ask you. You just don't understand, Viggo. You don't understand how bad I want this. It's all I've ever wanted. Acting doesn't matter to you. You've got your art, your exhibits. You've got people eating out of your hands. They love you, Vig. All mysterious and crazy-intense. All I've got is this one thing. I can act a little. I've got to do everything I can to make it work. I knew I'd have to make some sacrifices."

"Guess I just didn't really expect to be one of them so soon .... Tell Kate hi from me."

April 2003

"Hey, it's me. Viggo. Just... um... shit, I hate these things. Always forget what I meant to say. But ... anyway ... wanted to wish you luck on starting Troy. You're playing with the big boys now, Lan. You've taken off like a bottle rocket. I always knew you would. I just... I miss you, elf boy. Remember Seans's there if you need anything. I lo-...."

April 2003 take 2

"It's good of you to act like you called to talk to me, Vig, but we both know what you really want."

"Am I that transparent?"

"As glass, y'bloody wanker. The boy's doing fine. He's nervous. First time with up-top billing around some big stars, but he's handling it just great."

"Keep an eye on him, Sean. I... don't hear from him as much as I did, and sometimes I ... y'know..."

"Worry? You worry about your lover? How normally human of you."

"Fucker."

"No, that would be you."

"Listen, um.... this Eric Bana fella... is he...?"

"Married, happily as far as I can tell, with two small children. He seems to feel a bit protective toward our elf. Not a bad thing. ... Vig... Why aren't you talking to Orli about these things?"

"It's... mmm... kind of difficult for us to get in touch these days."

"When's the last time you called him?"

"Few days ago. Got his machine. Hate those fucking things. Get it all the time when I call him."

"Vig, when's the last time he called you?"

".... Not sure. Not long. A month, I guess. Maybe."

June 2003, Wellington. Reshoots.

"Does Viggo seem a bit.. well... subdued to you?"

"No more than usual. Probably having some artsy epiphany while we're all sleeping."

---
"I asked Viggo today how Orli's doing in Malta, and he snapped at me."

"Viggo snapped at you? Our Viggo?"

"Swear on a stack of Bibles."

---
"Vig, how's Orli doing? I haven't heard from him in months."

"He's okay, Liv. Making adjustments to being a big star."

"Is he treating you right, love?"

Soft laugh. "You know Orli."

"I thought I did. But I thought he'd stay in touch better, too."

"We'll all see each other in December, if not before. Don't worry."

June 2003 take 2. The LA house.

"How long are you here?"

"Nine days. I leave after the Pirates premiere at Disneyland on the 28th oh god god..."

"I leave on the ... uh... 27th for Denmark... reading."

"Seven days then."

"Let me... here... god, I've missed... don't want to miss.... ah fuck... ah..."

"Yes... yes... jesus christ wait ... wait... let me... I... I..."

"....."

"....."

"Don't you leave me, Orlando. Don't do it."

"Never, my king. Never."

For seven glorious days, they worked on settling back into comfortable ways. For seven days, Viggo never mentioned Kate or Orlando's schedule. For seven days, Orlando made no snipes about Viggo's artsy friends or his poetry readings or his politics. Henry, now 15, came to visit for two days and subjected Orlando to videogame tournaments and marathon music binges, declaring when he left that "Orli's still cool."

To make up for all that not talking, they fucked like rabbits, crazed rabbits, rabbits on speed, rabbits on quaaludes. When they were too tired for any more fucking, they made slow lazy love in late afternoons and close to midnight. They fed each other in bed. They took more showers than were strictly necessary.

It all had a dreamlike quality of muffled fear, of something dark and implacable hiding in the near distance. One night Viggo found himself standing in the dark living room, naked, Anduril in hand, thinking foggily that maybe somehow he could stop this thing that was surely approaching. Eventually the dream cleared and he carefully laid the sword back into its place on the wall, heading back to slide into bed behind Orlando. He laid his head on one bent arm and wrapped the other one around the leanly muscled body, resting his face against chocolate curls.

"You're a star, Orlando," he whispered into the silent darkness. "But you were never just a rock. And I'm a fool."

He splayed his hand across the warm hard belly and lay curled against the familiar body until the sun rose.

I read your breath like shorthand
secret code from your hidden soul
At peace deep, soft, slow
Lost shallow, fitful, restless
Sometimes I wake in hell
to no message
A silence so profound it flays the soul
To reach out is terror-filled
Will I find you there, your breath light,
still writing shorthand in the night?
Or will this be the time that you're gone?

August 2003
"We're sorry. This number is no longer in service."

September 2003
"Vig! Hello!" Laughing in the background, glass clinking, music. All suddenly shut off. "Haven't heard from you in forever."

"Orlando." A major attempt to remain utterly calm. "Your cell was disconnected and your people are very protective. Robin didn't see fit to give me your new number."

"She what?! I can't believe- My cell was changed? When?"

"About a month ago."

"Christ, she's a bastard." A sudden blare of noise and a female voice. "Not right now, baby. I'm talking to someone.... An old friend."

An old friend. Viggo closed his eyes and remembered all the reasons why he should never have let himself get involved in this relationship. He remembered, in an abrupt and unwanted mental slideshow, every fucking picture he'd seen in recent months of Orlando and Kate. Holding hands. Kissing. Hugging. Smiling. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Vig, are you still there?"

"Um-hmm."

"Look, I'm in Vegas at this crazy zumanity party and it's just wild. You wouldn't believe the people who're here."

"Sounds... exuberant."

"Exuberant, shit. And the show was incredible. Just bloody amazing. Look, I'm going to be in LA on the 20th of October, for the Hollywood Awards Gala. Can we get together?"

"I'm kinda busy that day, Lan."

"Surely you can get out of it, whatever it is."

Viggo leaned over and thumped his forehead against the wall, slowly, rhythmically. He doesn't remember. "I don't think so. I'll be in New York on the 24th, though. Didn't I read somewhere that you'll be there?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'll have to check with Robin to be sure. We'll get together then, okay?"

"Sure thing, Lan."

"Gotta run. Somebody's calling me from the party. Miss you, Vig." And he was gone.

No, you don't, Viggo thought, and set the phone gently back down in its cradle.

---
On October 20th, Viggo turned 45. The Hobbits, minus Astin, came over to deliver gag gifts and keep him company. Henry was there. A few friends stopped by or called.

That evening, Orlando won the Breakthrough Award at the Hollywood Awards Gala. Eric Bana (Married, With Children) was there, hugging him and smiling. Viggo read all about it in the next morning's papers.

October 24:
"I completely forgot it was your birthday the other day, mate. I'm so sorry."

"No problem." Viggo stood, hands in overcoat pockets, outside the Regency Hotel in New York City. Orlando had just extricated himself from the hotel and run over for a quick hug and an apology. He glowed with Caribbean tan and smelled like several hundred dollars worth of styling products.

"Hey, look, I'm supposed to drag you to this supercool new club..."

Viggo shook his head, reached up to tug at one ear a bit, nervously. "I know a pub a couple blocks from here. Let's go there."

Orlando stilled himself and seemed to really look at Viggo for the first time, then nodded slowly. "Sure. Sure, love."

They walked in silence to the dingy little pub, found a free booth, ordered pints. They'd just started working their way toward a conversation when a tourist with a camera approached, begging pardon and pleading for just one picture. So they pulled on their photo smiles, made the expected clowning moves, and then there was another person with a camera, and napkins being shoved their way. Orlando was grinning and loving it, but Viggo felt his soul being pulled out by the roots. As soon as he could politely do it, he excused himself and Orlando, pleading another appointment, and pulled them from the pub.

"Now what?" Orlando asked, sounding ever so slightly miffed.

"We can just sit in the park." Viggo nodded toward Central Park. "It'll be quiet there. Maybe."

"Don't know 'bout you, but I could do with a beer."

"Fine," Viggo snapped, glanced around, and darted into the nearest liquor store. Three minutes later he was back out and tossing a six-pack to Orlando. "Beer. Let's go."

Orlando set his jaw and glared, but Viggo paid him no attention, simply heading for the corner and waiting for a chance to cross the busy street. Orlando followed slowly, and eventually they ended up in the park, slightly off the paths, hugging the ends of a park bench. Orlando set the six-pack down between them, pulled one loose and popped the top.

"Piss," he said after a test taste, as if confirming a suspicion. "Americans cannot make beer."

"Y'don't like it, don't drink it."

"You gonna tell me what's going on, Viggo? I thought everything was good with us back in LA."

"That was in June, Lan."

"So?"

"So it's October. Four months of me trying to chase you down long enough to talk on the phone, much less see each other. And let's don't forget your helpful agent changing your fucking phone number and shutting me out."

"I've been busy."

"Not so busy you haven't had time to be in a million set-up shots with Kate." Viggo shook his head and lurched up, pacing in front of the bench. "Never mind that."

"You're jealous." Orlando's voice was disbelieving.

"No I'm not. Or- yes, I am. But not how you think."

"Y'know, I don't have time for this," Orlando said abruptly. "I thought what we had was adult. No strings."

The final arrow jammed straight into Viggo's heart. Searching Orlando's face in the yellow light of an elderly streetlamp, he saw defiance and anger in luminous brown eyes, but he also saw fear.

"Fuck buddies, you mean?" he said softly, stepping over to the bench to cup Orlando's chin and pull him up. "We never meant anything to each other beyond a lot of hot sex?"

Orlando swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against Viggo's hand. "I don't know why you're doing this," he said.

"What am I doing, Orlando?"

"Making it a big deal." A tremor ran through the familiar body, more bulky now thanks to months on Troy. "I love you, Viggo."

"Do you?"

"You know I do."

"When's the last time you called me, Lan? The last time you called me?"

"I- I'm not sure. We talk a lot."

"Because I call you. Before the zumanity show, the last time you called me was in January."

"No, that's not right. It can't be right."

"It's right, Orlando. When's the last time you came to visit me on set, or at a show?"

"I- um- well, Robin says...-"

"Never. I always come to you. And I've got to face an unpleasant fact, Orli." He twisted the name into a snarl. "You don't know what you want."

"But- but... I do. I know I want you."

"No you don't. If you wanted me, I'd be part of your life. I'm not. I'm a loose end that chases you around and I'm tired of it."

Viggo brushed his knuckles tenderly down the side of Orlando's face, then bent down to press a tender kiss to those familiar lips. Orlando opened his lips, offering entry, but Viggo kept it chaste. "I love you, Orlando," he said softly at the end of the kiss. "I do, god help me. When you decide what you want, if it's me, you know where to find me. I'm where I've always been."

By the time Orlando gathered his wits enough to respond, Viggo was out of sight deep in the park. Probably going to sit on some damn rock and meditate all night, Orlando thought. Well, he sure as hell wasn't going to cry about this. He was going back to his hotel room, take something for his back and see if the party at the new club was still going on. Because he had better things to do than mope over a fling with some old man that was never going to last anyway. And it must have started raining, because those damned sure weren't tears on his face.

December 2003, Wellington, RotK Premiere

Wellington was a genuinely great time. Any problems any cast and crew had with each other were put away for a day of sheer celebration of Peter Jackson's achievement. Viggo and Orlando, both very good actors, worked hard to convince everyone they couldn't be happier to be at the parade, the events, the premiere. Viggo honestly enjoyed the show of his photography, and was glad to see several of his cast mates come to view it.

Orlando did not come.

After the long flight back to the states came the L.A. premiere, and another mob of fans, reporters and photographers to look deliriously happy for. They did it. They were very good at their jobs. But the hugging and smooching and touching began to grate on Viggo after three solid days, and his temper broke abruptly during the premiere's after-party. He excused himself on the grounds of a crushing headache and locked himself away in his room.

Late that night, after the party had finally wound down, Orlando was undressing for bed when a soft knock came at his door. "Who the fuck?" he murmured, crossing carefully toward the door.

"Let me in." The voice was quiet but carrying, and absolutely familiar.

Orlando yanked the door open. "Viggo?"

Stepping inside, Viggo closed the door softly behind him and locked it. "What do you want, Orlando?"

"What do I... what?"

Viggo stepped within Orlando's comfort zone, an arm outstretched to keep him from stepping away, and angled them both toward the wall. "What exactly is it that you want from me?"

"I... um..." Orlando's gaze darted around the room, settled back on Viggo's face. "I don't-"

His answer was truncated by a kiss, a surprisingly gentle kiss that let him relax a little. Then the kiss changed, inevitable and unstoppable as a volcanic eruption. It grew harder, more heated, more passionate. Orlando surrendered to it as Viggo pressed him against the wall, savoring the taste of smoke and whisky.

"Is this what you want?" the familiar raspy voice murmured, lips moving down his neck, nipping at his throat, mouth latching onto the curve of neck and shoulder.

"I thought- I... Vig..."

Then the mouth was on his again, devouring him, and the familiar hard body was trying to press him through the wall and Orlando felt all his reluctance give way with a crash as he yanked Viggo's shirt free and ran his hands up onto the hard-muscled back.

Abruptly Viggo picked him up - not as easy as it was a few years ago, but he could still do it - hauled him over to the bed and threw him onto it. Before he'd stopped bouncing, Viggo had his own shirt and Orlando's boxers ripped off, and when they came together it was brutal. Hard, fast, unforgiving, painful. When it was over, Orlando hugged himself and huddled on the side of the bed against the wall.

"Okay, I fucked you," Viggo said, wiping sweat with a forearm. "That what you've been after?"

"N-no. Not just-"

"You need to fuck me, too? Get it out of your system? 'Cause we can do that."

"No.... no...."

He looked so small, Mr. Big Movie Star, and Viggo felt like twelve varieties of assorted shit. He wasn't cut out for this, this bad guy stuff. He just couldn't maintain the rage.

"C'mere," he said, pulling the younger man into his arms and resting his face against the familiar curls. "Just go to sleep, hmmm? Maybe I'll see you at the breakfast in the morning, that okay?"

"I don't understand you, Viggo," Orlando whispered, cuddling up against him under the sheets,

"Take a number," Viggo murmured, and lay awake until the light outside began to change, listening to Orlando breathe. Then he slipped silently out of the bed, out of the room, and back home. He didn't go to the breakfast.

December 2003 - December 2004

Both Orlando and Viggo are frantically busy, crisscrossing the globe, never resting. Orlando continues to see Kate. Viggo is occasionally mentioned as dating someone, but it never lasts. Their friends notice that both of them are becoming increasing tired, haggard looking.

Such is life, when you're a big star.

--------------------------------------------------------

Viggo Mortensen is an angry man. It is his darkest and most profound secret. Unable to vent it, he turns it inward, into infrequent but black depressions. In part, it was the anger that drew him and Exene together, each recognizing the darkness in the other, the need for purging, she with music, he through art. Later it helped tear them apart as she mastered her anger better, while he simply learned to bury his deeper.

He's gained a reputation for playing parts with tenderness, hints of tightly controlled emotion. His characters fight, scream, rage, but still they keep intact that last bit of control that never goes.

But the rage is there, for those who look. It's there in the climactic scene of "Indian Runner," when director Sean Penn closed the set and goaded him until he pushed Viggo over the boundary into Frankie's rage, resulting in a gut-wrenching scene of violence. It's there in the stunt men who hesitated sometimes to go up against him in battle scenes during the interminable filming of the Rings trilogy, because he would lose track, forget to hold back.

Anger drives his painting as well, and his need to get away. Anger drives many of the most vital parts of his artistic life, and he dances with it warily.

Because anger shoves away, and Viggo doesn't need any more reasons to be alone.