Out of the Darkness...Light (3/?)
Jul. 4th, 2007 11:42 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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vigorli Title: Out of the Darkness...Light (3/?)
Author: DS
Pairing: Orlando/Viggo
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Orlando undergoes a terrible, life-shattering experience, but
will
find a light at the end of the tunnel
Warnings: Mentions of rape and violence; extreme emotional suffering
Disclaimer: I have no affiliations with any of the actors, only the
plot is mine.
Feedback: I'd love to hear what you think.
Note: I originally began writing and posting this story several years ago,
but was sidetracked by real life and had to put the story on the shelf.
I'm
back now and want to finish it, so I'm going to post it once again. I'm
starting at the beginning, for those who missed it the first time:)
CHAPTER THREE
Peter Jackson looked perturbed. They weren’t finished for the day and one
of his stars was leaving of his own accord—without even being dismissed.
The Hobbits, sensing their director’s mood and the fact that he was heading
for a blowup, took matters into their own hands. Elijah caught Peter’s
attention and nodded in Orlando’s direction, holding up a hand to hold him
off and to prevent him from saying anything…yet. The portly director
acquiesced slowly and Elijah trotted after Orlando, closely followed by Dom,
Billy and Sean Astin.
Viggo watched as the Hobbits converged on the young man, who
had stopped about twenty yards away from the Moria set. Around him, he
could hear the murmur of voices as people used the opportunity to relax and
visit for a moment. But his eyes were fixed on the boy who now stood silent
and unnaturally stiff, surrounded by Hobbit friends who were giving him
exaggerated pats on the back and arms around the shoulders. Orlando seemed
unmoved by it all. In fact, Viggo saw Elijah lean in and say something to
him—almost conspiratorially—
have elicited at least the smile of a coconspirator. But the older man didn
’t see that. In fact, he didn’t see anything. Just the stiff figure of an
unnaturally taciturn and morose young man. One who was not responding as
usual to the overtures of his friends.
Just as Viggo began to wonder if he was the only one noticing
the changes in the young elf, he felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced
over to his right to see Beanie, whose eyes were narrowed in concern as he,
too, gazed over at the huddled group of young men and took in what wasn’t
happening. Orlando wasn’t laughing. Orlando wasn’t responding. Orlando
wasn’t moving. Quite the opposite. The normally animated young man looked
like a statue—a statue so brittle it was close to breaking. Viggo shook his
head as he looked back at the object of his worry. Something was definitely
not right.
And then, before he had time for another thought, time stood
still. Before his eyes—and everyone else’s—Orlando Bloom closed his eyes
and fell to the ground in a dead faint. The move was so unexpected that
even the Hobbits, clustered around him as they were, were taken by surprise
and simply stared at their comrade as he hit the dirt. Absolute
silence—stunned shock; even Peter stopped talking as everyone stared at the
seemingly boneless figure sprawled in the dust.
The Hobbits, being the closest, moved first. Viggo stood
frozen in shock as Sean Astin dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse
while the Elijah, Dom and Billy clustered close. He felt the hand leave his
shoulder as Beanie sprinted over to join them, Ian right behind him. And
then—mass chaos as everyone rushed to get as close as possible without being
in the way.
"Medic!" Viggo heard someone scream in a voice near panic.
That got him moving and his feet moved of their own accord to carry him to
the knot of people surrounding the fallen actor. He didn’t even think as he
elbowed people aside to get to the front of the group. And then he came to
a standstill. Orlando Bloom lay crumpled at his feet, still lying on his
side, one arm flung out, fingers loose and boneless. Viggo found himself
mesmerized by those long, graceful fingers. They were so still. He barely
noticed when Peter bumped into him as he, too, pushed his way to the front
of the crowd.
There was more commotion as Mary Williams, the medic on duty, pushed her
way through the crowd and knelt down beside the unconscious young man.
"Move back," she announced in a businesslike voice without even looking up
from her patient. "Give us some room here."
Cast and crew moved back. They knew better than to mess with Mary
Williams. The forty-something medic could be very motherly and attentive to
her patients, but she was also known for her brusque, no-nonsense manner if
someone crossed her. If she said move, you moved. No one wanted to find
out what would happen if they didn’t.
"What happened?" she asked as she took vitals, looking here, listening
there, writing everything down.
Beanie took charge. "He just fainted. But…he’s been off allday. Not
himself. And he came in this morning looking like…that…" he trailed off,
gesturing at the bruises covering Orlando’s face and neck. Mary took note,
running her experienced fingers over them and down the side of the neck.
"Any idea what happened?" she asked.
"Looks like Orlando got lucky. Or someone else did," someone in the back
sniggered. Viggo wasn’t sure who it was—a crew member most likely—but he
knew that he’d be shooting daggers if he had eyes in the back of his head.
"No!" Elijah protested. "That’s not like Orli. He’s not into that!"
Silence from the back. Evidently, others were shooting daggers.
Mary had finished her preliminary examination and, evidently determining
that there were no major broken bones from the fall, moved to roll the young
man onto his back so she could better examine him. Without even realizing
he’d done it, Viggo fell to his knees and grasped a thin shoulder, in an
attempt to help her. He raised his eyes in surprise at what he felt.
"He’s burning up!"
"Yes. 103.2 degrees. Not good. Let’s get this shirt open and see what’s
going on." That said, she began unbuttoning Orlando’s shirtsleeve, frowning
as it opened to reveal more bruising on the thin wrist.
Viggo looked closely and spied what he thought were finger marks that went
all the way around the wrist. What had happened last night? But it was
Mary opened the shirt that Viggo realized the full impact of the situation.
His eyes were drawn helplessly to the slender torso that was no longer
flawless. Instead, it was covered with dark, ugly bruises. They were
everywhere, even running down beneath the waistband of the loose jeans
Orlando was wearing. Loud intakes of breath all around, followed by stunned
silence.
Mary broke it. "This boy’s been beaten. Violently. We need to get him to
a hospital, now. Someone call an ambulance."
It was at that moment that Orlando Bloom decided to regain consciousness.
With a sharp intake of breath, he moaned quietly and rolled his head to the
side, eyes still closed. Viggo, realizing that he was only semiconscious
and not totally aware of his surroundings, reached over to grasp the nearest
hand, holding it gently. He stroked the hot forehead, murmuring quietly,
"it’s alright, Orlando. You’re going to be alright. Help is on the way."
All of his previous anger had vanished the moment the boy had collapsed.
Now, Viggo was filled with another type of anger, this one much more deadly
than the first—directed at some unnamed person or persons—whoever had done
this to his young costar. He also felt a surge of protectiveness towards
this boy and he vowed to himself that nothing further would happen to
Orlando Bloom.
"Hurts," Orli whispered. "It hurts." A shaky hand moved to his abdomen
and rested there as he started coughing. It was just as he began spitting
up blood that the ambulance arrived, much to everyone’s relief.
Peter Jackson looked perturbed. They weren’t finished for the day and one
of his stars was leaving of his own accord—without even being dismissed.
The Hobbits, sensing their director’s mood and the fact that he was heading
for a blowup, took matters into their own hands. Elijah caught Peter’s
attention and nodded in Orlando’s direction, holding up a hand to hold him
off and to prevent him from saying anything…yet. The portly director
acquiesced slowly and Elijah trotted after Orlando, closely followed by Dom,
Billy and Sean Astin.
Viggo watched as the Hobbits converged on the young man, who
had stopped about twenty yards away from the Moria set. Around him, he
could hear the murmur of voices as people used the opportunity to relax and
visit for a moment. But his eyes were fixed on the boy who now stood silent
and unnaturally stiff, surrounded by Hobbit friends who were giving him
exaggerated pats on the back and arms around the shoulders. Orlando seemed
unmoved by it all. In fact, Viggo saw Elijah lean in and say something to
him—almost conspiratorially—
have elicited at least the smile of a coconspirator. But the older man didn
’t see that. In fact, he didn’t see anything. Just the stiff figure of an
unnaturally taciturn and morose young man. One who was not responding as
usual to the overtures of his friends.
Just as Viggo began to wonder if he was the only one noticing
the changes in the young elf, he felt a hand on his shoulder and glanced
over to his right to see Beanie, whose eyes were narrowed in concern as he,
too, gazed over at the huddled group of young men and took in what wasn’t
happening. Orlando wasn’t laughing. Orlando wasn’t responding. Orlando
wasn’t moving. Quite the opposite. The normally animated young man looked
like a statue—a statue so brittle it was close to breaking. Viggo shook his
head as he looked back at the object of his worry. Something was definitely
not right.
And then, before he had time for another thought, time stood
still. Before his eyes—and everyone else’s—Orlando Bloom closed his eyes
and fell to the ground in a dead faint. The move was so unexpected that
even the Hobbits, clustered around him as they were, were taken by surprise
and simply stared at their comrade as he hit the dirt. Absolute
silence—stunned shock; even Peter stopped talking as everyone stared at the
seemingly boneless figure sprawled in the dust.
The Hobbits, being the closest, moved first. Viggo stood
frozen in shock as Sean Astin dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse
while the Elijah, Dom and Billy clustered close. He felt the hand leave his
shoulder as Beanie sprinted over to join them, Ian right behind him. And
then—mass chaos as everyone rushed to get as close as possible without being
in the way.
"Medic!" Viggo heard someone scream in a voice near panic.
That got him moving and his feet moved of their own accord to carry him to
the knot of people surrounding the fallen actor. He didn’t even think as he
elbowed people aside to get to the front of the group. And then he came to
a standstill. Orlando Bloom lay crumpled at his feet, still lying on his
side, one arm flung out, fingers loose and boneless. Viggo found himself
mesmerized by those long, graceful fingers. They were so still. He barely
noticed when Peter bumped into him as he, too, pushed his way to the front
of the crowd.
There was more commotion as Mary Williams, the medic on duty, pushed her
way through the crowd and knelt down beside the unconscious young man.
"Move back," she announced in a businesslike voice without even looking up
from her patient. "Give us some room here."
Cast and crew moved back. They knew better than to mess with Mary
Williams. The forty-something medic could be very motherly and attentive to
her patients, but she was also known for her brusque, no-nonsense manner if
someone crossed her. If she said move, you moved. No one wanted to find
out what would happen if they didn’t.
"What happened?" she asked as she took vitals, looking here, listening
there, writing everything down.
Beanie took charge. "He just fainted. But…he’s been off allday. Not
himself. And he came in this morning looking like…that…" he trailed off,
gesturing at the bruises covering Orlando’s face and neck. Mary took note,
running her experienced fingers over them and down the side of the neck.
"Any idea what happened?" she asked.
"Looks like Orlando got lucky. Or someone else did," someone in the back
sniggered. Viggo wasn’t sure who it was—a crew member most likely—but he
knew that he’d be shooting daggers if he had eyes in the back of his head.
"No!" Elijah protested. "That’s not like Orli. He’s not into that!"
Silence from the back. Evidently, others were shooting daggers.
Mary had finished her preliminary examination and, evidently determining
that there were no major broken bones from the fall, moved to roll the young
man onto his back so she could better examine him. Without even realizing
he’d done it, Viggo fell to his knees and grasped a thin shoulder, in an
attempt to help her. He raised his eyes in surprise at what he felt.
"He’s burning up!"
"Yes. 103.2 degrees. Not good. Let’s get this shirt open and see what’s
going on." That said, she began unbuttoning Orlando’s shirtsleeve, frowning
as it opened to reveal more bruising on the thin wrist.
Viggo looked closely and spied what he thought were finger marks that went
all the way around the wrist. What had happened last night? But it was
Mary opened the shirt that Viggo realized the full impact of the situation.
His eyes were drawn helplessly to the slender torso that was no longer
flawless. Instead, it was covered with dark, ugly bruises. They were
everywhere, even running down beneath the waistband of the loose jeans
Orlando was wearing. Loud intakes of breath all around, followed by stunned
silence.
Mary broke it. "This boy’s been beaten. Violently. We need to get him to
a hospital, now. Someone call an ambulance."
It was at that moment that Orlando Bloom decided to regain consciousness.
With a sharp intake of breath, he moaned quietly and rolled his head to the
side, eyes still closed. Viggo, realizing that he was only semiconscious
and not totally aware of his surroundings, reached over to grasp the nearest
hand, holding it gently. He stroked the hot forehead, murmuring quietly,
"it’s alright, Orlando. You’re going to be alright. Help is on the way."
All of his previous anger had vanished the moment the boy had collapsed.
Now, Viggo was filled with another type of anger, this one much more deadly
than the first—directed at some unnamed person or persons—whoever had done
this to his young costar. He also felt a surge of protectiveness towards
this boy and he vowed to himself that nothing further would happen to
Orlando Bloom.
"Hurts," Orli whispered. "It hurts." A shaky hand moved to his abdomen
and rested there as he started coughing. It was just as he began spitting
up blood that the ambulance arrived, much to everyone’s relief.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 06:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 07:14 pm (UTC)*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 09:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-04 10:05 pm (UTC)No wonder he was morose and not himself. I can't wait to find out how he is, and what happened.
no subject
Date: 2007-07-05 07:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-07-05 01:03 pm (UTC)