vigorli

Title: Out of the Darkness...Light (6/?)
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:)

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CHAPTER SIX

            Viggo had been wracking his brain for hours and come up with nothing. Wine? What the hell did that mean? Was the boy thirsty? Could that be it? Well, he would find out eventually. He’d just have to be patient and wait.

            Wait. He was getting good at that. He’d been playing a waiting game for more than twenty-four hours now. Waiting for Orlando to arrive at the poker game. Waiting to hear his reason for missing the game. Waiting for news of his condition at the hospital. And now, waiting for him to awaken. Staring down at the pale face as if that act alone could will the young man to open his eyes, he waited some more.

            “Why don’t we grab some coffee, mate?”

            “I’m not thirsty. But thanks.” Viggo didn’t look up from the still figure in the bed. Since the brief moment of consciousness—well, semi-consciousness—Orlando Bloom had not moved. Not a muscle. Heavily medicated, he was sleeping peacefully, and for that Viggo was very grateful.

            A squeeze on his shoulder and a clap on his back told him that Beanie wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer. The others had been shooed home some hours ago, but no amount of ordering, pleading or cajoling could convince Viggo to leave with them. He had planted himself next to the young man’s bedside and here he was determined to stay. So Beanie had stayed too, a tower of quiet support and strength. Viggo was glad he was there.

            Viggo had puzzled over the fact that he—they—had been allowed to remain, as they were—technically—breaking the rules. Sean had finally voiced the question to a pretty young nurse and her reply made sense. Considering what Orlando had been through, it might help him to have some familiar faces nearby when he finally awoke. And that, according to the nurses’ calculations, should be soon. And that was why he told Beanie, “no thanks” to the coffee. As good as it sounded and as much as he needed a break, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He was determined to be at Orlando’s side when his eyes opened.

            “You go on. Take a break. You need it.” Still not lifting his gaze from the still figure before him.

            “No more tired than you, Viggo.” Staring at his friend for a moment, Sean Bean seemed to realize that Viggo wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Without questioning it, he merely accepted it. “Well, I’ll be back very soon. Let me just wet my whistle—if you can do that with this stuff they call coffee—and stretch my legs. I’ll be back shortly.”

            Nodding his head and finally looking up at his friend, Viggo smiled slightly to himself.   “Go relax a while, Sean. And…thanks.”

            With a nod of his own, Sean left the small cubicle—and his two friends—behind.

            Viggo’s smile remained as he watched Sean’s retreating form. He had to admit that he appreciated the support. Rising from the increasingly hard chair, he attempted to work some of the kinks out of his stiff back and shoulders. Hands overhead, reaching for the sky. Hand knotting into fists of tension—no, he had to stop that. He had to try to unwind, he reminded himself. Twist to the right, the left. Roll the neck…ahhhh. Better.   A little. Just as he was about to repeat the process to get rid of the remaining kinks, Viggo’s attention was drawn once again to the bed beside him.

            “Mmmmmm…..” breathing was changing from the gentleness of slumber to the quickening of wakefulness. Reaching down and grasping a still limp hand, Viggo was rewarded with a slight pressure as Orlando’s fingers moved ever so slightly. The older man watched as the dark curls began to move back and forth on the pillow. He watched as the pale eyelids began to flutter. Another moan issued from the dry, cracked lips. Orlando Bloom was waking up.

            Gently squeezing the hand he held, Viggo reached over and brushed the always unruly curls away from the bruised forehead, attempting to offer what little support he could. He didn’t know what, if anything, Orlando would remember, but he wanted to be by his side, just in case he was needed.

            As he watched, the brown eyes opened slowly. Confusion first, quickly changing to horror. Orlando remembered and it pierced Viggo’s soul with pain. Oh how he wanted to enfold this young man in his arms and make the last two days disappear. He wanted to protect Orlando from everything horrible in the world. He wanted to make everything better. And he didn’t know how.

            So, he composed himself, making sure his features gave no hint of the fury lurking beneath, lest the young man misconstrue it. With the most caring expression he could muster, Viggo continued to smooth the curls back, undisciplined even now. He continued to hold the hand, offering silent support. He watched as the troubled eyes finally found   focus on him. He gave his best imitation of a smile.

            “Welcome back. You’ve had us worried.”

            No response. The eyes closed again.

            “How are you feeling?” Ewwwww…bad choice of words, he thought, mentally kicking himself. Too late. They were already said. He fell silent, unsure what to say next, fearful of uttering the wrong thing.

            Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Viggo found himself staring into liquid brown depths once more. As he watched, those beautiful eyes filled with tears , which came just short of spilling over. The lips moved and Viggo had to strain to hear the words. The boy had said something—whispered something—which the older man couldn’t make out.

            Leaning closer, he squeezed the hand he still held in encouragement.

            “What? I didn’t hear what you said.”

            Orlando looked right at him and the hurt and sorrow in his eyes stung Viggo to the core.

            “I thought…I thought you would like some wine.”

            Viggo just stared at him, sorting through what the boy had just said, trying to make sense of it.

            “What? I don’t understand.” He shook his head in confusion. Was Orlando still out of it? Maybe it was the medication. But the young man’s next words banished that thought completely.

            “Sunday night. I…I knew you liked wine—Ian told me what kind. I stopped to buy some…I wanted to thank you for letting me come to the game, but…” he trailed off, unable to continue, and Viggo watched helplessly as the tears which had been threatening finally spilled over, mute testimony to the young man’s state of mind.

            Viggo took it all in, even as he once again felt a chill pass through his entire body. Actually, he felt like he’d just been kicked in the stomach, his breath taken away. The implications of what Orlando had just told him did not escape him.
            Was that it? Did something happen when—or after he bought the wine?   That must be it. And if that was the case, it was because of him that Orlando had been hurt. It was because of him that Orlando made an extra stop. If this was true, then it was because of him that Orlando had been raped.

            Viggo felt sick to his stomach and for a moment felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Why??? He’d been castigating the boy for not showing up as planned and meanwhile, Orlando had been trying to do something nice for him and as a result….well, he didn’t want to really think about the result. Not now. He needed to concentrate on Orlando, here and now. He could deal with what had happened later—they all would.

            Viggo leaned forward and brushed his hand over the smooth forehead on the pretext of brushing the hair away from Orlando’s face. He didn’t miss the almost imperceptible flinch.

            “Shhhh. It’s alright. It’s okay, Orlando.”

            Haunted eyes met his again.

            “I’m sorry, Viggo. I’m sorry.”

            “What???” The older man was floored. Here he was feeling as if he would sink through the floor under the burden of guilt he suddenly felt, and the young man before him was apologizing!

            “Orlando, shhhh. You’ve don’t need to apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

            Sorrowful eyes, still wet with tears, met his once more. They had the weary look of someone who knew that nothing was ever going to be okay again. Viggo was just getting ready to say something else when the curtain was moved aside.
            “You’re awake. Good. How are you feeling?”

            The nurse on duty moved in and busied herself with checking monitors and readings as she spoke, hardly sparing a glance at her patient. Viggo continued to hold Orlando’s hand, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. Reassurance that he was there—would be there.

            After recording the results in her patient’s chart, the woman looked directly at her patient for the first time.

            “Mr. Bloom, I’m Nurse Andrews and I’ll be on duty for the next eight hours. If you need anything, you just give me a buzz, alright?”

            There was no response and Viggo could tell that she hadn’t really expected one.

            “Right. Well, now that you’re awake, the police would like to talk to you.”

            Without waiting for a response, the woman moved to hold the curtain aside and gestured towards the end of the room, where Viggo guessed the officers were waiting.

            The grip on his hand tightened almost painfully and he silently cursed the woman and her nonexistent bedside manner. Squeezing back, he looked down once again to offer reassurance, to let Orlando know that he would remain by his side. What he saw was pure, unadulterated fear, which intensified when the nurse once again turned to face them, two uniformed officers behind her.


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