Breathing Room (15/?)
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vigorliTitle: Breathing Room (15/?)
Author: Rainweaver13
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Summary: Monteverde V: Shades of Green
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. I mean no disrespect and I'm certainly not profiting from this.
A/N: Please be warned: My knowledge of Costa Rica and the marvelous cloud forest is all from reference books and the internet. The silent tours really exist: I want to go on one. Please forgive any grievous errors. They aren't intentional. It's fiction. Also, my Spanish remains unreliable. Thanks for all the feedback so far. I'm honored and humbled.
-----------------
Previous Chapters Look under Personal Fics
January 2005, Day 9
Their guide's name was Graciela. She was a university student from San Juan, studying biology and economics, and this was her third stint of working as a guide for the silent cloud forest tours. She also recognized them immediately, Orlando was almost certain, even though Viggo introduced them as Jorge and Jeb.
Bundled in a double layer of warm sweaters under a hooded raincoat, Orlando cast a wary eye at the absolute freaking jungle they were about to enter. Voluntarily. As if he hadn't already known it, he reminded himself that spending time with Viggo Mortensen was invitation to certain gruesome death.
"You're sure there's nothing in there that's likely to pick us for breakfast?" he asked with what he hoped was a cheery grin.
"Not even second breakfast," Graciela replied in her beautifully accented English and Viggo shot him a "we're busted" look. Graciela laughed quietly and said something to Viggo in Spanish, to which he responded with relief. They talked for a few sentences, then shook hands. She then extended a hand to Orlando as well, and smiled. "Your secret is safe, Senor Jeb. Provided I get an autographia."
Orlando laughed. "Can do." On impulse he lifted her hand and kissed it.
"Oooh," she said, waggling blond eyebrows and laughing. "A flirt."
"That's an understatement," Viggo mumbled.
Orlando punched him in the shoulder.
"Now, now, no violence," Graciela said, chuckling. "Soon we become silent. You have water?"
Both men patted their water bottles and nodded.
"Good. Now we start. You speak only for emergencies. I speak only to point things out. Otherwise, we let the forest speak. Si?"
"Si." "Right."
Compliant as kindergartners, they followed their guide into the cloud forest, becoming swallowed by living green. After a short while of following a wide, well-traveled trail, she stopped them with a hand signal and moved close to murmur, "From here we will be on a very small trail. We have dozens of trails through the reserve and each group uses a different one in alternation so that none become too obvious. Please don't get out of sight of each other."
Orlando pulled a pair of thin gloves from one pocket and slid them on, then wrapped his arms around himself against the chill. This was damned creepy. He didn't argue at all when Viggo indicate for him to follow Graciela on the barely visible trail. Viggo brought up the rear. Orlando hoped the crazy man didn't get caught up staring at a butterfly or something and get lost.
All around the jungle seemed like nothing but green. Endless variations of green. Eventually dull, boring green. But now and then Graciela stopped and pointed out something he would never have seen on his own ... a tiny purple orchid, a vining yellow flower, small green frogs on the edge of a pocket pond almost lost beneath greenery. Each time he stopped in turn and pointed out the same things to Viggo, trying to remember the names and the bits of facts Graciela passed along.
Before an hour had passed, the cloud forest had stopped being nothing but boring green. It had become an astonishing landscape, seething with life. The low-hanging canopy of ever-dripping trees formed a backdrop for lush growths of ferns, mosses, lichens, orchids and all sorts of vines. According to Graciela, many species of insects, amphibians and mammals in the forest never even came to the forest floor, living entire life cycles among the trees.
Their trail took them upwards, sometimes gradually, sometimes steeply, as the air grew more chill and the cloud mist grew denser. At one point a strange low-pitched keening filled the air, raising the hairs on the back of Orlando's neck. He paused and looked all around, seeing nothing to worry about. He did notice that Viggo heard it, too, so at least it wasn't his imagination. Graciela stepped back and murmured, "Don't worry. It's just the forest."
Oh. That was comforting. The forest talked? Fangorn, anybody? Orlando closed the gap between him and Graciela for a while.
After one particularly steep climb, the sound of running water suddenly became audible. They topped a mossy bit of rocky outcrop and found themselves on the bank of the swift-running stream, just a few yards below a spectacularly beautiful small waterfall.
"We can rest here for a bit," Graciela murmured, and dropped cross-legged onto a clear area of rock. Orlando followed her lead, digging out his water bottle for a long, grateful drink followed by a lean back to try to catch the tiny bit of sun that sneaked through the heavy canopy. Eventually he lay all the way down and managed to doze off for a bit, even in the chill.
"Senor." The quiet whisper sifted into his nap and he blinked awake, amazed that he'd actually managed to go to sleep on a rock in a drippy jungle.
"Hmmm?"
"Your friend..." she nodded toward the waterfall and shrugged helplessly. "I don't know..."
Viggo? Orlando rolled over and scrubbed at his eyes, squinting toward the waterfall. It took him a moment to locate Viggo, sitting on a boulder near the foot of the falls, head down, shoulders just barely shaking.
"Shit," he murmured, and scrambled to his feet. Picking his way gingerly on the mossy rocks, he eventually came up behind the older man, who had clearly heard him coming and straightened, wiping his face.
"Y'okay?" Orlando murmured, dropping to squat behind him.
"Fine," Viggo whispered, straightening his shoulders. His hair was dripping wet from the moisture in the air, and Orlando couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch some of the droplets, knocking them free. "Time to get going?"
"Probably." Orlando stood and backed away, leaving Viggo room to stand. When the older man did, and then turned, Orlando pretended not to see the reddened eyes. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm sure." Viggo laid a hand on Orlando's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Let's hit the road."
Graciela was waiting, studying both of them with interest before turning to lead them back into the forest that no longer seemed silent or relentlessly green. The remainder of the four-hour tour was completed in mostly silence. Orlando had no idea what Viggo was thinking about, but he knew he had plenty to occupy his own mind.
Mostly, he thought about how he'd had his head up his own ass so far for the past nine days that he hadn't even given Viggo a second thought. But now that he thought about it, he realized there was a lot to think about. Viggo had been busy doing what he did so well - taking care of people - taking care of Orlando - that he hadn't said much of anything about himself. Like why he was in Costa Rica, of all places, alone (or supposed to be), for three weeks. He was probably writing it all in one of those damn notebooks.
Except ... now that he thought about it, Orlando hadn't seen Viggo writing anything these whole nine days except the daily crossword in the newspaper. In Spanish. Maybe he wrote in his bedroom. Maybe.
With hours of uninterrupted silence to help clear the way, Orlando Bloom began having some very pointed thoughts. One of them was that he needed to have an extended talk with Viggo Mortensen.
Once they got back to the Heliconia and had lunch, they both decided on naps. When Orlando awoke, his meds were lying by the sink in his bathroom along with a scrawled note:
Gone for a walk. Back by dark.
V.
So much for talking this afternoon. Orlando spent the afternoon lying by the pool, seeking out what sun he could find.
Viggo wandered back in just about at dark and went straight into the shower. A while later he ambled out of his bedroom in faded cords and a pilled-up sweater over a white T-shirt and dropped bonelessly onto the couch.
"You had anything to eat?"
"Not yet," Orlando said, watching him somewhat warily from one of the cozy armchairs. "Hungry?"
"No." Viggo scrubbed at his face, scratching at the beard. "Yeah. Maybe." He stood suddenly and headed for the bedroom, yanking the sweater over his head.
"Vig?"
No answer. Orlando waited a moment, heard water running, then got up and headed to the bedroom door, curiosity killing the actor. Noting the sweater on the floor and the T-shirt on the bed, he peeked in the open door of the bathroom. Viggo stared intently into the mirror, carefully scraping off the apparently offending beard.
"Tired of the fur face look?"
Viggo just grunted, swished the razor in hot water and went back to work.
"Gonna get the 'stache, too?"
"Nope." Making weird shaving faces in the mirror, stopping to rinse again. "Have to keep it for Alatriste."
"Oh yeah. That's right. That starts soon."
"Umhmm."
"You have anything after Alatriste?"
"Nope."
Orlando watched with interest as Viggo shaved his chin. He'd often wondered if that cleft caused trouble in shaving, but it wasn't the sort of thing that ever came up in conversation. "Your chin..." he said questioningly.
"Pain in the ass," Viggo murmured and his gaze met Orlando's in the mirror. For a moment, there was a spark of that sheer joy that so often vibrated between them in times past, then Viggo looked down at the razor and went back to work. Since he didn't seem to mind, Orlando just leaned in the door and watched. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this comfortable in the presence of another human. The quiet scrape of the razor, the soft sound of Viggo's tuneless humming under his breath, the damp warmth of the bathroom, the faint sheen of moisture on Viggo's back, the tiny beads of water on the curling hair of his chest - it all added up to a quiet contentment so vast it was almost painful. Orlando wondered, abruptly and with laser precision, why exactly the fuck he had given this up?
Water gurgled down the sink and Viggo soothed his face with a warm cloth, eyes closed, just enjoying the feeling for a moment. Orlando reached out gently to touch the familiar chest in front of him, letting water bead onto his fingertips.
"You're going gray."
Viggo's hand came up to grasp his, holding it just short of touching his chest. "Don't touch me, Lan," he said in a soft, low rasp. "Not unless you mean it. Just... don't."
Orlando stared into blue-gray eyes that looked, of all things, almost frightened, and swallowed hard. "Did I- Was-" he stuttered. "Were you hurt that bad?" he whispered finally.
Viggo sighed, dropped the hand gently away, and butterflied his fingertips across Orlando's cheekbone. "Time for bed. See you in the morning."
And Orlando found himself quietly eased out of the bathroom and the bedroom, until he stood in front of a closed door with a whole evening and night to himself to think.
Author: Rainweaver13
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Summary: Monteverde V: Shades of Green
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. I mean no disrespect and I'm certainly not profiting from this.
A/N: Please be warned: My knowledge of Costa Rica and the marvelous cloud forest is all from reference books and the internet. The silent tours really exist: I want to go on one. Please forgive any grievous errors. They aren't intentional. It's fiction. Also, my Spanish remains unreliable. Thanks for all the feedback so far. I'm honored and humbled.
-----------------
Previous Chapters Look under Personal Fics
January 2005, Day 9
Their guide's name was Graciela. She was a university student from San Juan, studying biology and economics, and this was her third stint of working as a guide for the silent cloud forest tours. She also recognized them immediately, Orlando was almost certain, even though Viggo introduced them as Jorge and Jeb.
Bundled in a double layer of warm sweaters under a hooded raincoat, Orlando cast a wary eye at the absolute freaking jungle they were about to enter. Voluntarily. As if he hadn't already known it, he reminded himself that spending time with Viggo Mortensen was invitation to certain gruesome death.
"You're sure there's nothing in there that's likely to pick us for breakfast?" he asked with what he hoped was a cheery grin.
"Not even second breakfast," Graciela replied in her beautifully accented English and Viggo shot him a "we're busted" look. Graciela laughed quietly and said something to Viggo in Spanish, to which he responded with relief. They talked for a few sentences, then shook hands. She then extended a hand to Orlando as well, and smiled. "Your secret is safe, Senor Jeb. Provided I get an autographia."
Orlando laughed. "Can do." On impulse he lifted her hand and kissed it.
"Oooh," she said, waggling blond eyebrows and laughing. "A flirt."
"That's an understatement," Viggo mumbled.
Orlando punched him in the shoulder.
"Now, now, no violence," Graciela said, chuckling. "Soon we become silent. You have water?"
Both men patted their water bottles and nodded.
"Good. Now we start. You speak only for emergencies. I speak only to point things out. Otherwise, we let the forest speak. Si?"
"Si." "Right."
Compliant as kindergartners, they followed their guide into the cloud forest, becoming swallowed by living green. After a short while of following a wide, well-traveled trail, she stopped them with a hand signal and moved close to murmur, "From here we will be on a very small trail. We have dozens of trails through the reserve and each group uses a different one in alternation so that none become too obvious. Please don't get out of sight of each other."
Orlando pulled a pair of thin gloves from one pocket and slid them on, then wrapped his arms around himself against the chill. This was damned creepy. He didn't argue at all when Viggo indicate for him to follow Graciela on the barely visible trail. Viggo brought up the rear. Orlando hoped the crazy man didn't get caught up staring at a butterfly or something and get lost.
All around the jungle seemed like nothing but green. Endless variations of green. Eventually dull, boring green. But now and then Graciela stopped and pointed out something he would never have seen on his own ... a tiny purple orchid, a vining yellow flower, small green frogs on the edge of a pocket pond almost lost beneath greenery. Each time he stopped in turn and pointed out the same things to Viggo, trying to remember the names and the bits of facts Graciela passed along.
Before an hour had passed, the cloud forest had stopped being nothing but boring green. It had become an astonishing landscape, seething with life. The low-hanging canopy of ever-dripping trees formed a backdrop for lush growths of ferns, mosses, lichens, orchids and all sorts of vines. According to Graciela, many species of insects, amphibians and mammals in the forest never even came to the forest floor, living entire life cycles among the trees.
Their trail took them upwards, sometimes gradually, sometimes steeply, as the air grew more chill and the cloud mist grew denser. At one point a strange low-pitched keening filled the air, raising the hairs on the back of Orlando's neck. He paused and looked all around, seeing nothing to worry about. He did notice that Viggo heard it, too, so at least it wasn't his imagination. Graciela stepped back and murmured, "Don't worry. It's just the forest."
Oh. That was comforting. The forest talked? Fangorn, anybody? Orlando closed the gap between him and Graciela for a while.
After one particularly steep climb, the sound of running water suddenly became audible. They topped a mossy bit of rocky outcrop and found themselves on the bank of the swift-running stream, just a few yards below a spectacularly beautiful small waterfall.
"We can rest here for a bit," Graciela murmured, and dropped cross-legged onto a clear area of rock. Orlando followed her lead, digging out his water bottle for a long, grateful drink followed by a lean back to try to catch the tiny bit of sun that sneaked through the heavy canopy. Eventually he lay all the way down and managed to doze off for a bit, even in the chill.
"Senor." The quiet whisper sifted into his nap and he blinked awake, amazed that he'd actually managed to go to sleep on a rock in a drippy jungle.
"Hmmm?"
"Your friend..." she nodded toward the waterfall and shrugged helplessly. "I don't know..."
Viggo? Orlando rolled over and scrubbed at his eyes, squinting toward the waterfall. It took him a moment to locate Viggo, sitting on a boulder near the foot of the falls, head down, shoulders just barely shaking.
"Shit," he murmured, and scrambled to his feet. Picking his way gingerly on the mossy rocks, he eventually came up behind the older man, who had clearly heard him coming and straightened, wiping his face.
"Y'okay?" Orlando murmured, dropping to squat behind him.
"Fine," Viggo whispered, straightening his shoulders. His hair was dripping wet from the moisture in the air, and Orlando couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch some of the droplets, knocking them free. "Time to get going?"
"Probably." Orlando stood and backed away, leaving Viggo room to stand. When the older man did, and then turned, Orlando pretended not to see the reddened eyes. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm sure." Viggo laid a hand on Orlando's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Let's hit the road."
Graciela was waiting, studying both of them with interest before turning to lead them back into the forest that no longer seemed silent or relentlessly green. The remainder of the four-hour tour was completed in mostly silence. Orlando had no idea what Viggo was thinking about, but he knew he had plenty to occupy his own mind.
Mostly, he thought about how he'd had his head up his own ass so far for the past nine days that he hadn't even given Viggo a second thought. But now that he thought about it, he realized there was a lot to think about. Viggo had been busy doing what he did so well - taking care of people - taking care of Orlando - that he hadn't said much of anything about himself. Like why he was in Costa Rica, of all places, alone (or supposed to be), for three weeks. He was probably writing it all in one of those damn notebooks.
Except ... now that he thought about it, Orlando hadn't seen Viggo writing anything these whole nine days except the daily crossword in the newspaper. In Spanish. Maybe he wrote in his bedroom. Maybe.
With hours of uninterrupted silence to help clear the way, Orlando Bloom began having some very pointed thoughts. One of them was that he needed to have an extended talk with Viggo Mortensen.
Once they got back to the Heliconia and had lunch, they both decided on naps. When Orlando awoke, his meds were lying by the sink in his bathroom along with a scrawled note:
Gone for a walk. Back by dark.
V.
So much for talking this afternoon. Orlando spent the afternoon lying by the pool, seeking out what sun he could find.
Viggo wandered back in just about at dark and went straight into the shower. A while later he ambled out of his bedroom in faded cords and a pilled-up sweater over a white T-shirt and dropped bonelessly onto the couch.
"You had anything to eat?"
"Not yet," Orlando said, watching him somewhat warily from one of the cozy armchairs. "Hungry?"
"No." Viggo scrubbed at his face, scratching at the beard. "Yeah. Maybe." He stood suddenly and headed for the bedroom, yanking the sweater over his head.
"Vig?"
No answer. Orlando waited a moment, heard water running, then got up and headed to the bedroom door, curiosity killing the actor. Noting the sweater on the floor and the T-shirt on the bed, he peeked in the open door of the bathroom. Viggo stared intently into the mirror, carefully scraping off the apparently offending beard.
"Tired of the fur face look?"
Viggo just grunted, swished the razor in hot water and went back to work.
"Gonna get the 'stache, too?"
"Nope." Making weird shaving faces in the mirror, stopping to rinse again. "Have to keep it for Alatriste."
"Oh yeah. That's right. That starts soon."
"Umhmm."
"You have anything after Alatriste?"
"Nope."
Orlando watched with interest as Viggo shaved his chin. He'd often wondered if that cleft caused trouble in shaving, but it wasn't the sort of thing that ever came up in conversation. "Your chin..." he said questioningly.
"Pain in the ass," Viggo murmured and his gaze met Orlando's in the mirror. For a moment, there was a spark of that sheer joy that so often vibrated between them in times past, then Viggo looked down at the razor and went back to work. Since he didn't seem to mind, Orlando just leaned in the door and watched. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this comfortable in the presence of another human. The quiet scrape of the razor, the soft sound of Viggo's tuneless humming under his breath, the damp warmth of the bathroom, the faint sheen of moisture on Viggo's back, the tiny beads of water on the curling hair of his chest - it all added up to a quiet contentment so vast it was almost painful. Orlando wondered, abruptly and with laser precision, why exactly the fuck he had given this up?
Water gurgled down the sink and Viggo soothed his face with a warm cloth, eyes closed, just enjoying the feeling for a moment. Orlando reached out gently to touch the familiar chest in front of him, letting water bead onto his fingertips.
"You're going gray."
Viggo's hand came up to grasp his, holding it just short of touching his chest. "Don't touch me, Lan," he said in a soft, low rasp. "Not unless you mean it. Just... don't."
Orlando stared into blue-gray eyes that looked, of all things, almost frightened, and swallowed hard. "Did I- Was-" he stuttered. "Were you hurt that bad?" he whispered finally.
Viggo sighed, dropped the hand gently away, and butterflied his fingertips across Orlando's cheekbone. "Time for bed. See you in the morning."
And Orlando found himself quietly eased out of the bathroom and the bedroom, until he stood in front of a closed door with a whole evening and night to himself to think.
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Date: 2005-02-06 06:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-02-06 02:57 pm (UTC)Rain