vigorli | Fic: Without an explanation

Author:

ocko_okate
Pairing: V/O
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU
Word count: 3024
Summary: The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed. (Carl Jung)
Author's Notes: Written for the

found_my_keys fic exchange. I wrote for

rawiyaparand , who requested something along the lines of a “Spy/Assassin/International Thief AU anything with fast cars, guns, lots of action”. Didn’t turn out quite like that, but judge yourself.

~~~~~~~

„So why don’t you explain it to me? Why all the secrecy all around? “

„There’s not that much to explain.“ The man standing at the window, one hand leaning against the wall, the other slowly massaging his temples, ignores his questions insistently, the tense line of his shoulders and the whole rigid posture telling volumes about how close he is to lose control. Having learned to read and mind the signs the hard way, Viggo is usually quick to stop any kind of confrontation he might have in mind. But not this time.

„What do you mean „not that much to explain“? What happened out there, all the ... all the things....“ he rakes through his hair, frustrated and desperate over the fact that he isn’t – after more than a week - he still isn’t able to articulate his shock, anger and disbelief over what happened.

„And you want me to believe that there’s „not much to explain? “ We could have been killed there! Jesus! “He punches the wall near the man’s hand, frustration and anger boiling over, not minding the silence from the other side that he has managed to successfully deal with until now.

„Calm down, please. “ It’s the cold, composed voice again, the one of a man not used to people loosing their nerves so quickly and over something that he considers a mere incident. A man used to the fact that his orders are being obeyed without question, his explanations accepted as they come or not being necessary at all, and his authority is not constantly undermined by „civilians with not the slightest grasp of why we actually are here“ as he put it only a few days ago.

„What you saw...” The man starts, interrupting himself after a few words. “What we did...” Another pause, this time a longer one. Then he sighs resignedly, the frustration starting to become obvious, the mask of indifference slipping.

“Hell, it simply didn’t happen the first time... nor the last.“ Somewhat agitated, he admits after a poignant while, a while too long for a man usually so eloquent and capable at expressing himself, so that Viggo almost doesn’t expect the man to share any of his knowledge at all.

„Listen, do I really have to spell it all out for you? Because I would rather not, if you don’t mind...“ He adds, this time however rather brusque, overcoming his slip of composure with an abrupt movement, finally pushing away from the window and starting to put all his equipment back together.

„But... no!“ Persistence was somewhat of a genetic trait in the Mortensen family.

„YOU don’t want to talk about it, and so we simply don’t? That’s how it’s going to be now?“ Furious beyond angry, he rounds the table, sitting down in one of the chairs. „And what about what you promised? What about this „after we’re out of here, you get your back-story“?“

Now back full in rage, he doesn’t wait for an answer.

„Well, newsflash: We are already „out of there“ and now I want my, as you call it, „back-story“! And I would love to have it now, while I can be sure that you wont just disappear.“

Viggo usually isn’t one to become agitated easily, but in the past few days he has been given too many cold shoulders by this elusive, enigmatic man, who even now, after all they’ve been through, is standing with his back to him, not paying much attention to his demands. The man’s unwillingness to share any kind of information has irritated him from the beginning, but to actually leave this country without any kind of relevant information - that’s just taking it a bit too far.

But he may as well talk to a wall. The man simply ignores his words as he continues to pack. It never ceases to amaze Viggo, who himself is somewhat of an obsessive pedant, how such an amount of gadgets can be fitted in a couple of small inconspicuous bags and then so easily hidden under a layer of clothing.

Had Viggo been in the right position, he could have noticed the somewhat awry grin now slowly appearing on the other man’s lips, accompanying the still meticulous movements of his hands for a while. But since he still occupies the chair on the other side of the room he completely misses it, viewing the silence from the other man as another attempt at elusiveness. And a good one at that.

They both know that whatever Viggo does, he isn’t in a position to storm out of here or refuse to leave or to attempt any other kind of threats without severely endangering his own position. He is completely dependant on the actions, resources and good will of the other man, and that is how it is going to stay for the next twelve or so hours. Some have been thought brave because they were afraid to run away, but if Viggo ever will be considered brave, it will be because he couldn’t just run away.

„When are you due back?“

The question comes so unexpected that he almost misses it, even in the rather uneasy silence. He hasn’t been completely honest in his accusations, using words and emotions as his only means of offense, of gaining some leverage, and at least some degree of control. But it hasn’t worked very well in those past few days and it wasn’t working now.

Truth was, they still weren’t completely „out of there“ as he called it, and they weren’t going to be for another couple of hours. It was a terrifying, terrifying thought that after all they’ve been through and escaped unscathed, things still could go terribly wrong and mar all their efforts. It unsettled him on all possible kinds of levels and the notion that he wasn’t even able to ensure his own safety certainly only added to all the tension that has been growing inside him during these past days.

„There is a train leaving at 9.30 tomorrow morning,“ he says somehow warily, his previous anger giving away to resigned frustration - as usual when faced with silence and plain ignorance. After all, silence is one of the hardest arguments to refute. He observes the man finally turning away from the packing, all things already stashed away. Obviously not feeling like crossing the distance between them the man leans on the wall, the flawless profile of his body casting a distinctive shadow on the floor as he fixes Viggo with a no-nonsense stare.

“More than twelve hours, then.“ There is a certain new undertone accompanying this statement, one that Viggo isn’t able to decipher quite yet. And one he isn’t sure he likes. “So what makes you so sure that I won’t simply disappear?”

What makes him so sure, indeed? Viggo silently curses inside his head. Every time he manages to clash with this man, he has to ask himself that very same question, cursing his inability to accept that he is in no position to make demands. This is not the office of his executive editor, where he can discuss, disagree and haggle. And this man is certainly not interested in his opinions, demands, and maybe not even in his continued existence.

The only courage that matters anyway is the kind that gets you from one moment to the next, Viggo has to remind himself of the truth of that saying, not willing to get himself shot over another of their arguments.

The other man can read the expression on Viggo´s face only too well, knowing immediately that his point has been understood. Slowly coming closer he now puts both his hands on the table, leaning forward to Viggo to make sure that his next point also comes across for once and all.

“Oh, and believe me,” he says, his eyes set on Viggo´s face, “I can see the attraction here. But, as you may or may not be aware of, currently I am much closer to beating you to a bloody pulp, than touching you or letting you touch me in any than the most necessary manner. Do we have an understanding there?”

Their faces are close, too close to be comfortable, and Viggo is the first one to give in, unconsciously squirming under so much scrutiny and finally averting his gaze, angered not only by the man’s power over him, but by the truth in his words. He knew from the beginning with what kind of people he will be dealing and what their opinions were. He even knew what this man personally thought of him and his part in this whole business, because he was privy to hearing his opinion right in the very first hours of their cooperation.

But all this just couldn’t stop the carnal part of him from feeling an unreasonable, subconscious attraction to the physical side of this one particular man, whose morals and values he didn’t approve of and on whose real motives he didn’t even want to speculate. Taking into account who they were and what their situation was, it really wasn’t so hard to acknowledge that the feeling of mutual contempt for the other’s way of life could probably be one of the very few things that they had in common.

And it wasn’t like the man could pass as especially attractive or appealing. A too sharply cut face, hard angular cheekbones and a firm jaw, the nose slightly crooked, the lips too finely shaped, a stark contrast to the man’s will and mental force. Shortly cropped hair of barely few centimeters length, dark cold eyes, and stern lines forming first wrinkles around his mouth. Broad shoulders, but the whole figure slender, compact and wiry. And his age rather unfathomable. He certainly couldn’t be younger than 25, but from there to 40 it was anybody’s guess.

In the end Viggo had to simply accept that physical contact with this man, even restricted to the most necessary minimum, was going to be a challenging experience. It's only human, after all, everyone having a jungle of wants, needs and desires inside, strange as they may seem. But until now he wasn’t aware of the fact that his discomfort and unease have been acknowledged, or even noticed.

And this is possibly as far as they can get in terms of a civilized discussion, he thinks grimly. This time the man hadn’t even really suggested getting rid of him, as he already did a couple of times before, so they must be making progress.

“And now, why don’t we leave this drama in here, and get out as professionals?” The man starts for the door, not waiting for Viggo to voice another objection. „After that we will still have plenty of time for any explanation…”

~~~~~~~A couple of hours later~~~~~~~~

But, as usual, things turn out differently than Viggo expect them to. Sometime while they were arguing, it started raining outside. It is a heavy, silent kind of rain, one that usually brings relief after weeks of scorching heat. The air has been thick with humidity in those past days, making clothes stick to the body and the high air temperature much more unbearable.

In this country even something as mundane as rain seems different. This particular rain is warm, almost hot, soaking them to the bones within minutes, but only enhancing the feeling of humidity, making Viggo feel like the air was trying to drown him, the damp inferno doing nothing to lessen the tension of their situation. As they overcome the last obstacles making slow progress despite a hurried, fast-paced tempo bordering on a military march, the darkness of the night sets around them, providing them with only the faintest contours of the city they are trying to reach.

Viggo´s body becomes more uncoordinated and heavy with every step he takes towards the hotel where their first encounter took place only a week ago. He can almost feel how the adrenaline that helped him until now leaves his body as the tension slowly lessens, maybe even allowing him to rest in the night. But he doubts that he will be able to do just that, because his mind is restless, thoughts reeling, emotions still boiling. And there is still his companion, the silent, almost indiscernible shadow of a human figure, leading him deftly and surely through the jungle of the darkness, not minding the rain or the damp heat, and surely not Viggo´s inability to match his agility and speed.

Maybe it is the darkness that makes the man seem less threatening and somehow more human, and maybe it is only Viggo´s growing tiredness and wishful thinking. But not being able to see the man’s face doesn’t stop Viggo from imagining it, and he can clearly picture the concentrated scowl, the grim, disapproving curve of those too finely shaped lips, the firm set of the jaw. He occasionally is able to discern the man’s compact effective movements as he guides them back to safety, but mostly it is the fleeting feel of his hands that keeps him on track, leading him through the night. He doesn’t speak, no commands or warnings leave his lips, choosing to communicate with short touches instead or, if necessary, simply by pushing Viggo in front of him. And this time Viggo gladly complies, having not expected anything else after being handled more like a piece of equipment than a valid partner in these past days.

But once definitely out of the danger zone, inside the hotel room after both of them silently wash away the sweat and grime, in the prolonged darkness behind a locked door and closed curtains, they do manage to fuck. Despite not being able to communicate on a civilized level or to share at least similar views or opinions, they do manage to cooperate only too well when it comes to things of physical nature. To Viggo´s surprise it is his guardian who initiates the contact, in the almost pitch black darkness slowly reaching after him, his hands firmly grabbing Viggo´s head and pushing him back against the wall.

Never forget what a man says to you when he is angry, flashes through Viggo´s head as he is being roughly manhandled and spun around, the man’s hands firm and strong, used to manipulate and to control, and his whole body - now pressed against Viggo´s - feels more like a weapon in itself, honed, wiry and lean. There is no closeness of minds in this act, only lust and aggression.

Viggo later blames it on the rain that didn’t bring the promised relief. They fight and fuck, and it is almost a relief in itself when their sweaty bodies finally part, both enjoying the feeling of satisfaction on their own.

~~~~~~~~

And in the morning the man leaves. Without an explanation. But not without getting through Viggo´s things, especially his memory cards, scanning through his pictures and notices, deleting and destroying, leaving Viggo with only barely more evidence material than he had in the beginning. The man doesn’t leave him much to build on, especially not the photos that he urged him to take in the first place, the ones that their intelligence probably had a hard time obtaining, leaving Viggo with a largely censored and rather desolate assortment of photos and notices.

For a while Viggo sits motionlessly on the bed, the first rays of the morning sun curiously perusing the messy state of the room. The shock of his discovery still coursing through his body and he realizes, that he is not even truly surprised, wondering instead why he is still alive. Why not destroy all the pictures, notes and evidence, along with killing the witness, making a concentrated effort to leave him with a finely sorted nothing instead. What has stopped the man, who just a couple of hours before used his body to satisfy his needs, from killing him? Human compassion surely not, that much he knew from seeing him in action before.

Turning the castrated notes with cold, numb fingers, cataloguing the damage, he slowly starts to see a pattern.

This situation simply suited them much better. A dead or missing American journalist, who came to the country to make a reportage on the current conflict, could raise questions and attention from the wrong places. But a journalist returning home unharmed, having even brought “evidence” with him and after a time actually publishing a reportage which – based on the materials he currently held in his hands – couldn’t really prove or disprove much of anything – yes, such a journalist was much more valuable.

The man had estimated the situation only too correctly, knowing that Viggo won’t be allowed to stay longer or return back because of his meager funding, and so will have to work with what he’s got and publish only facts that he is able to back up.

A couple of hours later, still feeling furious and helpless while boarding the train that takes him back home, Viggo can’t but for a short while admire the cold-blooded ruthlessness of the man that fooled him so completely.

~~~~~~~~

It is almost a month later, on another scorchingly hot and sunny day, when a slender, inconspicuously looking man of sharply cut facial features, dressed in paramilitary clothing, who is sitting outside a small, shabby café at the city’s outskirts, waiting to be picked up, opens the three days old issue of one of the few American magazines that manage to reach the country.

On the front side there finally is an article he has been awaiting for a couple of days now, the title reading in big letters:

Without an explanation. Local conflict continues.

And in smaller print in the subtitle underneath:

We dispatch a journalist to be permanently placed on site. Read the story on page 3.

And as he reads the first lines of the story inside, he allows himself a hint of a smug awry smile, now finally being able to acknowledge that there indeed was a foolish courage in the actions of the American man.

The end.