TITLE: Heart and Shoulder (10/22)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: Home is where the family is (Alternating POV)
FEEDBACK: To paraphrase Aragorn and Eowyn: "What do you fear, my lady?" "No feedback.  To stay behind a laptop until use and old age accept no feedback.  And all chance of feedback has gone beyond recall and desire."
WARNINGS: None
DISCLAIMER: I made this all up in my crazy little head.  It's FICTION
ARCHIVE: I'd be honored, just let me know where it's going
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A permanent thank you to my beloved Lostiawen for her support, beta skills, and insanity.  I wish I could take credit for creating the dream house in this chapter, but it's entirely based on my aunt's house

DATE WRITTEN: April 16th, 2004

 

ORLI'S POV:

 

"Do you know how glad I am that you're home?"

 

"Yeah?"  I grin at Henry, feeling suitably warm and fuzzy.  The two of us are lounging at the kitchen table after dinner, picking at a plate of cookies.  "You missed me that much, huh?"

 

"Not really.  It was just that I was sick of Dad moping around the house because you weren't here," he teases.

 

"You sure know how to make a bloke feel glad to be home," I laugh.

 

"Thanks!  So, what's on the schedule now that you're back?" Henry asks as he nibbles at an oatmeal-raisin cookie.

 

"I'm fucking jet lagged right now," I groan.  "Let me enjoy my first night in my own bed, then a nice weekend of relaxation, and then I'll see."

 

"Come on, nothing spectacular on the horizon?  No fabulous parties?"

 

I snort.  "Well, there's the 'Troy' premiere in a few weeks.  Does that count?"

 

"Fuck, yeah!  Can I come?"

 

"Sorry, kid.  I only get to bring one guest, and I'd like to have your dad on my arm."

 

"That's okay; I'll live."  Henry feeds the rest of his cookie to Maude and pets her head lavishly.  "I'm just glad you're home"

 

"Because now your dad isn't moping?" I laugh.

 

"Well, yeah.  But mainly because I fucking missed you," the teenager says with an irrepressible grin.

 

Yup, it's wonderful it is to be home.

 

*****

 

"I've been thinking–"

 

"I think it's too early for you to be thinking," I groan, smushing my face into Viggo's chest.  "Fuck, the sun is barely up!"

 

"It's almost noon, love."

 

"But it's a Saturday.  Regular laws of time don't apply."

 

"Okay, whatever.  Like I was saying, I've been thinking about our house."

 

"Huh.  What about it?  It's a nice house; lovely windows."

 

Viggo chuckles.  "It *is* a very nice house, but I think it's too small.  I think we need to get a bigger house."

 

"What?  Wait, you want to move?!"

 

"Well, yeah . . ."

 

"Vig, you've lived here for six years.  What's wrong with this house?  It's perfect for us.  It's just the right size for our family."

 

"That's true right now, but I thought we were planning to have a child," he says in a gentle voice.

 

"We were.  We are."

 

"So where will the baby sleep?"

 

"In the guest bedroom," I say automatically.

 

"Okay, and if somebody comes to visit us, then where will they stay?"

 

"On the couch.  We'll get a new one that pulls out into a bed."

 

"Orli, do you really want to put your mother on a couch?  Or send her to a hotel?"

 

"No, not especially," I sigh.

 

"Therefore, we need a new house.  We don't need anything extravagant, of course; just something that fits our requirements."

 

"We're movie stars now," I tease him.  "Can't we afford a little bit of extravagance?"

 

"Only if you're paying," he laughs.  "Does this mean you're okay with the idea of moving?"

 

"Yeah, it does.  Look, I want to have a place to come home to after being away.  I adore this house, but I'm not incredibly attached to it.  The main reason it's so special to me is because you and Henry live here.  And a new home would be just as special."

 

Viggo sighs with relief.  "Good, because I really want to do this."

 

"So," I chirp, my earlier fatigue long gone, "where do we begin?"

 

*****

 

VIGGO'S POV:

 

"You want to move?!"  Sometimes I wish that my son's voice wasn't quite so loud.  Like right now, for instance.

 

"Uh, yeah.  What do you think about that idea?" I ask nervously, picking at my pasta with my fork.

 

"I get my own room, right?" Henry demands.

 

"Of course you would," Orli assures him.

 

"That's good to know."  He pauses.  "Why are you guys thinking about this?"

 

"Well, you know, change is good sometimes," I say.

 

"Dad, you *hate* change.  Why are you *really* thinking about this?"  Damn the common sense he got from his mother.

 

"We need a bigger house," Orli explains smoothly.  "Especially if we're going to expand our family."

 

"Is that a problem?  I mean, you never seemed really attached to this house, and I promise that you'll get a say in picking our new home."  My words all come tumbling out in a rush, trying to placate the anger or confusion that I fear Henry might feel.

 

"Whoa, calm down," Henry laughs.  "Look, I just want to make sure that I don't have to leave my school.  As long as that happens and we get a nice place, I don't really care."

 

"You don't?"

 

"Hey, we need a bigger place," he shrugs.  "I can't turn a corner here without bumping into some of your crap."

 

I roll my eyes and chuckle.  "Okay, so will you help us house hunt?  If we like a certain house, will you take a look at it and give us your opinion?"

 

"Of course!"

 

"We really trust your judgment," Orli tells him.  "Besides, this house isn't just for me and your dad; it's for *everyone* in the family."

 

Henry beams.  "This is going to be so cool."

 

*****

 

Henry was sure that the search for a new home would be cool.  After ten days of nonstop house-hunting, 'cool' isn't exactly the word that comes to mind at this point.  To be sure, it's been exhausting, absurd, and frustrating; but cool?  Not quite.

 

Our first step was to contact a real estate agent.  Since this area is all about who you know, Orli called up Brad Pitt and asked him for some advice, since Brad had recently purchased an "amazing" home.  We were referred to a woman who worked with Brad, and she's been taking us on a whirlwind tour of Los Angeles-area homes, some of which we could never afford, and some of which are definite possibilities.

 

Unfortunately, none of the homes has really sparked anything inside of us yet.  We're not looking for anything truly lavish like a Xanadu-type mansion; all we need is a  four-bedroom house that feels like home.  Okay, and a pool would be nice also.  Plus, we need a room that could work as a studio for my art and Orli's sculpting (I'm determined to get him back into sculpture again).

 

Today is Thursday, and Joanne – our real estate agent – is taking us on a tour of several homes that aren't very far from our current house.  We're a bit closer to the beach than before, and the neighborhood is definitely more upscale.  But as Orli reasons, my life is more upscale now than it was the last time I went house-hunting, for better or for worse.

 

The first house we see is awful.  It's a putrid attempt at modern architecture, with mirrored panels on a lot of the walls.  Maybe it's just me, but I don't want to look at myself while I'm eating in the dining room; I'd prefer mirrors on the bedroom ceiling, but there aren't any.  The bathroom is weirdly futuristic, with toilets that look like something out of Star Wars.  It's all a bit frightening.

 

The next stop on our tour isn't any better.  The exterior is a glaring shade of lime green, completely clashing with the rustic interior.  And while I enjoy old-fashioned houses, I don't like it when everything creaks when you walk around.  It's also not comforting when you see two mice scamper across the kitchen.

 

Just when we're ready to call it an unsuccessful morning and take a lunch break, Joanne insists on making one last stop before we head to the restaurant together.  "This place is really the crown jewel of the properties I'm showing my clients," she explains as our car pulls into a curving driveway.  "The previous owners had to move immediately because of their jobs, so it just went on the market.  You guys might have hit the jackpot."

 

"Maybe we lucked out this time," Orli says in an awestruck tone as he looks up at the house that sits on top of a little hill.

 

We all climb out of the car and walk up a small stone path that cuts through the expansive front lawn.  The house is white with forest-green shutters and black siding; it's two stories tall, except for one area where a third floor pokes up in the middle.  It's large but not showy, one of the rare colonial-style homes in an area dominated by post-modern architecture and ranch houses.

 

"This is it," Joanne announces, pride obvious in her voice as she unlocks the front door.

 

"Wow."  That's pretty much all I can say when we step in.  Even though it's completely devoid of furniture, there's still an incredible sense of being welcomed home.  It has a warm and cozy feel when you enter through the door into the living room, despite its generous size.  The fireplace, wood floors, and a breathtaking view right down the hill make for a truly memorable first impression of the house.

 

It's obvious from the look in his eyes that Orli is just as awed by what we've walked into.  We obediently trail after Joanne as she leads into the kitchen, where Orli leans over and whispers to me, "this feels like home."

 

Yes.  This feels like the real thing.  The huge kitchen with the gleaming white walls and the ceiling that's so high it looks like it's part of a barn strikes a chord somewhere within me.  I could see myself making omelettes for Orli on a Saturday morning in this kitchen, or collaborating with Henry on a pot of chili, or spoonfeeding God-awful baby food to my future child.

 

There is, of course, the small question of what the price tag is for this house.  Not quite wanting to spoil my good mood, I keep my mouth shut and refrain from asking about financial issues for now.  Instead, I continue on the tour, discovering that the kitchen is bordered by both a large screened-in porch, and a nearly circular room with stone floors and paneled windows that face the sunny side of the property in the place of walls.  The circular room is extraordinary, and the lighting would be perfect for a studio.

 

"This is where you should paint," Orli murmurs to me.  I nod in agreement, then realize that he's talking like we're definitely buying this place.

 

"We shouldn't decide yet," I caution.

 

"Oh, bollocks," he scoffs.  "You know you want this house."

 

Joanne politely ignores our quiet mutterings and leads us back through the kitchen towards the family room and bathroom.  There's also *another* screened-in porch, although I don't know why two porches are really required.  It's from this vantage point that I first see the pool, which I must admit is nicer than the one we currently have.

 

Okay, so it's clear that the downstairs is nicer than anything I ever expected.  What about upstairs?  With our luck, the bedrooms will be totally dilapidated.  We walk up the long staircase, finding ourselves immediately face-to-face with a lovely bathroom, then a hallway that goes in two different directions.

 

"There are six bedrooms," Joanne explains.  Six?!  "Five on this floor, and one on the third floor.  Two are relatively small, three are handsomely sized, and the master suite is on this floor at the end of the hallway on your right."

 

"Vig, this is my dream house," Orli sighs as we start to tour the bedrooms.  By the time we reach the master suite, I can see that he's in heaven.  I'm not far behind in my sentiments.  This is the most beautiful house I could dream of for us.  But I'm not sure we *need* this big a house, or that we can afford it – not that I want to tell my awestruck boyfriend this.

 

After we've poked through all *six* bedrooms (I'm still getting over that number), including the one all the way on the third floor, Joanne takes us outside through the garden and to the pool.  She also shows us a peaceful little stream that's "perfect for family picnics."  This is just too much at this point.  If I don't buy this house for Orli, I may as well stomp on his heart.

 

*****

 

ORLI'S POV

 

"I want that house, Viggo.  I'm *going* to have that house.  Do you hear me, old man?"

 

"Loud and clear," he chuckles.

 

"This is no laughing matter!" I exclaim, slamming my hand against the kitchen counter for emphasis.  He dutifully pauses from chopping up scallions.  "Why haven't you called Joanne and told her that we're taking the place?"

 

"Because of the cost, love.  Didn't you hear how much the owners want for it?"

 

"So what?"

 

"So what?" he repeats, sounding incredulous.  "Orlando, I have private school bills to pay, in a few years those will turn into college tuition bills, not to mention the cost of raising *another* child, which we're planning on doing.  We'd have to furnish some of those rooms ourselves, since our current house is a good deal smaller than that one.  Not to mention other expenses which are too numerous to go into."

 

"Oh, for Christ's sake.  You loved that house and so did I!  When Henry got to see it yesterday, he adored it, too!  If there's anything we can afford to splurge on, it's the house we live in.  That's worth sacrificing some pocket change, don't you think?"

 

"Maybe, but what do we need a house that big for?  I mean, it has six bedrooms, Orli.  Six!"

 

"Yes, Viggo.  I can count," I say with exasperation.

 

"Don't you think that's a bit extravagant?"

 

"So what?  Dare to be extravagant once in a while.  We'll turn one of the bedrooms into an office for reading scripts and your business with Perceval Press.  One bedroom will be for us, one for Henry, and one for the baby; that leaves two guest rooms for our family members, or if we ever have a Fellowship slumber party.  Trust me, it's worth it."

 

He sighs in resignation.  "I guess so."

 

"Look, do you want the house?" I ask him gently.  He nods.  "Then what's the problem?"

 

"I'm just not used to being the guy with a six-bedroom house and the Academy Award."

 

I smile and walk over to hug him tightly.  "Just because your home and career get an upgrade doesn't mean that you're not still a damned filthy human underneath.  Nothing will change that, my handsome hunk of a man."

 

"Nothing?"

 

"Well, if you start referring to yourself in the third person or requesting that you be chauffeured around, I might need to give you a reality check.  Other than that, I think you'll be okay."  I kiss his nose.  "And as for the price tag on the house, don't worry; I have more money saved than you might think.  We can afford it and have plenty of funds to spare."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yeah, really."

 

He smirks.  "And if we ever run out of money, you could always start stripping.  That would bring in some dough."

 

"Cunt," I laugh.  "Besides, your arse would fetch more money than mine would."

 

"That's debatable," he snorts.

 

"So . . . can we call Joanne and tell her that we're taking it?" I ask, practically bouncing with excitement.

 

"Fuck, yeah!  Before someone else does."  The enthusiasm in his voice is genuine, and I know that he wants that house just as much as I do.