TITLE: Heart and Shoulder (19/22)
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: A show of solidarity (Alternating POV)
FEEDBACK: To (badly) paraphrase Galadriel: "This task is asked of the
beloved readers. And if you do not do it, Elizabeth will be
sad." In other words, let me know what you think!
WARNINGS: Angst
DISCLAIMER: If I knew any of these people, I'd be the happiest
girl in the world. But I don't. So that means this is all
pure fiction, and I don't make any claims that these stories are true,
nor do I make any money off of them. This is all just to satisfy
my demented imagination.
ARCHIVE: Help yourself, just let me know where it's going.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A permanent shout-out to my darling Lostiawen for her
support, beta skills, and insanity! ***** denotes a POV change
DATE WRITTEN: August 7th, 2004
"Hey, I'm back!" I call out.
"Hey, Dad!" Henry shouts in response from a few rooms away.
"We're on the kitchen porch! You want to join us?"
"Sure, I'll be right there!" I kick off my shoes and carelessly
drop my keys on the living room bench. I'm nothing short of
exhausted after a marathon meeting with several Perceval Press staffers
about the website and our publishing agenda for next year. What I
need right now is to decompress, preferably by cooking an elaborate
dinner for my son and my elf.
Henry and Orli are lounging on the wicker couches that decorate the
kitchen porch, and I immediately notice that there's oppressive silence
hanging in the air. That strikes me as very odd. Neither of
them ever stops talking. As if that's not strange enough, they
don't even look up to meet my eyes when I walk onto the porch. I
don't need to be a mind-reader to know that something is wrong.
"What's going on?" I ask them, my eyes going back and forth between the
two. Hey, there's no use in beating around the bush.
Orli looks up at me for a second, then his gaze flickers back down to
the floor. The silence continues for a few more unbearable
seconds until Henry mercifully clears his throat. "How was the
meeting, Dad?"
"The meeting was fine, Henry. I'm fine. Now, what's going
on?" I ask again.
He casts a nervous glance at Orli. "Well, uh–"
"Henry, it's okay," Orli says in a voice so soft that I can barely hear
him. "I'll explain it to him."
My son nods, looking a little unsure, before standing up. "I'll
be in my room."
"Yeah, okay." Orli smiles gratefully.
When we're left alone, I sit down next to my boyfriend, a thousand
worried thoughts racing through my head at the same speed that my heart
is hammering. "Orlando, what happened?" I'm certain that he
can hear the fear in my voice.
He looks at me again, and this time I can see the emotions warring in
his eyes. There's deep pain there, mixed with anger and fear, and
it's obvious that he's been crying. "We went to the movies, like
we planned . . . we had a really terrific time just the two of us."
"As we were leaving, this kid bumped into me," he continues. "He
couldn't have been more than seventeen years old. Being the
clumsy git that I am, I stumbled a meter or so, but regained my
footing. And Henry got narked at the boy and his two friends,
which was terribly sweet of him, although I just wanted to get out of
there before anyone started paying attention to us. So as we're
walking past them, out of the theater, one of the three boys says to
me, 'Have a nice day, faggot.'"
I close my eyes and sigh. This was inevitable, wasn't it?
Some asshole was going to give us an earful of their bigotry.
Just because we're famous doesn't mean that we're sheltered from
homophobia. Listening to Orli's entire story of the name-calling,
obscenity-screaming, water bottle-throwing teenagers who humiliated him
and Henry in such a public forum, I start to seethe with anger.
It takes a lot to make me truly angry, but anybody who fucks with the
two most important people in my life can be certain to face my wrath.
By the time the story is finished, there my hands are curled into tight
fists. I manage to push my anger away for long enough so that I
can draw him into my arms, knowing that what he needs is comfort and
not fury. My hands stroke his back in an effort to calm him down;
he's literally shaking from the magnitude of his emotions.
"It's okay," I murmur. The words ring hollow in my ears, but it's
the only thing I can think of to say.
"How is it okay?" he asks weakly.
"I don't know. I don't know how it's okay. But I'm here
with you, Orlando." He doesn't respond for a long while, choosing
instead to clutch my hand in his. There's a sudden ache in my
chest at seeing him in this kind of pain. I can't stand the sight
of him being so upset.
"I'm so glad you weren't there, Vig. It was awful. The look
in their eyes . . . and they were practically Henry's age! I
think that was the worst part, that these kids who were so young had
already decided to hate people who hadn't done anything to them."
"I wish I *had* been there," I mutter as I continue to rub circles on
his back. "I would have kicked the shit out of those kids."
Orlando laughs. He honest-to-God laughs. "Oh, Viggo.
Would you have gone all caveman on them and defended my honor?"
I manage a small grin. "Well, yeah. Something like that."
"Do you think that would've made anything better?"
"Probably not," I sigh. "But I'd feel better about the whole
thing."
"That's oddly sweet somehow," he says. He presses a kiss to my
neck, then another one to my cheek. I turn my head and capture
his mouth with mine for a proper kiss, holding him close to me.
"Listen, I got out of there with my dignity and my safety intact.
You don't have to worry."
"Orli, I don't think that you need protecting," I clarify. "But
when something like this happens–"
"I know. You want to be my knight in shining armor."
"Well, sort of."
"But all I want from you is love and support, not battle cries.
This shit is going to make the news, you know. There were too
many witnesses for it to be ignored. And I'm going to have to
talk to the media about it."
"Yeah, I know. And I'll support you, no matter what you say, or
what other people say about this whole thing."
"Thank you." He kisses me soundly. "By the way, you should
be very proud of your son. It's not just any sixteen-year-old who
can keep calm in a situation like that, but he was wonderful."
"I *am* proud of him," I say with a smile. "I think I'll go see
how he's doing."
"Good idea. I should call my publicist," he sighs. "It's
better for her to hear about this from me than from anybody else."
I nod. "Listen, if you want me to go with you to do any
interviews, I'll gladly do that."
"Don't worry about that crap. Just go talk to Henry right now."
"Okay." I place a tender kiss to his curls, squeeze his hand, and
go off to talk to my son.
*****
It's been six days since my oh-so-fun encounter with the prejudiced
youths at the local cinema. Six glorious days. In that
time, I've tried to go about my life as normally as possible, only to
learn that I'm in the midst of another media sensation. This
didn't just make news, it made headlines.
Some of those who have felt the need to weigh in on this 'issue' have
painted me as this helpless wimp who ran away from the slightest
threat. A few have dared to go further, saying that this should
have been expected, given that Viggo and I 'flaunt' our relationship in
the face of traditional values, and we have no right to complain about
any harassment. But most people have been incredibly supportive,
and that reassures me that maybe society isn't crumbling after all.
There were plenty of witnesses who were happy to give interviews to
news programs and earn their fifteen minutes of fame. Henry got
requests to talk to the media, all of which he turned down in a
nanosecond. I knew that I couldn't stay silent about this; it
would look like I had gone into hiding, or even that I was afraid of
these kids. So I agreed to an exclusive interview on CNN.
It wasn't exactly fun, but at least the man who interviewed me was
courteous and respectful of my privacy.
And as if all of this renewed media attention on my private life wasn't
bad enough, I've had to deal with the repercussions of that. Now,
I can fend off paparazzi easily enough; I'm used to that. But the
day after the story first made the news, some tabloid hack stooped to
the lowest level by snapping pictures of Henry outside of Exene's
house. The tabloid ran the photo under the headline, "Are threats
tearing Viggo's family apart?" They quoted a nonexistent source
as saying that Henry didn't feel safe in our company after what
happened at the theater, because he feared that he could become a
target, and that he believed Viggo was more concerned about my welfare
than his. Henry rang us in tears when he saw the article, seeking
to reassure us that he definitely did not feel that way, not that we
believed the tabloid.
There were other rumors, too. One was that Viggo wanted me to get
a bodyguard, without whom I wouldn't be allowed to leave, and we had a
major fight over the issue. Another rumor had my Mum ordering me
to break up with Viggo and abandon my 'lifestyle' before something more
serious happened. If they only knew that when I told my Mum about
all of this, she told me she was proud of me and Viggo, and that we
just needed to keep our heads held high.
That's not an easy task, however, when you're being scrutinized day and
night. And not only by people whom you've never met, but also by
your close friends. Every day, I've received countless calls from
my very well-intentioned friends, wanting to know if I'm okay and if
there's anything they can do for me. What I want them to do is
just leave me alone.
I want to forget this entire incident. I want to forget that
homophobic epithets were hurled at me in public. I want to forget
the shame, the hurt, the fear, and the anger that I felt that day.
But that won't happen. Because these are the kinds of things that
you can never forget.
*****
"So what's on the menu for dinner?" Sean stretches lazily from
his position on the couch and fixes us with an expectant look.
He's been spending the day with us in an attempt to get away from the
invasion of his in-laws.
Orli shrugs. "Dunno. There's some leftover pasta that we
could heat up."
"Leftovers? I think that Sean deserves better than that," I
chuckle. "Maybe I could make some chicken parmigiana. I'm
pretty sure we have all the ingredients that we need."
"But we had that over the weekend," Orli says, wrinkling his nose.
"Then what do you suggest?" Sean asks.
"Why don't we just treat you to dinner at your favorite restaurant?"
"Are you serious?"
"Of course I am," Orli laughs.
"Orlando . . . I don't know if going out is such a good idea," Sean
says.
"Why on earth not?"
"Well, with everything that's been going on recently, don't you want
some anonymity?"
"I'm not going to hide, Sean."
"I'm not saying that you should hide, but maybe–"
"Maybe what?" Orli snaps. "Maybe I should wear a disguise in
public? Maybe I should bring Kate along to appease those
bigots?" He's getting angry now. It's understandable, but I
still feel a need to put a stop to this.
"Orli, relax," I plead. "Sean was just trying to help."
"Really? And how will forbidding me to have dinner at a
restaurant accomplish that?"
"Okay, so it was a stupid gut reaction," Sean admits. "I'm
sorry. I was just trying to protect you. There are a lot of
sick people out there."
"I don't need to be protected, damnit! I'm not a sodding
infant!" Orli storms out of the living room, his footsteps
echoing through the kitchen before the side door slams as he stalks
outside.
"Aw, fuck." Sean sighs. "Viggo, I didn't mean to . .
." He looks at me with guilt written all over his face.
"I know. Don't worry, Sean; I'm not upset with you. Your
intentions were very good, but we're both hypersensitive right now,
especially Orli."
"Should I go after him? I could try to explain myself a little
better. You know that I don't think he *really* needs to be
protected, right?"
"Yeah, but we all want to protect him after what's happened.
Especially me," I murmur.
"Maybe you should talk to him. He'll be less likely to get mad at
you."
I chuckle, wondering if anybody in the Fellowship has really ever been
mad at Sean before. Probably not. Even now that he's pissed
off Orli, he did it with the best of intentions. "Yeah,
okay. After all, he'll get all sulky if nobody goes after
him. And I don't want to deal with a sulking, pouting elf."
Sean smiles. "Then go, and tell him I'm sorry. Oh, and tell
him that I'll treat you both to dinner tonight, at the restaurant of
*his* choice."
"I think you'll be back in his good graces, then. The way to an
elf's heart is through his stomach."
"Really? Is that how you won him over? Or was it through
other body parts?" he teases.
"Shut up and stay here, Samwise," I grouse as a blush creeps over my
face. "I'll be right back."
*****
This is absolute tranquility. Just a few meters away from the
house, you walk up some stone steps and there's a secluded meadow where
you can sit and watch a brook as it goes along its merry, babbling way
over clusters of smooth stones. It's the perfect place to go when
you're stressed or angry if you need to soothe your troubled mind.
I'm both stressed *and* angry. Not only was one of my best
friends treating me like I'm no better than a helpless child, but my
boyfriend chose to defend him by saying that he was 'just trying to
help.' I don't need that kind of help! I need support, not
sheltering. And of all people, I'd expect Viggo to know that!
The soft whisper of bare feet against grass makes me whip my head
around to see who's intruding on my peaceful retreat. That had
better not be him . . . fuck, it is. I'm not exactly surprised to
see him, though. He never lets me stew in my own anger for very
long, preferring to talk things over with me before things get out of
hand. It's one of the things that I love about him. No,
don't think like that! You're angry, remember? Shit, I
can't stay angry at him. It doesn't work.
"You don't need to be protected." There's no preamble, no
greeting, just that blunt statement. Viggo sits down next to me
and leans back on his elbows, tilting his head so he can give me one of
his inscrutable gazes. "I know that you can take care of
yourself, Orlando. We all do."
"Sean doesn't seem to realize that," I mutter. I yank a blade of
grass out of the ground and break off tiny pieces of it.
"Don't hurt Mother Nature," Viggo tells me sternly.
"What?" I blink at the non-sequitur.
"Um . . . the grass. Henry used to do the same thing when he was
a little kid, and I'd tell him not to hurt Mother Nature."
"You're a loon," I snort.
"Maybe, but I'm a loon who's sorry if he got a little too
overprotective in the last week."
"That's okay. I mean, I don't really appreciate it, but I know
why you wanted to shield me from everything. It just felt like
when we used to have the debate about coming out, you know?"
Viggo lets out a long sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to
bring back those kinds of memories. Nobody's trying to shove you
back into the closet. But I was scared," he admits. "My
head knew you were safe, but my heart wanted to keep you as close as
possible in case anything else happened."
"Apology accepted. Not that you did anything wrong, really.
I just don't like feeling as if I'm a child."
"I never see you like that. I was just so scared . . ." His
words fade and are cut off by a small sob. Strong arms are
suddenly crushing me in their embrace, as a cheek that's damp with
fresh tears presses against my neck.
"You don't need to be scared," I whisper. "I'm right here."
Viggo clutches at me like I'm the only thing that could keep him
afloat. The struggle to keep my own tears at bay quickly becomes
futile, and my vision blurs as they spill over and rush down the side
of my nose. All the emotion that I've been suppressing for the
past week in a valiant effort to look strong comes rushing out all at
once. I cry along with him, rocking in his arms and covering his
face with kisses to express my love and gratitude for everything that
he is.
"That actually felt good," I sniffle after several minutes of a long,
good cry. "Maybe I'll be able to get some sleep tonight."
"Me, too. We both have enough to worry about without some
close-minded assholes making us worry about leaving the house."
"Speaking of leaving the house, I *do* want to go out to dinner
tonight," I tell him.
He laughs. "Sean wants to treat us to the restaurant of your
choice. He feels bad about upsetting you earlier."
"Can we go to that dim sum place? I'm dying for some good shrimp
dumplings." I rub my belly for emphasis.
"Anything you want, baby."
"Good. Let's go." I grab Viggo's hand and pull him to his
feet so we can both head back to the house. He knows as well as I
do that we could get the dumplings delivered from the restaurant, but
we'd rather make a point to ourselves and to others.
We refuse to be afraid.
Heart
and Shoulder Part 20
More
Viggorli
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