TITLE: Shelter From the Storm 9/?
AUTHOR: Elizabeth (sef7881@aol.com)
WEBSITE: https://www.angelfire.com/scary/randominsanity/RandomInsanity.html
PAIRING: Viggo Mortensen/Orlando Bloom
RATING: R for this part
SUMMARY: Finding hope in the darkest times
FEEDBACK: It's a giddy little thrill at a reasonable price
WARNINGS: AU, some violence, references to war
DISCLAIMER: This story is solely a product of my twisted imagination
ARCHIVE: Help yourself, just drop me a line so I can brag to my friends
DATE WRITTEN: July 29th, 2003
"The most beautiful place in the city is Central Park," Viggo said as he sat next to Orlando on the floor of the small guest room. It was late in the evening, dinner had long since ended, and the two friends were now discussing their favorite places. Viggo had been telling Orlando about his beloved hometown of New York City, and Orlando had described the attractions of London and Berlin.
"Central Park?" Orlando asked, his brow furrowing.
"Yes. It's as if there's a forest in the middle of a huge, busy city. There's a beautiful lake, and paths to walk down, and a carousel. I was able to go back to New York about six years ago, and I spent an entire day roaming the park."
"It sounds wonderful. I'd love to see New York some day."
"I might move back there at some point," Viggo mused.
"Perhaps I'll visit New York if you move there. I could see the city and see you," Orlando said with a smile.
"Well, if I ever go back to living there, I would love to have you visit," Viggo told him with an answering smile.
Orlando couldn't help his heart skipping a beat when Viggo smiled. After ten months of living with Viggo and spending time with him every day, Orlando had come to adore Viggo's kindness, intelligence, and sense of humor. He was truly in love with the other man, even though he was sure that Viggo could never return his affections. The guilt he had initially felt for falling in love with someone other than Andre was now slipping away, as Orlando cherished his time with Viggo during the day and dreamed of him at night.
"Where else in New York would you take me if I visited?" Orlando asked, leaning against the foot of the bed. The wonderful thing about his friendship with Viggo is that it made it possible for him to forget about all of the fear and pain of his life and simply enjoy himself for a little while. At the same time, he knew that he could talk to Viggo about what he had been through and the danger he still faced.
"Oh, I'd probably take you to the jazz clubs up in Harlem," Viggo said. "The music there is phenomenal. And then there's Chinatown, and the theater district, and the Empire State Building. There's an observation deck at the top, and you can see the entire city -- it's absolutely incredible. Maybe I'd take you to see a baseball game at Yankee Stadium or for a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. There are hundreds of things we could do."
Suddenly, the conversation was interrupted by a loud pounding on the front door. Orlando's blood ran cold as the pounding continued, and he could see the fear in Viggo's eyes as well. "God, no," Orlando whispered.
"Viggo!" shouted a voice from outside the apartment. "Viggo, let me in!" a man yelled in Danish.
"Stay here," Viggo ordered Orlando in a low voice. "Whatever you do, don't leave the room. It's not the police, it's just someone I know."
Orlando nodded, although a pit of dread had settled in his stomach. "Alright."
"Don't worry, Orlando; I'll get him to go away." Viggo gave him a tight smile in an attempt to reassure his friend, but Orlando knew that something was wrong.
"Viggo!" the man called again, pounding on the door some more. "I know you're there, you asshole!"
Viggo left the room and Orlando nervously chewed his lip as he listened to the front door being opened. Orlando was grateful that he was nearly fluent in Danish and could understand the voices in the living room because he was uneasy about the situation. A knot of fear had settled in his stomach, and he slid closer to the door so he could hear the conversation better.
"Jan, you're drunk," Viggo said in a no-nonsense voice.
"That doesn't matter. I want you to come back."
"You want me to come back? You have to be joking."
"Come on, Viggo," Jan slurred. "We were happy together." Orlando's eyes widened and he let out a little gasp. Viggo had been in a relationship with a man? He was gay?
"This isn't the time to talk about this," Viggo pleaded, desperation creeping into his tone. "Please, you're drunk."
"We were happy," Jan said again. "We had so much fun! And the sex was--"
"Don't do this, Jan. I'm not going to go back to you again." Viggo's voice was firm.
"You know that you want to. I'm the only person who ever cared about you, Viggo."
"You didn't care about me, Jan. Now please leave."
"You're so pathetic! You're afraid to take me back!" Jan yelled. Orlando's body tensed at the belligerence in the man's voice, and a second later he heard a blow land. An icy wave of fear washed over him at the sound of Viggo groaning in pain, and he felt more trapped than ever at the knowledge that he couldn't do anything. "You're nothing but a coward!"
"Jan, please--"
"A stupid, pathetic coward! I don't know what I ever saw in you!" The sound of Viggo being thrown against a wall carried to the small bedroom, and Orlando's eyes filled with tears. He couldn't believe what was happening. Memories of witnessing Andre's murder suddenly assaulted him, and not knowing what else to do, he started praying, silently begging that this abuse would end. He heard another blow being delievered and the tears began to overflow.
"You're hurting me, Jan!" Viggo cried. "Please, stop doing this!"
"You're worthless," Jan spat. "No wonder your wife left you. No wonder she took your son."
"Stop," Viggo sobbed. "Stop, please!"
"Pathetic. You're pathetic."
"Go away. It's over, alright? Just go away," Viggo begged. "What do you want from me?"
"Nothing, Viggo. I don't want anything from you anymore." Jan followed that up with a word that Orlando couldn't understand, but he knew that it was an insult; another quiet sob came from Viggo, and Orlando angrily wiped away a tear of his own.
Orlando heard the sound of heavy footsteps and the door slamming. He could hear Jan storming down the suitcase of the apartment building; a few seconds later he ran to the window and gave a furtive peek outside to see an obviously drunk man stumbling out of the building and onto the street. Quiet sobs reached the bedroom, and Orlando turned away from the window, running out of his room.
He found Viggo curled into a ball and crying in the living room with Milo the basset hound whimpering next to him. "My God, Viggo," he gasped, kneeling down next to him. "It's okay, it's okay." Viggo's bruised face and anguished eyes made Orlando's heart clench. "Ssh, it's okay," he said again, trying to calm his friend down.
"No, you can't be here," Viggo said between sobs. "It's not safe -- you have to get back in your room. H-he could come back into the apartment--"
"He left," Orlando assured him. "I saw him walking down the street. He's not coming back. Now just sit still; I'm going to get a cold compress for your face, alright?" Not waiting for an answer, he went into the kitchen to soak a dish towel in cold water before returning to the living room. His mind was still processing all of the information he had just learned. Viggo was apparently gay; he had a son and ex-wife. And right now, he needed Orlando's friendship more than ever. "Come on, let's go back into my room," he suggested, pulling Viggo to his feet.
They walked to the guest room and Orlando sat Viggo down on the bed, handing him the compress. "You don't have to do this, Orlando," Viggo told him.
"Just let me take care of you," Orlando said gently. "Now keep the towel on your face; it will help the swelling go down."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
"I won't be offended if you don't want us to be friends anymore," Viggo told him suddenly.
Orlando frowned. "What are you talking about? Why wouldn't I want to be your friend?"
"I'm gay, Orlando." Viggo's voice was almost a whisper. "A lot of people are . . . disgusted by that. I won't hold it against you if you feel the same way. I can simply bring your meals to you and leave you alone--"
"Viggo, I'm not disgusted," Orlando said fervently.
"You're not?" There was a look of pure disbelief on Viggo's face.
"No."
"So we can still be friends?"
"Of course. You're perhaps the best friend I've ever had, and I don't want to lose that."
"And you don't have a problem with my sexuality?" Viggo asked in astonishment.
"No, I don't." Orlando debated for a moment whether or not to tell Viggo about his own sexuality, but then realized that his friend deserved to know the truth. He reached for the small sack he kept under the bed and pulled out the picture of Andre. "I'm gay, too."
Viggo's eyes widened as he looked at the picture that was handed to him. "What? I don't understand . . . your girlfriend . . ."
"I lied. I never had a girlfriend named Anna. This was my boyfriend, Andre." Orlando smiled at his friend. 'I'm gay, Viggo. I would have told you before, but I just didn't know how you'd react."
"Well, thank you for being honest now," Viggo said, carefully placing Andre's photograph on the bedside table. "And it's not as if I was exactly forthcoming about my own preferences."
"That's understandable. So that man . . . he was your lover?" Orlando asked tentatively.
Viggo nodded and looked away. "I was with Jan for a year before I left him."
"Perhaps it's not my business, but when you were together, did he treat you like he did tonight?"
"Yes," Viggo admitted. "That's why I left him. And I don't mind you asking, Orlando; it's a reasonable question after what happened tonight."
"Did he have a reason for coming back here tonight?"
"He was drunk. God only knows why he came here; it's been over between us for almost two years, and he's only been to see me once since I ended it. This visit was relatively tame compared to the last time he was here."
"You deserve better than that," Orlando told him, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.
"Maybe," Viggo shrugged.
"Viggo, you are one of the most amazing people I've ever met. No one should be able to treat you the way that Jan did."
"Well, he's not a part of my life anymore."
There was an awkward pause for a moment. "How's your face feeling?" Orlando asked gently.
"It still hurts, but not as badly as before."
"The ice looks like it's almost melted; do you want me to get you some more?"
"No that's alright. Thank you, though,"
"You're welcome."
Viggo glanced over at the photograph on the side table. "So that's Andre?"
Orlando smiled a little. "Yes."
"He was very handsome," Viggo said softly.
"He was beautiful," Orlando murmured. "When I met him in London back in '36, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. He had this wicked sense of humor that never failed to cheer me up, no matter how dark the world outside got." His eyes closed as he remembered the happiness that he and Andre had shared.
"I'm sorry, Orlando. I didn't mean . . ."
"No Viggo, I'm actually relieved that I can talk about this honestly without the fear of being judged." Orlando looked up at Viggo and gave him a small smile. "Andre was the only man I've ever been with. I was only eighteen when I met him, and my mother was furious that I had fallen in love with a man. She simply refused to accept that her only son could be a homosexual. Then Andre and I moved to Berlin and made a life for ourselves there, and I left England behind."
"You were eighteen when you figured out that you were gay?"
"Yes."
"I was in my thirties. I was married, I had a son . . . I thought I had my life all figured out."
"What happened?" Orlando asked softly.
"There was an artist whose work was being shown at the same gallery as my canvases. We became friends, and I found myself falling in love with him. At first I went into denial about it, but I couldn't lie to myself and so we began an affair. His name was Niklas, and he was warm, and intelligent, and funny, and I realized that when I was with him, it felt more right than it ever had with my wife."
"But then my wife found out about the affair," Viggo continued. "I ended it, but she was still furious, and understandably so. I had betrayed her, and what made it worse for her was that I was in love with a man. She called me disgusting, saying that what I felt was unnatural. The day after she found out, I came home to find that she had left and taken our son."
"Oh, Viggo," Orlando murmured.
"Henry -- my son -- was seven at the time . . . he's twelve now . . . ." Viggo sighed. "I haven't seen him or heard from him at all since she left. My wife and I got divorced, and she refuses to let me see him. I don't even know where they are."
"I'm so sorry," Orlando said, taking Viggo's hand in his own. The gesture was nothing more than an attempt to comfort someone he cared about. "It must be so hard not to be able to see him."
"It's unbearable," Viggo admitted, tears filling his eyes. "He's still the most important person in my life, even though I haven't seen him in five years. And now with the war going on, I just get so afraid that something will happen to him and I might never know about it."
"You'll see him again," Orlando told him. "You just have to keep believing that."
"I know. That's why I didn't go back to America when things started going badly here -- because I can't stop hoping that maybe Henry will write to me or find a way to come here." He sighed. "I'm sorry. I must sound pathetic."
"Viggo, you do *not* sound pathetic. You're a father, you're supposed to care about your child. Look, I know that it might not be much comfort in the face of what you're going through with missing your son, but I think that you're an incredible man, and I feel so lucky to have you as my friend."
Viggo squeezed Orlando's hand. "Thank you so much. Thank you for listening and understanding."
"You're welcome." Orlando smiled at his friend. "And you know, Jan was wrong when he said that he was the only one who ever cared about you. *I* care about you."
"I care about you too, Orlando. You're a wonderful man."
"Thank you," Orlando said softly. "So can we agree that there won't be any more secrets from now on?"
Viggo smiled. "No more secrets," he said.
