Sean
Ever since I received Ramon’s letter about this mysterious new orchid species, I had been unable to think about anything else. I am what they call an orchid hunter, but in a serious way. I am a well-known botanist in the first place. It’s true I have spent years searching for new varieties of Orchidaceae, but because I am obsessed with their exotic beauty and not because I am into them for the money. I couldn’t suppress a wry smile, when I looked around my living room/office and its shabby furniture.
The last time I went to South America on a hunt was two years ago and I had to sell everything remotely valuable to be able to afford the trip. It’s not like just buying a ticket, when you’re on an expedition like that; one needs to buy equipment, tools, a boat etc. Needless to say I didn’t find the species I was looking for, even after spending almost five months in the jungle and I returned to England nearly starving to death and totally broke. I met Ramon, a local doctor, who spent his life caring for the native people, just before I left for home. He and I got on really well and there was mutual respect. Ramon promised to keep his ears open and would let me know if there was any talk about new varieties of orchids and he kept his word.
The letter told me about this man, who had been hunting for food and found a huge green-gold orchid. Unfortunately, he had become sick and died soon after returning home. The orchid had been dead by then too, but Ramon had sent me a picture, which I had stuck to my wall and kept staring at. I was certain it was an unknown variety and trembled with excitement when I thought about Ramon’s words.
The man, Marcelo, had told him about a group of these orchids, deep into the rain forest, just before high fever overtook him and he could no longer speak. He died a few hours after that.
I needed to go there and I would, I was determined. The problem was that I had no money. Ever since I returned, I had been living on the money paid for the columns I write for magazines. It’s enough to suit my modest needs, but I can’t afford expeditions. A few years ago our local university had funded a few of my trips, but then in an argument I had called the Dean an ignorant, pompous arse and that had definitely put an end to that.
After fretting for a few days I had finally picked up the phone and called Lorraine. Lorraine is the editor of Green, one of the magazines I write for and a lot of others I don’t write for. She’s a lovely and charming woman, but hard as nails when it comes to doing business. We’re always arguing, but the truth is I really like her. Her schedule is always full, but she managed to squeeze in an hour that day to receive me in her office.
When the lift brought me up to her office on the twelfth floor of the modern building, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on the wall and hastily tried to comb my hair with my fingers, trying to remember when I had last had a haircut. *Oh well, Lorraine won’t mind.*
“Sean,” she said when I entered her office, “It’s good to see you.”
“Likewise,” I replied and kissed her on the cheek. “You look stunning, as always.”
“What’s this, Sean, you old misanthrope? Are you trying to charm me?” Lorraine laughed, showing very white, regular teeth. “Coffee? Sit down, please.”
We sat down and had our coffee while I showed her Ramon’s letter and the picture of the orchid, even though I held back the envelope. Maybe I was over suspicious, but I didn’t want her to know yet where exactly the letter had come from. You never know when it comes to orchids and I didn’t want rivals in on this.
She read the letter carefully and then handed it back. “That’s fascinating, Sean and I can imagine your being excited. What can I do for you?”
I sat back in the chair, forcing myself to talk slowly and give the impression of a sensible, sane person. “I won’t lie to you Lorraine. I need to go there and find that orchid, but I don’t have the money for the travel, the equipment and everything else. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I am here to ask you to have Green sponsor my expedition. In return I will give you the exclusive reports, pictures and half of the money I earn when I find it.”
Lorraine looked at me thoughtfully, “I need to think about this Sean, is it okay if I call you back tonight?”
“Yes, sure,” I said, picking up the letter and picture. At least she didn’t say ‘no’, I pondered as I walked home.
Later that night I was in my old battered armchair pretending to read, when the phone rang.
“Sean? It’s Lorraine. Listen, I have been thinking about your plans and am willing to make you an offer. Green will pay full expenses, within reasonable limits, but I do have a condition.”
Call me a suspicious bastard, but I do know Lorraine. “What condition might that be?”
We have this new American photographer and journalist working for us and he will accompany you. That way we will have decent material on a regular basis and we can publish a series of articles on your expedition. Exclusive, of course.”
Anger flared immediately, “No way will I take your American hack with me Lorraine. I don’t need him. I can write; I do write your columns, don’t I? Any fool can handle a camera too.”
“This is something entirely different, Sean, and you know it. This needs a professional. Take it or leave it.”
I was so pissed off I could hardly speak. “No!” I said and then hung up the phone, hard.
Almost an hour later I picked it up again.
“Lorraine? Okay, you win. I’ll take your lap dog with me.”
She chuckled. “Oh Sean, he’s not like that. I think you’ll like him.”
“No, I won’t.”
Viggo
“So,” I said to Lorraine, as she handed me my maté gourd and bombilla, “where exactly would we be headed on this expedition?”
She looked at me over the rim of her coffee cup as I took an appreciative sip of the herbal brew. I always carry the fixings around with me and on this occasion, she had just supplied the hot water.
“Tell me, Viggo, do you really like that stuff? It looks like a swamp and smells like dirty ashtrays.”
I resisted the temptation to rise to the bait and launch into the history and culture of maté drinking, but only just. I was keen to hear where she was sending me and she seemed a mite evasive on the subject.
“Yes, Lorraine, I really do. Now, about this assignment. It’s an orchid hunting expedition, you say? Where to?”
“Well that’s not information I am able to give you right now, Viggo. Chocolate biscuit?”
I have known Lorraine for a few years, although we used to communicate mostly across the Atlantic, when I did work for some of the publications she is involved in. She head-hunted me to come over and base myself here in London at a time when I was ready to move on again, so I met her in person for the first time only a month ago.
She’s very sharp and ruthless in business terms, but I kind of like her. So far the assignments have been pretty mundane, so I would welcome something a little more adventurous. I can tell when I am being buttered up, though and as Lorraine usually doesn’t allow even a sniff of a calorie within a hundred yards of her office, the chocolate cookies were slightly alarming. After all, she is my employer and I go where I am told, so why the velvet glove? I never could resist temptation and chocolate is one of my vices, so I accepted and chewed appreciatively.
“Mmm! These are good.” I leaned forward in my chair and took another sip of maté, helping myself to a second cookie. “Come on, Lorraine. You are funding what looks like a very expensive expedition. You must think that it’s going to pay. It’s not like you to agree to something like this without knowing every last detail. Why the secrecy and the chocolate? Spill the beans.”
She laughed so much that she almost choked on her coffee, but I was damned if I knew what I had said that was so funny. I went over and helpfully thumped her in the small of her back.
“Don’t push your luck, buster!” she gasped, glaring at me. “I am your boss and don’t you forget it.”
I returned to my chair and she returned to her composure, setting down her cup and saucer and smoothing out her designer skirt. “What you said was funny, because the expedition leader is called Bean, Sean Bean, actually.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of him. Isn’t he an authority on rare orchids with a rep for being a bit of a recluse?”
“He certainly is an authority and a total obsessive about his subject, which is probably why he has that reputation. To tell you the truth, I think he likes orchids better than he likes people.”
“He sounds a jolly travelling companion. Whoopee!”
“Well you know, I actually like him. He really knows his stuff about orchids and he writes very well. I trust him enough to go out on a limb with this, but I want you to go for the professional touch and I need regular reports filed. Although he won’t tell me the exact location, he was in Columbia a couple of years ago and I suspect that’s where you’ll be heading. Your South American background and fluent Spanish will come in handy if so. Of course, he’s going to need to tell me before I release the money for anything. These orchid hunters are terrified of rivals getting in there first, hence the secrecy.”
“So I suppose it’s a lucrative occupation then?”
“Well it can be, as collectors will pay a fortune for a rare specimen, but that’s not why he’s in it. I think you’ll like him, you know. He’s really his own man and I could go for him if he gave me the slightest encouragement.”
“You probably don’t look enough like an orchid! You’re more of an English rose!”
“Flattery will get you anywhere, but right now I have an editorial conference, so get out and get yourself acquainted with Sean.” She flipped a card with a telephone number across the coffee table. “You’ll be flying out within the week and make sure that the customs don’t impound you and that weed you carry about. I don’t want to have to bail you out.”
“Thanks, Lorraine.” I blew her a kiss and waggled my rear at her as I exited the office. A little flirting with the boss never hurt, but I would never mix my professional and private life. In any case, charming and attractive as she was, Lorraine was really not my type.
The thought of returning to South America was very appealing to me, as I had spent my childhood in Argentina and the project sounded interesting. I wasn’t so sure about my companion, though, although Lorraine had tried to sell him to me.
Before I made the call, I went down to the archives and looked up a couple of his articles for the magazine. She was right, he wrote well and his enthusiasm for his subject leapt right off the page. I warmed to the idea of this guy. Returning to my apartment via a book shop, where I bought a couple of expensive reference books about orchids for background reading, I brewed a fresh gourd and picked up the phone.
After a few rings it went onto an answer phone and a deep voice said curtly,
“Sean Bean is not able to take your call. State your business briefly, leave a number and I may get back to you.”
Sean
I always dislike the feeling of being forced to something and this time even more than usual - taking this American with me, someone who’s probably used to staying in fancy hotels and someone who hasn’t got the slightest idea about orchids. Worst of all, he might be chatty or just plain stupid. Of course I can’t be sure, but the thing is that I like to be alone, especially when I work and I am not a very social man. I just wish there were other options, but I don’t think there are.
The rest of that night I spent writing ‘to do’ and ‘to bring’ lists, all specified, so I could make clear arrangements with Lorraine. I tried to avoid thinking about the American that way and it did get me into a better mood. After all, I would be the head of the expedition and he would have to answer to me. It would be fun to have him sleep in a tent between spiders, ants and snakes, all the time longing for the fucking Holiday Inn or something.
The next morning I spent a few happy hours at an outdoors store, buying gear and a tent. It felt great to not be scraping, knowing Lorraine would pay the bill. I treated myself to a nice lunch after that and went home cheerfully.
As soon as I stepped into the hall, my eye fell upon the blinking red light on the answering machine and my mood darkened as I realized the American had probably called. *Well, you knew you would have to deal with him sooner or later.*
Pushing the button I frowned, hearing his mumbling voice. Viggo Mortensen? What kind of name was that? No use in delaying the inevitable though, so I picked up the phone and called the number he left.
Then I frowned even more as I tried to understand his long, confusing message. It seemed to be one long rambling fucking litany of words and I shivered at the thought of being together with this man for maybe months. I left a short message, then made tea and sat in my armchair with my lists, so I could remove the things I had taken care of today. I was sipping my second cuppa when the phone rang.
Mr Mortensen, or Viggo, as he introduced himself, was on the line. I did pick out a few things this time, like how he spoke Spanish fluently, but I guess he spoke English fluently as well and it was still quite unintelligible to my ears. *Fuck Lorraine, are you just trying to get rid of this annoying prick?*
It seemed like he was very eager to go with me and him saying he could leave tomorrow if he had to was quite a relief to be honest, because I had suspected that he would need time to get his fucking suitcases packed. I told him straight and clearly what I expected of him, how he could only bring the most elementary stuff, but it didn’t seem to discourage him. *We’ll see about that, Mr. Mortensen!*
I informed him curtly that the destination would be Colombia and asked him if he felt up to it, if he wasn’t scared about the prospect of having to deal with potential danger like criminals, guerrillas and drugs cartels. He told me quite cheerfully he was not and he had been to worse places than Colombia. *Yeah, right.*
After I finished the call I got in touch with Lorraine again and she promised to have her personal assistant, Laura, make all the arrangements for the flight and a hire car once we landed in Bogotá. I threw away the remnants of my tea and poured a healthy slug of whisky in a glass, because somehow I felt I needed that after speaking to Viggo annoying Mortensen.
The next morning Laura called, saying Viggo and I were booked on the next evening flight to Colombia and tickets would be waiting for us at the Colombia Air desk at Heathrow. The rest of the day I spent shopping for the things I needed, avoiding thinking about my irritating company.
I was at Heathrow early, because I don’t like taking the chance of missing a plane. Not that I was particularly anxious to get on it; I am not too keen on flying at all, but I wanted to get to Colombia as soon as possible. You don’t find a new orchid every day and I was afraid someone would beat me to it.
There was no sign of Viggo Mortensen and when I collected the tickets I told the girl behind the desk he could find me at the gate, as I had no intention of hanging around waiting. I went through security and straight away to gate H52 where I sat down and started reading the book on the mating ritual of a rare Colombian lizard. Lizards, as everyone knows, are oviparous and this one prefers dropping its eggs into orchid petals. It was extremely interesting and I was immersed entirely in the book. Now and then I checked my watch. Mr. Mortensen was late and I couldn’t help hoping he would miss the plane, which would leave me on my own.
I startled when a soft voice sounded, “Dr. Bean, I presume?”
I looked up into a grinning face and took off my reading glasses. “Mr. Mortensen?” I said, ignoring the proffered hand, “You’re late. I hope that’s not a habit; there’ll be tight schedules on this expedition.”
“Viggo, if you please. Tight schedules?” Cocking an eyebrow his grin deepened. “In the jungle? I was hoping for a holiday.”
I bit my lip so as not to take the obvious bait, just handed him his ticket.
“I hope you brought your passport.”
Viggo
“State your business briefly…”
I hung the phone up the first time, slightly disconcerted by the unwelcoming tone of the message. After taking a moment to regroup a little, I ventured to leave a short message and my number. The trouble was that I tend to have a problem in stating anything briefly. I just have a rambling sort of mind, I suppose and being nervous makes me mumble.
Mission accomplished, I went and rewarded myself with a generous slug of whiskey.*Note to self. Pick up a bottle in the duty free shop at the airport. It sounds like you are going to need it.*
I went out to eat and when I got back it seemed that my future travelling companion had left a message,
“Bean here, returning your call. You have the number.”
*Make that two bottles*
Trying hard to give him the benefit of the doubt, I called him back, being as warm and friendly as I could. I told him to call me Viggo and enthused about our upcoming venture. I tried to tell him a little bit about my background, like how I spoke fluent Spanish, but he sounded pretty unimpressed. He told me that we would be going to Columbia and then tried to scare me off by mentioned the dangers there. I laughed and told him I’d been in worse places. I’ve travelled all over South and Central America and I’ve done a couple of assignments in Afghanistan, so I am not exactly a stranger to risk. I heard the scepticism in his silent response.
After the conversation ended, I made my plans for the journey and waited for the call from the magazine to tell me about the travel arrangements. I passed the time reading the orchid books I’d invested in. From time to time I grinned to myself. I was really looking forward to the trip now. This guy sounded like he had a stick up his ass and it would be fun to rotate it a little.
When Laura called about the travel arrangements I was already packed. Long experience had taught me exactly what I would need and it all tucked away neatly into my kit bag. My camera equipment had its own special backpack, which would protect everything from the airport x-ray machines. Because I am kind of laid back and untidy around my apartment about things that don’t matter and because I have that rambling stream of consciousness way of expressing myself, people sometimes think that I am disorganized. When it comes to my profession, I am actually quite focused and that takes some people by surprise.
This Sean obviously didn’t want me on board and I would take a bet that he had a fixed idea of me. I was going to enjoy surprising him. Laura told me that we would fly Colombia Air, which was useful, as I had contacts. Of course, Lorraine had only sprung for Economy Class tickets, considering our comfort to be of less importance than the packaging of the expensive equipment.
True to the image I had of him, Sean had gone on through to the gate without waiting for me, so I deliberately waited until the last minute to annoy him. I stood and scanned the people sitting and waiting for the flight. That just had to be him, sitting aloof from everybody with a no-go zone around him of three seats on all sides. The flight was full, so how he’d managed to intimidate people to back off I wasn’t sure, until I went over in my gaucho hat and well-worn hiking boots and he looked up, took off his reading glasses and fixed me with his basilisk glare.
The bastard ignored my outstretched hand which was just plain rude and informed me that I was late and that we would be on a tight schedule. I couldn’t resist teasing him, saying I thought we were going on holiday and was rewarded by another glare as he icily asked me if I’d brought my passport.
“Passport, Dr Bean? Would that be that the stiff, thin, book-like thing with my picture in it?”
Still his face didn’t crack. It was an interesting and strong face and he was a good twenty years younger than I expected, around my age in fact. I wondered what he’d look like if he smiled, not that there was much chance of that.
“You know, it’s a good thing that you told me your name was Sean, because otherwise I could have thought S. Bean stood for ‘Smiler’.”
The gate was opening and they were calling the Business Class passengers. I turned to Sean as I started to move toward the desk,
“Oh, by the way, Smiler, I got us an upgrade. You coming?”
It was satisfying to see his mouth drop open in surprise. He jumped up, stuffing a book into his back-pack and grabbing his hat. He wore his reading glasses on a cord around his neck, which was cute.
He held out until we had boarded and were seated next to each other, welcome glasses of champagne in hand.
“Okay. Just how did you manage to get the upgrade?”
“I told them you were an eminent scientist on a very important medical expedition, which could save thousands of lives.”
“Really? I never authorized you to mention anything about any expedition. We are supposed to be being discreet here.”
“So nobody is going to notice that we are dressed like Indiana Jones in lightweight tropical gear and that we had expedition equipment loaded? They even made me check my bull whip into the hold.”
Actually I once did a favour for someone who turned out to be very wealthy and influential in Columbia. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse without losing my hide and happened to be one of their most powerful drug barons, but he had nevertheless been grateful and given me a useful card to play.
I was damned if I was going to tell Sean that. You have to keep a little mystery in a relationship and this one was just taking off along with our flight.
Sean
I was absolutely certain that Lorraine would never in a million years give us an upgrade to Business Class, not even for this American’s sake, as much as she seemed to like him. She knows where to put her money, that one. I didn’t like asking, but I still wanted to know; I’d hate to be in debt to this Viggo. His answer didn’t make me any the wiser and I wasn’t too keen on his behaviour either, as if he was constantly taking the piss. Something had to be done about that, I told myself. In the meanwhile I had to admit we were comfortably seated and there would be plenty of decent food and drinks during the flight.
My unlikely companion tried to engage me into a discussion in the following hour or so. I did realize I would have to endure his company for the coming future so I tried to stay polite, though noncommittal. Grudgingly, I admitted to myself he wasn’t as stupid as I had suspected, although he needed a long time to reveal his thoughts on his chosen subjects. His face and body showed unexpected strength which was good and made the prospect of travelling with him a bit less annoying. I just hoped he wouldn’t be too fussy about comfort and food.
After some time I turned my face away and closed my eyes, pretending I was going for a nap, which I hoped would silence him. Immediately the flight attendant, a pretty young blonde, was at my seat, offering me a small pillow.
“Quite something, flying Business Class, don’t you think, Smiler?” Viggo looked at me as if he expected a pat on his back or something and I sighed,
“If I could make you wear a gag, it wouldn’t be too bad,” hoping that one would shut him up.
“Kinky already and we’ve only just met.”
Pressing my face into the pillow, so he wouldn’t notice my blush, I resolutely closed my eyes again and ignored him.
*Fucking prick.*
Bogotá has only one airport, called El Dorado and has a hectic feeling, like most airports in and Central and South America do. We only had to wait for our luggage about forty-five minutes, which is something like a national record, I believe. There were two long queues for customs and Viggo and I each picked a different one. This time he was in for a surprise though, as a guy wearing a military uniform approached me, asking me in strongly accented English if I was Dr. Bean. When I confirmed he gave me a wide smile, a “Bienvenidos en Colombia’, then took me by the arm and led me straight to the customs desk. I could feel the hostile glares of the people behind me, but nobody dared to protest. Glancing over my shoulder I looked at Viggo and suppressed a grin, seeing his face.
The night before, I had made a phone call to Dr. Carlos Ruiz, a fellow scientist whom I had met on a previous occasion. Dr. Ruiz shares my interest in orchids, but is an ornithologist in the first place. I have always loved birds and we had spent a few very interesting evenings together, talking and discussing our favourite topics. Carlos’ brother is head of the airport security and my friend had assured me on the phone that there would be no unnecessary delays entering the country. Of course I hadn’t told him about the orchid; there was no use in leading him into temptation.
For a moment I considered leaving Viggo right there in line. He even might be subjected to one of those very thorough Colombian examinations, as they’re not too keen on Americans. I could just leave for the hotel and wait there, but then I remembered about having to spend weeks, possibly months with him and I knew I couldn’t do it.
*Such a pity, though.*
So I turned around and pointed out Viggo, saying he was my ‘assistant’ and pretty soon we were on our way out, my friend the guard, me and following behind us pushing an airport cart with our entire luggage, Viggo.
I had to admire Viggo’s restraint; he said nothing until we were in our hired car, with the luggage tucked away safely in the boot.
“Your assistant?” he asked incredulously.
“Would you have preferred them to stick a gloved hand up your backside, looking for contraband?”
Viggo didn’t reply, just sat back and wiped his sweaty brow when he thought I wasn’t watching. I don’t know if I mentioned it, but it was fairly hot.
*Not so chatty now, are we?*
The hotel wasn’t exactly The Ritz, but I could care less and Viggo showed no signs of disgust either. There’d probably be a few cockroaches to share our room with, but that would be a good preparation for the creatures waiting for us in the jungle.
After checking in, we left for our respective rooms to take a nap. Later we would meet in the bar, go somewhere for a meal. Tomorrow morning we would go out for provisions and the day after, drive up to Santa Maria, a small pueblo, where we would buy a boat and start our expedition.
The room was small and not really clean, but I had seen worse. The water made the rusty pipes rattle like crazy as I showered, but at least I felt better afterwards. I took the sheets from the bed and shook them out of the window; a small precaution after a nasty encounter with a pissed off scorpion once.
*Better careful than dead!*
I could hear Viggo showering in the room next to me and for an instant I allowed myself to picture him naked underneath the cascading water. Not that I fancied him of course, I told myself, it was just that I had been alone for a long time now, since the last person that had really meant something to me had betrayed me and left.
Mr. Mortensen wasn’t bad on the eye, but he was still a fucking nuisance.
*Nothing wrong with my hand, right?*
Summary: Sean is a well known botanist and about to go orchid hunting in Colombia. Viggo is a magazine photographer and reporter accompanying Sean.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 6 Completed: Yes
Word count: 31656 Read: 5758
Published: 24 Oct 2010 Updated: 24 Oct 2010