There was a certain shade of gold that Viggo had seen once, a few years ago. He honestly couldn’t recall the occasion now, but the colour was haunting him, because he knew that it would be the perfect shade he needed to splatter over his current painting. The metallic paints that he had bought and tried to mix didn’t even come close. Every single time he thought he had just the right shade, it eluded him like a particularly slippery catfish. It was always too dark, too dull, too yellowish… nothing that was exactly like it.
Viggo was getting incredibly pissed off. He just needed this one colour, and he could move on to the next stage of the painting. He had the colour in his head, and he hadn’t had problems mixing his own colours since he just started, over ten years ago. What was wrong with him—
He was broken off from his thoughts by the phone ringing.
“Henry!” he shouted—wait. No, it was in the middle of summer. Henry wasn’t in the ranch with him, of course. Viggo sighed to himself, streaking his entire face with yellow and gold and red as he rubbed his face with his paint-splattered hand. He ignored it, stomping out of his studio to the phone.
“What?”
“… Uh… did I interrupt some kind of genius taking place? If so, I’m sorry,” Dom’s voice hadn’t changed, even though it had been years since they last spoke. Viggo blinked at the telephone. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“Uh, Vig? I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing; it’s pretty loud.”
Viggo shut his mouth with an audible click. “Dom?”
“Yeah,” there was a sheepish laugh. “Sorry, I know I haven’t talked to you in a while. But I’m kind of worried and I don’t think anyone else would know what to do and I talked to Billy and Billy said that you would be the best person to talk to about it and do something about it and I’m getting kind of worried which is ridiculous because goddamn, he was fine the last time I saw him, the same as always…”
“Dom,” Viggo cut in through the tirade. He put his brush down. It seemed like one of the Fellowship was in trouble. It wasn’t any of the Hobbits—they took care of their own—so… Orlando?
“Slow down. Start at the beginning. What happened? Who is in trouble?”
“Right,” Dom said, taking an audible breath. “Did you see the Daily Mail today?”
“… I don’t read tabloids, and I don’t think they deliver out here.” Viggo wiped his hand on his pants, leaving a bright yellow streak. It added a certain flair to the blue-green-grey-black-grey-silver handprints he had all over the pants.
“Sean was arrested. For domestic assault. I tried calling him, but I think he pulled out the plug on his phone or he changed his number or something—”
Viggo cut in immediately, “That’s ridiculous, Sean would never lay a hand on Christine—”
“Vig,” Dom said, overriding him. “Vig, fuck, I’m talking about Beanie.”
There was a long pause on Viggo’s end. “Dom, it’s not April. It’s July right now, and that’s not funny.”
“I’m not fucking with you, Vig,” Dom said, and his voice was quiet and heavy and Viggo knew that he was perfectly serious. He took a shaky breath, and rubbed at his temple with the back of his fist.
“He hit Georgina?”
“That’s what it’s said. I don’t know. I don’t want to look anymore.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah. That’s what I said. That’s what Billy said too. Look- Vig, can you do something? Call him? Maybe he’ll pick up if he sees that it’s you.”
“No. No, I’m not going to call him.”
“Viggo—”
“I’m flying down to London,” and Viggo didn’t even know that he was going to do that until the words were out of his mouth. He could hear Dom take a sharp intake of breath.
“Knew it was right to call you,” he said. “Take care of him, yeah? I don’t think—I really don’t think he would’ve done it.”
“Sean’s a good man.”
“Yeah. Yeah, he is.” There was a pause. “I’m going to hang up now.”
“Mm. Hey, Dom?”
“Vig?”
“Thanks. For telling me.”
“You take care of your Steward, and I’ll consider the debt’s cancelled,” despite the reference, Dom didn’t sound like he was smiling, much less joking.
Viggo hung up the phone. Then he leaned his head against the wall for a moment, letting the information sink into his mind. He couldn’t believe it; he refused to believe it. There must be some other explanation, and he was going to find that out.
He looked at the painting in the studio before he picked up the phone again. The thing could wait. Besides… he remembered the colour that he was missing. He had seen it during the Troy premiere. It was the colour of Sean’s hair when his head was tilted slightly to the side, the Venetian sun shining directly on the blond strands.
When he hung up the phone, he immediately went to pack. And to take a shower.
***
“I’m landing in Heathrow in ten hours or so. I’ve already booked a plane and I’m parking my ass in it in another half an hour, so you can’t stop me. I’m giving you three choices, wanker,” the American twang made the word sound strange and flat, “You can meet me at the airport, you can call me back and arrange a meeting place, or I’m doing some breaking and entering into your house. I’m serious here, Bean. I’ll see you in ten hours.”
Sean took a deep breath and lowered the phone from his ear. That was from seven hours ago. He had listened to this particular message for eight times now, and he still didn’t know what to do.
He had a whole other load of voicemails that he didn’t want to answer. Right now, the last thing Sean wanted to do was to talk to any of his friends. Family was even worse, but at least his pa and ma know how to give up. The hobbit network was clearly still working: Dom had been calling nonstop, Billy called four times (which was honestly pretty sedate), Elijah bombed his phone, and Astin left something like a dozen messages. Ian left a single but very long message and even John (Rhys-Davies) said something. Not to mention the calls he had from Frances (who told him she didn’t believe a word, and oh, don’t call Charlize right now; not that he was thinking about it), Daragh, John (Tams), Jason, Lyndon, (all of whom said they didn’t believe a damn word, but would he call them so Daragh could stop fussing on the phone at them?), and even Maria and Christian. It was as if every single person he had ever worked with pleasantly called him.
(He didn’t hear from Orlando, but by now, he didn’t expect to. The last he heard of the kid was in Malta for Troy; after that it seemed that he became far too big of a star for the rest of them. Or Sean was being unkind and he just didn’t see it. He hoped for the latter.)
All of them called, even those living in London. Viggo lived a continent away, but it seemed like Sean’s one fuck-up was enough for him to take a plane over.
God, he hadn’t seen the man in… he couldn’t even remember how long.
Sean pressed a button. Viggo’s cell went straight to voicemail, of course. He was on a damn plane.
“Look, wanker – yeah, that’s how you pronounce wanker, wanker – look, I think yer starkers, and I ain’t needin’ anyone ta fuss over me.” Sean took a deep breath. “But I’m not havin’ ya near me ‘ouse, God knows what you’d do wi’ it. I’m gonna get a room at the Hilton—it’s right next ta Heathrow, so you can’t miss it even if you can get lost in yer own damn ranch—and you just ask for, uh… John Blade. They’ll give you the number.”
He paused again, trying to find a way to thank Viggo. He couldn’t.
“Yer a damn crazy bastard for doin’ this,” was all he said.
***
“Maybe,” Viggo said, the moment Sean opened the door. Sean stared at him. There were flakes of paint on his hands and he was in flip-flops. At least he was in jeans and a clean shirt, though Sean wondered how long he was planning to stay, given that it seemed he had brought no clothes at all; he only had a small duffel bag in hand. Sean lifted his eyes, cocked an eyebrow at the man.
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe I’m a crazy bastard,” he said, shrugging, stepping into the room. “But then I remembered how much I actually like you.” Viggo paused, and winced a little before he shook his head. “Besides, I’ve run headlong into artist block, and if I stare at that canvas anymore I swear I will burn down my house.”
“Won’t be the first time, would it?” Sean said, his voice dry.
Viggo drew himself up. “I,” he said, with great dignity, “have never once burned down my house.”
Standing there all dignified like that, Viggo looked bloody ridiculous. He had a spot of yellow paint right on his chin, tucked into the dimple. Sean couldn’t help but grin, reached out and grabbed Viggo by the neck, pulling him close and hugging him tight, like they were boys instead of men nearly in their fifties. He compensated for that by slapping his friend really hard on the back.
“It’s good ta see you, you crazy bastard,” Sean said, and he didn’t even try to keep the fondness out of his eyes and voice. He could feel Viggo’s lashes against his neck; could smell his hair because they were pressed so close. It was shampoo and paint and charcoal and airport; only the last had changed since New Zealand. Sean held on even harder before he forced himself to let go.
Sharp-eyed bastard that he was, Viggo immediately grabbed hold of his wrist. His fingers traced the lines crawling up Sean’s arms slowly. The scratches had scabbed over, but he still winced. Viggo tipped his head up, his finger hovering just above Sean’s cheeks. Sean turned away.
“You want to talk about it?”
Sean sighed quietly, rubbing the heels of his free hand against his eyes. “Would you let me go if I say no?”
“Yeah,” Viggo said, and did just that. “I know you didn’t do anything. If you don’t talk about it, I won’t ask.”
“I didn’t think you came over here ta watch me stew, Vig.”
“I came over here to make sure that you’re alright,” Viggo said, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Well, you’ve made sure of that, haven’t you? Are you going to leave now?”
Viggo ignored the questions. “If this is what you call ‘alright’, I don’t want to see how you are usually, Bean.”
Sean looked at him for a long moment. “I grabbed her by the wrists,” he said finally, slow and careful. “Then I smacked her against the wall.”
Viggo stepped closer, and his hand was warm against Sean’s shoulder.
“I didn’t hold ‘er there hard or long. She got free pretty easily, and well, she always goes for manicures for her nails. Keeps them long.” He shrugged. “Then she started shouting for the police, and said that I’m throwin’ ‘er around and scarin’ the crap outta ‘er, so they took me away.”
“This is the first time?”
Sean snorted. “Nah. Not even the first time she started screaming for police.” He closed his eyes. He wouldn’t blame Viggo for asking why he stayed with Gina; sometimes he asked himself that.
But Viggo didn’t say a word; he only hugged him again, squeezing him hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs.
A couple of hours ago, Sean had gone back into the house while Gina had gone out to work, and the only thing he took was his cardboard box. That, and a change of clothes. He had thought it funny at the time, him lugging around that heavy box that seemed ready to rip itself apart at any moment.
“I didn’t bring any beer,” Viggo said, and his breath was so close to Sean’s ear that his breath nearly stuttered. “Do you think the minibar here is worth anything?”
Now… he watched as Viggo pull away from him to amble towards the mini-bar, offering comfort by just being here and by caring enough to be fly over a continent just because Sean had fucked up…
It wasn’t funny at all.
***
“People like us…” Sean said a couple of hours later, sprawled on the couch in front of the television. Footie was playing, but the Blades weren’t on, so Sean was only half-watching it. He was more concerned about the alcohol. Between Viggo and him, they had finished two bottles and were starting on the third. Since opening the second bottle, they abandoned the glasses and had started passing the bottle back and forth.
“People like us?” Viggo said, and it wasn’t fair that he didn’t sound slurred. Sean sighed.
“People like us. Actors, yeah? We ain’t got many friends. People we meet on set… after filming breaks off, we always promise to keep in touch. Never do, though.”
“Yeah?” Viggo said, and he sounded far more amused than he had any right to be. “Didn’t realise that I stopped existing in the last five minutes.”
“Yer an exception, ya wanker,” Sean slurred, batting at Viggo’s head. He felt vaguely like a twelve-year-old. Or maybe a too-old cat that was trying its best to catch a ball of yarn. He didn’t notice until now, but Viggo’s hair got a lot darker lately. It looked like old, aged wood; it’s a good colour on him. “People who keep in contact are like… like fuckin’ unicorns, or somethin’. Anyway, don’t interrupt me.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Viggo saluted with the bottle, and took a swig.
“Yeah, see, that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. We don’t ‘ear from Orlando anymore, not since he went all arrrh-booty on us.”
“… What?”
“His pirate movie,” Sean said, peering at Viggo as if he was thick. Was it healthy for him to be spinning like that? “The one with Johnny Depp. C’mon, his mug’s been splashed everywhere for the past few years; not even you’d miss it.”
“I was confused by the random pirate speak, Sean. And Orlando’s busier than most of us, you know that, but go on. You were talking about people like us. Actors.”
Sean kicked off his shoes, and fell over, sprawling himself over Viggo instead of the couch. Viggo’s chest was warm against his cheek, and Sean knew that he was more sheets to the wind than Viggo was right now. The bastard was probably sipping or something like that.
“It gets fuckin’ lonely, man,” Sean said, his eyes closing. It was somehow easier to speak that way. “Movin’ from place to place, meetin’ new people and then never seein’ them again. There’s so many fuckin’ people in this industry and we’re all nomads, and sometimes it gets lonely as all fuck.”
“Is that why you’re staying with Georgina?” Viggo was tensing up, and it felt ridiculously uncomfortable underneath his cheek. Sean punched him on the thigh to get him to quit it.
“Nah. Well, not all of it. She’s a grand girl, all spark and fire and she’s excitin’, and I like excitin’. She finds me excitin’, too. All my wives do. Did. Whatever. She ain’t afraid of doin’ something odd once in a while, and I’m damn fond of ‘er fer that. Fer lots of things, really. And, well—she likes it ‘ere. Didn’t like to work overseas.”
“So you always have someone to come home to.”
“Yeah. Pretty obvious, huh?” He paused. Viggo didn’t say something, so Sean continued, the words spilling out of him like he was throwing up poison.
“It should be easy, you know. Findin’ someone, I mean. I ain’t the kind who wants lots of things. Just someone who ain’t mind you when you want to watch footie; who ain’t mind you being off somewhere else most of a’ time ‘cause that’s yer job. Nice pair of tits.” He pushed himself up, and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. He took the bottle of wine from Viggo’s loose fingers, and took another long swallow. “I’ve got all that now, but she ain’t seem ta be happy wi’ me no matter what I do. Or the kinda friends I ‘ave. I told ‘er that most of me mates are Sheffield blokes—blacksmiths, welders, the like,
ya know?—and I ain’t got much friends who make movies, but it’s like all in one ear, and out the next.”
He sighed. “It ain’t like I like fightin’ and shoutin’ the ‘ouse down. I only like raising me voice when I hadta make a livin’ from it. Or if it’s footie.”
“I think you’ve had enough, Sean.” Viggo tried to reach for the bottle.
“’ell,” Sean said, taking another swig just out of spite. “’ell, we even fought ‘bout you. She said somethin’ once ‘bout you being all embarrassing with yer clothes in public and how yer all handsy with people and it ain’t proper fer a man ta behave like that. I told ‘er ta quit it, and it went inta another row.” He looked at Viggo, who seemed to have frozen entirely. “Gotta admit that yer pretty embarassin’ sometimes, but that’s just ‘cause yer a crazy bastard.”
Sean closed his eyes, tilting his head back.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Vig,” he said, and his voice was quieter now. Viggo took the wine from him easily, and Sean sat up properly. He swiped his hand across his face. “I’m just damn lucky Mel and Abby didn’t believe any bit o’ it. Can you imagine if they tried ta take me girls away? Won’t know what I’d do. I just…” He took another breath. “Mel told me that she ain’t believe a bit of it, ‘cause I’ve lived wi’ her fer years and I ain’t ever raised my damn voice at ‘er. Not even once, not even when we were rowing, and she knows that. James—you know, James Daly, ‘er boyfriend?—told me if Abby’s being unreasonable he’d talk ta ‘er fer me, if I needed it. They’re decent. More decent than I fuckin’ deserve, I tell you.”
A pause. “Abby said,” he burbled a quiet laugh, and swiped his hand across his lips. He put on his best public school accent. “‘I told you not to marry that woman, Sean. A bartender isn’t at all a good role model for Evie to follow.’ And when I told ‘er that Gina’s an actress, Abby goes all snooty and says that if Gina’s an actress that her hairdresser is also one.”
Sean stopped there. He wasn’t that drunk to continue, because he really didn’t want to tell Viggo what Debra told him, sweet and quiet and soft like she always was: You always tried so hard to be happy, Sean, but you just going all the wrong ways about it. Don’t follow what you think will make you happy. Just go for what does.
“Hey,” Viggo said, and Sean could feel his hand on his own neck. “Hey, come here.” He let himself be tugged closer, and buried his face into Viggo’s shoulder. Viggo started humming a nonsensical, tuneless little song, rocking back and forth on the couch, stroking his hair slowly. His fingers were warm and gentle.
He couldn’t tell Viggo, because… being here, just being here, getting ridiculously drunk and emotional and getting Viggo’s jacket all wet and making fun of his ex-wife and hiding away from his wife, was the happiest he had been in weeks.
“It’s alright,” Viggo crooned softly. Sean recognised the tone; he used it himself whenever he wanted to soothe his girls when they had nightmares or were afraid. Oddly enough, he didn’t feel annoyed. It felt good, like this.
“Should I start singing?”
“If I want me eardrums burst, I’d get it done professionally,” Sean retorted, but there was no heat in his voice. Viggo didn’t take offence either. He only continued humming softly, placing a gentle kiss on Sean’s hair.
Just here. Just being here with Viggo. It made him happy.
“If you say so,’ Viggo said, and Sean couldn’t help leaning into his hand.
It was the wine, he told himself. It was only the wine.
Summary: There is one secret that Sean keeps from Viggo, and one secret that Viggo keeps from Sean. One day both will be blown open, and they both can't wait for that day.
Rated: G
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 10 Completed: No
Word count: 28356 Read: 10269
Published: 30 May 2012 Updated: 30 May 2012