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Summary: A step in the journey. Sequel to "A Long Journey".

Rated: PG

Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo

Warnings: None

Challenges:

Series: None

Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes

Word count: 390 Read: 896

Published: 01 Aug 2009 Updated: 01 Aug 2009

*****

"Queers!" The girl leans out of the sunroof when the white Nissan stops briefly at the lights. "Fucking queers!" The car is full of teenagers, laughing loudly and cheering her on.

Henry giggles from the back seat. "Talking to you, dad," he stage-whispers, winking. Viggo, still sitting behind the wheel, grins back at him in the rearview mirror, takes a look at the reporter they're saddled with for this journey--who's coming back to their Dodge--and keeps talking into his cell.

"Yes, tomorrow," he says. "No, I told you--you *are* between here and Morocco... Yes, 'cause I say so. Yeah." He feels a silly smile forming on his face, and he lets it out. "I can't wait, either." Ignores the amused snort from behind and lowers his voice: "I'll be worth your while," he promises; though it's kind of hard to sound sexy when your son's guffawing loudly at your back.

"Tell that crazy kid I miss him, too," Sean laughs in Viggo's ear, muffled by a whole continent and an ocean. Viggo smiles fondly, and looks up to see his own smile on Henry's lips.

It's a bright, happy smile.

"I love you," Sean quietly says then, from the other side of the world, as if softly breathing the words into Viggo's ear, making him shiver in the pleasant warmth of Libby, Montana, wrong side of the world.

Just then, their reporter is back. Viggo sees him looking the way the Nissan has gone only moments before, sees him already typing up his article in his head, typing Viggo up.

"Fucking queer," Viggo deadpans, startling the man.

Henry and Sean's chuckling "Amens" make his grin wider.

He loves fame, sometimes.

**

* Premiere quote:
'Fuck you, you motherfucking pansy-ass queers!" Clearly, Mortensen's fame hasn't extended to the town of Libby, Montana, where we have stopped to buy sandwiches from the local Subway. While souped-up Ford trucks cruise by, a little white Nissan stops at the traffic light, and a young woman screams with half her body outside the sunroof. "Fucking queers," she yells at us while teenage guffaws emanate from the packed car. "Fuck you!"
Standing closest to them, Mortensen continues to talk on his cell phone and barely registers the verbal assault. Henry giggles as I walk toward a garbage can.
"Fucking queer," Mortensen deadpans with a grin, looking at me.'