Viggo finds out about the whole thing by accident, really. He is chatting to Andy, one of his two distant neighbours, when Andy mentions a maroon Saab that had stopped outside Viggo's ranch a couple of times last month. "When exactly?" Viggo asks, his throat tightening, but Andy shrugs because he was leading his bull home at the time and the animal had been restless and distracted him. The news of the mysterious visit - well, not so mysterious, because Viggo knows only one person who owns a maroon Saab - unsettles him for the day and he burns the toast twice. In the end he isn't even hungry, just staring at the calendar on the wall, picking at his nails, ignoring the drone of CNN in the background.
Doing the rounds of press for Alatriste meant that he was unable to retreat to Idaho as often as he had liked, but now he is finally back. Still, the peace and solace he usually seeks here is oddly missing. He can't help the strange niggling feeling that he has just entered a room where someone has just left. He can sense their - his - lingering scent, feel his presence still thick in the air. He longs to paint, but he has stopped painting for months now for reasons he doesn't want to admit to himself.
The last time he painted - truly painted - was the last time Sean was here, and Viggo had painted like a madman, with those strong arms wrapped around his waist, that stubborn chin resting on his shoulder, and if Viggo turned his head just so, he would see a glint in those sharp green eyes - an amused, tender glint. That had been one of his best, most cathartic paintings, and up till this day, he still doesn't have a name for it. He had briefly toyed with 'Aquamarine' but canned the idea when Henry grinned and told him it was the name of some girly mermaid movie that was released recently.
Viggo walks down to his studio on the first floor, the afternoon sunshine flooding into the warm, wood-panelled room through the extra-large french windows and lighting up the studio, which somehow still retains some gloom. He unveils the painting, untouched all those months since he left Sean. Aquamarine. Good things didn't always have a name. Viggo had been okay with that at first. Why wasn't it enough in the end?
Viggo pads over to the windows, leaning against the glass and trying to soak up some of the sunshine as though by osmosis, just so he can shake off the ever-present sense of gloom and dread in this house which was once his escape. He stares out at the long and winding road leading out of his driveway and up to the next farm, and fancies that maybe he can see a gleaming maroon Saab in the distance. What would he do if he did? Run out and chase after the car, admitting that he was wrong? Longing and regret makes him curl his fists against the glass, and suddenly Viggo wants to run out and just walk, walk to the middle of nowhere - a cornfield - and just lie down and hope and wait until things are alright again.
Shaking his head, Viggo presses his forehead against the glass, glancing at the wilting potted plant in the corner. Bernard is the only physical, living remnant from his days with Sean, and it is dying fast.
Viggo turns his gaze to the cordless phone haphazardly perched beside Bernard on the table, then stalks forward suddenly to pick up the phone.
He can only hope he is not too late.
Summary: Viggo might be running out of time. This fic can be read as a standalone, but it's actually a companion piece to No Distance Left To Run.
Rated: PG
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: NoneChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 619 Read: 828
Published: 01 Aug 2009 Updated: 01 Aug 2009