Fandom: Celebrity RPS
Summary: Even in the midst of a painful farewell, there's room for a small act of kindness.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone you recognize. I know nothing about their social lives or sexual activities, more's the pity. This is fiction, period. It is done as a labor of love and I make no money from it.
A young woman in a dark blue suit with a perky logo-pin on the breast pocket, who'd met them at the little office near the Departures desk and introduced herself as Sherry, ushered them into a small VIP lounge. The room's sole distinguishing feature was a huge window-wall with a panoramic view of the south runway, just lighting up as the sun sank toward the ocean. She said, "I'll just get you checked in, Mr. Bloom, and I'll be back with your boarding pass, then I'll come get you when your flight is called and escort you aboard. Until then if--" She was cut off by the melodious chirping of her cell phone. She smiled an apology and took a step back, half turning away while she answered it. Viggo looked around.
An assortment of comfortable looking sofas and armchairs was scattered about, some grouped together and others isolated, or as isolated as they could be in a room this size. A sideboard presented a selection of juices, sodas and water, as well as three coffee pots with regular coffee, unleaded, and hot water for tea, packets of which were arranged attractively in a basket. A bowl of fruit and another basket full of granola bars rounded out the refreshments.
He'd just noticed that their supposedly private lounge contained another traveller, a woman curled up in an armchair off to one side in front of the window, when Sherry snapped her phone shut and excused herself, promising once more to be back as soon as she could with Orlando's boarding pass and ID. She gave them both a bright smile and bustled away, careful to close the door behind her.
The woman in the armchair looked over her shoulder at them for a few seconds, then gave Viggo a bland smile and turned back to whatever she was doing that kept her head bent over her lap. She ignored them and he decided not to make a fuss. With one last glance which showed him only the back of the woman's messy blonde head, he slid an arm around Orlando's waist and guided him to one of the sofas against the back wall, where they'd be out of the woman's line of sight unless she turned around.
He got Orlando settled down, with his carry-on duffel tucked under a small table next to their seat. He watched him sink into the cushions and rest his head against the upholstered back, his eyes closed and his usually mobile face slack with exhaustion. Viggo felt a clench in his belly and couldn't help running a gentle hand down his lover's face, his thumb caressing the sharp cheekbone and gliding across his lower lip.
Another glance still showed him only the back of the blonde woman's head, so he bent down for a quick kiss and murmured, "Want a drink?"
Orlando kissed him back lightly, but didn't open his eyes and just shook his head in response to the question.
Viggo said, "Back in a sec," and with one last caress through Will Turner's light beard, he headed across the room to the refreshment table. He got a bottle of cranapple for himself, and an apple juice for Orlando, in case he wanted something later. He was about to head back to his lover but instead something took him over to the sofa where the woman sat. He walked up next to her, stopping short to keep from tripping over a large canvas totebag she'd set down next to her chair. It had a design of Elvish runes on it, but it didn't translate into anything he recognized. Still, she must be a fan.
He looked over her shoulder at the sketchpad in her lap. It was small, just an eight by ten, but there was an incomplete drawing of the flight line just outside the window and a huge jet on it, scale shown by one of the baggage trailers parked next to a mobile conveyor belt, feeding bags and cases into the belly of the plane. It was very different from his own work, all precise lines and details, but he could appreciate the technical skill, even if it wasn't terribly artistic on an expressive level. More illustration than art per se, but still.
"Nice work," he said. He kept his voice low but the woman jumped anyway, her head whipping around to look at him. "Sorry," he apologized, "didn't mean to bother you."
"No, it's fine, you just startled me," she assured him. "And thanks." She gave him a smile and flipped back through a few pages on her pad, each showing some sort of large airplane, along with the ground equipment and line crew who serviced them.
"I'm with World Ramblings Magazine," she said. "I do some writing and some art. It pays the bills and gives me an excuse to roam around and see things."
"Sounds like fun," Viggo said. He gave her a smile and a salute with the apple juice bottle. "Have a good trip."
"You too," she said with a nod, before bending her head back to her drawing.
He headed back over to Orlando, satisfied with the short conversation. He figured the chances of her not recognizing them were pretty low, especially with Sherry having called out "Mister Bloom's" name when they first entered, but if she did recognize them she clearly intended to be polite about it. More than polite -- most people would've taken his approach as permission to ask questions, or at least get an autograph. If she wanted to pretend they were fellow travellers and nothing more, he was more than happy to go along.
He sat down next to Orlando, set their drinks down on the side table, and pulled his lover into his arms. "Hey," he whispered, before pressing a kiss into his hair, "I got you a drink. It's there if you want it."
Orlando shook his head and cuddled closer, tugging Viggo's arm around his waist and resting his head on his shoulder. "Just want to be with you," he whispered back. "It's gonna be a long time, and I'm tired."
"I know, babe." Viggo gave him a hug, then relaxed against the cushions and just settled in with his arms around him. Their visit had been far too short, only a weekend. It wasn't nearly enough to make up for a long shoot in the Caribbean heat, or the more emotionally wearing ordeal of months apart. They'd done nothing with their time but be together, hiding away at Viggo's house, cooking at home, lounging around. They'd watched a couple of movies but neither of them had really paid much attention. The bed and the sofa had both gotten a lot of use while Orlando tried to recharge and Viggo did his best to help. He knew that his simple presence was what his lover needed most. He wished he could manage some sort of transfusion of energy, of spirit, but he couldn't so he just spent as much time close to him as he could -- touching, holding, cuddling.
They stayed silent as the sun went down, splashing colors all along the horizon wherever it was visible between the planes and buildings. Occasionally they whispered together, but everything they could say they'd already said, and what they wanted to say they couldn't, so for the most part they said nothing.
Sherry came bustling back in with Orlando's boarding pass and his ID, all cheerful smiles until she spotted the blonde woman over by the window and immediately leapt into action. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you shouldn't be here," she said, a note of apology in her voice but clearly ready to throw her out if she didn't go quietly.
"I'm sorry," said the blonde woman. "I've been here since four and no one said I couldn't." She gave Sherry an apologetic smile and flipped the cover down on her sketch pad, gathering scattered pencils.
"No," said Viggo quickly. "It's all right. She can stay."
Sherry looked uncertain. "We promised Mr. Bloom a private lounge...."
"We just didn't want to be bothered if there was an alternative. She hasn't bothered us." He sent Sherry a reassuring smile, and then another to the blonde woman who'd hesitated in her packing and was looking back and forth between Viggo and the airline lady.
"Well, if you're certain...?"
"All right, then." Sherry's nod was a bit stiff, but she gave in with good grace. "Mr. Bloom, your plane will begin boarding in about eighty minutes. I'll come back for you in about seventy."
Orlando gave her a smile that looked only a little tired and said, "Thank you."
Sherry nodded once more and bustled out, shutting the door behind her with a firm click.
"Thanks," said the blonde woman. "I appreciate not having to move. The view from here is really excellent."
"No problem," said Viggo.
She nodded to him and went back to her drawing, glancing up at the window wall every few seconds. Viggo settled back down with Orlando. A little over an hour. His arms tightened around his lover and he buried his face in the coffee-brown hair, closing his eyes and just breathing, trying to memorize its scent, its texture against his cheek.
"I miss you already," Orlando murmured. "I wish you could come visit."
"I know, babe," Viggo said, murmuring back into Orlando's hair. "I wish I could, too."
"I'm just so sick of this. I love what I do, Gore's brill to work with and Johnny's a great mate and all but I hate being apart so much. It's not right or fair or--"
"Shhhhh, love," Viggo cautioned. Orlando's voice had risen and Viggo was very much aware that there was a stranger nearby, no matter how polite she might be, and for a moment he regretted not letting Sherry toss her out. "I know," he whispered. "It's not. It stinks. But we'll deal, we always do, and before you know it you'll be home again."
"And then I'll leave again. Or you'll leave again. And we can't even meet when we're nearby, or go to each other's premieres, or visit each other's sets. I can't even have your picture on my makeup mirror."
"Shhh, it's all right. It'll be fine, babe." Viggo rocked him gently and tried to sound reassuring, but inside he was worried. This wasn't like his Orlando, this tired hopelessness. They really needed a vacation, a solid block of time when neither of them was working and they could just go off somewhere alone and be normal, just two guys, like anyone else. Soon. It needed to be soon.
He looked up again but still saw only the back of the blonde woman's head. If she'd overheard anything she was being discreet, at least. He sighed and glanced at his watch. Less than an hour. He just sat, rubbing Orlando's arm and rocking slowly back and forth.
Just over fifty minutes later the blonde woman began packing up once more. She fussed with her sketch pad and dug around in her tote; Viggo heard the crackle and slither of papers as she got things sorted out to her satisfaction. When she finally stood up, she looked over at them and hesitated for a moment, then walked over.
"I have to go line up at my gate, but I just wanted to say thank you one more time," she said, her smile a bit nervous this time.
"Not a problem," Viggo said, his voice soft. Orlando was dozing against his shoulder and he didn't want to wake him.
"Well, umm, thanks." She handed Viggo a pair of manila envelopes, then pulled her sketch pad out from where she'd been carrying it under her arm and flipped through it to the last picture of a plane, the one she'd been working on when he'd gone over to look, then showed him the next few pages. They were blank. Umm, all right. He gave her a bemused smile, wondering what the point of it was.
She nodded once, then turned and strode toward the door. He looked down at the envelopes with a surprised blink, wondering what they could be. Then he looked more closely and saw the garish splash of a photo through the paper of the top envelope. He hefted it and grinned. She'd given them free copies of her magazine -- right, the logo, World Ramblings Magazine, was printed in the upper left corner along with a PO box address. Well, all right. It was a nice gesture and there might even be some interesting articles or photos in it. He stuck one into Orlando's tote and grinned at her retreating back and messy blonde hair.
Just as she reached for the doorknob, though, it swung right into her, nearly knocking her down. She dropped her tote and its contents spilled all over the carpet.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Sherry had come striding in right behind the door, but stopped to help the woman pick up her things. Viggo watched, his attention caught once more by the Elvish writing on the tote. And suddenly it snapped into place. It didn't translate into anything because what it said wasn't in Elvish. It was in English, not translated but transliterated. MEDDLE NOT IN THE AFFAIRS OF SLASHERS, he read, FOR YOU ARE HOT AND LOOK GOOD WITH OTHER MEN.
And then she was gone and Sherry was there to take Orlando down to his gate.
"Could you give us a minute?" he asked. Sherry looked like she was about to object, so he slid out from behind Orlando and ushered her gently but firmly to the door. "He'll be out in just a minute," he said and closed it behind her, then headed back over to their sofa where Orlando was blinking and stretching kinks out of his back.
"Come on, babe," he said. "Time to go."
The lounge door closed again, this time behind Orlando. Viggo shut his eyes for a moment and rested his forehead against the cool wood of the panelled wall. His lips tingled from their last deep, yearning kiss goodbye, but he knew that soon enough the feeling would fade and all he'd have would be his memories and as many phone calls as they could manage. And they would manage, just as they had before, and as they would in the future, for however long it took.
He opened his eyes and saw the manila envelope lying on their sofa. He thought about leaving it for the next traveller, but then he glanced up at the window to the flight line and froze. It was dark out and had been for over an hour. With the bright lights in the lounge, the only view the window gave was a reflection of the room itself. He moved over to the chair where the blonde woman had sat and looked.
From that angle, the sofa where he and Orlando had sat was right there, mirrored in the huge window. She'd been watching them.
And suddenly he knew why she'd shown him the blank pages in her sketchpad.
He went back to their sofa and tore open the envelope. He pulled out the magazine and shook it. Three sheets of sketch paper fell out and drifted to the floor.
He picked them up and sat down to look.
The top one was a drawing of him and Orlando cuddled together on the sofa, his arm around Orlando's waist and his lover's head on his shoulder, tucked under his chin. The faces were only a suggestion but she'd captured their position, their posture, their body language -- their selves -- perfectly. It was unmistakably them to anyone who already knew, and love and longing were inherent in every line.
The next one was a fuzzy sketch of Orlando's chest with a sharply focused drawing of Viggo's arm across it. She'd captured the faded pattern on his shirtsleeve, the curve of his fingers, the strain in his knuckles -- the desire to shield and the knowledge that he could not, that that which he was protecting would be gone soon, would fade out from behind his sheltering arm.
The third drawing was Orlando's face, the only one of the three which would be immediately identifiable to anyone who glanced at it. She'd captured Orlando in mid-rant, but instead of helplessness and despair she'd drawn strength and defiance. The Orlando in the sketch looked angry and ready to kick ass on anyone who opposed him. Looking at it made Viggo smile, really smile for the first time since... well, since he'd picked his lover up at this same airport two days earlier.
Not just an illustrator, then. An artist after all.
He tucked the sketches back into the magazine and slid the magazine back into the envelope. He knew he had nothing to worry about, that the blonde woman wouldn't say -- or draw -- anything that could compromise them.
Just as he knew that if -- no, when -- they were finally ready to come out, she'd be out there somewhere cheering.