The little AU: Winter Woven Fine: Longitude
The little AU: Winter Woven Fine: Longitude
slashfairy
~~
It's Karl who brings it up. It's mostly Karl, who brings things up: He's the one who's ended up with fewer distractions at this point.
We're never together anymore, he says. It's breaking my heart. It can't be helped, I know it can't be helped, either the distance or my heart. I just had to say it, is all.
He practices first on the dogs. They listen. They lick his hands or his face or bring him sticks or strands of seaweed, listening for that lightening of his tone when he says "Good dog". Or not. He takes them with him when he can, leaves them with Henry's friend or Helen when he can't, and wonders if they notice Sidi's not around much either, and how they'd tell him, the dogs, if they do.
It's not as though he broods on it, though. It could have gone another way: If Nat wouldn't have divorced him, If he'd gotten another series in NZ. Who knows what would have happened, then? If there'd even be a them he was never together with?
So he bites his tongue, most of the time, and takes the time they can get: any two together, or all three when it can be.
Until, one day, he just has to bring it up.
The Trek machine, the Paramount machine, though not nearly such a juggernaut as Disney, starts to rumble a bit: there are the beginnings of publicity events, even though nothing can really be considered concrete until the very last minute. He's got to make arrangements, at least think about them, for the dogs, the house(s), Hunter (in New Zealand at the moment, world traveler that he's becoming), and it's then that he realizes. He's become used- they all have- to him making the arrangements and then telling Viggo and Orlando what he's worked out.
He knows nothing's over. He knows it's all been liquid and shifting from the start. But fuck if he doesn't miss the days, weeks, spent together, if he doesn't wonder how it'd've gone if they hadn't become a three, if they hadn't allowed each other their own lives first, if they (Who? Any. All.) had made some kind of - what? It wouldn't've been a marriage, so then what? A contract of some kind, a compact, that would require them to spend some time together every so often.
Like a time-share. Or a production schedule. What a ... well. What a waste of energy, when he thinks about it that way. That's not what they've signed up for- this is more of a life-time thing, through better and worse, thick and thin, sickness and health, life-changing events and mundane realities.
So it is when they conference next and he hears about the soccer game in Madrid and art in London that he says, We're never together anymore. It's breaking my heart.
Mine too, mine too, each of them says, and as odd as it seems, he knows they mean it.
This is why there is poetry, Viggo says. This is why there is prayer, Orlando says.
This is why there are airplanes, Karl counters.
Very true, Viggo says. Very true, as Orlando laughs. I'll borrow Johnny's yacht, he says, and gets happy laughter for that.
There follow discussions of how and when and where to meet, away from cameras and cell-phones, over-eager gossips and well- (or not so) -meaning fans. They pool their itineraries, schedules, ideas, plans, and when they're done, there's a set of ideas, of possibilities, and Karl's content.
The thing about longitude is, you have to know what time it is where you left from, and what time it is where you are, to know where you've gotten to. So it's not about this meeting and that event and who's with whom when. It's about paying attention to where the journey started, and what was intended for it, keeping track as one goes, correcting the notes, calibrating the instruments, and not minding too much any given alteration as long as one appreciates traveling.
previously: Rush
next:
No-one
slashfairy
~~
It's Karl who brings it up. It's mostly Karl, who brings things up: He's the one who's ended up with fewer distractions at this point.
We're never together anymore, he says. It's breaking my heart. It can't be helped, I know it can't be helped, either the distance or my heart. I just had to say it, is all.
He practices first on the dogs. They listen. They lick his hands or his face or bring him sticks or strands of seaweed, listening for that lightening of his tone when he says "Good dog". Or not. He takes them with him when he can, leaves them with Henry's friend or Helen when he can't, and wonders if they notice Sidi's not around much either, and how they'd tell him, the dogs, if they do.
It's not as though he broods on it, though. It could have gone another way: If Nat wouldn't have divorced him, If he'd gotten another series in NZ. Who knows what would have happened, then? If there'd even be a them he was never together with?
So he bites his tongue, most of the time, and takes the time they can get: any two together, or all three when it can be.
Until, one day, he just has to bring it up.
The Trek machine, the Paramount machine, though not nearly such a juggernaut as Disney, starts to rumble a bit: there are the beginnings of publicity events, even though nothing can really be considered concrete until the very last minute. He's got to make arrangements, at least think about them, for the dogs, the house(s), Hunter (in New Zealand at the moment, world traveler that he's becoming), and it's then that he realizes. He's become used- they all have- to him making the arrangements and then telling Viggo and Orlando what he's worked out.
He knows nothing's over. He knows it's all been liquid and shifting from the start. But fuck if he doesn't miss the days, weeks, spent together, if he doesn't wonder how it'd've gone if they hadn't become a three, if they hadn't allowed each other their own lives first, if they (Who? Any. All.) had made some kind of - what? It wouldn't've been a marriage, so then what? A contract of some kind, a compact, that would require them to spend some time together every so often.
Like a time-share. Or a production schedule. What a ... well. What a waste of energy, when he thinks about it that way. That's not what they've signed up for- this is more of a life-time thing, through better and worse, thick and thin, sickness and health, life-changing events and mundane realities.
So it is when they conference next and he hears about the soccer game in Madrid and art in London that he says, We're never together anymore. It's breaking my heart.
Mine too, mine too, each of them says, and as odd as it seems, he knows they mean it.
This is why there is poetry, Viggo says. This is why there is prayer, Orlando says.
This is why there are airplanes, Karl counters.
Very true, Viggo says. Very true, as Orlando laughs. I'll borrow Johnny's yacht, he says, and gets happy laughter for that.
There follow discussions of how and when and where to meet, away from cameras and cell-phones, over-eager gossips and well- (or not so) -meaning fans. They pool their itineraries, schedules, ideas, plans, and when they're done, there's a set of ideas, of possibilities, and Karl's content.
The thing about longitude is, you have to know what time it is where you left from, and what time it is where you are, to know where you've gotten to. So it's not about this meeting and that event and who's with whom when. It's about paying attention to where the journey started, and what was intended for it, keeping track as one goes, correcting the notes, calibrating the instruments, and not minding too much any given alteration as long as one appreciates traveling.
previously: Rush
next:
No-one