Affirmation Chapter Two
Title: Affirmation (Chapter Two)
Author: peppervl
Pairing: OB/VM
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When a tragic situation leaves Orlando broken and isolated will Viggo’s love and belief in him be strong enough to bring him back?
Feedback: Always appreciated
Warnings: Violence, Angst, and Character Death (Original Characters only).
Disclaimer: This is not true. I don’t know them, and I'm not making any claims about them in real life. It never happened.
Archive: Please don't.
Author’s Notes: This is set in early to mid 2003. I obviously played with actual filming schedules. There's a lot of angst in this, but there will eventually be a happy ending, I promise.
~*~
Chapter One
Time passed strangely in the darkroom, distorted by the muted red light and the exacting nature of the task at hand. Viggo developed several rolls of film, stepping out between each to blink at the bright sun streaming in through the windows, glance at the clock, and calculate the time difference to Orlando's location.
Most days, the darkroom sped up time and the hours spent inside flew by, often making Viggo late for other engagements. Now, it slowed time and the hours until it was late enough for Orlando to call crept by at a snail's pace.
The film was developed quickly - far faster than Viggo anticipated - and the pictures were hung to dry. The studio beckoned briefly, but Viggo knew that no real work would be done there until he heard from Orlando, so he moved from the studio to the kitchen to the bedroom, cleaning as he went. The mundane task kept his hands occupied and gave him something to focus on so he didn't have to think, didn't have to wonder and worry about what had caused the strange note he'd heard in Orlando's voice when he played the message.
He should have been home when Orlando called, but instead he'd stopped at the store after dropping Henry at Exene's and had come home to only a message. He hadn't left the house since, afraid that if he would miss Orlando's call if he did, but the time was passing horribly slowly and there were still hours to go before Orlando would be able to call.
The phone rang just as Viggo was about to move his cleaning into the studio, a place generally better avoided during such sprees. He left the cleaning supplies in the hall and picked up the nearest phone without glancing at the Caller ID or the clock. "Hello?"
"Viggo? Thank god you answered. Have you heard from Orli?"
Viggo glanced at the clock and frowned. It was still far too early for Orlando to be able to call today. "He left a message last-"
"No, today," Elijah interrupted, his voice high with panic. "In the last few hours. Did his mom call you?"
What the hell was Elijah going on about? Why would Sonia call? Viggo got along with Orlando's mother, but they weren't exactly buddies. It was unlikely she would call without reason.
"No. Elijah, what happened? What's wrong? Why would Sonia call here?"
"Fuck. Um, turn on the TV, 'kay? The news."
"What? Why?" Viggo could hear the nervousness in Elijah's voice, and he was moving towards the television despite his confusion.
"Just, turn it on, please? There's...something you should see. Don't hang up."
The remote was, for once, sitting in plain sight on the coffee table. Viggo picked it up and flipped on the television. Pictures flashed across the screen, stock photos of people Viggo had met when he visited Orlando on set, and then one of Orlando, taken at the premiere of The Two Towers.
Elijah muttered, "Fuck," into the phone as Viggo fumbled with the volume. His fingers slipped on the button and he only caught a few words.
"...film...hostages..."
It was enough. Too much. He sat down heavily on the couch as the remote and phone both slipped from limp fingers. The phone clattered as it hit the floor, the battery coming loose and skidding under the coffee table.
Viggo didn't notice, didn't care, couldn't focus on anything but the television again showing pictures of the hostages, Orlando's face among them.
~*~
Cold. He was so cold. He shouldn't have been; the last he remembered he'd been sweltering, but now he was freezing, his whole body trembling with the chill. He curled up, wrapped his arms around his chest trying to fend it off, but he just kept shivering.
"I think he's waking up."
"Shit, he's shivering."
A cool hand touched his forehead and felt far better than it should have. When it was pulled away, he whimpered and shifted, trying to find it again.
"He's burning up."
The hand was back on his shoulder this time, shaking him. "Orlando. Come on, I know you're awake. Look at me."
He didn't want to open his eyes, but the soft voice was insistent, so he cracked one eyelid and peered up.
"There you go."
A shadowy figure moved to block the worst of the light and Orlando opened his other eye.
"How are you feeling?"
He swallowed, licked his lips. "Cold. My head hurts." So did his throat now that he was talking, but it would hurt more to mention that.
"Here, this will help." Jonathan slid an arm behind Orlando's back and helped him sit up a little before taking a cup from Ryan.
The room spun disturbingly, and if Jonathan hadn't been supporting him, Orlando would have fallen back to the ground before he was halfway up. As it was, the best he could manage was to lean heavily against the director with his eyes closed as he waited for the room to stoop spinning.
The water was cool as it ran down his throat and Jonathan was warm against his back. It felt good, and Orlando was content to rest just as he was. He didn't open his eyes until he was pushed away from the warmth and something was pulled over his head. He blinked, let Ryan finish helping him into a shirt that wasn't his, and sagged back against Jonathan, his eyes closing again. It was too much effort to keep them open.
He was cold again, though not as cold as before, and someone was shaking him. "Come on Orlando, open your eyes. You have to wake up now."
He wanted to do what the desperate voice was asking, but he couldn't make his muscles respond. His eyelids were too heavy and it was too much effort to even try to force them upwards.
The person kept calling, kept shaking him, but he couldn't tell who it was, couldn't move at all, not even to respond to the new, harsher voice or the pain that suddenly blossomed across his back and side.
It hurt to breathe, his throat was on fire, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but he could open his eyes and move his limbs a little. The terrible heaviness was gone, replaced with mere weariness and pain. It wasn't pleasant, but it was a distinct improvement over what he last remembered.
Slowly, Orlando tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his side stopped him short. Warm hands caught him as he fell back. "Careful."
Orlando nodded and let himself relax in Jonathan's grip as he looked around the room. It was small and sparsely furnished - just a few chairs stacked on a tabled in the corner and a single picture on the wall. Some jugs of water and a few cups were piled under the table. One of the jugs had tipped over, spilling its contents and soaking one of the rough throw rugs that covered the floor.
It was not where Orlando had fallen asleep.
"Where...? What...?" His mouth was almost too dry to form the few words his jumbled brain was able to come up with. Ryan pressed a full cup into his hand and he drank gratefully. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere in the hotel, we think." Ryan scooted closer so he could look Orlando in the eyes. "How are you feeling?"
That really wasn't something Orlando wanted to think about at the moment. "Um," he debated lying, decided it would be futile. "Not too good, actually. What, um, what happened?"
"We're not sure."
Orlando twisted so he could see Jonathan, winced as he was hit with another sharp pain.
Jonathan slid out from behind Orlando and helped him lean against the wall. "We all woke up in here. We were drugged somehow, probably with dinner, though that doesn't explain how they got you."
"Oh." He vaguely remembered strange faces and rough hands jabbing something sharp into his hip, but it still didn't make any sense. Being drugged and dragged down the hall wouldn't leave him feeling this badly, wouldn't leave him feeling so much worse than everyone else obviously did. There had to be something more. "What do they...? Why do I...?" It was hard to think, harder to form a coherent sentence.
"Some men came in a few hours ago. They told us that if we behaved and the studio cooperated we'd be out soon, but they were angry that you didn't wake up and hit you with their guns."
That explained a little more, explained the pain, at least. As he looked around the room, Orlando noticed that all of the fifteen or so people he could see were part of the film. Most were crew, though two other actors, Kelly and James, were huddled together nearby. "What do they want?"
"Money, maybe. We don't know. All they said was they wanted something from the studio."
"Oh." It still didn't make any sense, but Orlando couldn't try to process it anymore. The room was spinning faster and faster and the water he had swallowed earlier was threatening to leave his stomach. It was all he could do to lie down and curl up into a ball, ignoring the pain in his side as he clenched his eyes shut and willed oblivion to come and wipe the nightmare away.
~*~
Ryan leaned back against the wall, watching Jonathan move from group to group, presumably offering comfort and encouragement. Orlando was asleep, curled up at Ryan's side, only occasionally moving a little bit, and Jonathan kept glancing back at them as he moved around the room. Ryan answered the unasked question in Jonathan's eyes with a nod every time he looked. Orlando was doing as well as could be expected.
Orlando stirred a little and whimpered and Ryan was glad that Jonathan's attention was occupied by Mary, a makeup artist who was a mother hen to everyone, especially Jonathan. She was busy comforting Jonathan, which left Ryan finally able to help Orlando. Jonathan had been wonderful, but in his need to take care of everyone he felt responsible for, he sometimes forgot that the people he cared for sometimes needed to give care rather than just receive it.
Carefully, Ryan brushed the hair back from Orlando's forehead, wincing at the heat emanating from it as he did. Orlando's fever was rising and all they had to attempt to bring it down was some lukewarm water and the clothes on their backs. Ryan had already given his shirt to Orlando to keep him warm. Two of the crew had donated their over-large T-shirts to use as rags. Ryan picked up one of these, dipped it in a cup of water, and wiped down Orlando's face, letting the water drip and run down his skin.
Orlando made a soft sound and Ryan gently rubbed his back. "Shh. Just sleep. It's the best thing for you right now." It was the best thing for all of them really, but Ryan was far too worried about his friend to even consider the idea. Orlando had been there for him at the beginning of shooting when he had been terrified about his first major role and desperately missing his family and friends back home. Now, when they were almost done with the film, it was his turn to repay the favor.
He would not let these men hurt Orlando any more.
He rewet the shirt three times before Orlando settled down into a deeper sleep, shifting closer and pillowing his head on Ryan's thigh. His cheek was hot through the thin cotton of Ryan's pajama pants, but Ryan didn't dare try to get Orlando to roll over so he could cool that cheek as well. Orlando would wake at least a little and perhaps think that he was someone else.
Ryan didn't want to know what Orlando would do from that position if he thought that Ryan were Viggo. Orlando would be mortified if he found out and from what Ryan knew of Viggo, he doubted Viggo would appreciate it, though Ryan did know that Viggo would be more concerned about Orlando's health than any hand job given while in the grips of fever dreams.
It was what Viggo might do or say once Orlando was well again that worried Ryan.
No, Ryan would not do anything that might wake Orlando even a little. Orlando desperately needed rest and Ryan was determined to make sure he got it for as he was able.
~*~
Viggo sat on the couch, staring at the muted television, unable to look away just in case new information was released. He was supposed to get a call before anything hit the news, but he still couldn't look away. He wanted to see everything, even the bits that were just speculation and were probably far from the truth.
He needed every scrap of information he could get, needed to cling to every bit of hope he could find. There was little information to be found and less hope, but Viggo could not tear his eyes away from the television for a moment out of the fear that he would miss something. The images flashing by meant nothing, made little sense, and only held his interest because the next might be the one he was looking for.
The screen went blank. Viggo gasped. "No." His heart pounded in his chest as he frantically searched the room with his eyes, looking for the remote.
He found it held loosely in Dominic's left hand.
In his other hand, Dominic held a plate of sandwiches, which he set on the coffee table. He kept the remote well out of Viggo's reach. "Eat."
Viggo shook his head. "No."
Dominic, Billy, and Elijah had all been in Los Angeles, and had arrived at Viggo's not twenty minutes after he had dropped the phone, inadvertently hanging up on Elijah. At least one of them had been with Viggo ever since, doing the best they could to make the long hours pass quickly.
The sandwiches were just the latest in a string of things they were trying to feed him. Viggo didn't want them any more than he wanted their previous offerings.
Dominic grabbed two off the plate and held one out to Viggo, his expression stern. "Eat, Viggo."
"I can't."
"Sure you can." Dominic pressed the sandwich into Viggo's hands. "You have to be hungry by now, even if you don't realize it." He fixed Viggo with a determined stare.
Viggo knew from experience that when Dominic pulled out that expression, he wouldn’t give up until he got his way, so he took a bite and forced himself to swallow. He didn't taste the sandwich at all, but once the first bite hit his stomach, he realized that he was indeed hungry, and the rest of the sandwich went down much easier. He refused a second, not sure his stomach could take it.
The one sandwich seemed to satisfy Dominic for the moment. He ate the second sandwich himself as he silently watched Viggo watch the phone and the door. "They'll be here soon."
"Yeah."
Elijah and Billy had gone to the airport to pick up Sonia and Samantha Bloom, who were flying in from England. The movie studio was based in Los Angeles, and when this was over, that was where they would bring their people. It hadn't been strictly necessary for the Bloom women to fly over, but they hadn't wanted to wait at home and Viggo hadn't been able to blame them. He had told them without hesitation that they could stay at his house until the ordeal was over.
A conference room had been set up at the studio for the families of the hostages, but Viggo had chosen to stay at home where he knew he wouldn't attract any attention. He wasn't family, and though the Rings actors were known to be close enough that his presence wouldn't cause surprise or comment, he worried that if he showed up his celebrity status would put the focus on him, not where it should have been on the hostages. If Sonia wanted to go, he'd take her, and stay if she desired, but for now he was more comfortable at home with Sonia having designated his number as her contact information.
The door opened and Viggo jerked in surprise though he had been expecting it for the past twenty minutes or so. Billy and Elijah walked in, weighed down with luggage - Orlando came by his penchant for packing too much honestly - followed by Sonia and Samantha. Viggo directed Billy and Elijah up to the guest rooms with the luggage and embraced Orlando's mother and sister. All three of them held on just a tad too long.
"Is there any news?"
"No." Viggo shook his head. "The studio is sending some people to work with the local police, but that's all I've heard. The demands are still the same and the studio won't negotiate. They can't."
"How long?"
Sonia didn't have to say anything else for Viggo to know what she meant. "Two hours." Two more hours and then, if those bastards were serious, someone would die, maybe Orlando. "The studio people probably won't get there in time."
The twisted, agonized expression on Sonia's face was perfectly matched by the turmoil in Viggo's gut.
~*~
"Up!"
Orlando jerked awake with a cry of pain as he was roughly grabbed and dragged to the center of the room. He scrambled to get his knees under him as ordered, struggled to stay upright when he was released. He caught a brief glimpse of several strangely familiar men with guns before something was tied over his eyes, blinding him.
One of the guns was pressed into the back of his head and suddenly it wasn't so difficult to remain upright. His heart pounded loudly, thudding in his chest so loudly that he could hardly hear any of the other sounds in the room. One of the men was talking - probably into the large, bulky phone he'd briefly glimpsed - but he couldn't make out any words. He tried to focus, thought it might be important, wondered if it would be the last thing he heard.
"...someone will die now. You have another three hours."
That got his attention, but the man had stopped talking in a language Orlando understood. There were a few barked words, and then the muzzle of the gun pressed tightly against his head and he could hear the clicking of rounds being chambered.
Chapter Three
I need new icons, both for this journal and to use in my main journal when I post fics. Can someone please direct me to some? Or if someone would like to make me an icon, I'll write you a little ficlet.
Author: peppervl
Pairing: OB/VM
Rating: NC-17
Summary: When a tragic situation leaves Orlando broken and isolated will Viggo’s love and belief in him be strong enough to bring him back?
Feedback: Always appreciated
Warnings: Violence, Angst, and Character Death (Original Characters only).
Disclaimer: This is not true. I don’t know them, and I'm not making any claims about them in real life. It never happened.
Archive: Please don't.
Author’s Notes: This is set in early to mid 2003. I obviously played with actual filming schedules. There's a lot of angst in this, but there will eventually be a happy ending, I promise.
~*~
Chapter One
Time passed strangely in the darkroom, distorted by the muted red light and the exacting nature of the task at hand. Viggo developed several rolls of film, stepping out between each to blink at the bright sun streaming in through the windows, glance at the clock, and calculate the time difference to Orlando's location.
Most days, the darkroom sped up time and the hours spent inside flew by, often making Viggo late for other engagements. Now, it slowed time and the hours until it was late enough for Orlando to call crept by at a snail's pace.
The film was developed quickly - far faster than Viggo anticipated - and the pictures were hung to dry. The studio beckoned briefly, but Viggo knew that no real work would be done there until he heard from Orlando, so he moved from the studio to the kitchen to the bedroom, cleaning as he went. The mundane task kept his hands occupied and gave him something to focus on so he didn't have to think, didn't have to wonder and worry about what had caused the strange note he'd heard in Orlando's voice when he played the message.
He should have been home when Orlando called, but instead he'd stopped at the store after dropping Henry at Exene's and had come home to only a message. He hadn't left the house since, afraid that if he would miss Orlando's call if he did, but the time was passing horribly slowly and there were still hours to go before Orlando would be able to call.
The phone rang just as Viggo was about to move his cleaning into the studio, a place generally better avoided during such sprees. He left the cleaning supplies in the hall and picked up the nearest phone without glancing at the Caller ID or the clock. "Hello?"
"Viggo? Thank god you answered. Have you heard from Orli?"
Viggo glanced at the clock and frowned. It was still far too early for Orlando to be able to call today. "He left a message last-"
"No, today," Elijah interrupted, his voice high with panic. "In the last few hours. Did his mom call you?"
What the hell was Elijah going on about? Why would Sonia call? Viggo got along with Orlando's mother, but they weren't exactly buddies. It was unlikely she would call without reason.
"No. Elijah, what happened? What's wrong? Why would Sonia call here?"
"Fuck. Um, turn on the TV, 'kay? The news."
"What? Why?" Viggo could hear the nervousness in Elijah's voice, and he was moving towards the television despite his confusion.
"Just, turn it on, please? There's...something you should see. Don't hang up."
The remote was, for once, sitting in plain sight on the coffee table. Viggo picked it up and flipped on the television. Pictures flashed across the screen, stock photos of people Viggo had met when he visited Orlando on set, and then one of Orlando, taken at the premiere of The Two Towers.
Elijah muttered, "Fuck," into the phone as Viggo fumbled with the volume. His fingers slipped on the button and he only caught a few words.
"...film...hostages..."
It was enough. Too much. He sat down heavily on the couch as the remote and phone both slipped from limp fingers. The phone clattered as it hit the floor, the battery coming loose and skidding under the coffee table.
Viggo didn't notice, didn't care, couldn't focus on anything but the television again showing pictures of the hostages, Orlando's face among them.
~*~
Cold. He was so cold. He shouldn't have been; the last he remembered he'd been sweltering, but now he was freezing, his whole body trembling with the chill. He curled up, wrapped his arms around his chest trying to fend it off, but he just kept shivering.
"I think he's waking up."
"Shit, he's shivering."
A cool hand touched his forehead and felt far better than it should have. When it was pulled away, he whimpered and shifted, trying to find it again.
"He's burning up."
The hand was back on his shoulder this time, shaking him. "Orlando. Come on, I know you're awake. Look at me."
He didn't want to open his eyes, but the soft voice was insistent, so he cracked one eyelid and peered up.
"There you go."
A shadowy figure moved to block the worst of the light and Orlando opened his other eye.
"How are you feeling?"
He swallowed, licked his lips. "Cold. My head hurts." So did his throat now that he was talking, but it would hurt more to mention that.
"Here, this will help." Jonathan slid an arm behind Orlando's back and helped him sit up a little before taking a cup from Ryan.
The room spun disturbingly, and if Jonathan hadn't been supporting him, Orlando would have fallen back to the ground before he was halfway up. As it was, the best he could manage was to lean heavily against the director with his eyes closed as he waited for the room to stoop spinning.
The water was cool as it ran down his throat and Jonathan was warm against his back. It felt good, and Orlando was content to rest just as he was. He didn't open his eyes until he was pushed away from the warmth and something was pulled over his head. He blinked, let Ryan finish helping him into a shirt that wasn't his, and sagged back against Jonathan, his eyes closing again. It was too much effort to keep them open.
He was cold again, though not as cold as before, and someone was shaking him. "Come on Orlando, open your eyes. You have to wake up now."
He wanted to do what the desperate voice was asking, but he couldn't make his muscles respond. His eyelids were too heavy and it was too much effort to even try to force them upwards.
The person kept calling, kept shaking him, but he couldn't tell who it was, couldn't move at all, not even to respond to the new, harsher voice or the pain that suddenly blossomed across his back and side.
It hurt to breathe, his throat was on fire, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but he could open his eyes and move his limbs a little. The terrible heaviness was gone, replaced with mere weariness and pain. It wasn't pleasant, but it was a distinct improvement over what he last remembered.
Slowly, Orlando tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his side stopped him short. Warm hands caught him as he fell back. "Careful."
Orlando nodded and let himself relax in Jonathan's grip as he looked around the room. It was small and sparsely furnished - just a few chairs stacked on a tabled in the corner and a single picture on the wall. Some jugs of water and a few cups were piled under the table. One of the jugs had tipped over, spilling its contents and soaking one of the rough throw rugs that covered the floor.
It was not where Orlando had fallen asleep.
"Where...? What...?" His mouth was almost too dry to form the few words his jumbled brain was able to come up with. Ryan pressed a full cup into his hand and he drank gratefully. "Where are we?"
"Somewhere in the hotel, we think." Ryan scooted closer so he could look Orlando in the eyes. "How are you feeling?"
That really wasn't something Orlando wanted to think about at the moment. "Um," he debated lying, decided it would be futile. "Not too good, actually. What, um, what happened?"
"We're not sure."
Orlando twisted so he could see Jonathan, winced as he was hit with another sharp pain.
Jonathan slid out from behind Orlando and helped him lean against the wall. "We all woke up in here. We were drugged somehow, probably with dinner, though that doesn't explain how they got you."
"Oh." He vaguely remembered strange faces and rough hands jabbing something sharp into his hip, but it still didn't make any sense. Being drugged and dragged down the hall wouldn't leave him feeling this badly, wouldn't leave him feeling so much worse than everyone else obviously did. There had to be something more. "What do they...? Why do I...?" It was hard to think, harder to form a coherent sentence.
"Some men came in a few hours ago. They told us that if we behaved and the studio cooperated we'd be out soon, but they were angry that you didn't wake up and hit you with their guns."
That explained a little more, explained the pain, at least. As he looked around the room, Orlando noticed that all of the fifteen or so people he could see were part of the film. Most were crew, though two other actors, Kelly and James, were huddled together nearby. "What do they want?"
"Money, maybe. We don't know. All they said was they wanted something from the studio."
"Oh." It still didn't make any sense, but Orlando couldn't try to process it anymore. The room was spinning faster and faster and the water he had swallowed earlier was threatening to leave his stomach. It was all he could do to lie down and curl up into a ball, ignoring the pain in his side as he clenched his eyes shut and willed oblivion to come and wipe the nightmare away.
~*~
Ryan leaned back against the wall, watching Jonathan move from group to group, presumably offering comfort and encouragement. Orlando was asleep, curled up at Ryan's side, only occasionally moving a little bit, and Jonathan kept glancing back at them as he moved around the room. Ryan answered the unasked question in Jonathan's eyes with a nod every time he looked. Orlando was doing as well as could be expected.
Orlando stirred a little and whimpered and Ryan was glad that Jonathan's attention was occupied by Mary, a makeup artist who was a mother hen to everyone, especially Jonathan. She was busy comforting Jonathan, which left Ryan finally able to help Orlando. Jonathan had been wonderful, but in his need to take care of everyone he felt responsible for, he sometimes forgot that the people he cared for sometimes needed to give care rather than just receive it.
Carefully, Ryan brushed the hair back from Orlando's forehead, wincing at the heat emanating from it as he did. Orlando's fever was rising and all they had to attempt to bring it down was some lukewarm water and the clothes on their backs. Ryan had already given his shirt to Orlando to keep him warm. Two of the crew had donated their over-large T-shirts to use as rags. Ryan picked up one of these, dipped it in a cup of water, and wiped down Orlando's face, letting the water drip and run down his skin.
Orlando made a soft sound and Ryan gently rubbed his back. "Shh. Just sleep. It's the best thing for you right now." It was the best thing for all of them really, but Ryan was far too worried about his friend to even consider the idea. Orlando had been there for him at the beginning of shooting when he had been terrified about his first major role and desperately missing his family and friends back home. Now, when they were almost done with the film, it was his turn to repay the favor.
He would not let these men hurt Orlando any more.
He rewet the shirt three times before Orlando settled down into a deeper sleep, shifting closer and pillowing his head on Ryan's thigh. His cheek was hot through the thin cotton of Ryan's pajama pants, but Ryan didn't dare try to get Orlando to roll over so he could cool that cheek as well. Orlando would wake at least a little and perhaps think that he was someone else.
Ryan didn't want to know what Orlando would do from that position if he thought that Ryan were Viggo. Orlando would be mortified if he found out and from what Ryan knew of Viggo, he doubted Viggo would appreciate it, though Ryan did know that Viggo would be more concerned about Orlando's health than any hand job given while in the grips of fever dreams.
It was what Viggo might do or say once Orlando was well again that worried Ryan.
No, Ryan would not do anything that might wake Orlando even a little. Orlando desperately needed rest and Ryan was determined to make sure he got it for as he was able.
~*~
Viggo sat on the couch, staring at the muted television, unable to look away just in case new information was released. He was supposed to get a call before anything hit the news, but he still couldn't look away. He wanted to see everything, even the bits that were just speculation and were probably far from the truth.
He needed every scrap of information he could get, needed to cling to every bit of hope he could find. There was little information to be found and less hope, but Viggo could not tear his eyes away from the television for a moment out of the fear that he would miss something. The images flashing by meant nothing, made little sense, and only held his interest because the next might be the one he was looking for.
The screen went blank. Viggo gasped. "No." His heart pounded in his chest as he frantically searched the room with his eyes, looking for the remote.
He found it held loosely in Dominic's left hand.
In his other hand, Dominic held a plate of sandwiches, which he set on the coffee table. He kept the remote well out of Viggo's reach. "Eat."
Viggo shook his head. "No."
Dominic, Billy, and Elijah had all been in Los Angeles, and had arrived at Viggo's not twenty minutes after he had dropped the phone, inadvertently hanging up on Elijah. At least one of them had been with Viggo ever since, doing the best they could to make the long hours pass quickly.
The sandwiches were just the latest in a string of things they were trying to feed him. Viggo didn't want them any more than he wanted their previous offerings.
Dominic grabbed two off the plate and held one out to Viggo, his expression stern. "Eat, Viggo."
"I can't."
"Sure you can." Dominic pressed the sandwich into Viggo's hands. "You have to be hungry by now, even if you don't realize it." He fixed Viggo with a determined stare.
Viggo knew from experience that when Dominic pulled out that expression, he wouldn’t give up until he got his way, so he took a bite and forced himself to swallow. He didn't taste the sandwich at all, but once the first bite hit his stomach, he realized that he was indeed hungry, and the rest of the sandwich went down much easier. He refused a second, not sure his stomach could take it.
The one sandwich seemed to satisfy Dominic for the moment. He ate the second sandwich himself as he silently watched Viggo watch the phone and the door. "They'll be here soon."
"Yeah."
Elijah and Billy had gone to the airport to pick up Sonia and Samantha Bloom, who were flying in from England. The movie studio was based in Los Angeles, and when this was over, that was where they would bring their people. It hadn't been strictly necessary for the Bloom women to fly over, but they hadn't wanted to wait at home and Viggo hadn't been able to blame them. He had told them without hesitation that they could stay at his house until the ordeal was over.
A conference room had been set up at the studio for the families of the hostages, but Viggo had chosen to stay at home where he knew he wouldn't attract any attention. He wasn't family, and though the Rings actors were known to be close enough that his presence wouldn't cause surprise or comment, he worried that if he showed up his celebrity status would put the focus on him, not where it should have been on the hostages. If Sonia wanted to go, he'd take her, and stay if she desired, but for now he was more comfortable at home with Sonia having designated his number as her contact information.
The door opened and Viggo jerked in surprise though he had been expecting it for the past twenty minutes or so. Billy and Elijah walked in, weighed down with luggage - Orlando came by his penchant for packing too much honestly - followed by Sonia and Samantha. Viggo directed Billy and Elijah up to the guest rooms with the luggage and embraced Orlando's mother and sister. All three of them held on just a tad too long.
"Is there any news?"
"No." Viggo shook his head. "The studio is sending some people to work with the local police, but that's all I've heard. The demands are still the same and the studio won't negotiate. They can't."
"How long?"
Sonia didn't have to say anything else for Viggo to know what she meant. "Two hours." Two more hours and then, if those bastards were serious, someone would die, maybe Orlando. "The studio people probably won't get there in time."
The twisted, agonized expression on Sonia's face was perfectly matched by the turmoil in Viggo's gut.
~*~
"Up!"
Orlando jerked awake with a cry of pain as he was roughly grabbed and dragged to the center of the room. He scrambled to get his knees under him as ordered, struggled to stay upright when he was released. He caught a brief glimpse of several strangely familiar men with guns before something was tied over his eyes, blinding him.
One of the guns was pressed into the back of his head and suddenly it wasn't so difficult to remain upright. His heart pounded loudly, thudding in his chest so loudly that he could hardly hear any of the other sounds in the room. One of the men was talking - probably into the large, bulky phone he'd briefly glimpsed - but he couldn't make out any words. He tried to focus, thought it might be important, wondered if it would be the last thing he heard.
"...someone will die now. You have another three hours."
That got his attention, but the man had stopped talking in a language Orlando understood. There were a few barked words, and then the muzzle of the gun pressed tightly against his head and he could hear the clicking of rounds being chambered.
Chapter Three
I need new icons, both for this journal and to use in my main journal when I post fics. Can someone please direct me to some? Or if someone would like to make me an icon, I'll write you a little ficlet.