The little AU: Rising Spring: Re-entry
The little AU: Rising Spring: Re-entry
slashfairy
~~
He arrives at the hotel not nearly as tired as he'd expected to be from the drive. He's taken three days, altogether, from the grey house in Venice Beach to the house at the end of the Bluff road, then up the Coast Highway, seeing how much it is like and how much it is unlike the coast of New Zealand. He'd stopped the night in Arcata, stayed at a bed and breakfast walking distance from Cafe Mokka, had himself a good sauna, and solidly slept the night. He'd thought about stopping one more night at Salishan on the Oregon coast but pushed through- it's not a bad drive, the Jeep's running like a top, and he'd got good music to keep him company.
The CD is eclectic and comforting, some mix a fan sent that actually got through the maze and into Karl's hands. How they'd guessed he'd like The Weepies mixed with E. S. Posthumus mixed with Jake Shimabukuro and Lisa Gerrard and Dave Matthews Band and Dire Straits is beyond him, but he does, and sings along with the songs comfortably, smoothing his way back into the ordinary predictable uncertainties of his life after Trek.
Some things are certain.
Hunter loves him: that's been well established by this year of Hunter living over here with him, growing accustomed to, able to balance in, his father's oddly-woven life. Hunter's made clear that he trusts his father, trusts his decisions, and trusts that his father trusts him, too- trusts that Hunter's learned some of what Henry's learned over the years, about being versatile, flexible, about carrying your house with you. The last movie they'd watched together before Hunter left for his friend's house was Whale Rider. "In the old days, the land felt a great emptiness, but it was waiting. Waiting to be filled up, waiting for someone to love it: waiting for a leader," Karl says to himself quoting the opening lines of the movie as he puts his few things away in the suite.
And he came on the back of a whale, he thinks, fingering the hei matau hanging on the cord round his neck. Viggo has one that Karl sent him, so many years ago- and that's something else that's certain- that deep connection between them, like whalesong across the centuries. Viggo'd come into his life on the tide of storytelling, not the back of a whale, but the effect is the same- some emptiness filled, some need for leadership met.
Some things are uncertain.
What shape their triangle will take now that everything's changed, come full circle from last Spring. Viggo's got Iceland and Denmark; movie promotions, probably awards shows; but mostly, rest. Orlando's happier than Karl's seen him in a long time, but the length of the legs between his point and theirs is getting longer and longer as it stretches to take in his new possibilities. Karl's sure that the love is strong as ever; he knows Orlando will never not love Viggo, and he's pretty sure Orlando will never not love him. But he's pretty sure that the days of the three of them casually weaving in and out are over for now and the nights of the three of them in the big bed without concern for anything outside it are going to be few and far between for some time.
Growing up, he is, Karl thinks, walking up to the church where the performance is, grinning at his disguise: dark brown contact lenses, a bit of grey penciled into his eyebrows, and a pure Los Angeles rhythm to his walk. We're each growing up. He hands over his ticket, gets a program, finds a seat in the back, and settles in.
The building is cool and the audience is comfortable as the lights go down and the evening starts. Karl knows who's here because it's Viggo, not Howard's work, by the little catch in their breathing as he walks on before he starts speaking. So tiny: he looks so small. But the words fire him up, he puts on height and weight right in front of them, and Karl's heart fills with admiration all over again. Afterward though, signing autographs, making his way to the exit, Viggo's tiredness is evident in the glaze his eyes take if he's not focused on someone, something.
Come on, Karl says finally, come on. He slips away from Viggo's side where he's whispered these two words: Come on. He feels Viggo's hand on his back telling him message received, so he goes back to the hotel.
It's an hour or so more before the door opens and Viggo walks in, sets down his purchases and pulls off his boots, and runs his hand over his face.
It's weird, he says.
Yeah, Karl answers.
Two days ago we were still filming. And now... He gestures to his t-shirt, his parcels, the hotel room, Karl's program for the evening of Howard's work.
Karl nods.
I know, he says. It's weird.
He pours them each a shot of whiskey, hands one to Viggo who looks at it and sets it down on the table.
Karl looks at him, sees that he's not quite here yet.
Go on. Go, take a shower. Did you eat?
Yeah. Enough. Well, not enough, but what I could manage.
Chocolate?
That gets a smile, then a kiss. Of course, and a bit of meat, some vegetables. Bread. I'm ok.
The veins on Viggo's arms stand out, ropy. He pulls his shirt off, scratches his belly, wrinkled like an old man's, and walks into the bathroom, turns on the water.
The bathroom's done in blue and white tiles, lighthouses and whales in bas-relief on some of them. Karl runs his finger over the back of a whale, thinking of Paikea, the whale rider, thinking of the land, waiting to be filled up.
Want company? he asks. Scrub your back?
No.
Then, yeah.
He can hear the smile.
He feels Viggo relax under his hands, feels the tension holding him together dissolve in the hot water. Senses the soles of his feet make contact with the earth as it is, still green, still alive, still full of possibilities. He massages Viggo's scalp, washing out the ash that wasn't ever really there, rinsing in freshness and colour, birdsong and the scent of honey and lavender, and laughs when Viggo shakes his head like a puppy.
After, when they're both dry and Viggo's got his soccer jammies on and they're sitting propped up against the headboard with the covers pulled up sipping at the whiskey Viggo leans his head against Karl's and sighs.
It's just re-entry, Karl says, and Viggo sighs again.
Yeah, he says. Beautiful blue planet, innit? So beautiful.
Yeah, Karl says, smiling. It really is.
slashfairy
~~
He arrives at the hotel not nearly as tired as he'd expected to be from the drive. He's taken three days, altogether, from the grey house in Venice Beach to the house at the end of the Bluff road, then up the Coast Highway, seeing how much it is like and how much it is unlike the coast of New Zealand. He'd stopped the night in Arcata, stayed at a bed and breakfast walking distance from Cafe Mokka, had himself a good sauna, and solidly slept the night. He'd thought about stopping one more night at Salishan on the Oregon coast but pushed through- it's not a bad drive, the Jeep's running like a top, and he'd got good music to keep him company.
The CD is eclectic and comforting, some mix a fan sent that actually got through the maze and into Karl's hands. How they'd guessed he'd like The Weepies mixed with E. S. Posthumus mixed with Jake Shimabukuro and Lisa Gerrard and Dave Matthews Band and Dire Straits is beyond him, but he does, and sings along with the songs comfortably, smoothing his way back into the ordinary predictable uncertainties of his life after Trek.
Some things are certain.
Hunter loves him: that's been well established by this year of Hunter living over here with him, growing accustomed to, able to balance in, his father's oddly-woven life. Hunter's made clear that he trusts his father, trusts his decisions, and trusts that his father trusts him, too- trusts that Hunter's learned some of what Henry's learned over the years, about being versatile, flexible, about carrying your house with you. The last movie they'd watched together before Hunter left for his friend's house was Whale Rider. "In the old days, the land felt a great emptiness, but it was waiting. Waiting to be filled up, waiting for someone to love it: waiting for a leader," Karl says to himself quoting the opening lines of the movie as he puts his few things away in the suite.
And he came on the back of a whale, he thinks, fingering the hei matau hanging on the cord round his neck. Viggo has one that Karl sent him, so many years ago- and that's something else that's certain- that deep connection between them, like whalesong across the centuries. Viggo'd come into his life on the tide of storytelling, not the back of a whale, but the effect is the same- some emptiness filled, some need for leadership met.
Some things are uncertain.
What shape their triangle will take now that everything's changed, come full circle from last Spring. Viggo's got Iceland and Denmark; movie promotions, probably awards shows; but mostly, rest. Orlando's happier than Karl's seen him in a long time, but the length of the legs between his point and theirs is getting longer and longer as it stretches to take in his new possibilities. Karl's sure that the love is strong as ever; he knows Orlando will never not love Viggo, and he's pretty sure Orlando will never not love him. But he's pretty sure that the days of the three of them casually weaving in and out are over for now and the nights of the three of them in the big bed without concern for anything outside it are going to be few and far between for some time.
Growing up, he is, Karl thinks, walking up to the church where the performance is, grinning at his disguise: dark brown contact lenses, a bit of grey penciled into his eyebrows, and a pure Los Angeles rhythm to his walk. We're each growing up. He hands over his ticket, gets a program, finds a seat in the back, and settles in.
The building is cool and the audience is comfortable as the lights go down and the evening starts. Karl knows who's here because it's Viggo, not Howard's work, by the little catch in their breathing as he walks on before he starts speaking. So tiny: he looks so small. But the words fire him up, he puts on height and weight right in front of them, and Karl's heart fills with admiration all over again. Afterward though, signing autographs, making his way to the exit, Viggo's tiredness is evident in the glaze his eyes take if he's not focused on someone, something.
Come on, Karl says finally, come on. He slips away from Viggo's side where he's whispered these two words: Come on. He feels Viggo's hand on his back telling him message received, so he goes back to the hotel.
It's an hour or so more before the door opens and Viggo walks in, sets down his purchases and pulls off his boots, and runs his hand over his face.
It's weird, he says.
Yeah, Karl answers.
Two days ago we were still filming. And now... He gestures to his t-shirt, his parcels, the hotel room, Karl's program for the evening of Howard's work.
Karl nods.
I know, he says. It's weird.
He pours them each a shot of whiskey, hands one to Viggo who looks at it and sets it down on the table.
Karl looks at him, sees that he's not quite here yet.
Go on. Go, take a shower. Did you eat?
Yeah. Enough. Well, not enough, but what I could manage.
Chocolate?
That gets a smile, then a kiss. Of course, and a bit of meat, some vegetables. Bread. I'm ok.
The veins on Viggo's arms stand out, ropy. He pulls his shirt off, scratches his belly, wrinkled like an old man's, and walks into the bathroom, turns on the water.
The bathroom's done in blue and white tiles, lighthouses and whales in bas-relief on some of them. Karl runs his finger over the back of a whale, thinking of Paikea, the whale rider, thinking of the land, waiting to be filled up.
Want company? he asks. Scrub your back?
No.
Then, yeah.
He can hear the smile.
He feels Viggo relax under his hands, feels the tension holding him together dissolve in the hot water. Senses the soles of his feet make contact with the earth as it is, still green, still alive, still full of possibilities. He massages Viggo's scalp, washing out the ash that wasn't ever really there, rinsing in freshness and colour, birdsong and the scent of honey and lavender, and laughs when Viggo shakes his head like a puppy.
After, when they're both dry and Viggo's got his soccer jammies on and they're sitting propped up against the headboard with the covers pulled up sipping at the whiskey Viggo leans his head against Karl's and sighs.
It's just re-entry, Karl says, and Viggo sighs again.
Yeah, he says. Beautiful blue planet, innit? So beautiful.
Yeah, Karl says, smiling. It really is.