The little AU: Vignettes: Traveling companions: six
The little AU: Vignettes: Traveling companions: six
slashfairy
~~
Sometimes Viggo takes a day for himself.
He walks the forest near the shoot, letting himself look at it with a fisherman's eye, with his camera, with his fingers on the cold damp bark and mossy stones. Takes in all the shades of green in a winter's forest: lichen greens, moss greens, stains on the stones, pine needles, even the occasional slender stem pushing its unseasonable way through the snow. Allows himself the browns of bark, the white-blue chill of a rare cloudless sky. Makes a fire and notes, carefully, the oranges and reds and even blues in the flame as it consumes the bits of wood he feeds it.
The fire burns out. He debates staying out overnight, but doesn't. John will look at him as though he's going a bit far, but Kodi will worry even though he knows he doesn't need to.
Instead he walks back- only a couple miles, not far. Drives to the hotel, bathes, changes, has dinner. Considers meeting a few people in the bar, but doesn't. Has a drink, then another- no shooting tomorrow, a day off, could have slept out if he'd been prepared, but- that's right, he'd decided not to, he remembers now- pours another drink, picks up the phone, and dials.
I'm all right, the message he leaves at one number, then another. I'm ok.
He is, and he isn't. They know that, too- that he's fighting to understand this, what it means that someday he'll die, everyone he loves will die- and they know it's a fight he has to fight inside himself, by himself, or never find the end of it. They wince when they pick up the messages- Karl makes a fist at the sound of the tiredness in Viggo's voice, and Orlando's face goes still and his eyes deep, and each of them wants to come to him, but they don't.
It's a journey he's on by himself, this year. All they can do is be there when it's finished.
slashfairy
~~
Sometimes Viggo takes a day for himself.
He walks the forest near the shoot, letting himself look at it with a fisherman's eye, with his camera, with his fingers on the cold damp bark and mossy stones. Takes in all the shades of green in a winter's forest: lichen greens, moss greens, stains on the stones, pine needles, even the occasional slender stem pushing its unseasonable way through the snow. Allows himself the browns of bark, the white-blue chill of a rare cloudless sky. Makes a fire and notes, carefully, the oranges and reds and even blues in the flame as it consumes the bits of wood he feeds it.
The fire burns out. He debates staying out overnight, but doesn't. John will look at him as though he's going a bit far, but Kodi will worry even though he knows he doesn't need to.
Instead he walks back- only a couple miles, not far. Drives to the hotel, bathes, changes, has dinner. Considers meeting a few people in the bar, but doesn't. Has a drink, then another- no shooting tomorrow, a day off, could have slept out if he'd been prepared, but- that's right, he'd decided not to, he remembers now- pours another drink, picks up the phone, and dials.
I'm all right, the message he leaves at one number, then another. I'm ok.
He is, and he isn't. They know that, too- that he's fighting to understand this, what it means that someday he'll die, everyone he loves will die- and they know it's a fight he has to fight inside himself, by himself, or never find the end of it. They wince when they pick up the messages- Karl makes a fist at the sound of the tiredness in Viggo's voice, and Orlando's face goes still and his eyes deep, and each of them wants to come to him, but they don't.
It's a journey he's on by himself, this year. All they can do is be there when it's finished.