A Study in Still Life
In honor of Orlijah Month!
Title: A Study in Still Life, ch. 5
Authors: often_adamanta & violettefemme
Type: LOTR RPS AU
Pairing: OB/OMC, eventually Orlijah
Rating: R
Warning: Domestic violence, abuse
Beta: By the lovely and charismatic talesinbloom
A/N: This is a WIP… and we promise it won't take us this long to update again!
Previous Parts: (since it's been for-freaking-ever)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Even though Elijah rode in the ambulance with Orlando, held his hand while the paramedics splinted his arm and checked his vitals, felt his stomach twist as he saw the tears leak from Orlando's eyes, the nursing staff would not let him go back into the ER alongside his friend.
Three hours later, the nail beds on his right thumb and forefinger were raw and bleeding when they finally informed him that Orlando had been moved to a room and was able to see Elijah. One thought played in his head over and over and it caused him to practically run through the halls. He must see Orli, must see him.
In front of the room he came to an abrupt halt, suddenly afraid to open the door and see what was inside. He could hear machines making their clicks and beeps. He pictured Orlando still covered in blood and crying in pain and heartbreak on the way to the hospital. His heart seemed to stop in his chest. Elijah pressed down over the spot to ease the ache. A few deep breaths later and he pushed the door open enough to slip inside.
Orlando was sleeping. His face was absolutely relaxed in a way that Elijah hadn't seen even in their most carefree moments together. He practically tip-toed to the side of the bed and took inventory of his friend's features.
Brow uncreased, lips just barely parted, eyes fluttering occasionally in dreams, a great ugly bruise painted purples and blues across his cheek and jaw. There was a plain white cast on Orlando's right arm and tubes running from his left hand up to an IV drip.
Elijah placed his hand over Orlando's and sighed in relief. At least he was alive. He ran his fingers up the tubing to reach the bag above. A disapproving noise made him jump, and he whipped around too see a pretty nurse in her mid-forties make a beeline for Orlando's chart.
The nurse tutted when she strode in, seeing his fingers playing with the half-full plastic bag of saline feeding into the IV in Orlando's hand. The horrified look on Elijah's face caused her to reach around and pat his shoulder gently as she made some notes in the chart.
"That's mostly precaution, that is, plus it's convenient to administer pain relief. That's really his biggest problem, the pain. A few cracked ribs, a fairly bad break in his arm, but the rest is bruising, both internally and on the skin. We are going to keep him overnight to monitor him, but he should be okay to go home tomorrow."
"When do you think he'll wake up?" Elijah asked quietly, eyes drifting back to Orlando's bruised face.
"He'll be drifting in and out," she answered. "The drugs and the shock to his system will make him groggy, though. You're welcome to stay as long as you don't tire him." She waved a hand at the chair next to the bed, which looked mildly more comfortable than the ones in the waiting room.
"Thank you," Elijah told her softly. She patted his shoulder again and swept out of the room.
Elijah sat down on the edge of the chair and gave a massive sigh. His hands itched for a camera, but he didn't have one with him. For once, photography had been at the very back of his mind.
He reached out to touch Orlando's thin fingers, trailing up to where they disappeared into the cast. Orlando was going to hate it, he already knew, but Elijah couldn't help but be so very grateful. Back in his office, when he'd found him, there had been a second where he'd been so sure... It didn't bear thinking.
"Lij?"
His head jerked up at the whisper. "Orli?"
Orlando gave a slow blink. "What are you doing here?" His throat was scratchy and hoarse.
Elijah stood up and poured him a glass of water, grateful to have something to do with his hands. "Here," he said and helped him drink.
Orlando swallowed carefully, sighing in relief when he finished. He studied Elijah for a minute, eyelids drooping with exhaustion. They suddenly widened, sorrow and regret covering his face. "Oh, your office. And the pictures, Elijah, I'm so sorry."
It took half a minute for Elijah to find his voice through the lump lodged in his throat. "Orli, don't even think about it. Not for even a minute. Those were just things. Things can be replaced."
"But the pictures..." Orlando tried to shift up into a more comfortable position, but winced as the muscles over his stomach and ribs protested. He gave up and settled back into the pillows before continuing. "The photos were ruined."
"I have all the negatives, Orli." Elijah grinned. "I'll have a fresh set as soon as I have some time to spend in the dark room."
"Oh. That's good." Orlando looked away and seemed to shrink into himself, looking even more fragile in the standard hospital gown and starchy white sheets. "How stupid of me."
Elijah sighed and rubbed his palms against his face. One thing was certain, the reasons behind Orlando's constant self-depreciation and maddening reticence to share anything about his personal life were now horrifyingly clear. Always one to try and find a silver lining, Elijah realized that now that he had the key to his friend's puzzling behavior, he might be able to help Orlando pull himself out of this mess. With resolve, Elijah scooted his chair closer to the bed and took Orlando's good hand in his, giving it a squeeze.
"You're not stupid, Orlando." Elijah pulled the hand slightly, forcing Orlando to look at him. "You're not."
Orlando's eyes were shiny with unshed tears. He looked unconvinced, but pleased that Elijah had said as much. "Elijah ... "
"No. I know you aren't going to want to hear some of this. But I don't care. You don't deserve this mess you're in. You're going to leave that asshole of a boyfriend. You're going to press charges against him, because he can't get away with treating you like this. You're way too good for him. You're smart and funny and handsome. You're a talented artist and a good friend." Elijah released Orlando's hand. "In fact ... you're such a good friend that I'd like for you to live with me. I've found that my place is really much too large for just me. I was going to put an ad in the paper, but I've decided I want you. To be my roommate, that is."
Orlando just stared at him when he finished. Elijah was sitting there, solid and earnest, having just spouted the strangest speech. Orlando's brain wasn't working too well at the moment, and he'd only taken in two things: leave Cillian and I want you.
He hadn't allowed himself to even think about leaving Cillian before. Love was supposed to be for life and besides, he didn't have any other choice. He had nowhere else to go.
Except apparently, Elijah was offering him a place. Wanted him, even. It should have made him wary, but all it did was give him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had said that they wanted him, not really.
Elijah was still sitting when Orlando pulled himself from his muzzy thoughts. He looked nervous, waiting for his response, which made Orlando feel a little better about this, more in control.
"I lov-loved Cillian," he said slowly, tripping over the past tense. It was clearly not what Elijah had expected him to say. A tear slipped free and rolled down his face, and he was so tired of crying, but he was too tired to be concerned with wiping it away. "I can't go back to him, I know that. But the rest of it? Living with you? It's a little too much ... I don't think I can deal with it. Not yet, anyway."
Elijah nodded, his expression worried. "At least promise me you'll come for a few days until you feel better. Promise me you won't go home to him."
The vehemence in Elijah's tone took him by surprise. "Yeah, that sounds okay. I'll promise you that."
The door opening made them both look up.
"Miranda?" Orlando questioned, confused. "What are you doing here?"
"He asked me the same thing," Elijah told her, shaking his head. "Orli, we've all been here for hours. Me and Miranda and Karl, all waiting to make sure you were okay."
"Quite a few other people as well, including some of your students." Miranda walked over to the bed and stroked a gentle hand across Orlando's forehead, grinning down at him. "So. Are you okay?"
Orlando barely heard her question. The warmth that had spread out into his limbs at the thought of his friends caring enough to sit in an uncomfortable hospital just to see if he was okay disappeared. It hadn't occurred to him to be embarrassed in front of Elijah, which was odd in itself, when he stopped to think about it. He wasn't even all that embarrassed that Miranda knew. But the thought of his students sitting out there in the waiting room... His students knowing that their teacher was nothing more than a silly faggot who allowed himself to get knocked around by his lover...
He had never in his life felt so ashamed. He was reminded of those reality cop shows where some poorly-groomed and battered woman made excuses for her husband's behavior and cried with black mascara trails running down her cheeks. He could now count himself among those that Cillian would have written off as incredibly pathetic. Cillian... A deep quake began in his stomach and began to radiate out into his chest and limbs. He arms and hands shook and a sob broke from his throat.
Miranda and Elijah shared a worried look as Orlando turned his face into the pillow to smother his cries. They watched his shoulders shake and his fist tangle in the sheets as wave after wave of agony was loosed into the bedding. Elijah ventured forward a hand of comfort onto Orlando's back, but he was rebuffed as Orlando pulled away from his touch.
"Elijah, please. Miranda. Please, just- " Orlando's voice was muffled and desolate through his tears. "Please, tell them I'm fine and send them home. I just- I can't."
Miranda understood immediately and leaned down to brush her lips against Orlando's cheek. "All right, Orli. I'll be back in a few minutes. Would you like me to bring anything when I come back?"
Orlando shook his head in the negative and desperately tried to control his breathing. He heard Miranda take her leave and after several moments raised reddened-puffy eyes to Elijah's face.
"You alright, man?" Elijah asked, feeling like an idiot because of course he wasn't, but what else could you say in a situation like this one?
"Yeah. I'm fine, I think," Orlando whispered as he wiped his eyes and nose with his forearm. "I just don't want them to see me like this."
"They won't come in, not if you don't want them to," Elijah reassured him. He started to reach out again, but then withdrew his hand quickly. "I doubt the nurse would let them, anyway. Definitely not at the same time."
"Right, yeah. Sorry, I'm sorry." His breath caught again in his throat.
"Stop," Elijah said immediately. "Okay? Calm down. Breathe for me." Orlando took several deep breaths, relaxing. "Good. Much better." He risked using his fingers to gently ease the brown curls out of Orlando's face. "I'll get kicked out for upsetting you if you keep that up," Elijah teased, making sure Orlando saw his smile.
Orlando took another deep breath and tried to smile in return, but mostly failed. "I'm just so tired," he sighed, strength abandoning him again.
"Then sleep for awhile," Elijah said, touching his hair lightly again. "I'll be here."
Orlando's eyelids fluttered closed and then he slept.
** ** ** **
When he woke, the world was clearer, as if it had suddenly snapped into focus. His whole body, but especially his arm and ribs, was throbbing gently in a way that told him it should be hurting, but didn't really.
Orlando decided he rather liked drugs.
Miranda was sitting on the very edge of the bed, carefully drawing on the cast with a Sharpie. Several other Sharpies in different colors were scattered about.
"Finally run out of canvases?" Orlando teased her gently.
She smiled and looked up. "Not really, I just couldn't resist. You make a wonderful canvas," she told him. "I thought this would be more interesting to look at than that boring white, anyway."
It was a geometric design, abstract but not jarring, and Orlando liked it immediately. The corners of his mouth twitched up. "Thanks," he told her, admiring it.
"Oh, it's nothing. I know how you love color." She grabbed up another Sharpie and resumed drawing, tilting his arm slightly.
"I do." He shifted a bit into a more comfortable position, glad that he felt able to, even if it hurt. "Where's Elijah?"
"I sent him and Karl to set up his apartment for you. Having seen the pigsty he calls an office, I assumed it needed some work. And he was going spare, couped up in here without being able to help." She smiled up at Orlando gently, still mostly focused on his cast. "You have quite a loyal friend, there. He threw a fit when I suggested that he leave you." ('going spare' is a britishism for going crazy, right?)
"Oh," Orlando settled for saying, then added, "Yeah. I'm not sure what's going on with him."
"Hmm. You know, Orlando," she said, almost hesitant, "You are more than welcome to come stay with me, if you'd rather. I'd be delighted to have you."
"Miranda, thank you, I appreciate it. But I don't want to put you out. And Karl - he hardly knows me. You have too much going on, what with the kids. Where are they now, anyway?"
"They're with my parents, no doubt having just gone to bed and loving it. They get spoiled rotten."
"What time is it?" Orlando asked.
"Almost one o'clock." Miranda paused to choose another marker. "Karl would be glad to have you, too. He was so angry when we found out what Cillian did." Orlando looked uncomfortable with that, but Miranda ignored it and moved on. "And don't you worry about the kids. That's my job. You've got enough on your plate."
"Okay," Orlando agreed at her fierce look. "But, Miranda, I really do think it'll be better if I stay with Elijah."
"That's fine, then," Miranda said. "As long as you know that you're always welcome. I mean it," she added at his uncertain look.
"Thanks," he said softly, and she flashed him another smile.
** ** ** **
Orlando woke up to an empty room and the sound of slightly raised voices in the hall. Miranda had left him around two o'clock, with orders for him to get some sleep, and he was bone-weary enough to have slept soundly despite the mad nature of his thoughts. He had been poked and prodded awake every two hours by the irritatingly efficient nursing staff as they checked his IV, took his blood pressure, and re-administered his pain medication. The doctor on duty had been in around eight that morning and indicated that his vitals were good and that they would be releasing Orlando that afternoon, once he had manged to eat.
Orlando struggled to adjust his bed into a sitting position and had just managed to when the voices again pushed through his thoughts into his consciousness. He thought perhaps at least one them was Elijah.
His suspicions were confirmed when he heard Elijah yell quite clearly, "I gave you my statement! I saw him leaving the scene! Isn't that enough?"
Murmurs followed. Orlando was filled with dread as he heard Elijah's reluctant grunt of agreement. Suddenly the door was pushed open and Elijah walked in followed by a very tall woman in a smart black uniform. Her dark hair was severe, pulled back in a neat French braid, and she held her hat and a notepad in her hand. Her eyes were kind and faintly apologetic, but her mouth was set in a determined line. Orlando immediately felt the panic crest inside him. What the fuck were the police doing here?
His eyes flew to Elijah in question, and those blue eyes were also apologetic. "Lij?"
"Orlando, this is Officer Tyler." Elijah gestured weakly to the police woman at his right. "I told her you were still unwell, but she needs to ask you some questions about last night." He sighed and slumped down into the chair that was placed near the head of Orlando's bed. Leaning over he whispered, "Sorry, Orli. I tried to keep them away."
Orlando saw the regret in his friend's eyes and forced himself to breathe. He didn't want to upset Elijah. After a few deeps breaths he was able to reassure the contrite man beside him. "It's alright, Elijah. I'm fine."
And by saying it, and looking into Elijah's concerned eyes, he was marginally better. He turned his face to the officer at the foot of his bed.
"Mr. Bloom. My name is Officer Liv Tyler. You can call me Liv, if you like. I was called by your attending physician and told that you were brought in with several injuries you sustained in an incident last night. Is that correct?"
Orlando was unsure as to why she was asking and voiced his uncertainty.
"It's standard procedure, Mr. Bloom." Officer Liv flipped open her notepad and refocused her gaze on Orlando. "We need to get an accurate account of the events."
"Well, yes. I was injured last night and brought here by ambulance." Orlando bit his bottom lip, praying that this would be over soon.
"Can you tell me, briefly, how you were injured?" Her gaze never shifted from Orlando's eyes as she waited for his response.
Orlando shifted nervously in his bed. "I was at the show last night and waiting for Cillian to return from the bathroom. He had been gone several minutes, so I went to look for him..."
At this point Liv cut him off. "Cillian? Who is Cillian, Mr. Bloom?"
"Cillian is my partner, Cillian Murphy. He came to see my pieces. Anyway, I went to look for him and checked all the bathrooms, I thought to call his cell and went up to my office. I heard noise from Elijah's office and thought I would ask Elijah if he had seen him, but Cillian was in there and he had some of Elijah's photos. When he saw me... he was very angry. Cillian is a jealous sort of guy. Not usually violent, though. But, he saw these photos of me. I had posed as a subject for Elijah ... and he ..."
Orlando shot an embarrassed look at Elijah. "He wasn't thinking clearly. He jumped to the wrong conclusion."
Elijah's gasp was clearly audible from his seat at Orlando's side. Orlando reached over to give Elijah's shoulder a squeeze. "It's not your fault, Lij. He shouldn't have been there to begin with."
He shifted back to face Liv. "Anyway ... he was angry and he told me I was going to have to quit and I argued. I shouldn't have argued. I should have just agreed until he calmed down. Um ... he hit me and then ... pushed me ... said some things. It's kinda jumbled in my head. When I felt my arm break I passed out and I don't remember anything else until I woke up in the ambulance."
"Anything else?"
"Not really. He made quite a mess of Elijah's office, I think."
"Has this ever happened before?"
"No, Cillian's never put me in the hospital before." Orlando frowned.
"He's never hurt you before?" Liv pressed.
He hesitated, then shrugged, wincing as it jarred his ribs. "He's never beaten me up before, if that's what you mean."
Liv nodded, a professional mask on her face, and moved on. "Are you planning to press charges?"
He blinked up at her. "Um ... what would that entail, exactly?"
"First, we'll investigate the incident and take everyone's statements, including yours. Then, if there's enough evidence, he will be formally charged."
Orlando paled. "I'll have to testify."
"Yes, that is a possibility," Liv told him, sounding sympathetic.
"And he'll be there?"
"That is his right, yes."
Orlando thought of giving his statement of all the ways that Cillian had hurt him, the details he was so ashamed of going out into the public, of standing before the man he'd loved and accusing him to his face-
"No," he gasped out.
"Mr. Bloom?"
"No. I can't." He paused and looked down into his lap. "I won't be pressing charges."
"Are you sure, Mr. Bloom?"
"Yes," he said firmly. "I'm not going back to him, so it won't happen again. We can all just forget about it."
"Orlando!" Elijah burst out, but was cut off by a harsh look from Liv.
"This is entirely his decision to make, Mr. Wood," she scolded him. "And Mr. Bloom, while I am very glad to hear that you will not be putting yourself in danger, I have to agree with Mr. Wood's sentiment. This man has hurt you. He is in the wrong; you have nothing to be ashamed of."
He was close to tears again. He took a sharp breath to get himself under control. "No. I just - I can't."
"Alright," Liv agreed gently. "You still have time to think about it and change your mind. Let me tell you what's going to happen now."
Orlando nodded.
"I'll be going to look at the scene and talk to the university. They can't press charges against Mr. Murphy for you, but most likely they will ban him from the premises. There's nothing you can do to change that," Liv said, holding up a hand to forestall his protest. "It occurred on private property and they are well within their rights to do so. Also, and this is strictly voluntary, I'd like to get some photographs taken of your injuries. This will help if you decide to press charges or if there's another incident."
He considered it, then turned to Elijah for advice.
"If you're not going to press charges now at least let them take the pictures," Elijah encouraged him. "You should be used to cameras by now, so it won't be too terrible."
Orlando smiled weakly and turned back to Liv. "That will be fine. I don't suppose Elijah could take them?"
Liv frowned. "That would be highly irregular."
He sighed. "No, I thought not."
"Anything else?" Elijah asked.
"One more thing," she answered briskly. "You can get a restraining order against him without pressing charges."
His head was starting to hurt. "I think that would just ... piss him off more." At Elijah's dark look, he quickly added, "But if he comes near me at all, I'll reconsider."
"Please do. And call me if anything happens." She took out two cards and handed them to Elijah, one for each of them.
"Thank you, Officer Tyler," Elijah said.
She nodded sharply and left the room to get things started.
** ** ** **
It was nearing three o'clock when Karl met them in front of Orlando's and Cillian's house with an old, beat up pick-up truck he had borrowed from a co-worker. Orlando had insisted that they come as soon as he was released, as Cillian was sure to be at work.
Karl looked slightly disappointed that Cillian wouldn't be around. He was almost spoiling for a fight, but Orlando couldn't bear the thought of facing him. He was running on sheer adrenaline and fear as he unlocked the door and walked inside.
It took barely thirty minutes to pack up his life. He had thought it would be more complicated. As it turned out, nearly everything in the house belonged to Cillian. Very little of his possessions were even unpacked. Karl dug a few boxes out of the attic and put them in the truck. He enlisted Elijah's help to drag a small kick-wheel out of back the utility room and load that into the truck bed, too.
While Elijah packed Orlando's clothes into duffel bags, Orlando threw his books and CD's into a box. He gathered a few pieces of his art that Cillian had deemed appropriate for display in their home and gave them to Elijah to pack in with the clothes.
His hands shook as he helped pack up his things. It was difficult to come to grips with the fact that he would never wake up again with Cillian curled warm next to him. He would never hear Cillian's voice whisper his name. He couldn't look forward to making his lover his favorite meal and watching him enjoy it. He was dismantling his entire life, and the grief was almost too much to bear.
Orlando knew what Cillian had done was wrong, and he was beginning to really recognize that their relationship had been pathetically short of perfect and far more fucked up than he had realized, but that didn't stop him from mourning the loss of their life together. He was angry at Cillian, certainly, but he had loved him. He still wished the man he had fallen in love with all those years ago hadn't disappeared. Then again, maybe he had never really known or understood Cillian. Maybe he had been a fool all along.
Orlando shook his head to clear his thoughts and cursed himself for being so close to tears yet again. With a sigh and a heavy heart, he started rolling up his sweaters and packing them into his luggage.
While Orlando and Elijah were busy packing up, Karl did a bit of exploring. The first thing he noticed was that the place was extremely neat. Tidy in a way that was almost dead and certainly uncomfortable to live in. The walls were completely void of color or decoration, the carpets matched the walls and the furniture fell just one or two shades between the two. He couldn't see a man as bright and eclectic as Orlando living in such a mausoleum.
He slowly made his way upstairs.
He heard the boys in the first room to the left but passed it by, curious about the other three doors. One was a bathroom, the next a spare bedroom, but the third door was an office or study of some kind. Cillian's obviously, as was everything else in this house. There were several papers on the desk and Karl took a closer look. He whistled at the balance on Cillian's bank statement, and passed over some communications with a client.
He sat down at the desk and leaned back, enjoying the soft leather. As he rocked back and forth, his head rolled to the side and he noticed an open drawer on the file cabinet beside the desk.
He flipped through folders marked 'Taxes: 2000-2007', '401(k)', 'Holdings', 'Business Loan: 1999', and 'Mortgage Statements', until he found one that struck his interest. He pulled a file marked 'Orlando' out of the drawer and laid it out on the desk. When he opened it, Karl was surprised to find a checkbook and a bank card in Orlando's name, bank statements from several accounts, and several mutual fund and 401(k) statements.
It seemed that although Cillian had done his best to put Orlando in his place, he also had done his best to make Orlando quite a sum of money. By Karl's figuring, it added up to be somewhere around $35,000 or more. He wondered if Orlando knew anything about this file and his accounts.
Karl would just about have bet the farm that the answer was no.
Title: A Study in Still Life, ch. 5
Authors: often_adamanta & violettefemme
Type: LOTR RPS AU
Pairing: OB/OMC, eventually Orlijah
Rating: R
Warning: Domestic violence, abuse
Beta: By the lovely and charismatic talesinbloom
A/N: This is a WIP… and we promise it won't take us this long to update again!
Previous Parts: (since it's been for-freaking-ever)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Even though Elijah rode in the ambulance with Orlando, held his hand while the paramedics splinted his arm and checked his vitals, felt his stomach twist as he saw the tears leak from Orlando's eyes, the nursing staff would not let him go back into the ER alongside his friend.
Three hours later, the nail beds on his right thumb and forefinger were raw and bleeding when they finally informed him that Orlando had been moved to a room and was able to see Elijah. One thought played in his head over and over and it caused him to practically run through the halls. He must see Orli, must see him.
In front of the room he came to an abrupt halt, suddenly afraid to open the door and see what was inside. He could hear machines making their clicks and beeps. He pictured Orlando still covered in blood and crying in pain and heartbreak on the way to the hospital. His heart seemed to stop in his chest. Elijah pressed down over the spot to ease the ache. A few deep breaths later and he pushed the door open enough to slip inside.
Orlando was sleeping. His face was absolutely relaxed in a way that Elijah hadn't seen even in their most carefree moments together. He practically tip-toed to the side of the bed and took inventory of his friend's features.
Brow uncreased, lips just barely parted, eyes fluttering occasionally in dreams, a great ugly bruise painted purples and blues across his cheek and jaw. There was a plain white cast on Orlando's right arm and tubes running from his left hand up to an IV drip.
Elijah placed his hand over Orlando's and sighed in relief. At least he was alive. He ran his fingers up the tubing to reach the bag above. A disapproving noise made him jump, and he whipped around too see a pretty nurse in her mid-forties make a beeline for Orlando's chart.
The nurse tutted when she strode in, seeing his fingers playing with the half-full plastic bag of saline feeding into the IV in Orlando's hand. The horrified look on Elijah's face caused her to reach around and pat his shoulder gently as she made some notes in the chart.
"That's mostly precaution, that is, plus it's convenient to administer pain relief. That's really his biggest problem, the pain. A few cracked ribs, a fairly bad break in his arm, but the rest is bruising, both internally and on the skin. We are going to keep him overnight to monitor him, but he should be okay to go home tomorrow."
"When do you think he'll wake up?" Elijah asked quietly, eyes drifting back to Orlando's bruised face.
"He'll be drifting in and out," she answered. "The drugs and the shock to his system will make him groggy, though. You're welcome to stay as long as you don't tire him." She waved a hand at the chair next to the bed, which looked mildly more comfortable than the ones in the waiting room.
"Thank you," Elijah told her softly. She patted his shoulder again and swept out of the room.
Elijah sat down on the edge of the chair and gave a massive sigh. His hands itched for a camera, but he didn't have one with him. For once, photography had been at the very back of his mind.
He reached out to touch Orlando's thin fingers, trailing up to where they disappeared into the cast. Orlando was going to hate it, he already knew, but Elijah couldn't help but be so very grateful. Back in his office, when he'd found him, there had been a second where he'd been so sure... It didn't bear thinking.
"Lij?"
His head jerked up at the whisper. "Orli?"
Orlando gave a slow blink. "What are you doing here?" His throat was scratchy and hoarse.
Elijah stood up and poured him a glass of water, grateful to have something to do with his hands. "Here," he said and helped him drink.
Orlando swallowed carefully, sighing in relief when he finished. He studied Elijah for a minute, eyelids drooping with exhaustion. They suddenly widened, sorrow and regret covering his face. "Oh, your office. And the pictures, Elijah, I'm so sorry."
It took half a minute for Elijah to find his voice through the lump lodged in his throat. "Orli, don't even think about it. Not for even a minute. Those were just things. Things can be replaced."
"But the pictures..." Orlando tried to shift up into a more comfortable position, but winced as the muscles over his stomach and ribs protested. He gave up and settled back into the pillows before continuing. "The photos were ruined."
"I have all the negatives, Orli." Elijah grinned. "I'll have a fresh set as soon as I have some time to spend in the dark room."
"Oh. That's good." Orlando looked away and seemed to shrink into himself, looking even more fragile in the standard hospital gown and starchy white sheets. "How stupid of me."
Elijah sighed and rubbed his palms against his face. One thing was certain, the reasons behind Orlando's constant self-depreciation and maddening reticence to share anything about his personal life were now horrifyingly clear. Always one to try and find a silver lining, Elijah realized that now that he had the key to his friend's puzzling behavior, he might be able to help Orlando pull himself out of this mess. With resolve, Elijah scooted his chair closer to the bed and took Orlando's good hand in his, giving it a squeeze.
"You're not stupid, Orlando." Elijah pulled the hand slightly, forcing Orlando to look at him. "You're not."
Orlando's eyes were shiny with unshed tears. He looked unconvinced, but pleased that Elijah had said as much. "Elijah ... "
"No. I know you aren't going to want to hear some of this. But I don't care. You don't deserve this mess you're in. You're going to leave that asshole of a boyfriend. You're going to press charges against him, because he can't get away with treating you like this. You're way too good for him. You're smart and funny and handsome. You're a talented artist and a good friend." Elijah released Orlando's hand. "In fact ... you're such a good friend that I'd like for you to live with me. I've found that my place is really much too large for just me. I was going to put an ad in the paper, but I've decided I want you. To be my roommate, that is."
Orlando just stared at him when he finished. Elijah was sitting there, solid and earnest, having just spouted the strangest speech. Orlando's brain wasn't working too well at the moment, and he'd only taken in two things: leave Cillian and I want you.
He hadn't allowed himself to even think about leaving Cillian before. Love was supposed to be for life and besides, he didn't have any other choice. He had nowhere else to go.
Except apparently, Elijah was offering him a place. Wanted him, even. It should have made him wary, but all it did was give him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had said that they wanted him, not really.
Elijah was still sitting when Orlando pulled himself from his muzzy thoughts. He looked nervous, waiting for his response, which made Orlando feel a little better about this, more in control.
"I lov-loved Cillian," he said slowly, tripping over the past tense. It was clearly not what Elijah had expected him to say. A tear slipped free and rolled down his face, and he was so tired of crying, but he was too tired to be concerned with wiping it away. "I can't go back to him, I know that. But the rest of it? Living with you? It's a little too much ... I don't think I can deal with it. Not yet, anyway."
Elijah nodded, his expression worried. "At least promise me you'll come for a few days until you feel better. Promise me you won't go home to him."
The vehemence in Elijah's tone took him by surprise. "Yeah, that sounds okay. I'll promise you that."
The door opening made them both look up.
"Miranda?" Orlando questioned, confused. "What are you doing here?"
"He asked me the same thing," Elijah told her, shaking his head. "Orli, we've all been here for hours. Me and Miranda and Karl, all waiting to make sure you were okay."
"Quite a few other people as well, including some of your students." Miranda walked over to the bed and stroked a gentle hand across Orlando's forehead, grinning down at him. "So. Are you okay?"
Orlando barely heard her question. The warmth that had spread out into his limbs at the thought of his friends caring enough to sit in an uncomfortable hospital just to see if he was okay disappeared. It hadn't occurred to him to be embarrassed in front of Elijah, which was odd in itself, when he stopped to think about it. He wasn't even all that embarrassed that Miranda knew. But the thought of his students sitting out there in the waiting room... His students knowing that their teacher was nothing more than a silly faggot who allowed himself to get knocked around by his lover...
He had never in his life felt so ashamed. He was reminded of those reality cop shows where some poorly-groomed and battered woman made excuses for her husband's behavior and cried with black mascara trails running down her cheeks. He could now count himself among those that Cillian would have written off as incredibly pathetic. Cillian... A deep quake began in his stomach and began to radiate out into his chest and limbs. He arms and hands shook and a sob broke from his throat.
Miranda and Elijah shared a worried look as Orlando turned his face into the pillow to smother his cries. They watched his shoulders shake and his fist tangle in the sheets as wave after wave of agony was loosed into the bedding. Elijah ventured forward a hand of comfort onto Orlando's back, but he was rebuffed as Orlando pulled away from his touch.
"Elijah, please. Miranda. Please, just- " Orlando's voice was muffled and desolate through his tears. "Please, tell them I'm fine and send them home. I just- I can't."
Miranda understood immediately and leaned down to brush her lips against Orlando's cheek. "All right, Orli. I'll be back in a few minutes. Would you like me to bring anything when I come back?"
Orlando shook his head in the negative and desperately tried to control his breathing. He heard Miranda take her leave and after several moments raised reddened-puffy eyes to Elijah's face.
"You alright, man?" Elijah asked, feeling like an idiot because of course he wasn't, but what else could you say in a situation like this one?
"Yeah. I'm fine, I think," Orlando whispered as he wiped his eyes and nose with his forearm. "I just don't want them to see me like this."
"They won't come in, not if you don't want them to," Elijah reassured him. He started to reach out again, but then withdrew his hand quickly. "I doubt the nurse would let them, anyway. Definitely not at the same time."
"Right, yeah. Sorry, I'm sorry." His breath caught again in his throat.
"Stop," Elijah said immediately. "Okay? Calm down. Breathe for me." Orlando took several deep breaths, relaxing. "Good. Much better." He risked using his fingers to gently ease the brown curls out of Orlando's face. "I'll get kicked out for upsetting you if you keep that up," Elijah teased, making sure Orlando saw his smile.
Orlando took another deep breath and tried to smile in return, but mostly failed. "I'm just so tired," he sighed, strength abandoning him again.
"Then sleep for awhile," Elijah said, touching his hair lightly again. "I'll be here."
Orlando's eyelids fluttered closed and then he slept.
** ** ** **
When he woke, the world was clearer, as if it had suddenly snapped into focus. His whole body, but especially his arm and ribs, was throbbing gently in a way that told him it should be hurting, but didn't really.
Orlando decided he rather liked drugs.
Miranda was sitting on the very edge of the bed, carefully drawing on the cast with a Sharpie. Several other Sharpies in different colors were scattered about.
"Finally run out of canvases?" Orlando teased her gently.
She smiled and looked up. "Not really, I just couldn't resist. You make a wonderful canvas," she told him. "I thought this would be more interesting to look at than that boring white, anyway."
It was a geometric design, abstract but not jarring, and Orlando liked it immediately. The corners of his mouth twitched up. "Thanks," he told her, admiring it.
"Oh, it's nothing. I know how you love color." She grabbed up another Sharpie and resumed drawing, tilting his arm slightly.
"I do." He shifted a bit into a more comfortable position, glad that he felt able to, even if it hurt. "Where's Elijah?"
"I sent him and Karl to set up his apartment for you. Having seen the pigsty he calls an office, I assumed it needed some work. And he was going spare, couped up in here without being able to help." She smiled up at Orlando gently, still mostly focused on his cast. "You have quite a loyal friend, there. He threw a fit when I suggested that he leave you." ('going spare' is a britishism for going crazy, right?)
"Oh," Orlando settled for saying, then added, "Yeah. I'm not sure what's going on with him."
"Hmm. You know, Orlando," she said, almost hesitant, "You are more than welcome to come stay with me, if you'd rather. I'd be delighted to have you."
"Miranda, thank you, I appreciate it. But I don't want to put you out. And Karl - he hardly knows me. You have too much going on, what with the kids. Where are they now, anyway?"
"They're with my parents, no doubt having just gone to bed and loving it. They get spoiled rotten."
"What time is it?" Orlando asked.
"Almost one o'clock." Miranda paused to choose another marker. "Karl would be glad to have you, too. He was so angry when we found out what Cillian did." Orlando looked uncomfortable with that, but Miranda ignored it and moved on. "And don't you worry about the kids. That's my job. You've got enough on your plate."
"Okay," Orlando agreed at her fierce look. "But, Miranda, I really do think it'll be better if I stay with Elijah."
"That's fine, then," Miranda said. "As long as you know that you're always welcome. I mean it," she added at his uncertain look.
"Thanks," he said softly, and she flashed him another smile.
** ** ** **
Orlando woke up to an empty room and the sound of slightly raised voices in the hall. Miranda had left him around two o'clock, with orders for him to get some sleep, and he was bone-weary enough to have slept soundly despite the mad nature of his thoughts. He had been poked and prodded awake every two hours by the irritatingly efficient nursing staff as they checked his IV, took his blood pressure, and re-administered his pain medication. The doctor on duty had been in around eight that morning and indicated that his vitals were good and that they would be releasing Orlando that afternoon, once he had manged to eat.
Orlando struggled to adjust his bed into a sitting position and had just managed to when the voices again pushed through his thoughts into his consciousness. He thought perhaps at least one them was Elijah.
His suspicions were confirmed when he heard Elijah yell quite clearly, "I gave you my statement! I saw him leaving the scene! Isn't that enough?"
Murmurs followed. Orlando was filled with dread as he heard Elijah's reluctant grunt of agreement. Suddenly the door was pushed open and Elijah walked in followed by a very tall woman in a smart black uniform. Her dark hair was severe, pulled back in a neat French braid, and she held her hat and a notepad in her hand. Her eyes were kind and faintly apologetic, but her mouth was set in a determined line. Orlando immediately felt the panic crest inside him. What the fuck were the police doing here?
His eyes flew to Elijah in question, and those blue eyes were also apologetic. "Lij?"
"Orlando, this is Officer Tyler." Elijah gestured weakly to the police woman at his right. "I told her you were still unwell, but she needs to ask you some questions about last night." He sighed and slumped down into the chair that was placed near the head of Orlando's bed. Leaning over he whispered, "Sorry, Orli. I tried to keep them away."
Orlando saw the regret in his friend's eyes and forced himself to breathe. He didn't want to upset Elijah. After a few deeps breaths he was able to reassure the contrite man beside him. "It's alright, Elijah. I'm fine."
And by saying it, and looking into Elijah's concerned eyes, he was marginally better. He turned his face to the officer at the foot of his bed.
"Mr. Bloom. My name is Officer Liv Tyler. You can call me Liv, if you like. I was called by your attending physician and told that you were brought in with several injuries you sustained in an incident last night. Is that correct?"
Orlando was unsure as to why she was asking and voiced his uncertainty.
"It's standard procedure, Mr. Bloom." Officer Liv flipped open her notepad and refocused her gaze on Orlando. "We need to get an accurate account of the events."
"Well, yes. I was injured last night and brought here by ambulance." Orlando bit his bottom lip, praying that this would be over soon.
"Can you tell me, briefly, how you were injured?" Her gaze never shifted from Orlando's eyes as she waited for his response.
Orlando shifted nervously in his bed. "I was at the show last night and waiting for Cillian to return from the bathroom. He had been gone several minutes, so I went to look for him..."
At this point Liv cut him off. "Cillian? Who is Cillian, Mr. Bloom?"
"Cillian is my partner, Cillian Murphy. He came to see my pieces. Anyway, I went to look for him and checked all the bathrooms, I thought to call his cell and went up to my office. I heard noise from Elijah's office and thought I would ask Elijah if he had seen him, but Cillian was in there and he had some of Elijah's photos. When he saw me... he was very angry. Cillian is a jealous sort of guy. Not usually violent, though. But, he saw these photos of me. I had posed as a subject for Elijah ... and he ..."
Orlando shot an embarrassed look at Elijah. "He wasn't thinking clearly. He jumped to the wrong conclusion."
Elijah's gasp was clearly audible from his seat at Orlando's side. Orlando reached over to give Elijah's shoulder a squeeze. "It's not your fault, Lij. He shouldn't have been there to begin with."
He shifted back to face Liv. "Anyway ... he was angry and he told me I was going to have to quit and I argued. I shouldn't have argued. I should have just agreed until he calmed down. Um ... he hit me and then ... pushed me ... said some things. It's kinda jumbled in my head. When I felt my arm break I passed out and I don't remember anything else until I woke up in the ambulance."
"Anything else?"
"Not really. He made quite a mess of Elijah's office, I think."
"Has this ever happened before?"
"No, Cillian's never put me in the hospital before." Orlando frowned.
"He's never hurt you before?" Liv pressed.
He hesitated, then shrugged, wincing as it jarred his ribs. "He's never beaten me up before, if that's what you mean."
Liv nodded, a professional mask on her face, and moved on. "Are you planning to press charges?"
He blinked up at her. "Um ... what would that entail, exactly?"
"First, we'll investigate the incident and take everyone's statements, including yours. Then, if there's enough evidence, he will be formally charged."
Orlando paled. "I'll have to testify."
"Yes, that is a possibility," Liv told him, sounding sympathetic.
"And he'll be there?"
"That is his right, yes."
Orlando thought of giving his statement of all the ways that Cillian had hurt him, the details he was so ashamed of going out into the public, of standing before the man he'd loved and accusing him to his face-
"No," he gasped out.
"Mr. Bloom?"
"No. I can't." He paused and looked down into his lap. "I won't be pressing charges."
"Are you sure, Mr. Bloom?"
"Yes," he said firmly. "I'm not going back to him, so it won't happen again. We can all just forget about it."
"Orlando!" Elijah burst out, but was cut off by a harsh look from Liv.
"This is entirely his decision to make, Mr. Wood," she scolded him. "And Mr. Bloom, while I am very glad to hear that you will not be putting yourself in danger, I have to agree with Mr. Wood's sentiment. This man has hurt you. He is in the wrong; you have nothing to be ashamed of."
He was close to tears again. He took a sharp breath to get himself under control. "No. I just - I can't."
"Alright," Liv agreed gently. "You still have time to think about it and change your mind. Let me tell you what's going to happen now."
Orlando nodded.
"I'll be going to look at the scene and talk to the university. They can't press charges against Mr. Murphy for you, but most likely they will ban him from the premises. There's nothing you can do to change that," Liv said, holding up a hand to forestall his protest. "It occurred on private property and they are well within their rights to do so. Also, and this is strictly voluntary, I'd like to get some photographs taken of your injuries. This will help if you decide to press charges or if there's another incident."
He considered it, then turned to Elijah for advice.
"If you're not going to press charges now at least let them take the pictures," Elijah encouraged him. "You should be used to cameras by now, so it won't be too terrible."
Orlando smiled weakly and turned back to Liv. "That will be fine. I don't suppose Elijah could take them?"
Liv frowned. "That would be highly irregular."
He sighed. "No, I thought not."
"Anything else?" Elijah asked.
"One more thing," she answered briskly. "You can get a restraining order against him without pressing charges."
His head was starting to hurt. "I think that would just ... piss him off more." At Elijah's dark look, he quickly added, "But if he comes near me at all, I'll reconsider."
"Please do. And call me if anything happens." She took out two cards and handed them to Elijah, one for each of them.
"Thank you, Officer Tyler," Elijah said.
She nodded sharply and left the room to get things started.
** ** ** **
It was nearing three o'clock when Karl met them in front of Orlando's and Cillian's house with an old, beat up pick-up truck he had borrowed from a co-worker. Orlando had insisted that they come as soon as he was released, as Cillian was sure to be at work.
Karl looked slightly disappointed that Cillian wouldn't be around. He was almost spoiling for a fight, but Orlando couldn't bear the thought of facing him. He was running on sheer adrenaline and fear as he unlocked the door and walked inside.
It took barely thirty minutes to pack up his life. He had thought it would be more complicated. As it turned out, nearly everything in the house belonged to Cillian. Very little of his possessions were even unpacked. Karl dug a few boxes out of the attic and put them in the truck. He enlisted Elijah's help to drag a small kick-wheel out of back the utility room and load that into the truck bed, too.
While Elijah packed Orlando's clothes into duffel bags, Orlando threw his books and CD's into a box. He gathered a few pieces of his art that Cillian had deemed appropriate for display in their home and gave them to Elijah to pack in with the clothes.
His hands shook as he helped pack up his things. It was difficult to come to grips with the fact that he would never wake up again with Cillian curled warm next to him. He would never hear Cillian's voice whisper his name. He couldn't look forward to making his lover his favorite meal and watching him enjoy it. He was dismantling his entire life, and the grief was almost too much to bear.
Orlando knew what Cillian had done was wrong, and he was beginning to really recognize that their relationship had been pathetically short of perfect and far more fucked up than he had realized, but that didn't stop him from mourning the loss of their life together. He was angry at Cillian, certainly, but he had loved him. He still wished the man he had fallen in love with all those years ago hadn't disappeared. Then again, maybe he had never really known or understood Cillian. Maybe he had been a fool all along.
Orlando shook his head to clear his thoughts and cursed himself for being so close to tears yet again. With a sigh and a heavy heart, he started rolling up his sweaters and packing them into his luggage.
While Orlando and Elijah were busy packing up, Karl did a bit of exploring. The first thing he noticed was that the place was extremely neat. Tidy in a way that was almost dead and certainly uncomfortable to live in. The walls were completely void of color or decoration, the carpets matched the walls and the furniture fell just one or two shades between the two. He couldn't see a man as bright and eclectic as Orlando living in such a mausoleum.
He slowly made his way upstairs.
He heard the boys in the first room to the left but passed it by, curious about the other three doors. One was a bathroom, the next a spare bedroom, but the third door was an office or study of some kind. Cillian's obviously, as was everything else in this house. There were several papers on the desk and Karl took a closer look. He whistled at the balance on Cillian's bank statement, and passed over some communications with a client.
He sat down at the desk and leaned back, enjoying the soft leather. As he rocked back and forth, his head rolled to the side and he noticed an open drawer on the file cabinet beside the desk.
He flipped through folders marked 'Taxes: 2000-2007', '401(k)', 'Holdings', 'Business Loan: 1999', and 'Mortgage Statements', until he found one that struck his interest. He pulled a file marked 'Orlando' out of the drawer and laid it out on the desk. When he opened it, Karl was surprised to find a checkbook and a bank card in Orlando's name, bank statements from several accounts, and several mutual fund and 401(k) statements.
It seemed that although Cillian had done his best to put Orlando in his place, he also had done his best to make Orlando quite a sum of money. By Karl's figuring, it added up to be somewhere around $35,000 or more. He wondered if Orlando knew anything about this file and his accounts.
Karl would just about have bet the farm that the answer was no.