Affirmation Chapter One
Not too long ago, I was re-reading some of my old fics. The first fic I ever wrote was Affirmation, and though it was well received at the time, upon re-reading it several years after writing it, I cringed. My writing has matured a lot since then, and when I looked at it from the distance provided by time, I realized that some of the suggestions and criticisms I hadn't liked at the time were actually right. However, I still liked the general plot and idea.
I decided to re-write it. I don't mean that I took the original and edited it some, I mean that I started with a blank document and re-wrote it from the ground up. For those few of you who may remember the original, the events in the story will be basically the same, but this is a completely new retelling and if you liked that one at all, I urge you to read this one. If you don't remember the old story, please don't go looking for it. I'm fairly certain that it isn't anywhere online anymore (and I'm very grateful for that). The new version is my preferred version and it tells the story much better.
Title: Affirmation (Chapter One)
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.
~*~
Orlando collapsed face first onto the lumpy mattress, his bag falling to the floor with a soft thud. His head was pounding, had been since he'd risen that morning, and the long bus ride over unpaved roads hadn't helped it at all. There were painkillers in his bag, there always were, but he would need them more tomorrow while they were filming, and he hadn't the energy to dig them out now.
The mattress was uncomfortable, the pillow thin, and the sheets trapped beneath his still-clothed body, but the room was dark and quiet. His headache eased a little as his muscles relaxed.
Hours later, bright light and voices intruded on Orlando's dreams, bringing his headache back with a vengeance. He moaned, pulled the pillow so it covered his eyes and ears, and waited for the blissful silence to return.
It was not to be. The voice kept calling his name insistently, and now a hand was shaking his shoulder, making the room rock and his stomach roil. He moved the pillow, cracked open one eye.
"What?"
"Time to get up. Bus leaves in twenty minutes."
He wanted to tell Ryan to fuck off, to leave him be and let him sleep, but somehow he remembered the movie and that he had to get up and film so that they could get this part done and get back to their comfortable bungalows with real pillows and doors that locked.
He opened his other eye. "I'm up."
Ryan didn't move, kept staring at him as though he were waiting for something.
Orlando rubbed the grime from his eyes, blinked, and wondered if the pounding in his head had made him miss something. "What? I said I was up."
"You said that a half-hour ago too. I'm not leaving until you're actually, physically up." He stood and held out a hand.
Orlando took it; let himself be pulled to a sitting position. His stomach recoiled and he clutched at it, waiting for the churning to stop before he even thought about gaining his feet. When it was no longer threatening to spill its contents, Orlando stood, pushed a hand through his tangled curls. "I'm up."
Ryan favored Orlando with a stern look. "Stay that way."
As soon as the door closed behind Ryan, Orlando dug out the pills that he was sure he would need to get through the day, dry swallowed one, tucked the bottle in his pocket, and made his way slowly to the bus, hoping that the pain pill kicked in before the bumpy ride made his headache worse.
~*~
Orlando staggered to his feet, trying to ignore the waves of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him before he reached the tent flap. The air in the hastily erected shelter was stifling, and he couldn't spend another minute lying on the fold-out cot sweating while his colleagues filmed around him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't sleep.
The air outside the tent wasn't much better, but there was a slight breeze, and Orlando leaned against a tree, letting it blow into his face, enjoying the slight relief it offered. The air was a little easier to suck into his lungs.
"I thought I told you to rest."
Orlando started to turn, stopped when the world tilted, threatening to spill him to the ground. "Can't. It's too hot in there."
"It's too hot everywhere. At least come and sit down. I need you well tomorrow so you can film. No one wants to stay here longer than we have planned."
Orlando didn't either, so he let the director guide him to a chair and sank down into it with a deep sigh. "You'd think that with the budget this film has, we'd be able to do this in more pleasant circumstances."
"It wouldn't be as real. Sound stages are rarely as good as the real thing, you know that."
He did, but it would still be more comfortable back on the main sets where there was air conditioning and entertainment and mobile phones got signals.
Jonathan moved one of the portable fans so it was blowing on Orlando. "Stay there. We're almost done and then we can go back to the hotel where you can sleep."
He had no intention of moving, didn't think he could if he tried. The fan just stirred the hot air, but it was far better than the still air of the enclosed tent. He slouched in the chair, letting the fan blow over him, and closed his eyes against the pounding in his temples.
~*~
By the time they returned to the run-down building that served as the local motel, all the medication Orlando had taken earlier had worn off and the world was spinning. It was an effort to drag himself off the bus, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sleep, but his mobile phone hadn't had a signal all day, and he needed to call Viggo.
The hotel provided a land line phone on a small table in the lobby with a sign next to it stating usage policies and a rickety wooden chair nearby for long talkers to sit on. Orlando sank into the uncomfortable chair gratefully and rested his head on the table as he muddled through the complicated dialing pattern. He let his eyes drift closed as the phone started to ring.
The rings were obnoxiously loud and sent stabbing pains through his already throbbing head, but he didn't dare pull the receiver from his ear or try to adjust the volume for fear of messing up the call or not hearing Viggo's answer. He whimpered with each ring, once, twice, thrice, praying for it to stop, praying for Viggo to answer.
The fourth ring was followed by a click that provided blessed relief from the obnoxious ringing and a computerized voice asking him to leave a message. Their greeting had been accidentally deleted in a power outage, and Viggo apparently hadn't recorded a new one yet.
Orlando sighed, briefly contemplated trying Viggo's mobile phone, and decided it was too much effort. There was no guarantee Viggo would answer that either. "Viggo, love, it's Orlando. If you're there, please pick up." He paused a moment, giving Viggo time to get to the phone if he was screening calls, sighed again. "I guess you're not. Um, my mobile doesn't have a signal here, so I guess I'll call you tomorrow on this phone if I get a chance. I, um, I'm not sure what time. We got behind today." He paused again, unwilling to tell Viggo why they were behind; Viggo would just worry. "We should be back to the main sets on Tuesday." Four more days, four very long days. "I love you."
He let the phone fall back into the cradle and closed his eyes, willing the room to stop spinning a little before he attempted to walk back to his bedroom.
A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he opened his eyes and blinked up at Jonathan, wondering what the director wanted. "Hmm?"
"You'll be more comfortable in bed."
Well, yeah, of course he would. Why was Jonathan stating the obvious? "I was going there soon. I just wanted the room to stop spinning first."
Jonathan chuckled, shook his head. "I don’t think it's going to stop. You've been sitting here for a half-hour." He slid his hand down to Orlando's elbow and gently tugged upwards. "Come on. Let someone else have a turn."
A half hour? There was no way. He'd just rested for a moment after hanging up the phone. At most it had been two or three minutes, unless… "Did I fall asleep?" He let Jonathan pull him to his feet, grabbed Jonathan's shoulder when the room started rocking violently.
Jonathan slid his arm around Orlando's waist, steadying him. "I wouldn't be surprised." He pulled Orlando's arm around his shoulder and started walking down the hall, half-guiding, half-carrying Orlando.
Orlando's feet didn't seem to be working correctly. He stumbled along beside Jonathan, concentrating on each step. Halfway down the hall, he discovered that everything felt a little better with his eyes closed, and he leaned his head against Jonathan's shoulder and let the director do all the work.
When they reached the room, Jonathan helped him lie down on the bed, tugged off his shoes, and pulled a blanket over his shoulders. "Go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning." He brushed Orlando's hair back from his forehead, shook his head, and sighed as he left the room.
Orlando doubted the veracity of that statement, but he couldn't argue. He was asleep before the door closed.
At one point in the night, Orlando woke to find Jonathan dozing in the room's sole chair, which had been tugged closer to the bed. He rolled over, meaning to ask why, but he was asleep again before he could think of a way to wake Jonathan without moving too much.
~*~
Voices woke Orlando next, mutters in a language he didn't understand. It was cold, but his blanket was gone, and the bed was hard, the sheets unusually rough. His pillow was missing too, but there was something soft and warm close to him, and he shifted, instinctively seeking the warmth and comfort he sensed.
Rough hands grabbed him, pulled him away from the warmth. He whimpered, struggled to get back, was slammed down hard. Lights flashed behind his eyes as his head hit, and he whimpered again, weaker this time. His stomach lurched horribly, but he was held down, and couldn't curl around it.
"You shouldn't have woken up. We're not ready for that yet." There was lots of talking in that strange language, and then more hands were on his body, holding him down against the rough surface that he was now sure wasn't his sheets.
Hands fumbled with his pants, and he jerked his eyes open and squirmed frantically, panic overriding the pain and weariness. "No! Don't, please." He struggled ineffectively against the hands holding him down, tried desperately to get free before the men could hurt him further.
The unfamiliar men surrounding him laughed. "Don't worry. That's not what we want. Now stop fighting." A hand clamped over Orlando's mouth. Another pulled Orlando's pants down a few inches, exposing one hip. The pressure on his body grew, making it impossible for him to struggle.
His eyes wide with terror, his limbs trembling under the hands that held him, Orlando watched as the cap was flicked off a hypodermic needle. As the needle descended towards his body, he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch as it pierced his skin. The drug burned as it was forced into his body and then the needle and the hands were gone.
Desperate and afraid, Orlando searched for the warmth he had found earlier, stretching out one arm, and then trying to move when his fingers felt it. He managed to roll onto his side before his limbs stopped responding, growing heavy and limp. Consciousness fled quickly.
Chapter Two
I've been out of the fandom for a while and lost touch with most of my old betas. I had a friend look over this chapter, but I'd like to get a couple of people to be beta readers for me. If you're interested, please let me know. Thanks!
I decided to re-write it. I don't mean that I took the original and edited it some, I mean that I started with a blank document and re-wrote it from the ground up. For those few of you who may remember the original, the events in the story will be basically the same, but this is a completely new retelling and if you liked that one at all, I urge you to read this one. If you don't remember the old story, please don't go looking for it. I'm fairly certain that it isn't anywhere online anymore (and I'm very grateful for that). The new version is my preferred version and it tells the story much better.
Title: Affirmation (Chapter One)
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.
~*~
Orlando collapsed face first onto the lumpy mattress, his bag falling to the floor with a soft thud. His head was pounding, had been since he'd risen that morning, and the long bus ride over unpaved roads hadn't helped it at all. There were painkillers in his bag, there always were, but he would need them more tomorrow while they were filming, and he hadn't the energy to dig them out now.
The mattress was uncomfortable, the pillow thin, and the sheets trapped beneath his still-clothed body, but the room was dark and quiet. His headache eased a little as his muscles relaxed.
Hours later, bright light and voices intruded on Orlando's dreams, bringing his headache back with a vengeance. He moaned, pulled the pillow so it covered his eyes and ears, and waited for the blissful silence to return.
It was not to be. The voice kept calling his name insistently, and now a hand was shaking his shoulder, making the room rock and his stomach roil. He moved the pillow, cracked open one eye.
"What?"
"Time to get up. Bus leaves in twenty minutes."
He wanted to tell Ryan to fuck off, to leave him be and let him sleep, but somehow he remembered the movie and that he had to get up and film so that they could get this part done and get back to their comfortable bungalows with real pillows and doors that locked.
He opened his other eye. "I'm up."
Ryan didn't move, kept staring at him as though he were waiting for something.
Orlando rubbed the grime from his eyes, blinked, and wondered if the pounding in his head had made him miss something. "What? I said I was up."
"You said that a half-hour ago too. I'm not leaving until you're actually, physically up." He stood and held out a hand.
Orlando took it; let himself be pulled to a sitting position. His stomach recoiled and he clutched at it, waiting for the churning to stop before he even thought about gaining his feet. When it was no longer threatening to spill its contents, Orlando stood, pushed a hand through his tangled curls. "I'm up."
Ryan favored Orlando with a stern look. "Stay that way."
As soon as the door closed behind Ryan, Orlando dug out the pills that he was sure he would need to get through the day, dry swallowed one, tucked the bottle in his pocket, and made his way slowly to the bus, hoping that the pain pill kicked in before the bumpy ride made his headache worse.
~*~
Orlando staggered to his feet, trying to ignore the waves of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him before he reached the tent flap. The air in the hastily erected shelter was stifling, and he couldn't spend another minute lying on the fold-out cot sweating while his colleagues filmed around him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't sleep.
The air outside the tent wasn't much better, but there was a slight breeze, and Orlando leaned against a tree, letting it blow into his face, enjoying the slight relief it offered. The air was a little easier to suck into his lungs.
"I thought I told you to rest."
Orlando started to turn, stopped when the world tilted, threatening to spill him to the ground. "Can't. It's too hot in there."
"It's too hot everywhere. At least come and sit down. I need you well tomorrow so you can film. No one wants to stay here longer than we have planned."
Orlando didn't either, so he let the director guide him to a chair and sank down into it with a deep sigh. "You'd think that with the budget this film has, we'd be able to do this in more pleasant circumstances."
"It wouldn't be as real. Sound stages are rarely as good as the real thing, you know that."
He did, but it would still be more comfortable back on the main sets where there was air conditioning and entertainment and mobile phones got signals.
Jonathan moved one of the portable fans so it was blowing on Orlando. "Stay there. We're almost done and then we can go back to the hotel where you can sleep."
He had no intention of moving, didn't think he could if he tried. The fan just stirred the hot air, but it was far better than the still air of the enclosed tent. He slouched in the chair, letting the fan blow over him, and closed his eyes against the pounding in his temples.
~*~
By the time they returned to the run-down building that served as the local motel, all the medication Orlando had taken earlier had worn off and the world was spinning. It was an effort to drag himself off the bus, and he wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sleep, but his mobile phone hadn't had a signal all day, and he needed to call Viggo.
The hotel provided a land line phone on a small table in the lobby with a sign next to it stating usage policies and a rickety wooden chair nearby for long talkers to sit on. Orlando sank into the uncomfortable chair gratefully and rested his head on the table as he muddled through the complicated dialing pattern. He let his eyes drift closed as the phone started to ring.
The rings were obnoxiously loud and sent stabbing pains through his already throbbing head, but he didn't dare pull the receiver from his ear or try to adjust the volume for fear of messing up the call or not hearing Viggo's answer. He whimpered with each ring, once, twice, thrice, praying for it to stop, praying for Viggo to answer.
The fourth ring was followed by a click that provided blessed relief from the obnoxious ringing and a computerized voice asking him to leave a message. Their greeting had been accidentally deleted in a power outage, and Viggo apparently hadn't recorded a new one yet.
Orlando sighed, briefly contemplated trying Viggo's mobile phone, and decided it was too much effort. There was no guarantee Viggo would answer that either. "Viggo, love, it's Orlando. If you're there, please pick up." He paused a moment, giving Viggo time to get to the phone if he was screening calls, sighed again. "I guess you're not. Um, my mobile doesn't have a signal here, so I guess I'll call you tomorrow on this phone if I get a chance. I, um, I'm not sure what time. We got behind today." He paused again, unwilling to tell Viggo why they were behind; Viggo would just worry. "We should be back to the main sets on Tuesday." Four more days, four very long days. "I love you."
He let the phone fall back into the cradle and closed his eyes, willing the room to stop spinning a little before he attempted to walk back to his bedroom.
A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he opened his eyes and blinked up at Jonathan, wondering what the director wanted. "Hmm?"
"You'll be more comfortable in bed."
Well, yeah, of course he would. Why was Jonathan stating the obvious? "I was going there soon. I just wanted the room to stop spinning first."
Jonathan chuckled, shook his head. "I don’t think it's going to stop. You've been sitting here for a half-hour." He slid his hand down to Orlando's elbow and gently tugged upwards. "Come on. Let someone else have a turn."
A half hour? There was no way. He'd just rested for a moment after hanging up the phone. At most it had been two or three minutes, unless… "Did I fall asleep?" He let Jonathan pull him to his feet, grabbed Jonathan's shoulder when the room started rocking violently.
Jonathan slid his arm around Orlando's waist, steadying him. "I wouldn't be surprised." He pulled Orlando's arm around his shoulder and started walking down the hall, half-guiding, half-carrying Orlando.
Orlando's feet didn't seem to be working correctly. He stumbled along beside Jonathan, concentrating on each step. Halfway down the hall, he discovered that everything felt a little better with his eyes closed, and he leaned his head against Jonathan's shoulder and let the director do all the work.
When they reached the room, Jonathan helped him lie down on the bed, tugged off his shoes, and pulled a blanket over his shoulders. "Go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning." He brushed Orlando's hair back from his forehead, shook his head, and sighed as he left the room.
Orlando doubted the veracity of that statement, but he couldn't argue. He was asleep before the door closed.
At one point in the night, Orlando woke to find Jonathan dozing in the room's sole chair, which had been tugged closer to the bed. He rolled over, meaning to ask why, but he was asleep again before he could think of a way to wake Jonathan without moving too much.
~*~
Voices woke Orlando next, mutters in a language he didn't understand. It was cold, but his blanket was gone, and the bed was hard, the sheets unusually rough. His pillow was missing too, but there was something soft and warm close to him, and he shifted, instinctively seeking the warmth and comfort he sensed.
Rough hands grabbed him, pulled him away from the warmth. He whimpered, struggled to get back, was slammed down hard. Lights flashed behind his eyes as his head hit, and he whimpered again, weaker this time. His stomach lurched horribly, but he was held down, and couldn't curl around it.
"You shouldn't have woken up. We're not ready for that yet." There was lots of talking in that strange language, and then more hands were on his body, holding him down against the rough surface that he was now sure wasn't his sheets.
Hands fumbled with his pants, and he jerked his eyes open and squirmed frantically, panic overriding the pain and weariness. "No! Don't, please." He struggled ineffectively against the hands holding him down, tried desperately to get free before the men could hurt him further.
The unfamiliar men surrounding him laughed. "Don't worry. That's not what we want. Now stop fighting." A hand clamped over Orlando's mouth. Another pulled Orlando's pants down a few inches, exposing one hip. The pressure on his body grew, making it impossible for him to struggle.
His eyes wide with terror, his limbs trembling under the hands that held him, Orlando watched as the cap was flicked off a hypodermic needle. As the needle descended towards his body, he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch as it pierced his skin. The drug burned as it was forced into his body and then the needle and the hands were gone.
Desperate and afraid, Orlando searched for the warmth he had found earlier, stretching out one arm, and then trying to move when his fingers felt it. He managed to roll onto his side before his limbs stopped responding, growing heavy and limp. Consciousness fled quickly.
Chapter Two
I've been out of the fandom for a while and lost touch with most of my old betas. I had a friend look over this chapter, but I'd like to get a couple of people to be beta readers for me. If you're interested, please let me know. Thanks!