Walk on By XXI
WALK ON BY - XXI
Author: Lottie Lenya
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: NC-17
Category: AU
Disclaimer: This is fiction, not based in reality - to the best of my knowledge Viggo Mortensen has never lived rough and Orlando Bloom was never part of the Constabulary.
Beta: None - if you spot any howlers, please to let me know
A/N. This is for Jean who has waited so patiently!
***
When Orlando didn't come back, Viggo begun to get a bit panicky. He couldn't help wondering if somehow Roxwell had gotten hold of Orlando and might even now be hurting him. He looked at the clock, it was a minute later than when he'd last looked. Five minutes later he decided he couldn't sit here another minute. He would go to the pub, maybe Frank would know something.
By the time he arrived got there, he had convinced himself that Orlando was in the English equivalent of Guantánamo Bay. He met Frank who was standing outside the back door, smoking a cigarette and looking thoughtful.
"Alright mate," he handed Viggo a cigarette and his lighter. "I wondered when you'd turn up, you wanna wash a few pots, keep your mind off his nibs?" Viggo managed a watery smile. "Please," he said. There was no point in denying that he was worried sick, Frank like George always seemed to know.
"Good lad, the special is pie and mash today and there's liquor too," Viggo was very fond of the strange coloured liquid, which was actually parsley sauce. But even the prospect of liquor failed to raise so much as a glimmer of a smile.
"Listen Vig," Frank threw his cigarette into the gutter. "Your Orlando is a bloke who knows how to take care of hisself, okay?" he shook his head. "You can't worry every time he goes off to do his own thing. He's never gonna be a regular poofter you know," this made Viggo smile. There wasn't a truly racist or homophobic bone in Frank's body despite his language, which was not particularly politically correct.
"But I don't know where he is, anything could be happening to him," Viggo knew he sounded pathetic but he couldn't help it.
"Vig, you muppet, this is London. What do you think they're gonna do to him? Pull his fingernails out till he tells them what? It's not as if he knows anything and if he did, he would tell them, now bugger off into the kitchen and give them a hand..." Frank didn't have much truck with Viggo's flights of fancy. He was all down to earth and the voice of reason, unless they were talking about the keeping of beer.
Strangely, Frank's prosaic attitude made Viggo feel a little better and he trotted off to the kitchen to give a hand where it was needed. Viggo was quietly popular with a number of Orlando's circle. He didn't talk much and he always listened; he had the gift of making the person who was talking to him feel like they were important, that what they said really mattered.Viggo's eyes never wandered and he never gave any indication of being bored. Thus it was a measure of how worried he was that he was constantly caught daydreaming when he should have been listening to the trials and tribulations of the kitchen staff.
About halfway through the busy lunchtime rush, Orlando turned up. He looked a bit pale and he was accompanied by George. They had obviously been arguing about something.
"'Lan," Annie, the barmaid called out as he came through the door. "Vig's in the kitchen, go and show him you're alive yeah?"
"Gotcha..." he called back. He had expected Viggo to fret and he hurried into the kitchen grinning. "Guess who," he covered Viggo's eyes with his hands.
"Oh thank god..." Viggo didn't pause to dry his hands, turned and hugged Orlando tightly. Ignoring the jeers and catcalls, they kissed. And kissed. And then kissed a bit more, only parting when the need to breathe became overwhelming. "I thought..." Viggo only had eyes for Orlando, he kept touching his face and for once Orlando let him, holding him close; he opened his mouth as if about to say something when ...
"For fuck's sake, 'Lan, put the bugger down and get out here," George stalked into the kitchen. "Gawd, you have got it bad," he turned to the assembled kitchen staff and glared at them. "And you cunts can just get back to work, I dunno, my old man fought at Dunkirk so 'orrible excuse for human beings could stand around like spare pricks as a wedding ... I dunno ..." he shook his head and gave it up. Orlando could see he was really wound up, so he grabbed Viggo's hand.
"Come on babe, I gotta fill you and Frank in on the latest..."
When they all had a drink, they removed themselves to a quiet corner in the pub. Orlando was looking unusually grave, Viggo was beginning to get agitated.
"What's happened? It's Roxwell isn't it?" He was terrified of that man. He'd seen real cruelty in his eyes and he'd witnessed a murder. "He's disappeared hasn't he? He's coming for me..."
"Calm down babe," Orlando placed his finger on Viggo's lips. "And listen..."
Frank leaned forward, they were all speaking in very quiet voices. "Go on 'Lan..."
"Mike Roxwell is dead..."
Viggo's hand flew up to his mouth and even George looked shocked.
"The word on the street knew jack shit, he was never in Manchester, he was still here, apparently he ..." there was an awkward pause. "Killed himself. Apparently he threw himself off a multi-storey car park in Romford..."
"Fuck me..." Frank gasped. "Though I thought he wasn't gonna fuck off up north, they're queer bastards up north..."
Orlando rolled his eyes and winked at Viggo.
"I haven't finished yet..." he turned serious once more. "Thing is, anyone who knew Mike Roxwell knew he hated heights, he never would've gone up there on his own, plus," his voice dropped. "The stuff they found under his nails suggests that far from jumping, he was in all probability pushed..."
"Oh my god," Viggo was shaken to the core. His brain couldn't even begin to process what this might mean.
George sniffed. "So you lost your job for nothing, there's no case, Viggo is no longer a witness and the organisation behind this whole dirty fucking business is gonna walk free...." he looked at Orlando who nodded.
"That's about it, although I got Viggo here out of it so I guess it's not for nothing." Afterwards Viggo could never be sure Orlando wasn't trying to convince himself rather than George.
"What next, 'Lando?" Viggo asked.
"Well they've got Bicknall's head on the block, 'cos in the absence of me, he's gonna take the rap," Orlando sounded bleak. "I hated him at the end but before that? Well Bic was a good guv'nor and a good copper," he sighed. "And I'm gonna find out what the fuck was going on, this is fucking bollocks and I intend to find out what fucking well happened."
"How?" Frank interrupted. "How you gonna do that? You can't get into the Met's computers..."
Orlando's smile was positively evil. "No I can't but George can..."
***
"Greg?"
"Hey gorgeous ..."
He didn't sound like a man who had betrayed his ex boyfriend in such a base fashion.
"Wondered if you fancied meeting for a drink?"
"Course Orlando, I've been expecting you to call..."
"Tomorrow? Lunch? All Bar One in Covent Garden?"
"Sure, see you about 1..."
Orlando put his mobile away. "He defended Mike Roxwell and if anyone knows what the fuck is going on, either he will or he will know someone who does..."
"Oh yeah?" George was grinning nastily. "And what if he wants payment in kind? Eh 'Lan?"
Viggo looked first at George, he liked this man but there was a nasty streak in him, if he sensed weakness he honed in on it, kept digging away until he got a rise. He was kind but at the same time, he was not the sort of man Viggo wanted to be around unless Orlando was there to protect him. As he was right now.
"You stupid fucker!" Orlando roared with laughter. "He's dating some chicken who is costing him a fortune in Versace and Prada," he laid his hand on Viggo's knee. "And this boy is, so I'm told, blond and beautiful, I doubt he's gonna want payment of any kind from me..."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Viggo looked down, hiding a small smile. Orlando had promised to look after him and he was being true to his word.
"So, I'm seeing Greg tomorrow and I'll meet you all in the Salisbury straight after, okay?" Orlando was knackered. He sat up and stretched. "And now me andVig are gonna go home, the FA Cup replays are on Sky tonight and I've had enough of your ugly mugs."
"Yeah fair enough lad," George was avuncular once more, he hardly ever got a rise from Orlando. It had happened once and ended with Orlando pinning George to the wall and threatening to break his arm. They had been firm friends ever since but old habits die hard and he could never resist trying for a repeat performance.
"See you tomorrow," Frank said. He got his wallet out and handed Viggo a twenty. "One day you'll do a whole shift for me, Vig but this will cover you for today..."
"Thanks Frank," Viggo was delighted; not having a job or being in the system meant he hardly ever had cash in his pocket. "We going then, 'Lando?" he stood up and Orlando followed.
"See you tomorrow," he took Viggo's hand and they left the pub, both glad to be out in the fresh air.
"Let's walk for a bit, babe," Orlando wanted to think and he wanted to look at the view from Waterloo Bridge. So they walked in companionable silence. Viggo was never particularly talkative, he was happy to be quiet, happy just to be with Orlando. It still amazed him that this guy-like-guy was not only gay but also completely unfazed by it. He behaved exactly like the rest of his friends, he belched, he farted, he left a trail of destruction in his wake, he thought tea cloths and towels jumped into the washing machine on their own and it never occurred to him to replace the empty toilet roll. He was unlike any gay man Viggo had ever met and he made Viggo happier than he'd ever been, even before he wrecked everything, before he wrought his own destruction all those years ago.
They stopped in the middle of the bridge, staring out eastwards at St Pauls, still an imposing landmark in the ever-changing landscape of London.
"Look!" Viggo was startled out of his reverie. "Look," he pointed at Tower Bridge. "It's going up!" It was too and they stood watching, Orlando's arm around Viggo's waist, both lost in their own thoughts. At last, after so much had happened, they were finally in synch with each other.
TBC
Author: Lottie Lenya
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: NC-17
Category: AU
Disclaimer: This is fiction, not based in reality - to the best of my knowledge Viggo Mortensen has never lived rough and Orlando Bloom was never part of the Constabulary.
Beta: None - if you spot any howlers, please to let me know
A/N. This is for Jean who has waited so patiently!
***
When Orlando didn't come back, Viggo begun to get a bit panicky. He couldn't help wondering if somehow Roxwell had gotten hold of Orlando and might even now be hurting him. He looked at the clock, it was a minute later than when he'd last looked. Five minutes later he decided he couldn't sit here another minute. He would go to the pub, maybe Frank would know something.
By the time he arrived got there, he had convinced himself that Orlando was in the English equivalent of Guantánamo Bay. He met Frank who was standing outside the back door, smoking a cigarette and looking thoughtful.
"Alright mate," he handed Viggo a cigarette and his lighter. "I wondered when you'd turn up, you wanna wash a few pots, keep your mind off his nibs?" Viggo managed a watery smile. "Please," he said. There was no point in denying that he was worried sick, Frank like George always seemed to know.
"Good lad, the special is pie and mash today and there's liquor too," Viggo was very fond of the strange coloured liquid, which was actually parsley sauce. But even the prospect of liquor failed to raise so much as a glimmer of a smile.
"Listen Vig," Frank threw his cigarette into the gutter. "Your Orlando is a bloke who knows how to take care of hisself, okay?" he shook his head. "You can't worry every time he goes off to do his own thing. He's never gonna be a regular poofter you know," this made Viggo smile. There wasn't a truly racist or homophobic bone in Frank's body despite his language, which was not particularly politically correct.
"But I don't know where he is, anything could be happening to him," Viggo knew he sounded pathetic but he couldn't help it.
"Vig, you muppet, this is London. What do you think they're gonna do to him? Pull his fingernails out till he tells them what? It's not as if he knows anything and if he did, he would tell them, now bugger off into the kitchen and give them a hand..." Frank didn't have much truck with Viggo's flights of fancy. He was all down to earth and the voice of reason, unless they were talking about the keeping of beer.
Strangely, Frank's prosaic attitude made Viggo feel a little better and he trotted off to the kitchen to give a hand where it was needed. Viggo was quietly popular with a number of Orlando's circle. He didn't talk much and he always listened; he had the gift of making the person who was talking to him feel like they were important, that what they said really mattered.Viggo's eyes never wandered and he never gave any indication of being bored. Thus it was a measure of how worried he was that he was constantly caught daydreaming when he should have been listening to the trials and tribulations of the kitchen staff.
About halfway through the busy lunchtime rush, Orlando turned up. He looked a bit pale and he was accompanied by George. They had obviously been arguing about something.
"'Lan," Annie, the barmaid called out as he came through the door. "Vig's in the kitchen, go and show him you're alive yeah?"
"Gotcha..." he called back. He had expected Viggo to fret and he hurried into the kitchen grinning. "Guess who," he covered Viggo's eyes with his hands.
"Oh thank god..." Viggo didn't pause to dry his hands, turned and hugged Orlando tightly. Ignoring the jeers and catcalls, they kissed. And kissed. And then kissed a bit more, only parting when the need to breathe became overwhelming. "I thought..." Viggo only had eyes for Orlando, he kept touching his face and for once Orlando let him, holding him close; he opened his mouth as if about to say something when ...
"For fuck's sake, 'Lan, put the bugger down and get out here," George stalked into the kitchen. "Gawd, you have got it bad," he turned to the assembled kitchen staff and glared at them. "And you cunts can just get back to work, I dunno, my old man fought at Dunkirk so 'orrible excuse for human beings could stand around like spare pricks as a wedding ... I dunno ..." he shook his head and gave it up. Orlando could see he was really wound up, so he grabbed Viggo's hand.
"Come on babe, I gotta fill you and Frank in on the latest..."
When they all had a drink, they removed themselves to a quiet corner in the pub. Orlando was looking unusually grave, Viggo was beginning to get agitated.
"What's happened? It's Roxwell isn't it?" He was terrified of that man. He'd seen real cruelty in his eyes and he'd witnessed a murder. "He's disappeared hasn't he? He's coming for me..."
"Calm down babe," Orlando placed his finger on Viggo's lips. "And listen..."
Frank leaned forward, they were all speaking in very quiet voices. "Go on 'Lan..."
"Mike Roxwell is dead..."
Viggo's hand flew up to his mouth and even George looked shocked.
"The word on the street knew jack shit, he was never in Manchester, he was still here, apparently he ..." there was an awkward pause. "Killed himself. Apparently he threw himself off a multi-storey car park in Romford..."
"Fuck me..." Frank gasped. "Though I thought he wasn't gonna fuck off up north, they're queer bastards up north..."
Orlando rolled his eyes and winked at Viggo.
"I haven't finished yet..." he turned serious once more. "Thing is, anyone who knew Mike Roxwell knew he hated heights, he never would've gone up there on his own, plus," his voice dropped. "The stuff they found under his nails suggests that far from jumping, he was in all probability pushed..."
"Oh my god," Viggo was shaken to the core. His brain couldn't even begin to process what this might mean.
George sniffed. "So you lost your job for nothing, there's no case, Viggo is no longer a witness and the organisation behind this whole dirty fucking business is gonna walk free...." he looked at Orlando who nodded.
"That's about it, although I got Viggo here out of it so I guess it's not for nothing." Afterwards Viggo could never be sure Orlando wasn't trying to convince himself rather than George.
"What next, 'Lando?" Viggo asked.
"Well they've got Bicknall's head on the block, 'cos in the absence of me, he's gonna take the rap," Orlando sounded bleak. "I hated him at the end but before that? Well Bic was a good guv'nor and a good copper," he sighed. "And I'm gonna find out what the fuck was going on, this is fucking bollocks and I intend to find out what fucking well happened."
"How?" Frank interrupted. "How you gonna do that? You can't get into the Met's computers..."
Orlando's smile was positively evil. "No I can't but George can..."
***
"Greg?"
"Hey gorgeous ..."
He didn't sound like a man who had betrayed his ex boyfriend in such a base fashion.
"Wondered if you fancied meeting for a drink?"
"Course Orlando, I've been expecting you to call..."
"Tomorrow? Lunch? All Bar One in Covent Garden?"
"Sure, see you about 1..."
Orlando put his mobile away. "He defended Mike Roxwell and if anyone knows what the fuck is going on, either he will or he will know someone who does..."
"Oh yeah?" George was grinning nastily. "And what if he wants payment in kind? Eh 'Lan?"
Viggo looked first at George, he liked this man but there was a nasty streak in him, if he sensed weakness he honed in on it, kept digging away until he got a rise. He was kind but at the same time, he was not the sort of man Viggo wanted to be around unless Orlando was there to protect him. As he was right now.
"You stupid fucker!" Orlando roared with laughter. "He's dating some chicken who is costing him a fortune in Versace and Prada," he laid his hand on Viggo's knee. "And this boy is, so I'm told, blond and beautiful, I doubt he's gonna want payment of any kind from me..."
Breathing a sigh of relief, Viggo looked down, hiding a small smile. Orlando had promised to look after him and he was being true to his word.
"So, I'm seeing Greg tomorrow and I'll meet you all in the Salisbury straight after, okay?" Orlando was knackered. He sat up and stretched. "And now me andVig are gonna go home, the FA Cup replays are on Sky tonight and I've had enough of your ugly mugs."
"Yeah fair enough lad," George was avuncular once more, he hardly ever got a rise from Orlando. It had happened once and ended with Orlando pinning George to the wall and threatening to break his arm. They had been firm friends ever since but old habits die hard and he could never resist trying for a repeat performance.
"See you tomorrow," Frank said. He got his wallet out and handed Viggo a twenty. "One day you'll do a whole shift for me, Vig but this will cover you for today..."
"Thanks Frank," Viggo was delighted; not having a job or being in the system meant he hardly ever had cash in his pocket. "We going then, 'Lando?" he stood up and Orlando followed.
"See you tomorrow," he took Viggo's hand and they left the pub, both glad to be out in the fresh air.
"Let's walk for a bit, babe," Orlando wanted to think and he wanted to look at the view from Waterloo Bridge. So they walked in companionable silence. Viggo was never particularly talkative, he was happy to be quiet, happy just to be with Orlando. It still amazed him that this guy-like-guy was not only gay but also completely unfazed by it. He behaved exactly like the rest of his friends, he belched, he farted, he left a trail of destruction in his wake, he thought tea cloths and towels jumped into the washing machine on their own and it never occurred to him to replace the empty toilet roll. He was unlike any gay man Viggo had ever met and he made Viggo happier than he'd ever been, even before he wrecked everything, before he wrought his own destruction all those years ago.
They stopped in the middle of the bridge, staring out eastwards at St Pauls, still an imposing landmark in the ever-changing landscape of London.
"Look!" Viggo was startled out of his reverie. "Look," he pointed at Tower Bridge. "It's going up!" It was too and they stood watching, Orlando's arm around Viggo's waist, both lost in their own thoughts. At last, after so much had happened, they were finally in synch with each other.
TBC