Walk On By - the final chapter (XXIII)
WALK ON BY - XXIII
Author: dalehead
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. It’s the end of an era. This fic has been written with a lot of blood, sweat, toil and tears. It’s for my mum, R. She was an amazing woman in more ways than I could possibly say. She knew about Walk On By but not that it was slash. My mum made me the person I am, not just by giving birth to me but with her enthusiasm for theatre and reading which I picked up. Not regrettably her dress making skills but she was quite sanguine about that and she did teach me how to hem invisibly. Anyway, I digress. This is the end. It’s not the end that many of you may have wanted and I haven’t answered all the questions you may have but most of you know where I am if you want to ask … Mum, this is for you although the bad language and the explicitness of the sex would have had you shaking your head and saying Lottie in that tone. And mum? I love you very much, always did, always will…
Orlando was depressed
Everyone knew Orlando was depressed except Orlando.
He had lost weight, was now painfully thin; he showed no interest in anything much at all.
Viggo was worried.
Frank was worried.
George was worried.
And when Orlando showed no emotion at an excellent last minute goal, Terry begun to get worried.
Viggo was at his wits end. He bullied Orlando until he went to the doctor who prescribed counselling. Orlando went to counselling, sat, smoking and looking out of the window, resolutely not speaking. Then he noticed the counsellor was a Chelsea supporter. Thus ended that session; Orlando refused to go back.
Something had to give.
After a few long weeks things finally came to a head. Viggo arrived home from his shift at the pub to find Orlando sitting in front of Walt Disney’s Bambi, crying his eyes out.
“I think I’m depressed, babe,” he said and burst into a fresh paroxysm of tears.
Viggo went to him but was waved away. “No … I don’t …” he stumbled out of the room and locked himself in the bathroom, staying there so long that Viggo has seriously started thinking about knocking the door down.
“I’ll see the quack tomorrow,” Orlando came out eventually. He was pale but composed. So composed that Viggo took fright all over again.
“Can I come with …” he paused. “Please Orlando? You won’t tell the truth and you need to tell him the truth, I want you to be well again.”
“Not ill. “ Orlando wearily undressed. “I’m going to bed…”
“You’re depressed,” Viggo called softly as Orlando went out of the room, pretending not to hear him.
~~
“You are deeply depressed Mr Bloom,” the doctor spoke briskly. “You’ve lost weight, you’re not sleeping well and you keep bursting into tears.”
“I don’t recognise the person I see in the mirror,” Orlando was looking at the floor.
Viggo looked terrified, the doctor remembered how ill he’d been and felt a pang of sympathy for a man who had been through so much and was still going through it.
“And you’re not eating properly, you need to put fuel in your tank and that Mr Mortensen,” she smiled at Viggo. “Is where you come in.”
She wrote a note.
“I am going to send you to a different counsellor, one who,” she consulted her notes. “Doesn’t support Chelsea…”
She smiled then turned serious. “Mr Bloom, you are ill. Make no mistake about it. We can make you better but you have to play the game too. A counsellor will allow you to find your way through this mire you’ve found yourself in and the whole process will hopefully give you a map for the future…”
Orlando had been looking into space, apparently not listening.
“I don’t talk about my parents, I don’t talk about being a poof, I’m a bloke who sleeps with other blokes, don’t you fucking dare send me to some cunt who thinks that everything comes back to how mum potty trained me or the fact that I like to take it up the arse,” he looked at Viggo whose eyebrow delicately arched.
The grin that lit up Orlando’s face reminded Viggo of just how beautiful his lover was, how much he missed him.
“Or giving it up the arse for that matter; don’t let my boyfriend distract you with semantics,” he reached for Viggo’s hand. “Okay?”
“Okay,” his doctor replied, thinking what a very attractive man Orlando would be when he got over this hurdle. “I am going to refer you to a female counsellor who I think will probably suit you much better. Her name is Bette and I’ll have her secretary ring you to make an appointment.”
Viggo nodded. “And I’ll make sure he goes,” it was time for him to step up and take control of the situation, bully Orlando into eating more and not just that. He would be the one who made sure Orlando attended his sessions and if he needed any more proof that something was wrong, the complete lack of argument brought it home to Viggo. Orlando was really sick.
~~
“Coming to the match?” George asked, almost timidly.
A London Derby beckoned and so far this season, Orlando had shown next to no enthusiasm.
Bette, I appreciate you want to know if I wet the bed when I was 4 or if mum ever burst in on me when I was wanking but the issue here is a bit bigger. I am, in all probability, responsible for a man’s death. He was job, do you get that? He was fucking job. I indirectly caused Mike Roxwell to die, have you any idea how that feels? I can’t bear to see my own face in the mirror…
“Who’s playing?”
”I was paid to uphold the law and all the time I was inadvertently helping Bick feather his nest, all the fucking time I was his stooge, I was the monkey dancing to that fucking cunt of an organ grinder’s tune…”
“Fancy seeing the match?” Tel sounded hopeful.
“What match?”
What it comes down to Bette, is my cock was biting my leg off. I took Vig off the streets cos I wanted him. I abused my position of authority, that’s what they say. I wanted him, I wanted him and I fucking well took him. Well he came with a price and every fucking time I look at him, I see my own failure as a human being which is a pretty fucking high price. Do you get Bette what the fuck that is doing to my head? It’s all fucked up. I dunno how to go on and I feel like I’m fucking lost and it’s got jack shit to do with mum or my knowing that I was a poof when I was 3, 4, 5 or 16…
“Go to the match Orlando,” Viggo wasn’t asking.
“Not interested…”
“I want to go and I need you to explain stuff to me, I don’t get the offside rule, I don’t see the point of it…”
“Oh…” there was such a long pause, Viggo thought he’d lost Orlando again. “Ok, the offside rule is this. Let’s say it’s Arsenal versus. Chelsea. Let’s say an Arsenal midfielder kicks the ball to another Arsenal player on Chelsea’s side of the pitch. The player the ball is being kicked to has to be behind the Chelsea defenders at the time of the kick. Simple yeah?”
Viggo pretended to understand. “Yeah, I think it is, now will you take me to the match?”
How could Orlando refuse a request like that?
“Kay,” he looked helplessly around.
“Go and get a shower, your clothes are laid out on the bed for you.”
I tell you what Bette, Chelsea aren’t half the team they were since Maureen left… And the other thing is I gave up my career. That does piss me off, I miss it, I don’t know what to do, I mean how to earn my living. I don’t wanna work with kids, I hate kids, apart from my mates’ kids of course. So I feel guilty but then I did rescue Vig and he would’ve got killed and why is his life less important than Mike’s although Mike’s wife was up the duff so I guess…
“Tel? Fancy going to the match? Yeah? And Vig too of course? Great …”
Viggo said nothing. He just smiled.
I don’t wanna leave London, I don’t wanna to live in the country, I don’t wanna go up north for fuck’s sake. I’m a Londoner, this is my manor. I’m staying. We’re staying. Just I need to find a job…
“We all set for the match then, Vig?” it was much better now that Orlando seemed to be working stuff out. “Frank’s meeting us at Holloway Road, kay?” Yes, it was way better, they’d been to practically every home match for the last few weeks and Orlando was eating again. Viggo was beginning to think it was going to be alright.
~~
And maybe it was. Slowly Orlando was coming back to Viggo. He began reading the sports’ pages again. He got up before midday and went back to the gym. He took a series of dead end jobs but at least he laughed about it, had a sense of humour about the situation. He took Viggo to Leigh-on-Sea. There, they spent a whole day walking along the sea wall, looking at the water, talking but being quiet too.
~~
“I don’t know what I want to do,” it was Sunday morning; they were lying in bed, smoking a post coital cigarette.
“D’you fancy going back to school?” Viggo did. He was looking into English and Math courses, hoping to find something where he wasn’t in a smoky atmosphere. He was wheezing a lot and their doctor had put him on a course of steroids, telling him that long term he needed to get out of the pub.
“Not really, but I’ve got a degree Vig, I can probably find something a bit better paid and I will, when I’m ready…” he grinned and Viggo nodded.
It wasn’t happy ever after like he’d always dreamt of, but it was ever after. It was a life and he was with Orlando. After all, it couldn’t always be like the fairy tales and at least this way, he stayed with his knight in shining armour, the man who had rescued him then stood by him.
The knight farted loudly and Viggo held his breath as Orlando pulled the duvet up over his head.
“That was a good’un,” he was laughing as he bound up out of bed. “C’mon you lazy sack of shit, let’s get our arses moving, we can go to the pub for lunch and then catch a movie, what do you think?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, grabbed his cigarettes, went off to sit on the toilet and read yesterday’s paper for a while.
No, it wasn’t what Viggo had been expecting from life, it wasn’t what he’d dreamt of. It was far better than that.
The End.
Author: dalehead
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. It’s the end of an era. This fic has been written with a lot of blood, sweat, toil and tears. It’s for my mum, R. She was an amazing woman in more ways than I could possibly say. She knew about Walk On By but not that it was slash. My mum made me the person I am, not just by giving birth to me but with her enthusiasm for theatre and reading which I picked up. Not regrettably her dress making skills but she was quite sanguine about that and she did teach me how to hem invisibly. Anyway, I digress. This is the end. It’s not the end that many of you may have wanted and I haven’t answered all the questions you may have but most of you know where I am if you want to ask … Mum, this is for you although the bad language and the explicitness of the sex would have had you shaking your head and saying Lottie in that tone. And mum? I love you very much, always did, always will…
Orlando was depressed
Everyone knew Orlando was depressed except Orlando.
He had lost weight, was now painfully thin; he showed no interest in anything much at all.
Viggo was worried.
Frank was worried.
George was worried.
And when Orlando showed no emotion at an excellent last minute goal, Terry begun to get worried.
Viggo was at his wits end. He bullied Orlando until he went to the doctor who prescribed counselling. Orlando went to counselling, sat, smoking and looking out of the window, resolutely not speaking. Then he noticed the counsellor was a Chelsea supporter. Thus ended that session; Orlando refused to go back.
Something had to give.
After a few long weeks things finally came to a head. Viggo arrived home from his shift at the pub to find Orlando sitting in front of Walt Disney’s Bambi, crying his eyes out.
“I think I’m depressed, babe,” he said and burst into a fresh paroxysm of tears.
Viggo went to him but was waved away. “No … I don’t …” he stumbled out of the room and locked himself in the bathroom, staying there so long that Viggo has seriously started thinking about knocking the door down.
“I’ll see the quack tomorrow,” Orlando came out eventually. He was pale but composed. So composed that Viggo took fright all over again.
“Can I come with …” he paused. “Please Orlando? You won’t tell the truth and you need to tell him the truth, I want you to be well again.”
“Not ill. “ Orlando wearily undressed. “I’m going to bed…”
“You’re depressed,” Viggo called softly as Orlando went out of the room, pretending not to hear him.
~~
“You are deeply depressed Mr Bloom,” the doctor spoke briskly. “You’ve lost weight, you’re not sleeping well and you keep bursting into tears.”
“I don’t recognise the person I see in the mirror,” Orlando was looking at the floor.
Viggo looked terrified, the doctor remembered how ill he’d been and felt a pang of sympathy for a man who had been through so much and was still going through it.
“And you’re not eating properly, you need to put fuel in your tank and that Mr Mortensen,” she smiled at Viggo. “Is where you come in.”
She wrote a note.
“I am going to send you to a different counsellor, one who,” she consulted her notes. “Doesn’t support Chelsea…”
She smiled then turned serious. “Mr Bloom, you are ill. Make no mistake about it. We can make you better but you have to play the game too. A counsellor will allow you to find your way through this mire you’ve found yourself in and the whole process will hopefully give you a map for the future…”
Orlando had been looking into space, apparently not listening.
“I don’t talk about my parents, I don’t talk about being a poof, I’m a bloke who sleeps with other blokes, don’t you fucking dare send me to some cunt who thinks that everything comes back to how mum potty trained me or the fact that I like to take it up the arse,” he looked at Viggo whose eyebrow delicately arched.
The grin that lit up Orlando’s face reminded Viggo of just how beautiful his lover was, how much he missed him.
“Or giving it up the arse for that matter; don’t let my boyfriend distract you with semantics,” he reached for Viggo’s hand. “Okay?”
“Okay,” his doctor replied, thinking what a very attractive man Orlando would be when he got over this hurdle. “I am going to refer you to a female counsellor who I think will probably suit you much better. Her name is Bette and I’ll have her secretary ring you to make an appointment.”
Viggo nodded. “And I’ll make sure he goes,” it was time for him to step up and take control of the situation, bully Orlando into eating more and not just that. He would be the one who made sure Orlando attended his sessions and if he needed any more proof that something was wrong, the complete lack of argument brought it home to Viggo. Orlando was really sick.
~~
“Coming to the match?” George asked, almost timidly.
A London Derby beckoned and so far this season, Orlando had shown next to no enthusiasm.
Bette, I appreciate you want to know if I wet the bed when I was 4 or if mum ever burst in on me when I was wanking but the issue here is a bit bigger. I am, in all probability, responsible for a man’s death. He was job, do you get that? He was fucking job. I indirectly caused Mike Roxwell to die, have you any idea how that feels? I can’t bear to see my own face in the mirror…
“Who’s playing?”
”I was paid to uphold the law and all the time I was inadvertently helping Bick feather his nest, all the fucking time I was his stooge, I was the monkey dancing to that fucking cunt of an organ grinder’s tune…”
“Fancy seeing the match?” Tel sounded hopeful.
“What match?”
What it comes down to Bette, is my cock was biting my leg off. I took Vig off the streets cos I wanted him. I abused my position of authority, that’s what they say. I wanted him, I wanted him and I fucking well took him. Well he came with a price and every fucking time I look at him, I see my own failure as a human being which is a pretty fucking high price. Do you get Bette what the fuck that is doing to my head? It’s all fucked up. I dunno how to go on and I feel like I’m fucking lost and it’s got jack shit to do with mum or my knowing that I was a poof when I was 3, 4, 5 or 16…
“Go to the match Orlando,” Viggo wasn’t asking.
“Not interested…”
“I want to go and I need you to explain stuff to me, I don’t get the offside rule, I don’t see the point of it…”
“Oh…” there was such a long pause, Viggo thought he’d lost Orlando again. “Ok, the offside rule is this. Let’s say it’s Arsenal versus. Chelsea. Let’s say an Arsenal midfielder kicks the ball to another Arsenal player on Chelsea’s side of the pitch. The player the ball is being kicked to has to be behind the Chelsea defenders at the time of the kick. Simple yeah?”
Viggo pretended to understand. “Yeah, I think it is, now will you take me to the match?”
How could Orlando refuse a request like that?
“Kay,” he looked helplessly around.
“Go and get a shower, your clothes are laid out on the bed for you.”
I tell you what Bette, Chelsea aren’t half the team they were since Maureen left… And the other thing is I gave up my career. That does piss me off, I miss it, I don’t know what to do, I mean how to earn my living. I don’t wanna work with kids, I hate kids, apart from my mates’ kids of course. So I feel guilty but then I did rescue Vig and he would’ve got killed and why is his life less important than Mike’s although Mike’s wife was up the duff so I guess…
“Tel? Fancy going to the match? Yeah? And Vig too of course? Great …”
Viggo said nothing. He just smiled.
I don’t wanna leave London, I don’t wanna to live in the country, I don’t wanna go up north for fuck’s sake. I’m a Londoner, this is my manor. I’m staying. We’re staying. Just I need to find a job…
“We all set for the match then, Vig?” it was much better now that Orlando seemed to be working stuff out. “Frank’s meeting us at Holloway Road, kay?” Yes, it was way better, they’d been to practically every home match for the last few weeks and Orlando was eating again. Viggo was beginning to think it was going to be alright.
~~
And maybe it was. Slowly Orlando was coming back to Viggo. He began reading the sports’ pages again. He got up before midday and went back to the gym. He took a series of dead end jobs but at least he laughed about it, had a sense of humour about the situation. He took Viggo to Leigh-on-Sea. There, they spent a whole day walking along the sea wall, looking at the water, talking but being quiet too.
~~
“I don’t know what I want to do,” it was Sunday morning; they were lying in bed, smoking a post coital cigarette.
“D’you fancy going back to school?” Viggo did. He was looking into English and Math courses, hoping to find something where he wasn’t in a smoky atmosphere. He was wheezing a lot and their doctor had put him on a course of steroids, telling him that long term he needed to get out of the pub.
“Not really, but I’ve got a degree Vig, I can probably find something a bit better paid and I will, when I’m ready…” he grinned and Viggo nodded.
It wasn’t happy ever after like he’d always dreamt of, but it was ever after. It was a life and he was with Orlando. After all, it couldn’t always be like the fairy tales and at least this way, he stayed with his knight in shining armour, the man who had rescued him then stood by him.
The knight farted loudly and Viggo held his breath as Orlando pulled the duvet up over his head.
“That was a good’un,” he was laughing as he bound up out of bed. “C’mon you lazy sack of shit, let’s get our arses moving, we can go to the pub for lunch and then catch a movie, what do you think?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, grabbed his cigarettes, went off to sit on the toilet and read yesterday’s paper for a while.
No, it wasn’t what Viggo had been expecting from life, it wasn’t what he’d dreamt of. It was far better than that.
The End.