Walk on By - Part IV
WALK ON BY
Author: Lottie Lenya
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG (R/NC-17 in later chapters)
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: Ana. In tests, 8 out of 10 writers who expressed a preference said their plot bunnies preferred her. Thanks, love and good luck to your lads…
When D S Bloom came striding out of the Guv’nor’s office it was evident that he was in a mighty bad mood. He stormed back into the open plan office, sat at his desk and stared vacantly into space. Then, he picked up a pencil, broke it in two, picked up his phone, looked at it and put it down again.
‘I’m going out.’ He announced. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Oooh, taking a half day are you?’ some wag joked.
Orlando delivered his killer look, complete with raised eyebrow. Any further comment was stifled at birth. The rest of the team had fast learnt when not to piss off their newest detective sergeant. Despite his model good looks, he had earned their respect by fitting in seamlessly with the established crew. He always listened to suggestions and was seen as being fair. However, when he had ‘a cob on’, it was best to leave him alone. He had a tongue, it was popularly reported, that was so acidic it could make grown men cry!
Orlando had just had a rather disturbing conversation. It had come to D I Grantham’s attention that someone on the team was dealing. Of all the low life that Orlando hated, dealers were the ones he wanted to turn into fertiliser and spread across a field. In the summer before he went to college, his best friend had taken some dodgy ecstasy and died very unpleasantly in hospital, without regaining consciousness. Her picture had been plastered across the newspapers as a warning of the dangers of drugs. After Lizzie died, Orlando had begun to wonder whether he wouldn’t do better to join the fight against drugs rather than study to become an actor, and it was then that he decided to change the course of his life. A term at drama school had confirmed it. He never imagined that he would be grateful to his parents, who had insisted that he got the best qualifications he could, thus ensuring he could get into university.
D I Grantham had received a tip off from one of his army of informants that spread across his manor. He knew that, although D S Bloom hated dealers with a passion, he would never let emotion get in the way of his work and had thus decided to confide in his colleague. Between them they would track this scumbag down…
On top of that, all departments were liaising as it appeared that the area was being plagued by a serial sex attacker. Someone was preying on the people most at risk in the locale - young, homeless men. His MO was frightening. He would stop and engage his victim in conversation, give him something to eat or drink, something that was laced with Rohyponol, the date rape drug. Then he’d beat them senseless before sexually assaulting them. One young man had been rushed to hospital with the most horrendous injuries and faced months of treatment to repair the physical damage, even more to repair the psychological affects of the attack. These were young lads, boys who for the most part had run away from bullying, abuse and worse. Lads who were totally alone, without support of any kind. Their attacker unerringly picked on the weakest and the most vulnerable. All departments from all stations in the area were on the lookout. Initially the press had been very interested but then a happily married football player was caught snorting coke in a high class brothel. The fall out lasted for weeks, by which time the attacks on a few homeless boys had been relegated to the back of the news section.
As he headed towards the Strand, Orlando pondered on the sort of sick fuck who could perpetrate such a crime. ‘The more I see of men the more I prefer cats!’ He found himself saying the words out loud, startling the couple walking just in front of him.
Meanwhile, Viggo had returned to the streets, having had his first proper shower for longer than he could remember. Since that fateful night, he had seen Orlando several times. They met for breakfast in a small café near Waterloo, well off the beaten track.
Viggo had changed his pitch, left the streets of Soho and headed for the Strand. The guy in the police station had been so menacing that Viggo, who had met very dangerous men in his time, was terrified. Viggo knew that he was in very real danger from this guy and vowed to stay away from Soho and Orlando. So it was that when Orlando had bumped into him begging outside the Vaudeville Theatre, Viggo had refused to even look at him. But Orlando wasn’t taking no for an answer and they arranged to meet at Waterloo the next day. Since then they had enjoyed several conversations and, despite his terror, Viggo found himself thinking about him more often than was probably healthy.
After leaving the station, Orlando headed for the Strand, where he knew Viggo would be. It was late afternoon. He watched as Viggo sat with his pathetic bit of card that read “Hungry and Homeless Please Help”. Most of the passer by’s barely gave him a second glance. One or two threw some money in his polystyrene cup, one or two swore at him. He noticed two city boys in suits start to harangue him and stepped in. Viggo had begun to cast harassed glances around him and Orlando knew before he even came close that he would be shaking. He wondered for the umpteenth time just what had scared this man, a man who had clearly lived on the streets for years, so badly.
‘Is this your boyfriend come to protect your filthy arse, you fucking cunt?’ Sneered one of the suits. He was about to say something else when he was interrupted.
‘If you two twats don’t want to find yourselves down the nearest nick on suspicion of whatever the fuck I like, I suggest you fuck off out of my sight.’ Orlando was holding out his warrant card and fixing the city boys with a particularly nasty look. They took the hint, moved off and within moments were lost in the crowd.
‘Viggo, how the hell have you managed to stay alive for so long? Every fucking time I come across you you’re about to get yourself into trouble.’ Not sure if Orlando was joking or not, Viggo cringed inside, wondering when he had become this pathetic shell of a man. He looked at Orlando, who was staring down at him, an expression of amused impatience on his face.
‘Come on, I wanna talk to you; get up and we’ll walk.’
They made an incongruous pair as they strolled up the Strand, turning right and crossing the River Thames via Waterloo Bridge. The city was going about its business, buses were packed, tourists mingled with the workers who were starting to head for home, popping in various pubs and wine bars en route. Spring was in the air. Winter coats had been discarded and bare legs were beginning to make their first appearance of the season. Viggo stopped and looked across at St Paul’s Cathedral and the Nat West tower; the sun was shining and the water below them sparkled. He sighed
‘Beautiful. Sometimes I forget just how beautiful a city this is.’ Viggo turned around and looked over to the South Bank, gazed for a moment at the London Eye before turning back to Orlando. ‘I always see the world from ground level, sometimes I forget how different the view is from up here. It’s ….’ Here he broke off, he looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll…’ He was stuttering now. ‘I don’t know what…’ Inside he was cringing. ‘So what did you want to talk to me about?’ He started to walk away. Orlando paused for a moment before hurrying after him.
‘Hey, hold up a moment, mate.’ Orlando caught up with him, realising that Viggo had just allowed him a peek below the surface. It had been a fleeting glimpse but one that made him want to see more.
They continued to walk across the bridge, heading for a pub that Orlando knew wouldn’t object to Viggo’s presence. The landlord was the brother of a friend of his, and wouldn’t make a scene because his drinking companion smelt less than fresh. Despite the clothes being newer than his previous set, Viggo was, to put it politely, once again beginning to hum. He was acutely aware of this, was also aware that although Orlando had to be able to smell him, he never recoiled, never flinched when Viggo got too close. It made him feel more human than he had for years.
Sitting Viggo at a table slightly away from the rest of the bar, a table put there for just that purpose by the landlord, who was savvy if nothing else, Orlando got himself a pint of Stella and a coke for Viggo. as well as a doorstep sandwich for each of them. As usual, Viggo didn’t pick up either his sandwich or his drink until Orlando, told him to ‘get it down your neck, mate’ and, as always, Viggo tried not to wolf his food down too quickly. It was the sight of this restraint that always gave Orlando that funny feeling in his chest. He had seen what hunger could do to a man and he knew Viggo was travelling down that route. Without asking, he got up and got another round. Lighting a cigarette, Orlando took a healthy swig of his beer. ‘Vig, have you heard about the nutter who’s on the loose on my manor?’
For once Viggo showed no sign of agitation; a sign, Orlando realised, that meant he really didn’t know anything. ‘No, but everyone’s talking about it. You want me to keep my eyes and ears open, right?
Orlando smiled at him. ‘Yeah. Luckily you don’t fit his MO, he goes for chickens as a rule, but yeah, you hear anything you can always get a message to me through Frank, the guy behind the bar. He’s a good man. If ever you find yourself in a spot of bother and I’m not around, you come here. He’s seen you with me, he knows you’re okay.’
Viggo, having finished both his sandwiches and the remains of Orlando’s, took a cigarette from the proffered packet, lit it and inhaled deeply. ‘Why are you doing this for me? I don’t really get it, but I wonder what it is that makes you bother. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that you do, but why…?’
He trailed off, gazing into the expressive brown eyes that looked back at him with such kindness, and for a very fleeting moment, wondered if he saw something else as well.
Meanwhile Orlando was wondering the same thing. The man before him was broken in so many ways, yet he sensed that somehow there was more to this guy, more than he was getting. And he wanted to peel back the layers and get to the heart of the matter. Dimly, he realised that, maybe on some level, he was attracted to this man. The idea made him smile as he thought about his answer.
‘Well mate, I’m buggered if I can answer you, but I do know that I’d like to get to know you a bit better and if……’ Once again they were interrupted by Orlando’s mobile. ‘ ‘Lo … yep … hmmm … fuck me, you’re kidding. Okay mate, say no more, I’ll be with you in ten. Aha, yep. Bye.’ He disconnected the phone and put it away.
‘Sorry mate, duty calls and all that.’ He held out his hand to Viggo, who wiped his own before taking it. Orlando gave him that smile, the smile that seemed to light him up from the inside out. ‘Take care and I’ll see you in a day or two. And don’t forget, you find yourself in any trouble, you get your arse over here and find Frank, ‘kay?’ Not waiting for a response, Orlando left the pub and headed back over the bridge at a jog trot.
Once Orlando had gone, Frank the landlord came over to where Viggo was still sitting. As soon as he saw the grizzled bull dog of a man approaching, Viggo started to get up. Frank noticed the agitation that Orlando had told him about.
‘Sit yerself down, man, just collecting th’empties,’ He waved the glasses and begun clearing the table. ‘So how’d yer know the lad then?’ He enquired. Without waiting to hear the answer, he went back to the bar, returning with a fresh packet of cigarettes, a refill for Viggo and a large scotch for himself.
‘Right mate, let’s be having you. Start from the beginning, I can see you’re a man with a tale…’ As they both lit up, Viggo cleared his throat and begun to tell his tale to this stranger who, Viggo later realised, was only the second person Viggo had conversed with in as many years.
****************
Several hours later Orlando let himself into his flat. Sighing, he realised there was nothing in the fridge apart from some nail varnish his sister had left there the previous year. There was a stale smell in the air, the flat hadn’t been cleaned for weeks and he made a mental note to try and find a cleaner. Glancing at his watch, he realised that if he hurried he would just catch Safeway. Picking up his keys again, he left the flat and hurried through the walkways of the Barbican. Just outside the supermarket he noticed a homeless lad, about 20; his eyes made Orlando think of Viggo, and he wondered what the guy was doing. But, he reminded himself, he didn’t really have the spare time for lame ducks however there was that elusive something about Viggo that made him feel he couldn’t let go. Maybe, if he was totally honest, despite their very different lives, maybe he was a little bit attracted to Viggo.
‘You’re off your fucking chump, Bloom.’ He muttered to himself as he wandered around the aisles picking up a few bits and pieces.
On his way home, he resolved that for now he wouldn’t think about it; he would just get his supper and an early night. Tomorrow looked as if it was going to be a busy day.
Tbc
Author: Lottie Lenya
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG (R/NC-17 in later chapters)
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: Ana. In tests, 8 out of 10 writers who expressed a preference said their plot bunnies preferred her. Thanks, love and good luck to your lads…
When D S Bloom came striding out of the Guv’nor’s office it was evident that he was in a mighty bad mood. He stormed back into the open plan office, sat at his desk and stared vacantly into space. Then, he picked up a pencil, broke it in two, picked up his phone, looked at it and put it down again.
‘I’m going out.’ He announced. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Oooh, taking a half day are you?’ some wag joked.
Orlando delivered his killer look, complete with raised eyebrow. Any further comment was stifled at birth. The rest of the team had fast learnt when not to piss off their newest detective sergeant. Despite his model good looks, he had earned their respect by fitting in seamlessly with the established crew. He always listened to suggestions and was seen as being fair. However, when he had ‘a cob on’, it was best to leave him alone. He had a tongue, it was popularly reported, that was so acidic it could make grown men cry!
Orlando had just had a rather disturbing conversation. It had come to D I Grantham’s attention that someone on the team was dealing. Of all the low life that Orlando hated, dealers were the ones he wanted to turn into fertiliser and spread across a field. In the summer before he went to college, his best friend had taken some dodgy ecstasy and died very unpleasantly in hospital, without regaining consciousness. Her picture had been plastered across the newspapers as a warning of the dangers of drugs. After Lizzie died, Orlando had begun to wonder whether he wouldn’t do better to join the fight against drugs rather than study to become an actor, and it was then that he decided to change the course of his life. A term at drama school had confirmed it. He never imagined that he would be grateful to his parents, who had insisted that he got the best qualifications he could, thus ensuring he could get into university.
D I Grantham had received a tip off from one of his army of informants that spread across his manor. He knew that, although D S Bloom hated dealers with a passion, he would never let emotion get in the way of his work and had thus decided to confide in his colleague. Between them they would track this scumbag down…
On top of that, all departments were liaising as it appeared that the area was being plagued by a serial sex attacker. Someone was preying on the people most at risk in the locale - young, homeless men. His MO was frightening. He would stop and engage his victim in conversation, give him something to eat or drink, something that was laced with Rohyponol, the date rape drug. Then he’d beat them senseless before sexually assaulting them. One young man had been rushed to hospital with the most horrendous injuries and faced months of treatment to repair the physical damage, even more to repair the psychological affects of the attack. These were young lads, boys who for the most part had run away from bullying, abuse and worse. Lads who were totally alone, without support of any kind. Their attacker unerringly picked on the weakest and the most vulnerable. All departments from all stations in the area were on the lookout. Initially the press had been very interested but then a happily married football player was caught snorting coke in a high class brothel. The fall out lasted for weeks, by which time the attacks on a few homeless boys had been relegated to the back of the news section.
As he headed towards the Strand, Orlando pondered on the sort of sick fuck who could perpetrate such a crime. ‘The more I see of men the more I prefer cats!’ He found himself saying the words out loud, startling the couple walking just in front of him.
Meanwhile, Viggo had returned to the streets, having had his first proper shower for longer than he could remember. Since that fateful night, he had seen Orlando several times. They met for breakfast in a small café near Waterloo, well off the beaten track.
Viggo had changed his pitch, left the streets of Soho and headed for the Strand. The guy in the police station had been so menacing that Viggo, who had met very dangerous men in his time, was terrified. Viggo knew that he was in very real danger from this guy and vowed to stay away from Soho and Orlando. So it was that when Orlando had bumped into him begging outside the Vaudeville Theatre, Viggo had refused to even look at him. But Orlando wasn’t taking no for an answer and they arranged to meet at Waterloo the next day. Since then they had enjoyed several conversations and, despite his terror, Viggo found himself thinking about him more often than was probably healthy.
After leaving the station, Orlando headed for the Strand, where he knew Viggo would be. It was late afternoon. He watched as Viggo sat with his pathetic bit of card that read “Hungry and Homeless Please Help”. Most of the passer by’s barely gave him a second glance. One or two threw some money in his polystyrene cup, one or two swore at him. He noticed two city boys in suits start to harangue him and stepped in. Viggo had begun to cast harassed glances around him and Orlando knew before he even came close that he would be shaking. He wondered for the umpteenth time just what had scared this man, a man who had clearly lived on the streets for years, so badly.
‘Is this your boyfriend come to protect your filthy arse, you fucking cunt?’ Sneered one of the suits. He was about to say something else when he was interrupted.
‘If you two twats don’t want to find yourselves down the nearest nick on suspicion of whatever the fuck I like, I suggest you fuck off out of my sight.’ Orlando was holding out his warrant card and fixing the city boys with a particularly nasty look. They took the hint, moved off and within moments were lost in the crowd.
‘Viggo, how the hell have you managed to stay alive for so long? Every fucking time I come across you you’re about to get yourself into trouble.’ Not sure if Orlando was joking or not, Viggo cringed inside, wondering when he had become this pathetic shell of a man. He looked at Orlando, who was staring down at him, an expression of amused impatience on his face.
‘Come on, I wanna talk to you; get up and we’ll walk.’
They made an incongruous pair as they strolled up the Strand, turning right and crossing the River Thames via Waterloo Bridge. The city was going about its business, buses were packed, tourists mingled with the workers who were starting to head for home, popping in various pubs and wine bars en route. Spring was in the air. Winter coats had been discarded and bare legs were beginning to make their first appearance of the season. Viggo stopped and looked across at St Paul’s Cathedral and the Nat West tower; the sun was shining and the water below them sparkled. He sighed
‘Beautiful. Sometimes I forget just how beautiful a city this is.’ Viggo turned around and looked over to the South Bank, gazed for a moment at the London Eye before turning back to Orlando. ‘I always see the world from ground level, sometimes I forget how different the view is from up here. It’s ….’ Here he broke off, he looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll…’ He was stuttering now. ‘I don’t know what…’ Inside he was cringing. ‘So what did you want to talk to me about?’ He started to walk away. Orlando paused for a moment before hurrying after him.
‘Hey, hold up a moment, mate.’ Orlando caught up with him, realising that Viggo had just allowed him a peek below the surface. It had been a fleeting glimpse but one that made him want to see more.
They continued to walk across the bridge, heading for a pub that Orlando knew wouldn’t object to Viggo’s presence. The landlord was the brother of a friend of his, and wouldn’t make a scene because his drinking companion smelt less than fresh. Despite the clothes being newer than his previous set, Viggo was, to put it politely, once again beginning to hum. He was acutely aware of this, was also aware that although Orlando had to be able to smell him, he never recoiled, never flinched when Viggo got too close. It made him feel more human than he had for years.
Sitting Viggo at a table slightly away from the rest of the bar, a table put there for just that purpose by the landlord, who was savvy if nothing else, Orlando got himself a pint of Stella and a coke for Viggo. as well as a doorstep sandwich for each of them. As usual, Viggo didn’t pick up either his sandwich or his drink until Orlando, told him to ‘get it down your neck, mate’ and, as always, Viggo tried not to wolf his food down too quickly. It was the sight of this restraint that always gave Orlando that funny feeling in his chest. He had seen what hunger could do to a man and he knew Viggo was travelling down that route. Without asking, he got up and got another round. Lighting a cigarette, Orlando took a healthy swig of his beer. ‘Vig, have you heard about the nutter who’s on the loose on my manor?’
For once Viggo showed no sign of agitation; a sign, Orlando realised, that meant he really didn’t know anything. ‘No, but everyone’s talking about it. You want me to keep my eyes and ears open, right?
Orlando smiled at him. ‘Yeah. Luckily you don’t fit his MO, he goes for chickens as a rule, but yeah, you hear anything you can always get a message to me through Frank, the guy behind the bar. He’s a good man. If ever you find yourself in a spot of bother and I’m not around, you come here. He’s seen you with me, he knows you’re okay.’
Viggo, having finished both his sandwiches and the remains of Orlando’s, took a cigarette from the proffered packet, lit it and inhaled deeply. ‘Why are you doing this for me? I don’t really get it, but I wonder what it is that makes you bother. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that you do, but why…?’
He trailed off, gazing into the expressive brown eyes that looked back at him with such kindness, and for a very fleeting moment, wondered if he saw something else as well.
Meanwhile Orlando was wondering the same thing. The man before him was broken in so many ways, yet he sensed that somehow there was more to this guy, more than he was getting. And he wanted to peel back the layers and get to the heart of the matter. Dimly, he realised that, maybe on some level, he was attracted to this man. The idea made him smile as he thought about his answer.
‘Well mate, I’m buggered if I can answer you, but I do know that I’d like to get to know you a bit better and if……’ Once again they were interrupted by Orlando’s mobile. ‘ ‘Lo … yep … hmmm … fuck me, you’re kidding. Okay mate, say no more, I’ll be with you in ten. Aha, yep. Bye.’ He disconnected the phone and put it away.
‘Sorry mate, duty calls and all that.’ He held out his hand to Viggo, who wiped his own before taking it. Orlando gave him that smile, the smile that seemed to light him up from the inside out. ‘Take care and I’ll see you in a day or two. And don’t forget, you find yourself in any trouble, you get your arse over here and find Frank, ‘kay?’ Not waiting for a response, Orlando left the pub and headed back over the bridge at a jog trot.
Once Orlando had gone, Frank the landlord came over to where Viggo was still sitting. As soon as he saw the grizzled bull dog of a man approaching, Viggo started to get up. Frank noticed the agitation that Orlando had told him about.
‘Sit yerself down, man, just collecting th’empties,’ He waved the glasses and begun clearing the table. ‘So how’d yer know the lad then?’ He enquired. Without waiting to hear the answer, he went back to the bar, returning with a fresh packet of cigarettes, a refill for Viggo and a large scotch for himself.
‘Right mate, let’s be having you. Start from the beginning, I can see you’re a man with a tale…’ As they both lit up, Viggo cleared his throat and begun to tell his tale to this stranger who, Viggo later realised, was only the second person Viggo had conversed with in as many years.
****************
Several hours later Orlando let himself into his flat. Sighing, he realised there was nothing in the fridge apart from some nail varnish his sister had left there the previous year. There was a stale smell in the air, the flat hadn’t been cleaned for weeks and he made a mental note to try and find a cleaner. Glancing at his watch, he realised that if he hurried he would just catch Safeway. Picking up his keys again, he left the flat and hurried through the walkways of the Barbican. Just outside the supermarket he noticed a homeless lad, about 20; his eyes made Orlando think of Viggo, and he wondered what the guy was doing. But, he reminded himself, he didn’t really have the spare time for lame ducks however there was that elusive something about Viggo that made him feel he couldn’t let go. Maybe, if he was totally honest, despite their very different lives, maybe he was a little bit attracted to Viggo.
‘You’re off your fucking chump, Bloom.’ He muttered to himself as he wandered around the aisles picking up a few bits and pieces.
On his way home, he resolved that for now he wouldn’t think about it; he would just get his supper and an early night. Tomorrow looked as if it was going to be a busy day.
Tbc