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fellowshippers2005-10-17 11:22 pm
pecos.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-10-17 11:22 pm
Beyond Limitations, 13/ a zillion
Can I just suggest a quick round of applause for that full moon we’ve all enjoyed the last two nights? My God…it’s just incredible! You could’ve read by it last night! I take a lot of comfort in the fact that no matter where my friends are around this globe, we all have the same moon in the sky and the same love in our hearts.
Well, here’s another chapter of the ongoing saga, all done and presented (hopefully) for your enjoyment. Yes, things are getting a bit more interesting. Please continue to bear with me while I write this monstrosity – your support means the world to a writer.
TITLE: Beyond Design Limitations
CHAPTER: Thirteen – Reunited
AUTHOR: Pecos – PecosPhil@sprintmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.chimerafic.com
BETA: Gloria Mundi - viva_gloria@livejournal.com
RATING: Varies by chapter. This one is NC-17
Sexual innuendo, very bad language, angst
DISCLAIMER: I don’t make the toys, I’m only
playing with them. No money made, nor
disrespect intended. This is FICTION
WHAT IS IT?: RPS / AU
Sequel to ‘Prophecy: Destiny & Design’
which can be found on my website
WHO’S IN IT?: Sean Bean, Orlando Bloom,
Johnny Depp, Viggo Mortensen and other
actors from ‘The Lord of the Rings’, ‘Pirates
of the Caribbean’, ‘Hidalgo’ and others
FEEDBACK: remember the golden rule, (please!)
NOTE: Please forgive any intentional or
unintentional abuse of facts or history
NOTE 2: Story takes place in early 2002
Beyond Design Limitations
Chapter Thirteen: Reunited
Orlando
He thought that maybe he was dreaming, but it was impossible to tell. He couldn’t wake up, and he couldn’t separate one thing from another, so blatant craziness blended with even the most sensible of impressions in a funhouse mirror effect. Was he moving? Was he still? Was the world still, or was it moving too?
His body weighed tons. Limbs pressed down into a yielding surface with extraordinary weight. He could be used as ballast for one of the boats – maybe even Johnnie’s yacht. Yeah...he could just drift along beneath the waterline, looking up at the world through a blue and shifting haze. That sounded nice, and he would always be cradled by the ocean, but then he remembered that not all waters were warm, and suddenly he felt his body heat being sucked away and he shivered so hard that even the tremendous weight which had been pushing him down fell away into the depths, leaving him thin and drifting, unanchored and alone.
Alone? But was he? There were voices and words and people speaking to one another. Why couldn’t he open his eyes and see them? Why didn’t they wake him up? They seemed to be talking about him, when he could understand, but maybe this was all dreaming too...
“...to the University Hospital on Grenada? Saint George’s? They’re bound to have....”
“...very promising outcome, the healing factors are there, but we’re not sure about....”
“...be careful with the costume shirt! It’s been abused enough! Very fragile cloth we had to....”
“...Lambda. This one had highly evolved mental skills, but a possible tendency to....”
“...make a fist, Orlando! Come on, make a fist! Can’t you feel this in your hand? All you need to do is squeeze it. God, these veins are a mess. He’s been....”
“...really worried! His mother is in England somewhere. I’ve got to call L.A. and....”
“...drugs are working, but maybe too well. He seems to be very sensitive to....”
He drifted along with the current, shivering sometimes, then slowly roasting. There were times when he could feel someone touching him, touching his strange and distant body, but he didn’t care. He had no control over what they did to him. He never had. A new voice...
“Orli? Wake up, Puppy.”
He managed a deep breath and moved, twisting in the...sheets? Was he in a bed, with sheets? Whose bed?
“Come on, Orlando. It’s time to open your eyes.”
Something warm was cradling his jaw, and a soft wet cloth rubbed over his face. He could feel someone leaning over him – a large, heavy body. It seemed...comforting. More comforting than drifting alone in the ocean. He shifted again, and then opened his eyes to a blurry world.
“Hey, Sunshine. ‘Bout damn time.”
He focused on the familiar smile, the slightly crazy teeth, that scar on the upper lip and the quaint cleft on the chin, the laugh lines and dimples and those eyes the color of the ocean. Tears swam in his own eyes and blurred the sight he so wanted to focus on.
“Viggo,” he croaked in someone else’s voice.
“It’s all right, Puppy. I’m here.” He was gathered up into the warmth of a loving embrace. Everything shifted back into place in Lambda’s fractured world.
Dominic
The pounding at the door matched the cadence in his head, and Dom growled angrily, arm flailing against nothing. More banging ensued. “Go away!” he finally shouted, rolling over on the couch and throwing a shoe at the offending noise.
“Meriadoc Brandibuck! You open this door right now!”
Oh God...not Sean Astin. Not fucking Astin, not this early, and not with a hangover fugue the size of fucking Manchester! Jesus fucking Christ! Dom growled something that sounded like an injured buffalo stuck in the mud, and then rolled off the couch onto unsteady feet, wobbling, and lurched toward the door.
“Monaghan! I know you’re in there!”
Just what he needed – Astin – waking all of the damn neighbors with a nice little reminder of the name of that shitty failed actor in their midst. He jerked open his door to find that the sun was well up. Most of the working class apartments were probably already unoccupied. This did not mollify him. “Drop dead, Hobbit!” Dom blurted angrily.
“Good morning to you too, Dominic,” Sean said pleasantly, shoving a foot through the opening so Dom couldn’t slam the door in his face. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
“God...” Dom groaned, backing away from the light like a vampire. “If I don’t do it you’re going to come in anyway, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Astin admitted, stepping inside, and blessedly closing the offending door behind him. “I guess I’m not going to get a hug or anything, am I?”
“I’m going to go kill myself now,” Dom growled, heading toward the toilet, tripping on an empty bottle and the dismembered remains of his answering machine, which had insulted him in some obscure way during the wee hours of the night.
“I’ll make coffee,” Astin offered brightly.
Some time later Dom emerged to find the curtains open and the flat picked up, at least superficially, and coffee, milk, and a bowl of cereal waiting in the kitchen. It would be harder to fight than to just give in, so Dom took his seat and started eating like a condemned man at his last meal. Astin was just putting the last empty bottle into the recycling bin. He’d stacked them neatly, in a sort of pyramid.
“Elijah called you,” Dom deduced darkly.
“Of course. Craig Parker as well, and Sala Baker. Viggo also asked me to check in on you. Oh, and Viggo says to tell you that licorice can raise your blood pressure. He seemed very intent that I pass that along.”
“Viggo’s always worried about my heart, or my bowels, or my nasal passages.”
Sean nodded sagely. “Your bowels are your friend, Dom.”
“Well, that’s another one that really wants me dead then,” Dom mumbled into his muesli. “This tastes like llama shit.”
Astin was unfolding a new crayon drawing and trying to find room for it amidst the clutter on the refrigerator door. “My daughter’s best Bill the Pony work to date.”
Dom stopped chewing to admire it. “That’s a good one. Only the four legs this time, and it’s brown. Is that a UFO eating a penguin?”
“The sun and a cloud. The black things are flowers. Sometimes I worry a little about her. She said that I’m in the picture too, but the pony is standing in front of me. I think that’s my hand on the rope.”
“The disembodied hand. It’s never too early to start therapy, you know.”
“Sure it is.” Astin got himself a cup of coffee and joined Dominic at the table. He smiled gently, leaning back.
“Don’t do that,” Dom pleaded.
“What?”
“That. The Doctor Phil routine. The smarmy, supportive, wiser brother thing. I don’t need any crap from the Fellowship right now. Got enough of my own, all right, mate?”
Astin quirked a brow, letting the gesture alone say everything that he thought about Dom’s accusations. “Don’t make me call your mother, Dominic...”
He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Astin didn’t make empty threats.
“Or worse...I’ll call Billy Boyd.”
“God...why can’t I just die this very instant? Death by llama shit.”
“Because if booze and self-pity were actually fatal not a one of us would have survived New Zealand. Now get yourself together, we’re going out car shopping.”
“I can’t afford a new car, you git.”
“But I can. And when I get one I’m selling my old car to you. Go get cleaned up, Cousin Merry. And not another word about dying. If you don’t knock it off I’ll have Sala and some of his mates slap you around so much that < I>you’ll be seeing UFOs eating penguins.”
Viggo
He was sitting on the bed in Orli’s hotel room, leaning back against the headboard, softly singing a nonsensical little song in Spanish – something about a frog and a bubble. ‘Lambda’ Orlando was asleep, curled on his side, shoulders tucked against Viggo’s hip and head in his lap. The ‘kid’ had been sleeping soundly for over an hour, fitfully so for most of the time since Viggo had arrived. An IV drip ran to a needle in the back of one hand and a clutter of medical paraphernalia still littered the room’s only table. An unused oxygen canister was propped near the door – just in case – but no one had been able to find a proper canula, so it had a diver’s mouthpiece attached. Fortunately they hadn’t needed it.
It had taken all of Viggo’s considerable power of persuasion to keep the set medic from having Orli taken to the teaching hospital on a nearby island. But he had eventually convinced them that the dehydration, exhaustion and prescription drug overdose would be treatable there on Saint Vincent, and that excessive attention to the issue would only bring negative publicity and considerable cost down on Disney’s corporate heads.
Viggo’s fingers were stroking through Orli’s curls in time to his song, tugging on the stray locks around his peaceful face and the wisps of hair on his chin and upper lip. Orlando snorted and one hand batted at the intrusion listlessly before he slid back into deeper sleep again.
“Baby, how did it ever get this bad?” Viggo asked him aloud, not intending to wake the young man and not expecting an answer. “Why didn’t you tell me? What were they thinking, giving you drugs for depression? Jesus, if these people knew just a fraction of the truth…if they knew what causes the nightmares and the anxiety…if only I’d known that you were in trouble.”
He sighed and ran his thumb across the lax lower lip, noting that the color of the skin had improved just since he’d been there. Orli’s eyes darted from side to side beneath bruised-looking lids, dreaming of who knew what. His whole face seemed sallow and far too thin to Viggo – but of course he’d first known Lambda in the bloom of good health and happiness.
“I don’t know why you’d take drugs from someone, even if they were your agent or a doctor or your manager….” Viggo stopped and thought about that for a moment. “Okay, yeah, I do know. You’d do it because they told you to, and because it would never occur to you to even question what you’re told.”
Viggo frowned, angry at himself and at the entire situation. “I left you alone for too long, and with too little preparation for the real world, didn’t I, Puppy?” He pulled the light blanket up to cover Orli’s shoulder. It was like being back home again, taking care of Henry when he was too sick to go to school. Except that there was no chance that Lambda was faking it because of a dreaded math test.
Jerking suddenly, Orlando woke himself up, eyes blinking blearily at the curtained window. “Viggo?” he mumbled, one hand balling up the covers.
“Yes, baby? I’m right here.”
“Are you real?” Lambda rolled a bit so he could look up and see his friend’s face. “You’re in Morocco. Did I go to Morocco again?”
“You’re still in the Caribbean, Puppy. I came to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you needed me.” Viggo leaned down and kissed the sweaty forehead. When he sat back again tears were rolling down Orli’s sunken cheeks.
“You shouldn’t have…you have a movie too. The horse thing….”
“Movies aren’t the most important thing in the world, Orli.” The brown eyes squeezed shut again, but Viggo didn’t think he’d gone back to sleep. Lambda was just too tired and overwhelmed to make the effort of conversation at the moment. “You go ahead and sleep, baby. You’ve been very sick. But we’re getting you some fluids and all that shit will flush out of your system with a bit of time.”
“I’m sorry…I’m really…really sorry….”
“Don’t be. Gonna make it better, okay?” Viggo couldn’t trust himself to say anything more. He bent forward again and kissed the heated cheek. “I’m here to help you, Lambda.”
“Again,” the clone mumbled.
“Yeah,” Viggo finally whispered. “Again…and always.”
Sean
He was sure the airplane he’d been on had entered a sci-fi time loop wherein it took seven years to fly to Mexico. And yet it did eventually arrive. The man at Customs looked at his passport without interest and the guard wished him a pleasant vacation, and then he was bustled along with the crowd into a terminal that looked like just about every other airport terminal in the world – and he had a pretty good pile of them to compare. Sean Bean took a deep breath and tried to read a few of the signs in Spanish. He figured the nearest bar would be a good place to sit down for a moment and figure out his next move.
He’d only walked a dozen meters or so when a familiar figure mooched through the shifting throng and swung into an intercept course. “Heading for the booze already?” Mickey asked, peering over the top of a pair of very cheap sunglasses.
“Hey, Spook,” Sean grumbled, trying to hide his grin. “They ran out on my flight. Some sort of college reunion group headed to Cabo. Drank like a bunch o' bleedin’ fish.”
The retired secret agent expertly steered him towards the exit without actually touching him in any way. Mickey was wearing a shirt that said ‘Call the Village – I found their Idiot’, and had a picture of an American President on it. “You good?”
“Aye, I’m good. But I’m dying a little inside every second you wait to tell me why I’m here.”
“Not yet,” lectured Mickey, jamming a baseball cap over his overgrown hair as they stepped out into blazing sunshine and smoky, filthy air. “Follow me, actor-boy.”
Sean did just that, hiking his bag up on a hunched shoulder and steering through the crowds of insistent guides and entreating taxi drivers with a minimum of disruption, keeping one eye on Mickey and one eye on where he was putting his tired feet. The heat was a slap in the face, especially this early in the year. He’d always thought Mexico City would be cooler, being so high up in the terrain, but the preponderance of concrete and tile roofs and asphalt – not to mention the heat-inverted smog – made for a very unpleasant combination. Mickey ducked into a parking area and Sean sped up to keep him in sight.
He was almost to the car Mickey had slid into when the passenger door burst open and a jumble of arms and legs resolved themselves into a young man who hurtled at Sean faster than a Doberman on a porterhouse steak. There was an actual squeal of excitement and Sean’s bag went flying as their bodies collided, and then he had his arms full of Orlando – or at least what looked like Orlando. “SEANIE!” cried a familiar voice.
He didn’t know what to do – except to hug the kid back. It was like being grabbed by a b-movie octopus, and then ‘Orlando’ pulled back enough to lock onto his eyes. In that exact moment Sean knew everything he needed to know about Rocoto.
He knew that the clone had been speaking to him for years – that Rho had actually been the one who’d called him to New Zealand to try to save Gamma. He knew that Rho had internally suffered every one of Gamma’s horrific trials, and that he’d been there with Sean and Viggo when they were trying to rescue him. He knew that Rho would have died in Gamma’s place if he could. He also found that Rho was remarkably undamaged, despite his status as the result of a freakish experiment, and he knew that his mental link with this young ‘man’ was the luckiest fluke of Sean’s life. He looked in Rho’s eyes and he saw an entire person looking back at him – one that knew everything there was to know about Sean Bean, and who loved him anyway.
In a weird sort of way he was looking at Gamma. “Hi,” Rho gasped, breathily, holding Sean’s stunned face in his hands.
Bean was at an utter loss, still reeling from the strength of the ‘read’ he’d done on the clone and the ease with which the kid had allowed...no...had welcomed the mental invasion. “Hi yerself, Rho. Can I call you Rho?”
“You know you can. Took you fucking < i>forever to find me, Seanie!”
“Yeah, uh, sorry about that. It’s a big planet, aye?”
Mickey had poked his head back up from the open driver’s side door. “You two mind playing the Dating Game inside the car? You’re both kinda easy targets out there for anyone with a television set and a decent memory for faces...or any pervs who like watching grown men go all girly in public.”
Grinning, Rho turned back to the car, dragging Sean by the hand. Bean bent to catch the handle of his bag and let his mind run its own course as he followed Rho into the back seat. When he’d settled he found the clone pressed to him like a limpet, angelic face lit with pleasure.
“Oh, I get it, so now I’m the chauffer?” Mickey huffed from the front, turning his cap around so the bill went backwards as he started the car. “Goddamn actors.” He began backing up.
Suddenly the driver’s side window exploded in a rain of glass fragments, a cracking noise coming a fraction of a second later. By the time Sean had even realized that something had happened he was slammed back into the seat as the car hurtled forward in a tight turn, tired squealing.
Another hard turn mashed the two passengers together against a door and then the car hit a bump so hard that Sean’s head smacked into the roof and he saw stars for a moment. He heard a torrent of cussing, and only belatedly realized that it was coming from his own mouth. It was several chaotic minutes later before Sean realized that Rho was leaning forward, hand pressed to the side of Mickey’s neck, the smile long gone from the kid’s face.
“What the hell happened?” Bean demanded.
“Someone took a shot,” Mickey said simply, driving the car in ways that the manufacturer had never envisioned in his wildest dreams.
Sean knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it: “Shot?”
“With a gun. You know, boom-stick, metal thing that pokes holes in people?” Whatever damage he’d sustained, Mickey’s mouth was still working as well as ever.
“Rho?” Sean questioned, trying to wrap his head around everything.
“I’m fine,” the clone quickly assured him, rather unnecessarily, considering the mental link between them. “But Mickey’s bleeding. He needs to stop so we can take care of him.”
“On my new tee shirt too,” Mickey complained, swerving up a highway on-ramp at twice the recommended speed. “Well, this complicates things.”
Well, here’s another chapter of the ongoing saga, all done and presented (hopefully) for your enjoyment. Yes, things are getting a bit more interesting. Please continue to bear with me while I write this monstrosity – your support means the world to a writer.
TITLE: Beyond Design Limitations
CHAPTER: Thirteen – Reunited
AUTHOR: Pecos – PecosPhil@sprintmail.com
WEBSITE: http://www.chimerafic.com
BETA: Gloria Mundi - viva_gloria@livejournal.com
RATING: Varies by chapter. This one is NC-17
Sexual innuendo, very bad language, angst
DISCLAIMER: I don’t make the toys, I’m only
playing with them. No money made, nor
disrespect intended. This is FICTION
WHAT IS IT?: RPS / AU
Sequel to ‘Prophecy: Destiny & Design’
which can be found on my website
WHO’S IN IT?: Sean Bean, Orlando Bloom,
Johnny Depp, Viggo Mortensen and other
actors from ‘The Lord of the Rings’, ‘Pirates
of the Caribbean’, ‘Hidalgo’ and others
FEEDBACK: remember the golden rule, (please!)
NOTE: Please forgive any intentional or
unintentional abuse of facts or history
NOTE 2: Story takes place in early 2002
Beyond Design Limitations
Chapter Thirteen: Reunited
Orlando
He thought that maybe he was dreaming, but it was impossible to tell. He couldn’t wake up, and he couldn’t separate one thing from another, so blatant craziness blended with even the most sensible of impressions in a funhouse mirror effect. Was he moving? Was he still? Was the world still, or was it moving too?
His body weighed tons. Limbs pressed down into a yielding surface with extraordinary weight. He could be used as ballast for one of the boats – maybe even Johnnie’s yacht. Yeah...he could just drift along beneath the waterline, looking up at the world through a blue and shifting haze. That sounded nice, and he would always be cradled by the ocean, but then he remembered that not all waters were warm, and suddenly he felt his body heat being sucked away and he shivered so hard that even the tremendous weight which had been pushing him down fell away into the depths, leaving him thin and drifting, unanchored and alone.
Alone? But was he? There were voices and words and people speaking to one another. Why couldn’t he open his eyes and see them? Why didn’t they wake him up? They seemed to be talking about him, when he could understand, but maybe this was all dreaming too...
“...to the University Hospital on Grenada? Saint George’s? They’re bound to have....”
“...very promising outcome, the healing factors are there, but we’re not sure about....”
“...be careful with the costume shirt! It’s been abused enough! Very fragile cloth we had to....”
“...Lambda. This one had highly evolved mental skills, but a possible tendency to....”
“...make a fist, Orlando! Come on, make a fist! Can’t you feel this in your hand? All you need to do is squeeze it. God, these veins are a mess. He’s been....”
“...really worried! His mother is in England somewhere. I’ve got to call L.A. and....”
“...drugs are working, but maybe too well. He seems to be very sensitive to....”
He drifted along with the current, shivering sometimes, then slowly roasting. There were times when he could feel someone touching him, touching his strange and distant body, but he didn’t care. He had no control over what they did to him. He never had. A new voice...
“Orli? Wake up, Puppy.”
He managed a deep breath and moved, twisting in the...sheets? Was he in a bed, with sheets? Whose bed?
“Come on, Orlando. It’s time to open your eyes.”
Something warm was cradling his jaw, and a soft wet cloth rubbed over his face. He could feel someone leaning over him – a large, heavy body. It seemed...comforting. More comforting than drifting alone in the ocean. He shifted again, and then opened his eyes to a blurry world.
“Hey, Sunshine. ‘Bout damn time.”
He focused on the familiar smile, the slightly crazy teeth, that scar on the upper lip and the quaint cleft on the chin, the laugh lines and dimples and those eyes the color of the ocean. Tears swam in his own eyes and blurred the sight he so wanted to focus on.
“Viggo,” he croaked in someone else’s voice.
“It’s all right, Puppy. I’m here.” He was gathered up into the warmth of a loving embrace. Everything shifted back into place in Lambda’s fractured world.
Dominic
The pounding at the door matched the cadence in his head, and Dom growled angrily, arm flailing against nothing. More banging ensued. “Go away!” he finally shouted, rolling over on the couch and throwing a shoe at the offending noise.
“Meriadoc Brandibuck! You open this door right now!”
Oh God...not Sean Astin. Not fucking Astin, not this early, and not with a hangover fugue the size of fucking Manchester! Jesus fucking Christ! Dom growled something that sounded like an injured buffalo stuck in the mud, and then rolled off the couch onto unsteady feet, wobbling, and lurched toward the door.
“Monaghan! I know you’re in there!”
Just what he needed – Astin – waking all of the damn neighbors with a nice little reminder of the name of that shitty failed actor in their midst. He jerked open his door to find that the sun was well up. Most of the working class apartments were probably already unoccupied. This did not mollify him. “Drop dead, Hobbit!” Dom blurted angrily.
“Good morning to you too, Dominic,” Sean said pleasantly, shoving a foot through the opening so Dom couldn’t slam the door in his face. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
“God...” Dom groaned, backing away from the light like a vampire. “If I don’t do it you’re going to come in anyway, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Astin admitted, stepping inside, and blessedly closing the offending door behind him. “I guess I’m not going to get a hug or anything, am I?”
“I’m going to go kill myself now,” Dom growled, heading toward the toilet, tripping on an empty bottle and the dismembered remains of his answering machine, which had insulted him in some obscure way during the wee hours of the night.
“I’ll make coffee,” Astin offered brightly.
Some time later Dom emerged to find the curtains open and the flat picked up, at least superficially, and coffee, milk, and a bowl of cereal waiting in the kitchen. It would be harder to fight than to just give in, so Dom took his seat and started eating like a condemned man at his last meal. Astin was just putting the last empty bottle into the recycling bin. He’d stacked them neatly, in a sort of pyramid.
“Elijah called you,” Dom deduced darkly.
“Of course. Craig Parker as well, and Sala Baker. Viggo also asked me to check in on you. Oh, and Viggo says to tell you that licorice can raise your blood pressure. He seemed very intent that I pass that along.”
“Viggo’s always worried about my heart, or my bowels, or my nasal passages.”
Sean nodded sagely. “Your bowels are your friend, Dom.”
“Well, that’s another one that really wants me dead then,” Dom mumbled into his muesli. “This tastes like llama shit.”
Astin was unfolding a new crayon drawing and trying to find room for it amidst the clutter on the refrigerator door. “My daughter’s best Bill the Pony work to date.”
Dom stopped chewing to admire it. “That’s a good one. Only the four legs this time, and it’s brown. Is that a UFO eating a penguin?”
“The sun and a cloud. The black things are flowers. Sometimes I worry a little about her. She said that I’m in the picture too, but the pony is standing in front of me. I think that’s my hand on the rope.”
“The disembodied hand. It’s never too early to start therapy, you know.”
“Sure it is.” Astin got himself a cup of coffee and joined Dominic at the table. He smiled gently, leaning back.
“Don’t do that,” Dom pleaded.
“What?”
“That. The Doctor Phil routine. The smarmy, supportive, wiser brother thing. I don’t need any crap from the Fellowship right now. Got enough of my own, all right, mate?”
Astin quirked a brow, letting the gesture alone say everything that he thought about Dom’s accusations. “Don’t make me call your mother, Dominic...”
He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Astin didn’t make empty threats.
“Or worse...I’ll call Billy Boyd.”
“God...why can’t I just die this very instant? Death by llama shit.”
“Because if booze and self-pity were actually fatal not a one of us would have survived New Zealand. Now get yourself together, we’re going out car shopping.”
“I can’t afford a new car, you git.”
“But I can. And when I get one I’m selling my old car to you. Go get cleaned up, Cousin Merry. And not another word about dying. If you don’t knock it off I’ll have Sala and some of his mates slap you around so much that < I>you’ll be seeing UFOs eating penguins.”
Viggo
He was sitting on the bed in Orli’s hotel room, leaning back against the headboard, softly singing a nonsensical little song in Spanish – something about a frog and a bubble. ‘Lambda’ Orlando was asleep, curled on his side, shoulders tucked against Viggo’s hip and head in his lap. The ‘kid’ had been sleeping soundly for over an hour, fitfully so for most of the time since Viggo had arrived. An IV drip ran to a needle in the back of one hand and a clutter of medical paraphernalia still littered the room’s only table. An unused oxygen canister was propped near the door – just in case – but no one had been able to find a proper canula, so it had a diver’s mouthpiece attached. Fortunately they hadn’t needed it.
It had taken all of Viggo’s considerable power of persuasion to keep the set medic from having Orli taken to the teaching hospital on a nearby island. But he had eventually convinced them that the dehydration, exhaustion and prescription drug overdose would be treatable there on Saint Vincent, and that excessive attention to the issue would only bring negative publicity and considerable cost down on Disney’s corporate heads.
Viggo’s fingers were stroking through Orli’s curls in time to his song, tugging on the stray locks around his peaceful face and the wisps of hair on his chin and upper lip. Orlando snorted and one hand batted at the intrusion listlessly before he slid back into deeper sleep again.
“Baby, how did it ever get this bad?” Viggo asked him aloud, not intending to wake the young man and not expecting an answer. “Why didn’t you tell me? What were they thinking, giving you drugs for depression? Jesus, if these people knew just a fraction of the truth…if they knew what causes the nightmares and the anxiety…if only I’d known that you were in trouble.”
He sighed and ran his thumb across the lax lower lip, noting that the color of the skin had improved just since he’d been there. Orli’s eyes darted from side to side beneath bruised-looking lids, dreaming of who knew what. His whole face seemed sallow and far too thin to Viggo – but of course he’d first known Lambda in the bloom of good health and happiness.
“I don’t know why you’d take drugs from someone, even if they were your agent or a doctor or your manager….” Viggo stopped and thought about that for a moment. “Okay, yeah, I do know. You’d do it because they told you to, and because it would never occur to you to even question what you’re told.”
Viggo frowned, angry at himself and at the entire situation. “I left you alone for too long, and with too little preparation for the real world, didn’t I, Puppy?” He pulled the light blanket up to cover Orli’s shoulder. It was like being back home again, taking care of Henry when he was too sick to go to school. Except that there was no chance that Lambda was faking it because of a dreaded math test.
Jerking suddenly, Orlando woke himself up, eyes blinking blearily at the curtained window. “Viggo?” he mumbled, one hand balling up the covers.
“Yes, baby? I’m right here.”
“Are you real?” Lambda rolled a bit so he could look up and see his friend’s face. “You’re in Morocco. Did I go to Morocco again?”
“You’re still in the Caribbean, Puppy. I came to you.”
“Why?”
“Because you needed me.” Viggo leaned down and kissed the sweaty forehead. When he sat back again tears were rolling down Orli’s sunken cheeks.
“You shouldn’t have…you have a movie too. The horse thing….”
“Movies aren’t the most important thing in the world, Orli.” The brown eyes squeezed shut again, but Viggo didn’t think he’d gone back to sleep. Lambda was just too tired and overwhelmed to make the effort of conversation at the moment. “You go ahead and sleep, baby. You’ve been very sick. But we’re getting you some fluids and all that shit will flush out of your system with a bit of time.”
“I’m sorry…I’m really…really sorry….”
“Don’t be. Gonna make it better, okay?” Viggo couldn’t trust himself to say anything more. He bent forward again and kissed the heated cheek. “I’m here to help you, Lambda.”
“Again,” the clone mumbled.
“Yeah,” Viggo finally whispered. “Again…and always.”
Sean
He was sure the airplane he’d been on had entered a sci-fi time loop wherein it took seven years to fly to Mexico. And yet it did eventually arrive. The man at Customs looked at his passport without interest and the guard wished him a pleasant vacation, and then he was bustled along with the crowd into a terminal that looked like just about every other airport terminal in the world – and he had a pretty good pile of them to compare. Sean Bean took a deep breath and tried to read a few of the signs in Spanish. He figured the nearest bar would be a good place to sit down for a moment and figure out his next move.
He’d only walked a dozen meters or so when a familiar figure mooched through the shifting throng and swung into an intercept course. “Heading for the booze already?” Mickey asked, peering over the top of a pair of very cheap sunglasses.
“Hey, Spook,” Sean grumbled, trying to hide his grin. “They ran out on my flight. Some sort of college reunion group headed to Cabo. Drank like a bunch o' bleedin’ fish.”
The retired secret agent expertly steered him towards the exit without actually touching him in any way. Mickey was wearing a shirt that said ‘Call the Village – I found their Idiot’, and had a picture of an American President on it. “You good?”
“Aye, I’m good. But I’m dying a little inside every second you wait to tell me why I’m here.”
“Not yet,” lectured Mickey, jamming a baseball cap over his overgrown hair as they stepped out into blazing sunshine and smoky, filthy air. “Follow me, actor-boy.”
Sean did just that, hiking his bag up on a hunched shoulder and steering through the crowds of insistent guides and entreating taxi drivers with a minimum of disruption, keeping one eye on Mickey and one eye on where he was putting his tired feet. The heat was a slap in the face, especially this early in the year. He’d always thought Mexico City would be cooler, being so high up in the terrain, but the preponderance of concrete and tile roofs and asphalt – not to mention the heat-inverted smog – made for a very unpleasant combination. Mickey ducked into a parking area and Sean sped up to keep him in sight.
He was almost to the car Mickey had slid into when the passenger door burst open and a jumble of arms and legs resolved themselves into a young man who hurtled at Sean faster than a Doberman on a porterhouse steak. There was an actual squeal of excitement and Sean’s bag went flying as their bodies collided, and then he had his arms full of Orlando – or at least what looked like Orlando. “SEANIE!” cried a familiar voice.
He didn’t know what to do – except to hug the kid back. It was like being grabbed by a b-movie octopus, and then ‘Orlando’ pulled back enough to lock onto his eyes. In that exact moment Sean knew everything he needed to know about Rocoto.
He knew that the clone had been speaking to him for years – that Rho had actually been the one who’d called him to New Zealand to try to save Gamma. He knew that Rho had internally suffered every one of Gamma’s horrific trials, and that he’d been there with Sean and Viggo when they were trying to rescue him. He knew that Rho would have died in Gamma’s place if he could. He also found that Rho was remarkably undamaged, despite his status as the result of a freakish experiment, and he knew that his mental link with this young ‘man’ was the luckiest fluke of Sean’s life. He looked in Rho’s eyes and he saw an entire person looking back at him – one that knew everything there was to know about Sean Bean, and who loved him anyway.
In a weird sort of way he was looking at Gamma. “Hi,” Rho gasped, breathily, holding Sean’s stunned face in his hands.
Bean was at an utter loss, still reeling from the strength of the ‘read’ he’d done on the clone and the ease with which the kid had allowed...no...had welcomed the mental invasion. “Hi yerself, Rho. Can I call you Rho?”
“You know you can. Took you fucking < i>forever to find me, Seanie!”
“Yeah, uh, sorry about that. It’s a big planet, aye?”
Mickey had poked his head back up from the open driver’s side door. “You two mind playing the Dating Game inside the car? You’re both kinda easy targets out there for anyone with a television set and a decent memory for faces...or any pervs who like watching grown men go all girly in public.”
Grinning, Rho turned back to the car, dragging Sean by the hand. Bean bent to catch the handle of his bag and let his mind run its own course as he followed Rho into the back seat. When he’d settled he found the clone pressed to him like a limpet, angelic face lit with pleasure.
“Oh, I get it, so now I’m the chauffer?” Mickey huffed from the front, turning his cap around so the bill went backwards as he started the car. “Goddamn actors.” He began backing up.
Suddenly the driver’s side window exploded in a rain of glass fragments, a cracking noise coming a fraction of a second later. By the time Sean had even realized that something had happened he was slammed back into the seat as the car hurtled forward in a tight turn, tired squealing.
Another hard turn mashed the two passengers together against a door and then the car hit a bump so hard that Sean’s head smacked into the roof and he saw stars for a moment. He heard a torrent of cussing, and only belatedly realized that it was coming from his own mouth. It was several chaotic minutes later before Sean realized that Rho was leaning forward, hand pressed to the side of Mickey’s neck, the smile long gone from the kid’s face.
“What the hell happened?” Bean demanded.
“Someone took a shot,” Mickey said simply, driving the car in ways that the manufacturer had never envisioned in his wildest dreams.
Sean knew it was stupid, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it: “Shot?”
“With a gun. You know, boom-stick, metal thing that pokes holes in people?” Whatever damage he’d sustained, Mickey’s mouth was still working as well as ever.
“Rho?” Sean questioned, trying to wrap his head around everything.
“I’m fine,” the clone quickly assured him, rather unnecessarily, considering the mental link between them. “But Mickey’s bleeding. He needs to stop so we can take care of him.”
“On my new tee shirt too,” Mickey complained, swerving up a highway on-ramp at twice the recommended speed. “Well, this complicates things.”
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I don't comment enough as you always seem to post in the morning my time just as I'm about to go out the door to work and for that I apologise. I just had to let you know I'm reading and enjoying and loving it. I am going to start from the beginning again I think to remind myself exactly why I love this world. Thank you (and I shall endeavour to comment more to let you know I'm still reading and loving your work).
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BTW, love that icon, 2 of my favorite guys!
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Thank you for reading, and for commenting.