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fellowshippers2006-03-23 02:38 pm
pecos.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-03-23 02:38 pm
Beyond Design Limitations continued
I imagine that at least a few people have been waiting for this, so without any futher ado or fal-der-al I'll stick in the cut for:
TITLE: Beyond Design Limitations
CHAPTER: Fifteen – Hold the Key
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
Some bad language, gay sex talk, 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
NOTE 3: Serious with the angst now!
Beyond Design Limitations
Chapter Fifteen: Hold the Key
Billy
“It’s not that bad, Dommie.” He gestured with fake enthusiasm at the small living room, with its paucity of furniture. They were seated hip to hip on the sofa, staring at the smallish television, which neither could be arsed to actually turn on. It was late, and they were tired, both full of Christine Astin’s wonderful cooking. Billy squinted at the over-large dead tree branch, propped in a corner. Another open space still held a pile of tatty cardboard boxes of Dom’s things, like he’d never meant to linger. The Scot pursed his lips, considering. “Your place is…minimalist. Some folk pay big money for that, aye? Ikea would be keen for your revolutionary ideas.”
“It’s shite,” Dom growled. There’s a highway twenty meters from my bedroom window. Neighbor kid got roughed up by the Police in the commons last weekend. And crap as my car is, I’m scared that I’ll go out in the morning and just find a shell, like a discarded carapace.”
Billy scratched his belly and shifted his legs atop the coffee table, which was all but buried in magazines, empties, and multiple pairs of cheap sunglasses. This was a bachelor pad to end all bachelor pads. All it needed was a neon bar sign and a lava lamp. “And this makes it different than Manchester…how?”
“Yeah, well…I’m moving anyhow.”
“Right. Well, give me a call when you’re doing that, eh? I can heft a box for my mates.”
“Yeah. I’ll need the hand. Sala said he’s too delicate to keep hauling my junk back and forth across L.A. Hey, bring that bastard Crowe with you. He looks strong enough to move the sofa. It’s heavy – even without us on it.”
“Actually, Russ’s a right pussy. Good musician, though.” Billy sighed and paused to plump the pillow under his elbow. Dom had surprisingly nice pillows. Lad had probably stolen them from the Woods. “Am I sleepin’ right here tonight then?”
“Well, you can’t actually sleep on the damn sofa for this hard bit right here in the middle. It’s like a torture device. You can stretch out in the spacious guest cottage with the Turkish spa, waterfall, bamboo screens and Persian carpets…or you can sleep with me. My bed ’s a double.”
“Oooo, decisions! I don’t suppose there’s a bidet in the guest cottage, so I’ll just flop in with you, right? Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a bed,” Billy said, reminiscing.
“True. There were a few Hobbit piles made, weren’t there? Too tired to even sort out head from foot.”
Billy hefted a brow and quipped, “Back before you started buggering Mister Frodo.”
Dom grinned rakishly, obviously proud of himself, and Billy decided not to let him get first word on that topic. “Scandalized Astin, you two did,” he said. “He always thought Elijah should remain a virgin until, like, 40.”
“Elwood was hardly a virgin. It was me that got seduced by the dark side. Little Mister Movie Boy was scheming from the first moment he laid eyes on me.”
Billy snorted, and then reached out to take Dom’s hand. His friend let him lift his arm and turn it to look at the wrist. Dom had taken his leather cuffs off when he’d sat down, tossing them onto the clutter. The cigarette burns on his pale skin were still angry-looking and a bit raw. Dom set his jaw defiantly, but before he could say anything Billy brought the wrist to his lips and gently kissed the pulse point.
There really wasn’t any point in making up lies. Lies had no business being between the two of them, between the Hobbits. Billy was thinking back to Glasgow, back when he’d lost his parents – when his own life had seemed to stretch into blackness, empty and hopeless. He could remember the feeling of solace he’d found in physical pain when the psyche just couldn’t take any more.
“I understand, Dommie,” Billy softly told him.
There was a long time when the only sound was the traffic outside. Then Dominic finally spoke. “I knew you would.”
“What else’re Hobbits good for, after all?”
Dom closed his eyes, suddenly just too tired. “I’m trying to think of something.”
Sean
Mickey had adjourned to another hotel room to sleep for the night. Plans were in place for getting Rho out of Mexico in the morning, and everyone was eager to keep moving. Mickey had duplicated Sean’s entry mark in Bloom’s passport, and it should suffice as long as no one took too close an interest in their exit. United States Customs would only worry about their own issues with movie stars coming and going, so if they could get out of Mexico smoothly things would be fine.
Sean hoped he would eventually be able to fly back to England with the young clone. Maybe there they would be able to relax and sort out what Rho wanted to do with himself and the shiny new life opening up before him. It was possible that Rho would just decide to come back to Mexico and decorate sugar skulls in his uncle’s shop until he got old, whenever that would be. But Sean planned to be sure that even if that was what he really wanted he would at least have considered other options from an educated point of view.
Of course, what Sean really hoped was that Rho would have room in his new world for an old Blades man from Sheffield. He was going to do everything he could to present the future as a series of possibilities.
Mickey said he intended to head east, mentioning a stop in New York before heading back to Europe. Sean guessed that he was trying to track another clone, but since it had turned out to actually be Rho that Sean was looking for Mickey was now officially on his own. Sean would pay the bills as much as he could, but the former spy had a way of getting really expensive in a hurry, and Sean had a whole pocketful of ex-wives and kids to support on his slightly-less-than-top-billing actor’s salary.
Blissfully unaware of economic realities, Rho was currently eating cheap Mexican snack cakes and watching television with a keenness that almost scared Sean. He laughed heartily at the jokes, ooh-ed over the often-garish commercials, and made unsolicited comments about people’s clothes and hair. He squealed with delight when somebody won a crappy prize on a game show. Sean was ‘reading’ him on a light level, just feeling the shifts of emotions more than anything specific. Rho was an open book to the actor, but that didn’t mean that he had a right to pry until Rho was ready to reveal more of himself.
The fact that Rho even had deeper levels pleased Sean immensely. He’d been afraid this clone would prove as blank as Lambda was when Gamma had overwritten the innocent being. But Rho seemed to have had the advantage of being treated like a human being for quite some time now, and while he was certainly not ready to venture across the world on his own – heck, he hadn’t even expected to sleep by himself – he was at least functioning, and probably able to pass for normal under most circumstances.
And then, of course, there were the physical aspects of little Rocoto. Ah, yes… ‘little’ indeed. The only thing diminutive about Rho was his ego.
He was nearly as selfless as Viggo, and it was an unaffected modesty that betrayed no hint of falseness. The kid had gorgeous, glossy curls, shot with auburn highlights from the Mexican sun. His flawless skin was a rich almond brown, and the quick dark eyes harbored humor and fire beneath lashes that any starlet would beg for. His limbs were long and lean and everything on him was tight and firm and beautifully proportioned. The smooth curve of his back and slice of belly presented as he rolled around on the floor was enticing in the extreme. He reminded Sean of a show horse, all glossy coat and light-stepping prance, proud head held high and a bit of the devil in his eyes.
This was Orlando Bloom without the disappointments and trauma that Gamma had undergone. Rho wasn’t perfection…but he was a damn good copy of it.
Forcing himself to stop that train of thought before it had him jumping the track, Sean got up and started preparing for bedtime. He washed up and brushed his teeth, took the blood pressure pill he’d forgotten that morning (damn stupid things) and decided to shave, because he’d obviously forgotten that as well. Time zones were a curse. Flying was a curse. Some day he hoped he could retire in comfort and never travel on an airplane again until he was dead. That seemed like a reasonable goal. Sean slid on short pajama pants, smacked his flat, furry belly approvingly, and put out the bathroom light.
Rho had cleaned up his snack wrappers and was sitting up in the king-sized bed, eyes unnaturally wide in the harsh hotel lighting and his now-bare chest showing a sheen of sweat despite the laboring air conditioner, which was doing what it could with the thick Mexico City air. The clone flashed a hesitant smile about the same time that Sean realized he could feel a wave of uncertainty and…was that fear?
Bean quickly looked around the room. With the television finally silenced there was very little sound, just the usual faint background noises of hotels the world over: doors slamming far away, someone coughing, cars on the street, a sound of the ice machine banging a few cubes into a cheap bucket. The door was dead-bolted; they were alone.
Sean took a step toward the bed, puzzled. Rho’s neck muscles were so tight they looked like steel cording. The kid blinked rapidly and looked away, hands twisted in the sheet at his waist, and Sean could see his effort to relax. The show horse had just turned into a nervous colt, frightened by the crowd and the other horses and the looming restriction of the starting gate. Rho stole a quick glance at Sean’s broad chest and his eyes darted back to the curtained window, as if the ghost of a view could be seen if you stared hard enough. Bean smiled and took a slight read as to what was scaring his roommate. It was right at the surface.
Turning abruptly, mumbling that he needed water, Sean retreated to the bathroom again and wondered what he could do to calm Rho down. Obviously he was afraid that Sean wanted – or worse, would demand – some degree of intimacy that he wasn’t ready to engage in. On top of that, Rho apparently felt that it should be expected of him and that he’d better be ready to acquiesce. It was awkward in the extreme, and Sean wanted to just speak up and set the kid’s mind straight. But he was sure a more subtle touch would be good. Rho didn’t seem to know how easily Sean could see through him, and that could be useful, at least for a while.
Finally climbing into the bed, Sean left the night table light on and was careful not to touch Rho’s bowstring-tight body. “Are you ready to get some sleep, lad?” he enquired lightly. “Big day tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yes, Sean,” Rho said, even his voice sounding tense. He took a deep breath and then rolled over to face the older man, laying one sweaty palm experimentally on his chest.
Sean wanted to laugh, but Rho’s terror quickly quashed that urge. He reached up and closed the lad’s hand in his own, squeezing it as non-sexually as he could. “I’ve got something to ask you, Rocoto. You don’t have to answer right away, so just think, and speak when you want, right?” He smiled as reassuringly as he could.
A wave of uncertainty traveled through their link, and then a faint hint of the backbone he was sure the kid would have buried in there somewhere. “Okay, Sean.”
He was sure that had almost been a “Yes, Mr. Bean, Sir.” Did Rho really misunderstand his interest so deeply? This was going to take a bit of fixing, and a fair bit of time. Best to start now.
“I think you know that I was in love with Gamma, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Voice a whisper so soft…it was almost just a thought. “I got some of that in the little flashes.”
“Flashes from Gamma, aye?”
“And from you. I tried to reach you, but it was like I could only shout from far away. I knew you were there, and I could see you though his eyes sometimes. It was fleeting, confusing…sometimes it was like a dream, and I couldn’t hold it in my mind for long.”
“But you knew that I loved him, and he loved me. And when he died I was very, very sad.” The hand held within his own started to clench, then relaxed again, growing heavy against him. Rho ventured a bit closer; his breath at Sean’s shoulder was hot and quick. Surely Rho’s heart was racing. Sean tried to organize his words cautiously before speaking. “When Gamma was gone, I knew that I had lost someone very special, and that no one would ever take that place he had in my heart.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Sean rolled toward him then, catching the wide, nervous eyes and holding them. “But Rho, my heart is big! There are a lot of people that I love! I love my family – my daughters. I love my old friends, and new mates. I love Viggo, and the other blokes in the Fellowship, and I love footie and nasty cigs and beer and lots of other things. I think I’ll probably love you, especially when I get to know you. I already love the parts of you that I’ve seen. But this doesn’t mean that I’m expecting you to take Gamma’s place. I would never expect that from you, or from anyone. Gamma is gone, and you are not Gamma.”
A tear finally surged free from the bulging moisture in the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” Rho whispered, more just making the words with his lips than actually speaking.
Sean couldn’t help but to gather the kid in his arms, kissing the wet track of that lonely tear. “Baby, don’t be sorry! I didn’t try to find you because I was trying to replace Gamma. I wanted to know that you were safe, and cared for, and that no one would ever hurt you the way they hurt him! I love you because you’re part of him, but I don’t want you to try to be him.”
Rho pulled back a bit, surprised, trying to judge Sean’s sincerity from his face. This would have been so much easier if Rho could read Sean the way he read the kid, but that wasn’t going to happen. Sean soldiered on anyway, “Your…brother…Gamma…. Well, he and I were very intimate. We, uh, we made love with each other, right? We had sex. Man to man.”
He could see that this wasn’t news to Rho. In fact, this was probably the source of the fear he’d picked up on earlier. Was it possible that one clone was gay, or bi-sexual, and another wasn’t? Or was Rho a virgin? He’d have to find out. Later. “We did this because we trusted each other, we loved each other, and we wanted to share that love and make each other feel as good as possible. I wasn’t the one who taught Gamma about love between men, but I was glad that he wanted to share it with me. We both enjoyed it. You knew that, right?”
Rho broke his gaze, trying to escape without seeming to do so. Was this really a blushing virgin in his bed, or was there something deeper troubling him?
“Rocoto, baby…look at me, please.” Sean let go of the kid and put some space between them again. “I’m not expecting you to make love with me. I’m not going to ask you to do that, and I’m not going to do anything to you – ever – that you don’t want. Do you understand me? I did not find you because I wanted a copy of Gamma to sleep with.” That thought hurt…it hurt that the kid could ever think that of him. But then again, he had only a rough idea what Rho was going through, and this was not the time to dig deeper. This was a time to soothe, not probe.
“But…but if you did fall in love with me…and if I was in love with you too?”
“Then we’d have to see. The world is chock full of possibilities.”
That seemed to give him something to think about. “So…maybe? But not now?”
“Maybe. But not now. Not tonight.”
Rho nodded, suddenly looking much older than he’d been a few moments before. “Okay. Maybe.” He abruptly settled down into the pillows, flopping unselfconsciously against Sean, smiling at him with the first genuine warmth in the past few minutes. Sean pulled away and turned out the light.
“Sleep tight, Colt,” he said softly.
“G’night, Seanie.”
Colt. Oh god, he’d called him Colt. And Rho had called him Seanie. This was going to kill him. He was never going to survive this kid.
Rollie
Rollie Tyler downed a half a bottle of water while he watched the morning crowd of extras and crew outside the beach bar they’d recruited as a costuming station. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, joking and making fun of each other. The Bloomster was back to pirating again after his three-day absence, looking a bit less gaunt and a lot more awake. No doubt the money people were breathing a sigh of relief. On a Disney set it really was all about the money at the end of the day.
The Australian shifted his lean body into a deeper patch of shade and studied Bloom and his new companion, A-List actor Viggo Mortensen. Interesting dynamics at work there. Who knew they were that close? Tyler had already been privy to a rather loud conversation between Viggo and Geoffrey Rush two nights ago. The American had talked very firmly, insistently, and apparently persuasively about Rush’s obligations in watching over their young companion on Mortensen’s behalf. Rollie had listened in as much as one could from the room downstairs, not that that'd been hard, with Geoffrey’s window open and a couple of spare audio pick-ups on hand. Tyler was always good at tossing technology together as the need arose.
Now sitting in one of the canvas sling chairs, Orlando was playing with one of the macaws who would be standing on Cotton the pirate’s shoulder. The gorgeous green macaw was doing a little dance on the young man’s knee, bobbing its head in time to a song Orli was singing to it, wings held open wide and squawking with ear-splitting delight whenever the music stopped. Tyler was pretty sure that this parrot wasn’t Bob, the destructive little bastard that’d ruined his wiring job at lunch a couple of days ago. Orli seemed to think this one was a girl.
“Who’s my pretty darling? Who’s my gorgeous girl?” Bloom burbled, rubbing the macaw under its considerable beak. She flapped ecstatically, frightening a passing grip into dropping the light stand he’d been carrying to the beach. “What’s the pirate say, baby?” Orli asked the bird.
“Arrrr!” the parrot squawked.
“Yaaarrrr!” Orlando said loudly.
“YaaaRR!” shrieked the bird, puffing up.
“YARRR!”
“AY-YARRRRR! YAR! YarrrrrrrrRR!”
“Yar! Yar! Yar! Shiver me timbers, avast ye scurvy scum! Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!”
“YAAAAAAAAAAAAARRR! Ho ho ho!”
“That’s enough, you two!” Mortensen yelled over the commotion, scooping up the macaw unceremoniously and carrying her back to her trainer. “You’re going to get her too wound up to work.”
“Yar!” the bird squawked unhappily. Bloom sighed and settled back to look at his script again. Rollie would have sworn the kid was doing his best not to sulk. But even with a petulant look on his face, Orlando looked better than he had the day he’d collapsed.
Tyler had been very worried about the kid that day, and he’d been one of the people to carry him to the Med Center, and afterwards to his hotel room, where evacuating him to a hospital was being debated. The set medic didn’t want the responsibility of a fallen actor, and the producers didn’t want the cost or publicity of any major problems on the set. Rollie had lingered at Orlando’s side while they started an IV to fight his dehydration, and monitored his wildly wandering vitals. Tyler had squatted beside the bed and held the kid’s hand for a moment, meaning to leave him in peace while he shivered and squirmed in near delirium.
Rollie had been almost out the door when he’d heard the scrape of a dresser drawer, and he’d turned in time to actually see the garish red teddy bear fly into Orlando’s grasp. The young man’s eyes were squeezed shut, but he caught the teddy bear effortlessly and crushed it to his chest, muttering.
There had been no one else in the room.
Rollie was a guy who liked surprises. He liked mysteries. He liked being fooled by the talents of his fellow effects artists.
He had no idea what to think about something that was clearly outside the realm of mechanics and illusions and technique. He had no idea what to do with a genuine impossibility. But he had every intention of figuring it out.
Nu
Huddled, shivering, on the filthy pad that passed for his bed, he drew his blanket closer around his head. The blanket wasn’t really big enough, so it left his feet exposed to the cold, though he’d wrapped some old newspapers around them to ward off the worst of the chill. But the blanket helped shut out some of the light and the noise. The harsh fluorescent lights were always on. He hardly even knew what dark was anymore. Dark was alien, dark was to be feared. Things happened to you in the dark. The noises were always there too – screams and moans and incessant jabbering. Someone crying.
Someone was always crying.
Nu felt the wet rattle in his chest with every breath. He knew better than to breathe too deeply. That would bring on the coughing, and he would cough until his head swam and spots swarmed across his vision. He would cough until he collapsed. The real trick was to breathe evenly and shallow and as slowly as he could. It was like a game, counting his inhalations against the ticking of the clock in the hall – if he could hear the clock. Sometimes he could only hear the crying.
One of the attendants was walking up the corridor, clink of keys and a squeaky pair of shoes. He held his breath as they drew nearer, staying as still as he possibly could, frozen until his own relentless heartbeats filled his ears with a rushing sound like water. Then the pent air burst from his mouth with a whoosh. When he was breathing again he could hear that they’d moved past. There were voices from the desk at the end of the hall. One of them was slurring their words, sounding drunk already – and so soon after lock-up for the night. Nu could hear the clink of glasses, just before Ileana started screaming again. He wished she would shut up. Just shut the fuck up!
Ileana was always crying about her daughter, how her daughter was lost and needed her mommy. Nu was absolutely positive that there was no daughter. No one in this place had ever had a daughter, or a son, or anyone to love them at all. This place was not where mothers or fathers were hidden away. This place was for the utter nobodies. No one would miss them. No one would care.
Nu was a nobody. This was Nu’s place. He would be there until he finally died.
He could hardly wait for that to happen.
He rolled over to put his back against the wall. There was a little pocket of heat where his body had been. He guarded that little bit of heat and the space inside his blanket. He guarded it with his life.
TITLE: Beyond Design Limitations
CHAPTER: Fifteen – Hold the Key
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
Some bad language, gay sex talk, 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
NOTE 3: Serious with the angst now!
Beyond Design Limitations
Chapter Fifteen: Hold the Key
Billy
“It’s not that bad, Dommie.” He gestured with fake enthusiasm at the small living room, with its paucity of furniture. They were seated hip to hip on the sofa, staring at the smallish television, which neither could be arsed to actually turn on. It was late, and they were tired, both full of Christine Astin’s wonderful cooking. Billy squinted at the over-large dead tree branch, propped in a corner. Another open space still held a pile of tatty cardboard boxes of Dom’s things, like he’d never meant to linger. The Scot pursed his lips, considering. “Your place is…minimalist. Some folk pay big money for that, aye? Ikea would be keen for your revolutionary ideas.”
“It’s shite,” Dom growled. There’s a highway twenty meters from my bedroom window. Neighbor kid got roughed up by the Police in the commons last weekend. And crap as my car is, I’m scared that I’ll go out in the morning and just find a shell, like a discarded carapace.”
Billy scratched his belly and shifted his legs atop the coffee table, which was all but buried in magazines, empties, and multiple pairs of cheap sunglasses. This was a bachelor pad to end all bachelor pads. All it needed was a neon bar sign and a lava lamp. “And this makes it different than Manchester…how?”
“Yeah, well…I’m moving anyhow.”
“Right. Well, give me a call when you’re doing that, eh? I can heft a box for my mates.”
“Yeah. I’ll need the hand. Sala said he’s too delicate to keep hauling my junk back and forth across L.A. Hey, bring that bastard Crowe with you. He looks strong enough to move the sofa. It’s heavy – even without us on it.”
“Actually, Russ’s a right pussy. Good musician, though.” Billy sighed and paused to plump the pillow under his elbow. Dom had surprisingly nice pillows. Lad had probably stolen them from the Woods. “Am I sleepin’ right here tonight then?”
“Well, you can’t actually sleep on the damn sofa for this hard bit right here in the middle. It’s like a torture device. You can stretch out in the spacious guest cottage with the Turkish spa, waterfall, bamboo screens and Persian carpets…or you can sleep with me. My bed ’s a double.”
“Oooo, decisions! I don’t suppose there’s a bidet in the guest cottage, so I’ll just flop in with you, right? Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a bed,” Billy said, reminiscing.
“True. There were a few Hobbit piles made, weren’t there? Too tired to even sort out head from foot.”
Billy hefted a brow and quipped, “Back before you started buggering Mister Frodo.”
Dom grinned rakishly, obviously proud of himself, and Billy decided not to let him get first word on that topic. “Scandalized Astin, you two did,” he said. “He always thought Elijah should remain a virgin until, like, 40.”
“Elwood was hardly a virgin. It was me that got seduced by the dark side. Little Mister Movie Boy was scheming from the first moment he laid eyes on me.”
Billy snorted, and then reached out to take Dom’s hand. His friend let him lift his arm and turn it to look at the wrist. Dom had taken his leather cuffs off when he’d sat down, tossing them onto the clutter. The cigarette burns on his pale skin were still angry-looking and a bit raw. Dom set his jaw defiantly, but before he could say anything Billy brought the wrist to his lips and gently kissed the pulse point.
There really wasn’t any point in making up lies. Lies had no business being between the two of them, between the Hobbits. Billy was thinking back to Glasgow, back when he’d lost his parents – when his own life had seemed to stretch into blackness, empty and hopeless. He could remember the feeling of solace he’d found in physical pain when the psyche just couldn’t take any more.
“I understand, Dommie,” Billy softly told him.
There was a long time when the only sound was the traffic outside. Then Dominic finally spoke. “I knew you would.”
“What else’re Hobbits good for, after all?”
Dom closed his eyes, suddenly just too tired. “I’m trying to think of something.”
Sean
Mickey had adjourned to another hotel room to sleep for the night. Plans were in place for getting Rho out of Mexico in the morning, and everyone was eager to keep moving. Mickey had duplicated Sean’s entry mark in Bloom’s passport, and it should suffice as long as no one took too close an interest in their exit. United States Customs would only worry about their own issues with movie stars coming and going, so if they could get out of Mexico smoothly things would be fine.
Sean hoped he would eventually be able to fly back to England with the young clone. Maybe there they would be able to relax and sort out what Rho wanted to do with himself and the shiny new life opening up before him. It was possible that Rho would just decide to come back to Mexico and decorate sugar skulls in his uncle’s shop until he got old, whenever that would be. But Sean planned to be sure that even if that was what he really wanted he would at least have considered other options from an educated point of view.
Of course, what Sean really hoped was that Rho would have room in his new world for an old Blades man from Sheffield. He was going to do everything he could to present the future as a series of possibilities.
Mickey said he intended to head east, mentioning a stop in New York before heading back to Europe. Sean guessed that he was trying to track another clone, but since it had turned out to actually be Rho that Sean was looking for Mickey was now officially on his own. Sean would pay the bills as much as he could, but the former spy had a way of getting really expensive in a hurry, and Sean had a whole pocketful of ex-wives and kids to support on his slightly-less-than-top-billing actor’s salary.
Blissfully unaware of economic realities, Rho was currently eating cheap Mexican snack cakes and watching television with a keenness that almost scared Sean. He laughed heartily at the jokes, ooh-ed over the often-garish commercials, and made unsolicited comments about people’s clothes and hair. He squealed with delight when somebody won a crappy prize on a game show. Sean was ‘reading’ him on a light level, just feeling the shifts of emotions more than anything specific. Rho was an open book to the actor, but that didn’t mean that he had a right to pry until Rho was ready to reveal more of himself.
The fact that Rho even had deeper levels pleased Sean immensely. He’d been afraid this clone would prove as blank as Lambda was when Gamma had overwritten the innocent being. But Rho seemed to have had the advantage of being treated like a human being for quite some time now, and while he was certainly not ready to venture across the world on his own – heck, he hadn’t even expected to sleep by himself – he was at least functioning, and probably able to pass for normal under most circumstances.
And then, of course, there were the physical aspects of little Rocoto. Ah, yes… ‘little’ indeed. The only thing diminutive about Rho was his ego.
He was nearly as selfless as Viggo, and it was an unaffected modesty that betrayed no hint of falseness. The kid had gorgeous, glossy curls, shot with auburn highlights from the Mexican sun. His flawless skin was a rich almond brown, and the quick dark eyes harbored humor and fire beneath lashes that any starlet would beg for. His limbs were long and lean and everything on him was tight and firm and beautifully proportioned. The smooth curve of his back and slice of belly presented as he rolled around on the floor was enticing in the extreme. He reminded Sean of a show horse, all glossy coat and light-stepping prance, proud head held high and a bit of the devil in his eyes.
This was Orlando Bloom without the disappointments and trauma that Gamma had undergone. Rho wasn’t perfection…but he was a damn good copy of it.
Forcing himself to stop that train of thought before it had him jumping the track, Sean got up and started preparing for bedtime. He washed up and brushed his teeth, took the blood pressure pill he’d forgotten that morning (damn stupid things) and decided to shave, because he’d obviously forgotten that as well. Time zones were a curse. Flying was a curse. Some day he hoped he could retire in comfort and never travel on an airplane again until he was dead. That seemed like a reasonable goal. Sean slid on short pajama pants, smacked his flat, furry belly approvingly, and put out the bathroom light.
Rho had cleaned up his snack wrappers and was sitting up in the king-sized bed, eyes unnaturally wide in the harsh hotel lighting and his now-bare chest showing a sheen of sweat despite the laboring air conditioner, which was doing what it could with the thick Mexico City air. The clone flashed a hesitant smile about the same time that Sean realized he could feel a wave of uncertainty and…was that fear?
Bean quickly looked around the room. With the television finally silenced there was very little sound, just the usual faint background noises of hotels the world over: doors slamming far away, someone coughing, cars on the street, a sound of the ice machine banging a few cubes into a cheap bucket. The door was dead-bolted; they were alone.
Sean took a step toward the bed, puzzled. Rho’s neck muscles were so tight they looked like steel cording. The kid blinked rapidly and looked away, hands twisted in the sheet at his waist, and Sean could see his effort to relax. The show horse had just turned into a nervous colt, frightened by the crowd and the other horses and the looming restriction of the starting gate. Rho stole a quick glance at Sean’s broad chest and his eyes darted back to the curtained window, as if the ghost of a view could be seen if you stared hard enough. Bean smiled and took a slight read as to what was scaring his roommate. It was right at the surface.
Turning abruptly, mumbling that he needed water, Sean retreated to the bathroom again and wondered what he could do to calm Rho down. Obviously he was afraid that Sean wanted – or worse, would demand – some degree of intimacy that he wasn’t ready to engage in. On top of that, Rho apparently felt that it should be expected of him and that he’d better be ready to acquiesce. It was awkward in the extreme, and Sean wanted to just speak up and set the kid’s mind straight. But he was sure a more subtle touch would be good. Rho didn’t seem to know how easily Sean could see through him, and that could be useful, at least for a while.
Finally climbing into the bed, Sean left the night table light on and was careful not to touch Rho’s bowstring-tight body. “Are you ready to get some sleep, lad?” he enquired lightly. “Big day tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yes, Sean,” Rho said, even his voice sounding tense. He took a deep breath and then rolled over to face the older man, laying one sweaty palm experimentally on his chest.
Sean wanted to laugh, but Rho’s terror quickly quashed that urge. He reached up and closed the lad’s hand in his own, squeezing it as non-sexually as he could. “I’ve got something to ask you, Rocoto. You don’t have to answer right away, so just think, and speak when you want, right?” He smiled as reassuringly as he could.
A wave of uncertainty traveled through their link, and then a faint hint of the backbone he was sure the kid would have buried in there somewhere. “Okay, Sean.”
He was sure that had almost been a “Yes, Mr. Bean, Sir.” Did Rho really misunderstand his interest so deeply? This was going to take a bit of fixing, and a fair bit of time. Best to start now.
“I think you know that I was in love with Gamma, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Voice a whisper so soft…it was almost just a thought. “I got some of that in the little flashes.”
“Flashes from Gamma, aye?”
“And from you. I tried to reach you, but it was like I could only shout from far away. I knew you were there, and I could see you though his eyes sometimes. It was fleeting, confusing…sometimes it was like a dream, and I couldn’t hold it in my mind for long.”
“But you knew that I loved him, and he loved me. And when he died I was very, very sad.” The hand held within his own started to clench, then relaxed again, growing heavy against him. Rho ventured a bit closer; his breath at Sean’s shoulder was hot and quick. Surely Rho’s heart was racing. Sean tried to organize his words cautiously before speaking. “When Gamma was gone, I knew that I had lost someone very special, and that no one would ever take that place he had in my heart.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Sean rolled toward him then, catching the wide, nervous eyes and holding them. “But Rho, my heart is big! There are a lot of people that I love! I love my family – my daughters. I love my old friends, and new mates. I love Viggo, and the other blokes in the Fellowship, and I love footie and nasty cigs and beer and lots of other things. I think I’ll probably love you, especially when I get to know you. I already love the parts of you that I’ve seen. But this doesn’t mean that I’m expecting you to take Gamma’s place. I would never expect that from you, or from anyone. Gamma is gone, and you are not Gamma.”
A tear finally surged free from the bulging moisture in the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry,” Rho whispered, more just making the words with his lips than actually speaking.
Sean couldn’t help but to gather the kid in his arms, kissing the wet track of that lonely tear. “Baby, don’t be sorry! I didn’t try to find you because I was trying to replace Gamma. I wanted to know that you were safe, and cared for, and that no one would ever hurt you the way they hurt him! I love you because you’re part of him, but I don’t want you to try to be him.”
Rho pulled back a bit, surprised, trying to judge Sean’s sincerity from his face. This would have been so much easier if Rho could read Sean the way he read the kid, but that wasn’t going to happen. Sean soldiered on anyway, “Your…brother…Gamma…. Well, he and I were very intimate. We, uh, we made love with each other, right? We had sex. Man to man.”
He could see that this wasn’t news to Rho. In fact, this was probably the source of the fear he’d picked up on earlier. Was it possible that one clone was gay, or bi-sexual, and another wasn’t? Or was Rho a virgin? He’d have to find out. Later. “We did this because we trusted each other, we loved each other, and we wanted to share that love and make each other feel as good as possible. I wasn’t the one who taught Gamma about love between men, but I was glad that he wanted to share it with me. We both enjoyed it. You knew that, right?”
Rho broke his gaze, trying to escape without seeming to do so. Was this really a blushing virgin in his bed, or was there something deeper troubling him?
“Rocoto, baby…look at me, please.” Sean let go of the kid and put some space between them again. “I’m not expecting you to make love with me. I’m not going to ask you to do that, and I’m not going to do anything to you – ever – that you don’t want. Do you understand me? I did not find you because I wanted a copy of Gamma to sleep with.” That thought hurt…it hurt that the kid could ever think that of him. But then again, he had only a rough idea what Rho was going through, and this was not the time to dig deeper. This was a time to soothe, not probe.
“But…but if you did fall in love with me…and if I was in love with you too?”
“Then we’d have to see. The world is chock full of possibilities.”
That seemed to give him something to think about. “So…maybe? But not now?”
“Maybe. But not now. Not tonight.”
Rho nodded, suddenly looking much older than he’d been a few moments before. “Okay. Maybe.” He abruptly settled down into the pillows, flopping unselfconsciously against Sean, smiling at him with the first genuine warmth in the past few minutes. Sean pulled away and turned out the light.
“Sleep tight, Colt,” he said softly.
“G’night, Seanie.”
Colt. Oh god, he’d called him Colt. And Rho had called him Seanie. This was going to kill him. He was never going to survive this kid.
Rollie
Rollie Tyler downed a half a bottle of water while he watched the morning crowd of extras and crew outside the beach bar they’d recruited as a costuming station. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, joking and making fun of each other. The Bloomster was back to pirating again after his three-day absence, looking a bit less gaunt and a lot more awake. No doubt the money people were breathing a sigh of relief. On a Disney set it really was all about the money at the end of the day.
The Australian shifted his lean body into a deeper patch of shade and studied Bloom and his new companion, A-List actor Viggo Mortensen. Interesting dynamics at work there. Who knew they were that close? Tyler had already been privy to a rather loud conversation between Viggo and Geoffrey Rush two nights ago. The American had talked very firmly, insistently, and apparently persuasively about Rush’s obligations in watching over their young companion on Mortensen’s behalf. Rollie had listened in as much as one could from the room downstairs, not that that'd been hard, with Geoffrey’s window open and a couple of spare audio pick-ups on hand. Tyler was always good at tossing technology together as the need arose.
Now sitting in one of the canvas sling chairs, Orlando was playing with one of the macaws who would be standing on Cotton the pirate’s shoulder. The gorgeous green macaw was doing a little dance on the young man’s knee, bobbing its head in time to a song Orli was singing to it, wings held open wide and squawking with ear-splitting delight whenever the music stopped. Tyler was pretty sure that this parrot wasn’t Bob, the destructive little bastard that’d ruined his wiring job at lunch a couple of days ago. Orli seemed to think this one was a girl.
“Who’s my pretty darling? Who’s my gorgeous girl?” Bloom burbled, rubbing the macaw under its considerable beak. She flapped ecstatically, frightening a passing grip into dropping the light stand he’d been carrying to the beach. “What’s the pirate say, baby?” Orli asked the bird.
“Arrrr!” the parrot squawked.
“Yaaarrrr!” Orlando said loudly.
“YaaaRR!” shrieked the bird, puffing up.
“YARRR!”
“AY-YARRRRR! YAR! YarrrrrrrrRR!”
“Yar! Yar! Yar! Shiver me timbers, avast ye scurvy scum! Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!”
“YAAAAAAAAAAAAARRR! Ho ho ho!”
“That’s enough, you two!” Mortensen yelled over the commotion, scooping up the macaw unceremoniously and carrying her back to her trainer. “You’re going to get her too wound up to work.”
“Yar!” the bird squawked unhappily. Bloom sighed and settled back to look at his script again. Rollie would have sworn the kid was doing his best not to sulk. But even with a petulant look on his face, Orlando looked better than he had the day he’d collapsed.
Tyler had been very worried about the kid that day, and he’d been one of the people to carry him to the Med Center, and afterwards to his hotel room, where evacuating him to a hospital was being debated. The set medic didn’t want the responsibility of a fallen actor, and the producers didn’t want the cost or publicity of any major problems on the set. Rollie had lingered at Orlando’s side while they started an IV to fight his dehydration, and monitored his wildly wandering vitals. Tyler had squatted beside the bed and held the kid’s hand for a moment, meaning to leave him in peace while he shivered and squirmed in near delirium.
Rollie had been almost out the door when he’d heard the scrape of a dresser drawer, and he’d turned in time to actually see the garish red teddy bear fly into Orlando’s grasp. The young man’s eyes were squeezed shut, but he caught the teddy bear effortlessly and crushed it to his chest, muttering.
There had been no one else in the room.
Rollie was a guy who liked surprises. He liked mysteries. He liked being fooled by the talents of his fellow effects artists.
He had no idea what to think about something that was clearly outside the realm of mechanics and illusions and technique. He had no idea what to do with a genuine impossibility. But he had every intention of figuring it out.
Nu
Huddled, shivering, on the filthy pad that passed for his bed, he drew his blanket closer around his head. The blanket wasn’t really big enough, so it left his feet exposed to the cold, though he’d wrapped some old newspapers around them to ward off the worst of the chill. But the blanket helped shut out some of the light and the noise. The harsh fluorescent lights were always on. He hardly even knew what dark was anymore. Dark was alien, dark was to be feared. Things happened to you in the dark. The noises were always there too – screams and moans and incessant jabbering. Someone crying.
Someone was always crying.
Nu felt the wet rattle in his chest with every breath. He knew better than to breathe too deeply. That would bring on the coughing, and he would cough until his head swam and spots swarmed across his vision. He would cough until he collapsed. The real trick was to breathe evenly and shallow and as slowly as he could. It was like a game, counting his inhalations against the ticking of the clock in the hall – if he could hear the clock. Sometimes he could only hear the crying.
One of the attendants was walking up the corridor, clink of keys and a squeaky pair of shoes. He held his breath as they drew nearer, staying as still as he possibly could, frozen until his own relentless heartbeats filled his ears with a rushing sound like water. Then the pent air burst from his mouth with a whoosh. When he was breathing again he could hear that they’d moved past. There were voices from the desk at the end of the hall. One of them was slurring their words, sounding drunk already – and so soon after lock-up for the night. Nu could hear the clink of glasses, just before Ileana started screaming again. He wished she would shut up. Just shut the fuck up!
Ileana was always crying about her daughter, how her daughter was lost and needed her mommy. Nu was absolutely positive that there was no daughter. No one in this place had ever had a daughter, or a son, or anyone to love them at all. This place was not where mothers or fathers were hidden away. This place was for the utter nobodies. No one would miss them. No one would care.
Nu was a nobody. This was Nu’s place. He would be there until he finally died.
He could hardly wait for that to happen.
He rolled over to put his back against the wall. There was a little pocket of heat where his body had been. He guarded that little bit of heat and the space inside his blanket. He guarded it with his life.
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