Part 15:: The world around was a mass of flickering lights and distant sounds. Nothing was in focus, and there was not a distinguishable shape anywhere. Sean closed his eyes and lolled his head, hoping to get things in focus. All he really knew was pain. The pain in his shoulder was excruciating. The blonde man tried to raise his hand to touch it but found he had not the strength to lift the limb. He moaned in frustration, the sound a dull roar in his ears. Sean closed his eyes tight before letting them drift open again, trying to adjust to the light. He was aware of a sort of voice from above him. He tried his best to focus, and slowly the world around him began to clear. The colors and lights separated and he could see wall…door…bed stand…and a figure sitting on his bed. Sean opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was too dry. The person sitting seemed to understand, and he could feel movement on the mattress as the person stood. Soon, Sean could feel cool water against his lips, urging them to part. He opened them and a slow trickle of water spilled down his throat. He drank greedily, and all too soon the water was taken away. The person was speaking, but Sean still could not hear well enough as he was still regaining consciousness. Finally he was able to make out the words… “Sir…sir…are you awake?” Sean did not recognize the person sitting next to him, and his voice cracked as he managed to whisper, “Where am I?” The man that sat on the bed sighed in relief and reached for something, retrieving a basin of water and wringing out the cloth that was inside. He wiped away some of the perspiration on the blonde man’s forehead as he spoke. “You are at my house. My name is Marton. I found you lying unconscious at the burned estate a few miles down the road…” “Orlando!” Sean called out as he immediately lurched up. All of his memories flooded back to him…the smoke…crawling out of the window…the fire…Orlando running to help people…the house crumbling… “Easy!” the man Marton said, urging the weak man back down to the bed. He had a thick accent that Sean could not really place, but he was definitely not english “You d-don’t understand…” Sean insisted, still trying to rise but unable to in his weakened condition. “I have to go back…Orlando…he could be hurt…he needs me…” “Who is Orlando?” the man asked quietly, before shaking his head figuring it would only upset the other man. He realized that this man would not stay put so he immediately explained the situation. “You were the only person I found at the house, sir,” he said, keeping his hands firmly on Sean’s shoulders. “I has seen the smoke in the night, so I thought I would investigate. By the time I got there, everyone had fled, and I found only you, laying under the rubble. If I had not seen your hand, I never would have seen you at all…” Sean’s breathing came hard. Orlando had not been found…no one was there…where was his love? The blonde managed to control his breathing so he could question the man about the situation. “Where did everyone go? How many survived?” The man gave him a stern look. “I swear to you I tell you everything I know, but only if you promise me you will lie still and not move. You are too weak to get up, and I do not know if you have broken anything yet.” Sean resigned and reluctantly lay back on the bed, willing to if it meant he could find out what happened. He gave the man a look to ask if he was satisfied to see him reclining once again. Marton nodded and returned the rag to the basin, wringing it out once again and now dragging over the man’s forehead and neck, taking the sweat and grime from it. He saw the urgency in the man’s green eyes, and decided it would be cruel to keep him waiting. “Three nights ago, I saw smoke coming from the large house down the road. I decided to see what was happening, and as I walked, I could hear some shouts in the distance. I know now that the sounds were of people leaving, but at that point I knew nothing. When I reached the house, all were gone. There was much smoke…and still fire. The house had cr…cr…broken.” It was obvious that the man had not spoken English first and was slightly embarrassed at his slight limitations, but Sean did not mind just so long as he got his point across. The man continued in his retelling, thought his face took on a slight redness. “I looked for…any people. I saw no one, but still I looked. I was leaving, but I saw…your hand, in the rock. I took you out, and took you here. I thought you were dead, but you were alive. I help you.” “Thank you,” Sean said, sincerely. Then he realized what the man had said. “Three nights ago…?” he asked in wonder. Marton nodded. “You sleep all night and all day three days. I watch you, and made sure you did not die. There was a man, on the road. I asked him what happened at the house. He said that fire…broke the house. Old man there died…” “An old man?” Sean said in dismay. So Christopher had perished in the house. Sean could feel his throat constrict at the realization that his friend and father of sorts had died. The blonde told himself that he had to be strong though, and he had to live on and follow the lessons that the man had taught him. He had to find Orlando as well… “The man said that a woman was badly hurt…or that she died…I cannot remember. But he also said a pretty servant boy died in the rock.” Sean’s whole world closed in on him. A pretty servant boy…died… Large tears filled his green eyes and he surged forwards, determined to get up and leave…to find Orli…to prove this foreigner wrong…to show him that no pretty servant boy ‘died in the rock.’ Marton grabbed the despairing blonde man and held him down, despite the yells and curses thrown at him. “Let me go!” Sean screamed. “I have to go! I have to find him!” He scrambled up but Marton caught him about the waist and held him firmly. Sean suddenly collapsed against him, breaking down into heaving sobs and gasping breaths. Fat tears ran down his face and blurred his eyes. His mouth was hung open in a sob, and he clenched his eyes tight. Marton held the man upright, surprised by the man’s reaction. He could not understand why the man was so upset until the man sobbed with a strangled cry, “Orlando!” It was then that he realized that this man must have feeling for the servant boy. Was he his father? His brother? Marton had lost his wife many years ago in Russia to illness. He had been working in a mine for eighteen hours a day in a town fifty miles away, and his sister had been caring for his wife. Once every two weeks he had taken the train to visit his wife and sister, and he sent them money whenever he got paid. The day he had received the letter telling him of her death, he had gone into the same kind of despair that this Englishman before him was. Could it be then that the two men had been…together? Marton looked down at the sobbing man in his arms and remembered how awful it had been to be alone when he had read that horrible letter. He remembered how much he could have been with his sister so she could hold him and tell him all would get better with time. Marton looked down at the mirror image of himself, and pulled the shaking man into his arms. He held the Englishman tightly so he could not move, and so he could feel the support of another human being. Sean clutched to the Foreign man that held him for dear life…he held him as he sobbed for his lost love…for the thought that his beautiful Orlando’s body was buried beneath the rubble of the burned house. He cried as he thought of the light that radiated from his smiling face, and the sweet scent that always lingered on his skin. Sean cried for the life that they could have had, and now never would. The hospital room was cold that morning, but Orlando did not move to pull up the blanket around his shaking shoulders. He felt no need to, just like he felt no need to do anything else. Sean was dead…his beloved Sean… A hot tear escaped one of his brown pools and fell down over his temple and to the white pillowcase below. He did not move to wipe away the wetness, just as he did not move to pull up the blanket. His eyes only blinked on instinct, as did his breath. He did not will either. Orlando did not know for how long he had lain in that bed. He guessed it was about two weeks or so, but he did not bother to keep track for so much as even the change from morning to night. He knew he had been brought there by Lord Mortensen, and the man had been by once to check on him, or so at least Orlando had been told. He had been asleep at the time, so he had not known. The nurses had told him of the visit as though the expected Orlando to be excited by the news, but had not received any action from him at all. Twice a day, a nurse came in to administer medicine to him in the form of a shot. Orlando did not so much as flinch when the needle sank into his soft flesh. The nurse would fuss over him and pet his hair, speaking in a kind soft voice, but the youth would not speak. The only other person that would enter the room was Colin Farrell. After the tragedy of the house, Colin had gone to the hospital to help all of his friends and fellow servants who had been injured. He had been treated for some minor cuts and bruises, but had stayed on as an aid to the doctor, and had now adopted a sort of position at the hospital. The Irishman would check on the different wards and make sure that they all were provided for and were not in need of anything so as to ease the load of the nurses. Colin had been in the room for support when the nurse had told him that one of his friends, the servant boy Elijah, had died when the house had collapsed. At that point, Orlando had still been talking. He had been very weak still from to much smoke inhalation and had collapsed at the news, crying softly into his arms. Orlando had inquired all day as to where Sean was, until the following day the nurse informed him that the body of Sean Bean had not been found, and he was presumed dead. Colin had seen the light of Orlando’s brown eyes go out as soon as the words were spoken. He had fallen into a terrible fit of sobs and cries, and the nurse had rocked him while stroking his hair. She had nodded for Colin to leave the grieving youth some privacy, and he had immediately done so, figuring Orlando would not want an audience to his despair. Later that night, the portly nurse had requested that Colin draw a hot bath for Orlando. Orlando lay as though dead on the hospital bed, his eyes open but empty, and his body laid the same was as it was when the nurse had left him. Colin had lifted the limp body in his arms and carried him to the bathroom, as Orlando did not seen able to walk. He had helped the nurse undress the youth and turned his back politely as the able nurse set the youth in the tub herself. Orlando had hugged his knees to his chest and did not say a word as the nurse soothingly ran a soaked sponge down his back. Colin had never in his life seen someone so very broken. The young man did not respond to anything that either the Irishman or the nurse had said to him, and merely stared blankly through half-mast eyes into nothing in particular. The nurse had washed his hair and stroked back the black strands and whispered to him, saying that things would get better. She told him that death is hard for everyone, but that he should let out his grief, not let it overtake him. Orlando did not so much as flinch. The nurse had cast a look of despair at Colin and shook her head slightly, showing that she was at a loss as to what to do. She worried greatly for this beautiful youth, for if he did not show a sign of improvement from his shock soon, he would be placed in an asylum. She motioned for Colin to get a fresh kettle of hot water from the fireplace and he immediately did so. The nurse took Orlando’s arms gently in her hands and raised them out of the way of the hot water. “There we go,” she said softly as Colin poured the hot water into the tub, making steam rise at the contact. Once Colin was done the Nurse lowered Orlando’s arms back into the water and they immediately returned around his legs. The nurse returned to stroking his hair. “Orlando…?” she said. “Your name is Orlando, is it not? That is a very lovely name. My name is Nurse Bates…but I think you are cute enough that I would let you call me Cathy…Would you please say something to me, Orlando?” When there was no response, Nurse Bates looked to Colin for advice on what to say. She knew that Colin had known the boy before the accident, and hoped that he would know something that she could say that would cause a reaction. The Irishman shrugged his shoulders and his brows knit in concentration, worrying his lower lip as he thought. Finally he raised his head and waited for the nurse to look at him again and mouth ‘Sean.’ “Sean?” The nurse asked them, confusion on her face. Orlando’s head raised slightly at the name. Nurse Bates saw the movement and shot Colin a smile. She then lowered the hand that had been stroking the youth’s hair and rubbed his neck and upper back. “Sean…that was the name of one of the men that died, wasn’t it? Wasn’t he your friend?” A tear ran down Orlando’s cheek and was as it the room was completely quiet everyone could hear it drop into the water below. Nurse Bates looked to Colin as though to say, “It was a good idea,” but a whisper of a voice cut through the silence. “We were to be married.” TBC… please review A/N: Ok, about Marton Csokas, I know he is a Kiwi, but I am using his role as Yorgi from XXX in this. He is Russian in that movie, and I loved his look and accent. Marton is a good guy in this fic, so his character s nothing like Yorgi. Just thought I would clear that one up. Hope you liked!