FIC: Chapter and Verse 4/? AUTHOR: Widdershin RATING: NC17 PAIRING: SB/VM FEEDBACK: Yes please WARNINGS: AU, implied noncon, major angst. DISCLAIMER: This story is 100% fiction. The author doesn't know these people. These events never happened. Unfortunately. BETA: Owlgrey SUMMARY: There is something Viggo has to do. AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is the sequel to “A Note in the Margin”. You really need to read that series first. “He’s getting worse isn’t he?” Orlando said quietly handing Sean his mug of tea. Sean looked up towards the back of the shop and although he couldn’t see what Viggo was doing he knew the pattern would be the same as it had been for the past few days; agitated, not settling, not talking. Sean took a sip of the tea and murmured, “I don’t know … the other day he seemed to settle once he got into the shop, and then … this started.” Orlando nodded, Viggo had listened quietly to him that afternoon and by closing time he was talking and helping unpack boxes. He shrugged, “I don’t get it. He was so much better by the time you got back from the market.” “Yeah, we talked a bit after work and he fell asleep on the couch,” Sean remembered how tired Viggo had been, “So what went wrong?” He frowned and rubbed his hand wearily over his eyes; he could feel a headache starting to build. Orlando watched and recognised the gesture. He leant over and rested his hand on Sean’s shoulder rubbing just a little, “I dunno man, but we’ll figure it out.” The two men sat in silence for a few minutes until Orlando huffed and said, “It started the next morning, didn’t it? We’d finished the unpacking from the day before and gone through the invoices, so we started flicking through the calendars, cute puppies … even cuter film stars, you know and he found an art one. Not really my taste, but Viggo seemed to like it so I gave it to him to put up in the kitchen,” Orlando hesitated and said, “That was okay, yeah?” Sean gave a little smile and said, “Yeah, that was okay. So he was happy; what changed?” “Dunno,” Orlando frowned thinking back, “He opened it on this month and asked me what day it was. I told him, drew a smiley face on the day and wrote Viggo’s calendar. Maybe that was wrong because he went all quiet. I hung it up in the kitchen and when I got back … he was in his chair.” Like when he first came to the shop … shit, maybe even worse, Orlando thought but didn’t voice his concerns. Instead he asked, “What’s he like at home?” “The same … he won’t talk to me … he cringes if I try to touch him,” Sean blushed at the admission, “he alternates between sleeping too much and not sleeping at all. I woke up last night and he was standing at the bedroom window … just staring out.” The sight of Viggo looking down at the empty street had hurt Sean more than he’d admit to Orlando; something had gone wrong, I obviously can’t be doing enough. Orlando didn’t say anything, but rubbed his hand over Sean’s back just to let him know he wasn’t alone in this. ~*~ Orlando split the sandwich in half and put Viggo’s share on the arm of his chair. “Have your lunch Viggo?” Orlando asked quietly, watching carefully as the pencil continued its unceasing motion over the already creased and smudged page. He put his hand gently on Viggo’s arm to still its movement, “Come on; leave that for now.” Orlando’s touch took a moment to register, but Viggo stopped and sat quietly looking at the sketchbook. “Vig what’s happening right now? Sean and I are worried about you,” Orlando whispered just loud enough to be heard in the quiet shop. Viggo looked at Orlando’s hand then closed his eyes, “I don’t want to do this.” Orlando frowned at the unexpected words, he wanted to ask what he didn’t want to do, but whispered, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Viggo didn’t answer, but the thought was clear in his mind, maybe in your world Orlando. Orlando sat back in the chair and let Viggo return to his drawing; watching his hand skitter across the page in rapid and, at times, seemingly uncontrolled movements. The picture didn’t make sense to Orlando; it was dark and abstract, not the usual delicate renderings elsewhere in the sketchbook. The pencil lines created deep indentations in the soft cartridge paper and the graphite was so dense in places the paper’s texture was flattened and shining. Orlando chewed his sandwich triangle slowly and tried to make small talk between bites. Viggo didn’t touch his share. ~*~ The excited babble of the six year old faded as the young mother held her hand and led her through the shop door. The purchase of a first ‘reader’ was always recognisable, but it also signalled late afternoon. The schools were empty, parents had picked up their children and they were heading home to start tentative explorations of the written word and dinner. Viggo had put the sketchbook down, his fingers aching, and now sat curled in his chair. He glanced up at the polished wood shop clock and his stomach clenched … it’s time to go. He unfolded his legs, not really surprised at how they trembled while he pulled his boots on over the socks Sean had bought for him. He took a deep shuddering breath and stood up. His sketchbook lay on the floor beside his chair and he looked at it uncertain what to do. Viggo knew he didn’t want to take it with him, but …Sean will keep it safe. He bent down and picked it up, holding it close for a moment fighting the urge to simply sit in his chair again … safe with Sean. He shook his head, his jaw muscles clenched tight as he walked down the shop. Sean looked up and smiled when he heard Viggo approach, but the smile faded when the sketchbook was pushed across the counter towards him. “What is it Vig? Do you need a new one?” Sean asked hopefully, but not really believing that’s all it was. Viggo shook his head and kept his eyes on the book, “I need to go out Sean.” A bolt of nausea hit Sean at Viggo’s words and he just stood and stared for a few seconds before he realised he needed to answer, “Um, okay … will you be long?” Viggo’s fingers rubbed over the cover of the sketchbook mentally warring whether or not lie to Sean. He swallowed and said quietly, “I don’t think so … I don’t know.” Sean frowned, he really felt sick now, “Okay Vig, I’ll put your book upstairs and wait for you.” He went to put his hand over Viggo’s, but the fingers were quickly withdrawn and Viggo whispered, “I have to go.” Sean listened to the bell on the shop door jingle as Viggo left. ~*~ The early evening weather was still mild but Viggo already felt cold and sick to his stomach. He quickly walked away from the shop pushing down the memory of Sean’s face as he left. Can’t think of that … can’t think of Sean. It was already dusk by the time he reached the toilet block on the perimeter of the park and he recognised some of the men already there. Viggo leaned against the rendered concrete wall and watched the dust of the gravel creep over his boots until they looked completely grey. The younger men always got picked first but he knew he wouldn’t be here much longer. A pair of clean leather shoes appeared in front of his. Viggo didn’t look up as the man opened his wallet and shoved a twenty towards him. He didn’t move. Orlando’s words came back to him; you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. He knew it wasn’t true. “Well, do you want it or not?” Viggo felt like he was moving through molasses as he lifted his hand to take the money. ~*~ “Are you going to close up Sean? Or do you want me to?” Orlando asked well aware that it already half an hour past their usual time. Sean looked up from the messy ledger page, “I keep thinking about getting this place into the computer age, but I haven’t managed to do it yet.” He paused and added quietly, “It’s okay Orlando you go home I’ll wait a little longer.” Orlando nodded and lifted his fingers to the back of Sean’s neck, “Call me, yeah? You know … when he gets home.” “Yeah, he shouldn’t be too long now,” Sean smiled without any real conviction … something felt very wrong this time. But he knew that he would wait for Viggo to come home. ~*~ The concrete was cold and hard through the knees of Viggo’s jeans. Water from the leaking toilet had soaked through the fabric; his knees ached. The man had left without a word. Viggo sank back onto his heels and rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans; he had told the man to stop before he came … he had never had the courage to say that before … but this time he told him before they started. The problem was when Viggo tried to pull away the man had wrapped his fingers in Viggo’s hair, reminding he had no choice in this and fucked his mouth hard before coming down his throat. Viggo looked down at the state he was in; his new clothes soiled and wet. He thought of Sean choosing these clothes out for him; picking them up in the store, maybe holding them against himself and deciding between colours. Now in the blue glow of the ‘junkie’ light they looked old and used. Tears stung his eyes and he swallowed them back only to be reminded of the taste still in his mouth. Viggo’s stomach lurched and he scrambled for the edge of the toilet bowl and vomited until his empty stomach cramped and convulsed over air and bile. A young hustler pushed the door open and leaned against the wall, “You okay?” Viggo’s fingers gripped the edge white knuckled while his other hand still clutched the crumpled twenty. He nodded and waited until the youth closed the door. He pushed himself back, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up not sure what to do other than get out of the toilet block. The hustler was still outside when Viggo opened the door; he moved out of the way to let Viggo get to the sink and said quietly, “You need a hit? I got some if you need it.” Viggo spat the water into the sink and grimaced at the metallic taste; he shook his head and walked out. He hovered outside the block not sure which direction to head … the only one not possible was ‘Margins’ and Sean. ~*~ It had been dark for a few hours, but the open sign hadn’t been flipped and the door remained unlocked. Sean sat at the counter unmoving; the sickness in his stomach growing. When a group of youths walked noisily past the front window Sean looked up at the clock and sighed, a bit longer. Another hour had passed before the front door opened, but it was Orlando who walked in and stood beside Sean. “I got worried when you didn’t call,” he said a little apologetically, “I went up stairs first, but there was no-one there …” Sean glanced at the door again and said quietly, “I couldn’t face it yet.” Orlando nodded, not sure what to do or say now that he was here so settled on his mother’s favourite ‘cure-all’, “Want me to make a pot of tea?” Sean tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t form. He looked away from Orlando, his fingers clenched as tight as his jaw while he blinked away the tears he couldn’t allow to start. Orlando watched Sean and although his first instinct was to hug the man, he was wise enough to know that was the last thing Sean could deal with right now. Instead he slid open the drawer at the counter, grabbed the shop keys and said, “Come on, let’s go look for him.” Sean took a shaky breath and gave Orlando a silent, but grateful look. Orlando smiled and threw him the keys while he scribbled a note for the door of the shop; Viggo, if you get home before us call Sean’s cell phone. Love, Orlando xx. He then taped a couple of coins to the back of the note. Sean smiled over his shoulder and said quietly, “Thanks mate.” By the time they reached the shelter Orlando was sure they would find Viggo inside and jumped out of the car almost bouncing on the balls of his feet while Sean locked up. He quickly disappeared into the foyer of the old building. Sean followed, less convinced, but a tingle of hope started to flutter in his belly. The foyer of the old building smelt vaguely of disinfectant and stale cigarette smoke; it housed notice boards covered in leaflets detailing rehab clinics, counselling for the long term unemployed and tattered pages of photocopied or handwritten pleas for missing persons. Sean glanced at them briefly and quickly looked away. Orlando was already at the reception desk trying to get someone’s attention when Sean called to a man handing over a blanket to a wary looking youth, “Is Barbara on duty tonight?” He turned to Sean and shook his head, “No, sorry man, only male staff in here at night. Can I help with something?” Sean tried to explain as best he could with regular interjections from Orlando, but the shelter worker just shook his head again and suggested they have a look around. The large hall was full of small beds, each one becoming home for a single night. The first thing that struck Sean, other than the overcrowding, was the smell and it hurt Sean to remember how he had complained that Viggo stank when he first took over the shop. As he scanned the room many avoided his eyes retreating to the safety of their own thoughts, while others met him with open defiance. The memory of Viggo’s words about night time in the shelter suddenly hit him … Some men cry at night or call out to people they don’t have anymore, and he had to leave. Orlando saw him turn and walk out the door. He thanked the shelter helper, smiled gently at a few faces and hurried after him. Sean was all ready outside leaning against the wall lighting up a cigarette, he glanced up at Orlando and shook his head, “He’s gone back to that, hasn’t he?” Orlando wanted to lie and say no, but couldn’t. He leaned beside Sean and watched an old man pushing a battered shopping cart filled with bags, paper and plastic, through the narrow opening of the door. Orlando hoped there would be room for him even though he doubted it. He sighed and said quietly, “I don’t know Sean, but something was really upsetting him … so there has to be a good reason, yeah?” Sean tipped his head back against the wall and exhaled a long stream of smoke before saying, “I thought he would be able to talk to me about his reasons by now.” Orlando nodded, “He still has a lot to work through I guess … I can’t even imagine what his life has been like.” So many images flooded Sean; Viggo hurt and bleeding in his stairwell, his shame at not being able to stay clean, the tentative nature of their lovemaking. Sean wanted to make it all right for him so he could lead a normal life, but Barbara’s words of warning were only just starting to become real. After stubbing his cigarette out on the graffitied wall, Sean straightened his back with a weary roll of his shoulders and said, “Let’s go Orlando, he’s not here.” Orlando nodded and said a little too quietly, “Yeah, maybe he’s at home already … and didn’t see the note.” Sean didn’t answer. They drove home the long way past the park both looking at every person they passed, but neither said a word. By the time they reached the shop it was well after eleven and the note was still stuck to the door untouched. Sean reached out to rip it off, but Orlando stilled his hand, “Leave it please Sean … just in case.” Sean looked at Orlando, ready to argue, but left the note with a small nod of his head, “Just in case.” Tbc.