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[FIC] RPF: cartographies of silence [7/10]
Ignore the date. I repeat, ignore the date. It's still Sean's birthday in England so I am not late.
I was going to write a new fic for Sean's birthday, but holy god I suddenly had no time at all the past two days sdfsdgfdg. I haven't even been online lately. I thought I had a day more holy shit. So instead, I'll just post the next part of cartographies of silence early. I know, I know, it's a damn cop-out, but I promise I'll write an extra fic eventually to make up for it.
Also, yeah, that's /10 instead of /9. :3
cartographies of silence
- PART 7/10: 18 December 2011
Characters/Pairing: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen, Viggo Mortensen/Ariadna Gil
Rating: PG
Words: 1895
Disclaimer: None of this happened. Product of my imagination!
Summary:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days, April 19: heart sweating through my body. What happens when there is only one hand reaching out for that damn happy ending?
part 6: April 2011, 18 December 2011
Viggo had moved towards the door. He could hear Sean’s footsteps as they slowly faded. He leaned his forehead against it, eyes closed. It was ridiculous. He should move away from the door and change. There was a party he should go to; they had completed a successful run of the show. Viggo was one of the only two actors; he had to go.
He had to.
“I remember when we first started,” Ariadna spoke suddenly. Viggo had almost forgotten that she was there—what did that make him as a boyfriend? If he was even that in the first place. “You showed me the box in your suitcase, and told me that a piece of your heart is already lost to you, but you can try to give me the rest. That’s not true, is it?”
“Ari-”
“Shh, let me finish,” Ariadna said, and she had moved forward, dropping her head between his shoulderblades, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Part of my heart will always belong to David; I can’t help it, because he’s the father of my children. But David and I- we were slowly falling apart when Alatriste came along, and there you were. I have never told you this, have I?”
“No,” Viggo said, his own voice soft. It was as if both of them were afraid of raising their voices; as if the residue of his and Sean’s shouts and growls had lodged themselves into the walls and should not be disturbed.
“There you were,” she repeated. “I love you, you know. It’s impossible not to. But…you can’t even give me a single piece of your heart, can you? It’s all gone.”
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. There was nothing else he could say, and he was falling because his legs couldn’t hold him out anymore. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
Ariadna said nothing. She only tugged him on the shoulder until he was turning around, pulling him close as he rocked back and forth. It was foolish, that he was over fifty and he was acting like a teenager with his heart broken for the first time, weeping in the dressing room. He clutched onto her with all of the desperation of a lost child. Like a man who had the foundations of his world rocked and he couldn’t find his equilibrium.
“I should be angry,” Ariadna said, and her hair was slowly stroking through his hair. She was speaking because she had to, he knew that. Like him, Ariadna was a verbal person.
“I was, you know, when he came in. I couldn’t help it, really. The moment he was there your eyes just went to him, and I disappeared completely from your sight. I thought it wasn’t fair, that he owned so much of you and he doesn’t even recognise it. He’s a usurper trying to take my rightful place, I thought,” she giggled a little at that. “But I realised that I got our positions completely wrong.”
She stroked a thumb against his temple. He pulled away from her, and wiped at his eyes. “How long have you been in love with him, Viggo?”
“I don’t know,” Viggo said, and he hiccupped a little. “I can’t figure out whether it started when I first saw him, or if it was a few months later.”
Ariadna laughed a little at that, and it sounded genuine. “When was that? Ten, twelve years ago?”
“Nineteen ninety-nine,” Viggo said, and he smiled a little lopsidedly. “Twelve years ago.”
He looked at her for a moment, and he couldn’t help it. He had to try. Had to lean in and press his lips to hers. They kissed slowly, with her hands cupping against his face and his clutching onto her shoulders. He kissed her like she was his one lifeline left, and if he could not breathe the air from her lungs, he could not breathe at all. He kissed her as hard as he could, trying to mean it, but all he could think of was that her shoulders were too thin, and she did not smell like smoke and whiskey, and she was not Sean.
His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes.
They pulled away immediately, and Ariadna kissed him on the temple instead.
“I’ve had nearly ten months with you, and I think that’s more than my fair share,” she said, her voice barely a wisp of air against his ear.
It sounded like a farewell. Viggo rubbed at his eyes. “He reads my poems,” he said, and he took a long, shuddering breath. “What the hell do I do, Ariadna?”
“Well,” she said. “That’s easy.”
“What?”
“Call him, Viggo. Go to him. You can’t wait anymore.”
***
He wanted to throw away the box. That cardboard box of Viggo’s works and words, the heart-pieces that Sean had always treasured—he had wanted to pick it up and throw it in the trash. Perhaps he could ask the hotel staff for their incinerator, so he could burn every single book. Every single CD. Maybe if he watched each page turn to ash, he could forget what he saw. He could stop feeling.
But he opened the flap, and he knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t read them either.
There was an envelope lying on top of the books. Sean dropped down to sit on the floor, opening it and turning it upside down. A cascade of Polaroids dropped to the ground.
He picked up the first one.
Viggo still hadn’t seen Saxony-Anhalt, as far as Sean knew; Sean never did ask him along. Instead, he had a single memory—the image of Viggo, half-smiling in his sleep, his hand clenched around the sheet like a child.
Sean closed his eyes and dropped the rest of the pile back into the envelope, and dropped that back into the box. He folded his arms and his head fell onto them. He wished at the moment that he could crawl into the box and live there. With the smell of well-made paper and ink and binding surrounded him, the symbols of Viggo and Viggo’s heart. It was the closest he could come to the real thing; he knew that now.
There was no anger left in him, because he knew that Viggo was right. There was no reason that Viggo would have to tell him anything, and it was only Sean’s own folly.
Why would Viggo have waited, when he didn’t even know there was something worth waiting for?
His phone rang. Sean looked at the screen, and flinched away at the name. There was no reason for Viggo to call him except to reject him even more or to try to re-establish their friendship. Sean wanted the latter—needed it, in fact—but not now. Not now, with his nerves scraped raw and laid open for the cold to bite at and to set in. Now, he would rather live in the past and in fantasies, so he could laugh at himself and his own foolish wishes. Laughing at himself was far less painful than to be laughed at by Viggo.
He waited for the ringing to end before texting his agent to get him a ticket back to London. There wasn’t any reason for him to go back; his girls would be spending Christmas separately with their mothers and their mothers’ extended families, and Sean would only have his cold, empty house and his dead garden to return to.
(Was that why he came here, so close to Christmas? The simple wish to not be alone? He was such a fucking pathetic bastard, if that was the case.)
The phone rang again. This time, Sean ended the call. His hand trembled.
He clenched it into a fist, and told himself that it was better this way. He had always been crap at relationships anyway. He would’ve just ruined whatever friendship they had left.
part 8: 1 February 2012
I was going to write a new fic for Sean's birthday, but holy god I suddenly had no time at all the past two days sdfsdgfdg. I haven't even been online lately. I thought I had a day more holy shit. So instead, I'll just post the next part of cartographies of silence early. I know, I know, it's a damn cop-out, but I promise I'll write an extra fic eventually to make up for it.
Also, yeah, that's /10 instead of /9. :3
cartographies of silence
- PART 7/10: 18 December 2011
Characters/Pairing: Sean Bean/Viggo Mortensen, Viggo Mortensen/Ariadna Gil
Rating: PG
Words: 1895
Disclaimer: None of this happened. Product of my imagination!
Summary:
31_days, April 19: heart sweating through my body. What happens when there is only one hand reaching out for that damn happy ending?part 6: April 2011, 18 December 2011
18 December 2011
Viggo had moved towards the door. He could hear Sean’s footsteps as they slowly faded. He leaned his forehead against it, eyes closed. It was ridiculous. He should move away from the door and change. There was a party he should go to; they had completed a successful run of the show. Viggo was one of the only two actors; he had to go.
He had to.
“I remember when we first started,” Ariadna spoke suddenly. Viggo had almost forgotten that she was there—what did that make him as a boyfriend? If he was even that in the first place. “You showed me the box in your suitcase, and told me that a piece of your heart is already lost to you, but you can try to give me the rest. That’s not true, is it?”
“Ari-”
“Shh, let me finish,” Ariadna said, and she had moved forward, dropping her head between his shoulderblades, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Part of my heart will always belong to David; I can’t help it, because he’s the father of my children. But David and I- we were slowly falling apart when Alatriste came along, and there you were. I have never told you this, have I?”
“No,” Viggo said, his own voice soft. It was as if both of them were afraid of raising their voices; as if the residue of his and Sean’s shouts and growls had lodged themselves into the walls and should not be disturbed.
“There you were,” she repeated. “I love you, you know. It’s impossible not to. But…you can’t even give me a single piece of your heart, can you? It’s all gone.”
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. There was nothing else he could say, and he was falling because his legs couldn’t hold him out anymore. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
Ariadna said nothing. She only tugged him on the shoulder until he was turning around, pulling him close as he rocked back and forth. It was foolish, that he was over fifty and he was acting like a teenager with his heart broken for the first time, weeping in the dressing room. He clutched onto her with all of the desperation of a lost child. Like a man who had the foundations of his world rocked and he couldn’t find his equilibrium.
“I should be angry,” Ariadna said, and her hair was slowly stroking through his hair. She was speaking because she had to, he knew that. Like him, Ariadna was a verbal person.
“I was, you know, when he came in. I couldn’t help it, really. The moment he was there your eyes just went to him, and I disappeared completely from your sight. I thought it wasn’t fair, that he owned so much of you and he doesn’t even recognise it. He’s a usurper trying to take my rightful place, I thought,” she giggled a little at that. “But I realised that I got our positions completely wrong.”
She stroked a thumb against his temple. He pulled away from her, and wiped at his eyes. “How long have you been in love with him, Viggo?”
“I don’t know,” Viggo said, and he hiccupped a little. “I can’t figure out whether it started when I first saw him, or if it was a few months later.”
Ariadna laughed a little at that, and it sounded genuine. “When was that? Ten, twelve years ago?”
“Nineteen ninety-nine,” Viggo said, and he smiled a little lopsidedly. “Twelve years ago.”
He looked at her for a moment, and he couldn’t help it. He had to try. Had to lean in and press his lips to hers. They kissed slowly, with her hands cupping against his face and his clutching onto her shoulders. He kissed her like she was his one lifeline left, and if he could not breathe the air from her lungs, he could not breathe at all. He kissed her as hard as he could, trying to mean it, but all he could think of was that her shoulders were too thin, and she did not smell like smoke and whiskey, and she was not Sean.
His breath hitched, and he closed his eyes.
They pulled away immediately, and Ariadna kissed him on the temple instead.
“I’ve had nearly ten months with you, and I think that’s more than my fair share,” she said, her voice barely a wisp of air against his ear.
It sounded like a farewell. Viggo rubbed at his eyes. “He reads my poems,” he said, and he took a long, shuddering breath. “What the hell do I do, Ariadna?”
“Well,” she said. “That’s easy.”
“What?”
“Call him, Viggo. Go to him. You can’t wait anymore.”
***
He wanted to throw away the box. That cardboard box of Viggo’s works and words, the heart-pieces that Sean had always treasured—he had wanted to pick it up and throw it in the trash. Perhaps he could ask the hotel staff for their incinerator, so he could burn every single book. Every single CD. Maybe if he watched each page turn to ash, he could forget what he saw. He could stop feeling.
But he opened the flap, and he knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t read them either.
There was an envelope lying on top of the books. Sean dropped down to sit on the floor, opening it and turning it upside down. A cascade of Polaroids dropped to the ground.
He picked up the first one.
Vig,
I’m in this place named Saxony-Anhalt. I’m filming, and I’ve got no clue how good the film will be and I don’t care. Christ, Vig, everything here is gorgeous beyond belief. It makes the Buckingham Palace look like a toilet shed. Wish you’re here. You’d have found the right words and wrote poems about this place, and take better pictures.
I miss you, you daft, crazy bastard. You know they’re having me present to you the Empire Icon award? Wonder who gave them the idea.
Sean
Vig,
Looks like some kind of fairytale castle, doesn’t it? It’s kind of a crime, the way we’re using these places. The film’s dark and gory and bloody – yeah, I die during it, so you can get your jokes out of the way now – but the scenery’s damn beautiful in the morning and early afternoon. It’s summer now, so there’s a whole bunch of flowers blooming in the gardens. If not for London’s shit weather, I’d ask for cuttings.
I can’t fucking stop thinking about you. Don’t know if it’s because I’m here or something else, but wherever I turn, I keep seeing things that you’ll appreciate. I’ve even started thinking like you now, getting all concerned with camera angles and compositions and artistry and all that. I don’t know how you do it, turning a swimming pool into a piece of art while just a camera and light. Yeah, I’ve seen those. Don’t you dare laugh. It’s a good book. It’s good art.
You’ve got to come here some day. I keep seeing phantoms of you around the corner of my eyes. Are you haunting me or something? That must be the reason why I’m not thinking of Gina at all, and I keep thinking about you. Fucking odd, that.
Christ, I’m glad you’re never going to see any of these.
Yours,
Sean
Vig,
Shut up, you wanker. I can already hear you laughing. Yeah, it’s a postcard, so what? My puny little Polaroid camera can’t grab every detail, and it looks like absolute shite in black and white. Believe me, I tried. So I bought a postcard.
They call this the Town Hall, but look, the Town Hall of Sheffield is gorgeous and old and it’s got a history that I’m damn proud of it, but it still can’t compare to this. Just look at the topmost windows. I can’t find a postcard that shows every detail, but you can climb all the way up and look at them. I’m no good with words, so you have to come and see it for yourself. You have to, because when I saw it, I thought that it’ll be a damn shame if you never see it. The windows are stained glass, and they make use of colours in a way that makes me glad I never did become a painter, because I won’t ever be able to make something this beautiful.
I don’t finish filming even after the Awards are done; think we’re going to stretch into June. I’m going to ask you to come with you after, and yeah, I’m writing it down now so I won’t forget. I want to see your face when you see these beauties.I think I just want to see your face. I kind of miss it, as nonsense as that sounds.
You better have some spare time.
Always yours,
Sean
Viggo still hadn’t seen Saxony-Anhalt, as far as Sean knew; Sean never did ask him along. Instead, he had a single memory—the image of Viggo, half-smiling in his sleep, his hand clenched around the sheet like a child.
Sean closed his eyes and dropped the rest of the pile back into the envelope, and dropped that back into the box. He folded his arms and his head fell onto them. He wished at the moment that he could crawl into the box and live there. With the smell of well-made paper and ink and binding surrounded him, the symbols of Viggo and Viggo’s heart. It was the closest he could come to the real thing; he knew that now.
There was no anger left in him, because he knew that Viggo was right. There was no reason that Viggo would have to tell him anything, and it was only Sean’s own folly.
Why would Viggo have waited, when he didn’t even know there was something worth waiting for?
His phone rang. Sean looked at the screen, and flinched away at the name. There was no reason for Viggo to call him except to reject him even more or to try to re-establish their friendship. Sean wanted the latter—needed it, in fact—but not now. Not now, with his nerves scraped raw and laid open for the cold to bite at and to set in. Now, he would rather live in the past and in fantasies, so he could laugh at himself and his own foolish wishes. Laughing at himself was far less painful than to be laughed at by Viggo.
He waited for the ringing to end before texting his agent to get him a ticket back to London. There wasn’t any reason for him to go back; his girls would be spending Christmas separately with their mothers and their mothers’ extended families, and Sean would only have his cold, empty house and his dead garden to return to.
(Was that why he came here, so close to Christmas? The simple wish to not be alone? He was such a fucking pathetic bastard, if that was the case.)
The phone rang again. This time, Sean ended the call. His hand trembled.
He clenched it into a fist, and told himself that it was better this way. He had always been crap at relationships anyway. He would’ve just ruined whatever friendship they had left.
part 8: 1 February 2012
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Actually I could bang their heads together until these daft buggers come to their senses.
It’s just too sad and all that because they don’t talk.
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Thank you ♥
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Oh lordy, it will be so wonderful when they can open their boxes together... and share what's inside for the rest of their days....
I am SO looking forward to that - please God let it be....
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Thank you for commenting ♥ (And I will read more of your stuff soon, I promise this!)
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Thank you!
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It was as if both of them were afraid of raising their voices; as if the residue of his and Sean’s shouts and growls had lodged themselves into the walls and should not be disturbed. yes, as if the walls have eyes and ears and bear witness. even the walls would be snarking about their obtuse-ness..
sean couldn't burn the contents of his box of memories. that's telling.
and viggo did call. twice so far. after their 'fight' i was worried about that. i hope he badgers sean all night or however long it takes for him to answer... and hopefully he doesn't know how to block calls.
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Sean is reportedly hopeless with technology, so there is hope there, and yes- his inaiblity to burn the box is very telling. It's just a little way more now, I think.
Thank you for commenting ♥
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For some reason, even if things have worsened (although we're not at rock bottom ... yet?), this gives me a sense of hope.
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There is still hope, so you're not wrong there. Thank you for the comment ♥
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Why would Viggo have waited, when he didn’t even know there was something worth waiting for? Well, quite and that is the key.
Thank goodness he couldn't bring himself to burn the box, but is he really going to fly away without speaking to Viggo? If he does, I hope that Viggo opursues him to London.
I do like Ariadna here and how understanding she is in spite of her own sadness.
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I can't say what will happen next, but it will come to a (I hope) satisfactory conclusion. Thank you ♥
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your newly emboldened Viggo is phoning as he rides up in the lift to Sean's floor.
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Thank you, Alex ♥
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Such beautiful writing, though almost every sentence hurts, but I love every word of it. great, great job!
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I'm so, so glad you like her. I'm being really self-indulgent with the supporting characters in this series, simply because I enjoy writing them, so it's really good to hear that other people enjoy them as well. As for the rest... well, you really just have to read on. :3
Thank you so much ♥♥
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Love how she phrased that, how it’s a tiny bit of an accusation, but that’s hidden behind the almost lyrical quality of the way she put it.
They kissed slowly, with her hands cupping against his face and his clutching onto her shoulders. He kissed her like she was his one lifeline left,
I love the physicality of this, how it seems like he needs that kiss like a kiss of life, like something that tells him he doesn’t _have_ to get lost in his head and in his regret now. (Also, as I brought up the comparison with my Sport of Kings Orlando already, I find it utterly fascinating how the parallels continue, down to almost similar phrasing here in that following paragraph when Viggo compares her to Sean and finds her lacking. Soulmates, your Vig and my Orlando :))
I can’t fucking stop thinking about you. Don’t know if it’s because I’m here or something else,
Something else, Sean. Something else.
He wished at the moment that he could crawl into the box and live there. With the smell of well-made paper and ink and binding surrounded him, the symbols of Viggo and Viggo’s heart. It was the closest he could come to the real thing; he knew that now.
I love how this is just the littlest bit totally melodramatic. Not that I don’t find it beautifully put, but how interesting is it that it’s Sean who nearly drowns himself in drama here (that sounds way harsher than I meant it to sound…), not Viggo. Poor darling, indeed.
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I think I replied to you about how I don't like villianising women in slash fics or villianising RPF characters in general, but at the same time I don't like making them into saints either. Ariadna is behaving in a way that's almost saint-like and I'm just happy you noticed the accusation there, because she is hurt, she is accusing, and despite how kind she's being, she can't help but just throw out that sting.
Soulmates, your Vig and my Orlando :))
PLATONIC, PLATONIC. IN BONDING OVER SEAN!!!!
how interesting is it that it’s Sean who nearly drowns himself in drama here (that sounds way harsher than I meant it to sound…), not Viggo
The way I see it, they're in different stages of 'attempting to move on' here. For Sean, he's already gone past the stage Viggo is right now in, the 'find someone else and try to love them so I don't think about how in love I am with my best friend' stage. Sean has already divorced Gina, he knows it doesn't work, and actually reaching out for Viggo is the last thing he knows how to do. Viggo, on the other hand, is only halfway through that attempt (with Ariadna) and he has a bit more hope and energy left than Sean at this point, I think.
I have to say though, I make it sound horrible, but I'm not attempting to have the women as tools here. >_>
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That makes perfect sense. Still, I find it really interesting that Sean _sounds_ so hm melodramatic (though that sounds mean, I don't mean it like that :)) here. Because usually it's more Viggo's thing to be dramatic - maybe it's something that comes from being-friends-with-words, how he is; if you're feeling miserable / sorry for yourself then, that sort of takes over and you end up sounding just that slight bit over the top maybe. I'm not phrasing this very well... All I'M trying to say is that I found it really interesting that it's SEAN here who sounds like that, and that (as per usual :)) I am far more forgiving when it's Sean :D.
I have to say though, I make it sound horrible, but I'm not attempting to have the women as tools here. >_>
You don't, definitely not. In fact, it's pretty fascinating that you avoided that when it would have been so dangerously easy to turn them into tools / villians here, because they are the ones "in the way", you know. I kinda love that about your writing, esp. of Sean's wives, but of other women as well.
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Quite frankly, though I like to say that I do it because I feel some ethical duty to not misrepresent people in real life, it's simply because I get incredibly uncomfortable when I see any sort of character bashing in fics, especially of women. It just seems really strange to me. And at the same time there's also the feeling that if you have to put down someone's 'canonical' partner in order to justify your ship, then your ship isn't very justifiable in the first time, is it? =X
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