Mea Culpa

Mea Culpa 7/?

by Imogen

disclaimers/warnings: see previous parts

thanks to: Gwen, Lainey Alexander & Eruthiadwen for all their
encouragement, comments & help

Hope you enjoy it!

Sorry for the long delay, lots of RL issues.


Chapter 7


*beep*

"Dr. McCoy! Doctor! He's coming round!"

"About time. All right, stand back. Don't crowd him."

**
*

"Give him some space, keep checking his vitals."

*beep*

"Come on Orlando, don't quit on me now, just open your eyes."

*beep*

"Orlando?"

*beep*

"…Orlando? Orlando can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand?"

Whose voice was that? He didn't recognise it…where was he?
Everything was too bright, too noisy, it hurt his eyes…no not just
his eyes, everything hurt.

"It's going to be ok Orlando, just try and relax, we're going to
take care of you." The voice was soothing, quiet. He felt himself
relax momentarily.

Slowly his eyes seemed to focus as he took in a woman standing over
him. Was she an angel? Strange looking angel in a white coat and
nametag. Did they have nametags in heaven…was he in heaven…or hell?
Was his dad here? He missed him so much, would he be able to see him
again? If it was Hell, was this his punishment…it couldn't be
heaven, surely, they didn't have pain in heaven did they?

His mind struggled to piece together the disjointed memories. The
last thing he remembered was that he'd been on the bathroom floor,
then everything had gone black; there was nothing after, just…peace,
stillness. There was no anger, no words. He had felt truly free, at
peace for the first time in years. Now that peace was gone, and he
couldn't understand why. He wanted to ask a thousand questions but
his mouth wouldn't work, and he felt his eyes itch.

He longed to be part of the peaceful oblivion again and desperately
tried to reclaim it, his eyes flicking shut, before a hand gently
caught his arm

"Oh no you don't, mister. You're staying with us this time. Open
your eyes Orlando, you're home." Reluctantly the eyes parted again.

"That's better. You've proved a very stubborn patient Orlando.
Don't worry about your eyes, they aren't used to light yet. It'll
take them a bit of time to adjust; I'll get one of the nurses to
give you something to help. They should sort themselves out within
the next few hours."

"Wh-where am I? What's happening?"

"St. Mary's Memorial Hospital. I'm Dr. McCoy, I've been overseeing
your progress for the past few days."

"Days? What's happened, why am I here-" he felt a sense of panic
rise within him. This didn't make any sense.

"Slow down Orlando, I assure you I'll try to answer all your
questions, but you must relax, your body is exhausted after the
ordeal it's been through. You've been here three days Orlando, well
almost four, if you count today and you've been unconscious the
entire time, which explains why you don't know what's going on. We
were beginning to wonder if you were going to actually wake up at
all, so this is definitely good news," she smiled kindly. He felt
marginally soothed by this.

"I don't, I mean, where…who…?" As Orlando desperately tried to work
through the layers of haze and muddle in his brain, his eyes tried
to adjust to the hospital lights. His throat was dry.

"It's ok Orlando, I realise this must be confusing for you. Just
try not to move too much, your body's still in shock."

Confusing? This was beyond confusing, beyond painful. He desperately
tried to sift through the myriad of images assaulting his brain.
There were so many images, flashes of things as they all formed
together in a rather disjointed fragmented memory. He remembered the
bathroom; he spent a long time in there. Mark…Mark had been and
gone, he remembered the bruises, the snarls and cold laughter, had
he laughed like that? There was something else though. Something
different about this one. Mark had been different; something had
changed. Something must've happened. He saw himself on the bathroom
floor…was he crying?

He remembered pain, different from the kind he was feeling now, such
a lot of pain, he'd wanted top iop it, reached blindly for a bottle;
he couldn't remember what it was. He'd probably taken one too many.
They hadn't worked; the pain still remained, still clung to him. The
painkillers hadn't stopped it. He'd taken more, a desperate act to
soothe the pain.

He remembered the knife, how smooth and cold it was, how it had
glinted invitingly. He hadn't wanted to, but if he could just turn
his pain outwards, give it a physical manifestation. Anything was
better than the current pain he was in. The relief of feeling the
blade against his skin…then the tablets, it'd been too much. Perhaps
he\lannlanned it after all; maybe in his subconscious he knew it was
the only way out, the only true way.

Memories of that night, unwanted and unbidden, came flooding back,
almost choking him. The feelings of exhaustion and despair, loss and
terror whirled in his brain. He'd tried to kill himself, wanted to.
He remembered being on the floor, and then…peace, nothing. What had
happened? He wasn't dead, everything hurt too much, too bright, too
vivid to be an afterlife.

Dr. McCoy let a smile touch her lips, albeit a sad one. "What do you
remember?"

"I…I…was on the floor, in my bathroom and then I just felt,
peaceful. Everything had hurt so much, I didn't want to…I just
wanted it to stop!" burst from Orlando, who immediately began dry
coughing, his throat irritated from being unused. There was no
point in lying to her, she probably knew what he'd tried to do, seen
it.

"It's alright Orlando. No one's blaming or judging you. I just want
you to get well, so do your friends."

"Friends?!" He felt his heart soar and then crash. They couldn't
possibly be here, not now, not after everything he'd put them
through.

"Yes, Dominic Monaghan and Elijah Wood. Mr. Monaghan found you and
rang the ambulance; Mr. Wood came with you both. If they'd found you
just a few minutes later, you wouldn't have made it," she answered
gravely. "They've been here since you were brought in, three days
ago."

Oh God, they must hate him! He would never be able to make things
right between his friends. All he'd wanted to do was protect them,
keep them safe from Mark, and stop the hurt. Dom and Lij would never
forgive him. It wasn't supposed to happen like this; he wasn't
meant to survive, he didn't deserve to live. He considered begging
the doctor to send Elijah and Dom away, but the more alert side of
his brain reasoned that he might as well let them reject him now and
get it over with.

He wanted to go back to England, to go home. Maybe America had been
a home to him once, but too many things had happened. He couldn't
stand anyone discovering what had happened, how he'd fallen. He
wanted to be with his mum and Sam. Bast, God he missed him, if not
his dress sense, not to mention Alex and Gabriel. God he even missed
Dan, that's how badly he missed home.

"They've been beside themselves with worry. I assume you'd like to
see them. Don't worry, I've told them they shouldn't stay for too
long. I don't want you to overexert yourself, you're not out of the
woods yet Orlando," she offered with a somewhat comforting smile,
but with an obvious warning in them.

Orlando nodded listlessly. Dr. McCoy stepped outside the room for a
few moments, and Orlando felt his heart begin to pound. If only he
could freeze time, then Dom and Elijah couldn't come through the
door. How was he ever supposed to face his friends again, or anyone
else for that matter, after what had happened, what they had seen?
You weren't supposed to quit because things got too tough; you
fought and kept going and he couldn't do that. How utterly pathetic.

"Orli?" came a quiet voice. Elijah. So out of place and seemingly
stripped of emotion. Dom was standing next to him, a silent tower of
support.

The scene was so familiar, with Elijah and Dominic supporting each
other. He should've been by their side, not lying in the bed sick
and defiled. Finding he couldn't meet their eyes, not wanting to see
the damage he must've done to his friends, Orlando kept his eyes
firon ton the blanket, his entire body lying prone on the bed. He
just wanted them to leave. Why were they here, could they not see
how weak he was?

He guessed they'd be trying to offer each other support, as they
always did. No other words had been spoken since Elijah's soft
exploration of his name…he'd noticed the use of his nickname. It was
so long since he'd heard it and it sounded strange. Mark never
called him Orli, Little Brother, OB or Elf Boy, none of the stupid
nicknames that had been given him. He'd always been Orlando, and a
long time ago that would have bothered him, but that's who he was
He He couldn't be Orli or Elf Boy anymore, all that innocence had
long been stripped away. Orlando was solely Mark's creation; he
should really be proud of himself.

How would he have reacted if Dominic or Elijah tried to kill
themselves? He didn't want to imagine that, there were so many
options he could've taken, but no, he had to take the most dramatic,
the most attention grabbing one … `look at me, I'm suffering'. He
should've just left, not told anyone. That would've kept Dom and
Elijah safe. No…that wouldn't have worked; Mark would not have
accepted Dom and Lij not knowing where Orlando was.

God there were no easy answers. Run away and Dom and Lij were still
in danger, stay and he was in danger…die and everyone's safe. It
still sounded pathetic in his ears. Oh poor Orli, eone one hates
him, Mark doesn't love him, Viggo doesn't, oh boo-hoo, play the
tragic martyr, die and everyone will remember, claim how brave you
were, how selflessat aat a lie. Death had been an escape, end of
story. He should've got a grip. It was pathetic at his age that he'd
become a quivering wreck just because of one…well two men. No wonder
Mark hated him.

He could give a speech to thousands of people, or act on some of the
biggest movies ever, and yet he couldn't control his boyfriend,
couldn't face his friends. Surely he hadn't always been this weak,
this clingy? What ever happened to the independent fun loving Orli?
He'd never have let this happen. He was too full of confidence, he'd
cared about himself, believed in himself. Where had that gone, and
more to the point, when?

Elijah and Dom stood at the far end of the room. It seemed so clean
and sterile, so - white. Like a mental ward. Except Orlando wasn't
mad, there was no need for a straightjacket or padded walls, well
not yet anyway. Was this the 'suicide watch' unit? Dom felt Elijah
shudder against him. No wonder people had to be watched closely in
this place. He couldn't remember a worse place. Not even the
public toilets back in England were this bad.

Finally their vision was directed towards Orlando. He was awake, but
his head lay listlessly against the pillow, his whole body turned
away from them. Perhaps this was a bad idea; maybe Orlando needed
some space, Dom considered. He couldn't even begin to imagine what
thoughts were circling in Orlando's head at the moment. Dr. McCoy
suddenlyeareeared at the door, and indicted for them to move
forward. Hesitantly they obeyed. Orlando didn't move. Surely he
knew they were there?

"Thank God you're awake!" blurted Elijah, sounding unnaturally
shaky.

There was no reply to his outburst. Dom didn't know what to say and
Orlando wasn't talking, wasn't even looking at them. There was a
terrible silence between the three men. Dom and Elijah hovered,
neither quite sure where to sit, or stand.

"We're gonna make sure you get better Orli, the doctors say you can
go in a few days, they're gonna move you to another ward then we can
get you, can get you out of here. We'll take you with us; have some
fun…go somewhere different. It's up to you what we do; just say the
word… You know we still love you, right?" the speech was rambled,
shaky with a slight hesitation at the end. Frankly he feared what
Orlando's response would be. Elijah hadn't paused for breath, but it
was better than silence.

"We meant what we said Orlando. We will be there for you. None of
this was your fault. We don't hate you or blame you, we never did
and never will," Dom whispered, beginning to reach out to touch
Orlando and then pulling back at the last moment. Touch wasn't
really what Orlando needed right now.

As Dr. McCoy stood in the corner, she saw the friends trying to
reach Orlando, if only metaphorically. It wasn't working. She'd seen
such reons ons before, not as common as anger, which was truthfully
what she'd been expecting. Orlando was closing himself off, no doubt
convincing himself he had no need for help and support, or possibly
was undeserving. From what she understood, it seemed Orlando had
been with this partner, Mark, for about four years. Not the longest
period she'd dealt with but still too long. One day in an abusive
relationship was too long.

Sometimes she loathed her profession, to see such heartbreak on a
day-to-day basis. But to be reminded of the evil that could awaken
in people, the cruelty they were capable of, it saddened and
sickened her. When a child was diagnosed with cancer, it was
heartbreaking, but no one's fault, there was no target of blame.
But when she was faced with someone who had been abused for years,
by someone who claimed to love them…she struggled to remember that
there was good in the world.

She'd dealt with child rape cases, murders, homophobic attacks, hate
crime, killing sprees – domestic abuse was just one angle of how
society could fall to such malevolent depths. To see Orlando brought
in, face the glaring obvious fact he's tried to kill himself then to
slowly piece together the events leading up to it, she had to wonder
if there was any point to her job. She saved people, saved and
mended their bodies but was that possible when they were so content
to rip out each other's hearts and souls?

Even as the thoughts formed in her brain she knew why she carried
on. It was for people like Orlando, for the victims. It was people
like Elijah and Dominic who restored her faith, to see their tender
and unwavering devotion to their friend, to see Mr. Mortensen's
heart breaking as he sat, pouring his heart out to the unconscious
man. To see a family, if not a blood one, band together in the face
of adversity, gave her some glimmer of hope. True, humans could be
the most vicious depraved creatures on earth, but just occasionally
you'd get a glimpse of exactly what an `angel without wings' was
like.

She noticed Orlando take a deep shuddering breath; he still hadn't
faced his friends.

"Orli? This is gonna be alright, we're going to take care of you…
get your through this, no matter how long it takes. Orli? Aren't
you going to look at us?" Elijah pleaded. Orlando seemed to shudder
a little and further buried his head into the pillow, but again made
no sounds.

Viggo he could handle, Dom he could handle, Christ he could even
handle Mark right now, he had no reservations in what actions he
would direct towards Mark.

But now with Orlando…how do you react to your best friend trying to
kill himself? Elijah had no idea what to say to Orlando, everything
seemed false or inappropriate. Mentioning Viggo was out of the
question, Orlando's family wasn't a good idea either, the abuse
couldn't be touched on. What the hell was he supposed to say, how
could he say anything that wasn't going to make this worse? He'd
been told more than once (usually by Dom) that he was suffering from
a chronic case of foot-in-mouth syndrome and he couldn't hurt
Orlando, he wouldn't.

What could he say…health – no, work? Pleasantries? Elijah didn't
believe in talking about the weather, as safe a topic as it was, he
really couldn't give a fuck if there was a hurricane outside. He
wasn't angry, not with Orlando but he wasn't sure how much more of
the silent treatment he could take.

If Orlando cried or yelled he could deal with that, knew how to
react, he was prepared for that, but this silence was unnerving.
Orlando just wasn't a silent person. That didn't mean he was a
chatterbox, Elijah himself held that privilege, but he just
communicated with you, whether by words his body language, his
gestures, even his eyes spoke volumes. You knew where you stood,
but now he couldn't read Orlando and that hurt him.

If nothing else, you always knew where you stood with Orlando.
Theas nas no hiding, no concealing – or rather there hadn't been
before Mark, before the…

He wanted to yell at Orlando, shake him for putting himself Dom Dom
through that. The image of Orlando lying on the floor could never be
forgotten, the memory branded onto his mind. He wanted to force
Orlando to look at them, to make him cry, make him admit and accept
what had happened. Why wouldn't he look at them? Was it that hard
to face people who loved you? He wanted to understand, he really did
and to an extent he did. He'd lived through it, seen the injuries,
seen Orlando slowly become introverted, scared.

It was like one of those god-awful detective movies, where you knew
what had happened, all the clues were there and you just couldn't
quite piece them together. Seeing the last four years like a film
reel in his mind. Should he really be surprised his friend had gone
to such desperate lengths? God he hated hindsight.

"Orlando, can you just look at us? Please? Just for a moment, we're
worried about you," Elijah sighed; it was no good.

At that moment Dr. McCoy stepped forward and Elijah took the hint
for once. He looked at Dom for a moment then back at Orlando. There
didn't seem to be much more he could say. "I'm going to go now
Orlando, ok? Just for a smoke or something. God you'd kill me if you
knew how much I'd smoked…I won't be long, I will come back Orli," he
promised as he hesitantly patted Orlando's shoulder.

As he brushed by Dom, he was sure he saw tears in Elijah's eyes.
Through Elijah's valiant effort at conversation he remained mostly
silent. What was he supposed to say to make this better? How on
earth could he reassure Orlando?

"Ok, I never thought I'd have to admit this, but he's right, about
everything Orlando. Well…not about Elvis being better than the
Beatles obviously, cause that's just plain wrong but about us being
there for you." He took a pause, this wasn't coming out how he
intended. This wasn't working, why couldn't he say anything right?
He'd never had any problem talking to Orli, the man was like a
brother to him, and now he couldn't offer the comfort and
reassurance Orlando desperately needed without sounding like a total
oaf.

"Look…I know you don't want to see anyone right now and that's ok, I
can understand that, I'm not blaming you, and I don't hate you for
that, so don't think that. And we don't hate you either. Yes you
scared the hell out of me but I don't hate you, nor does Elijah. I'm
not mad,nevenever have been. Why would you think we wouldn't?"

Orlando shifted slightly as if poised to move, but nothing came of
it. "You can't love me…not now. You…Mark, he…" Orlando whispered,
clutching the pillow further to his head, his voice sounding raspy.

"Shhh. You don't have to tell me anything Orli. I…we know, both me
and Lij. Dr. McCoy told us everything, about the rapes and we don't
care," he whispered soothingly.

Orlando suddenly went rigid, and slowly turned to Dom, his eyes wide
in horror. "…no… but, I didn't… he…" Orlando found he couldn't form
a sentence and felt the tears prick his eyes at the shame of his
secret being revealed, the whole dirty sordid truth of his abuse.
He'd hoped to keep at least that bit from his friend, have some last
remaining semblance of dignity but clearly the gods weren't in a
merciful mood.

"Orlando, I'd never, ever blame you for something like that, no one
would, and if they did they're a sick fuck who doesn't deserve you
as a friend! It's changed nothing, you're still my best friend, my
family, and you always will be. I meant it when I said me anj
lj
love you. We. Love You. That love's unconditional Orli." He swore as
he looked directly at him, but Orlando's eyes remained fixated on
his blanket, but it was obvious tears were rolling down his cheeks.
Dom slid into the chair against the hospital bed and took Orlando's
hand in his.

"Nothing's changed Orli, nothing that matters. You're still Orlando
Bloom, amazing actor and heartthrob extraordinaire, you're still my
brother, mine and Lij's, the Fellowship still loves you, your
friends and family all love you, that's never going to change. The
only thing that's going to change is someone getting a much more
bloody gruesome death than we'd originally planned. People admire
you Orlando, they really do. I do. Look Orli…I…if you're looking for
someone to blame you, I'm not him, I love you." His voice took on a
more firm tone but kept his voice soft as he gently squeezed
Orlando's hand.

Dr. McCoy's head popped through the door. "Mr. Monaghan? Dominic…
sorry, time's up. Orlando needs to get some rest."

Nodded he pushed himself up from the chair. "I meant it Orli, every
word," he said, his voice low and deadly serious. He gave Orlando's
hand a last gentle squeeze before he left the room, his feet seeming
to drag on tloorloor.

Dr. McCoy gave him a sympathetic glance as she moved towards
Orlando, clipboard in hand.

Hearing the door click, signalling Dom's departure, Orlando took a
shuddering breath. "Why don't they hate me?" he murmured, not truly
expecting an answer.

"I think Mr. Monaghan gave you the answer. They love you Orlando,
and that means they forgive you."

"Love…doesn't that go hand in hand with hate? Mark loved me, he
hates me. What makes Dom and Elijah different?" he asked, desperate
for answers that no one could provide.

Dr. McCoy didn't respond immediately as she carefully mred red
Orlando's pulse finding it still too weak for her liking.

"I suppose it depends on the person. It seems to me that love, for
Mark at least, goes hand in hand with controlling and violence.
Maybe he was brought up that way. I'm not really the person to ask
I'm afraid, I just deal with the consequences of people's actions,"
she replied as she carefully inspected Orlando who felt rather like
an insect on display, and tried hard not to squirm in
discomfort. "You seem to be recovering reasonably well so far, but
you're not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. I meant what I
said - you have to rest. Your body's been working over time to
compensate for your injuries, even if you don't feel like it. Give
your body a break, let it recover."

"Please, I can't stay here. Can't I just leave? I'm awake now,
doesn't that mean I'm better? I just want to go home," he pleaded,
suddenly feeling very vulnerable and childlike. The problem was,
where was home? Certainly not with Mark. Mark didn't love him or
want him anymore. Dom and Elijah had no doubt had enough of him.
They'd endured more than he'd ever had a right to expect for his
sake, for his pitiful friendship. They said they forgave him, they
understood, but just because they forgave him (which was beyond a
miracle) didn't mean he'd forgiven himself.

"Sorry Orlando but I'm the doctor here and I'm pulling rank. This
bed will be your home until I say otherwise. Look Orlando, I'm going
to level with you. We weren't sure if you were going to make it at
all. Your vitals aren't nearly as strong as I'd like. You've had a
lot of drugs messing up your system. Your internal organs are badly
bruised, and while not enough to affect them permanently, you're
going to be on medication for a while, powerful ones and it won't be
pleasant, I'm afraid. Your arm will need to be in a splint for a few
weeks. The nerve endings have been damaged and some of the bone
shattered by the force of the impact it received. The actual impact
wasn't so severe, but rather the result of several smaller impacts.
I can fix that and the meds will take care of the bruising. That's
not the problem though." Here she paused. She hated doing this; it
made her feel like the Wicked Witch of the West.

"B-but I can't stay here," he interrupted, surrendering all last
vestiges of dignity and a note of begging could be heard in his
voice. "I've only been awake a few hours and I'm getting
claustrophobic, I can't stay here days, let alone weeks. Am I being
punished for trying to end everything? Someone wants me to feel
even more loathsome than I already do," he demanded, or at least it
would have been if it hadn't come out in a broken whisper.

Dr. McCoy looked at him for a moment. "Orlando, just try to calm
down. I want you out of here as much as you do. It'll mI'vI've
done my job properly and I do think you're mostly all right to go
home. I need to do some more tests and talk to my colleagues but
you're not what we consider a Class A emergency. They don't expect
that you'll keep attempting to take your life. It was due
to `extreme external factors' meaning they don't believe you'll
attempt to take your life again, they don't consider you a risk to
yourself. So you'll be able to go home, accompanied I might add, in
a couple of days."

At hearing Dr. McCoy's words he didn't to know whether to cry or
laugh, maybe he should do both. A horrible thought hit him, she'd
said `home'. Home…we could go , bu, but where was home exactly? Not
the home, the life he's shared with Mark, certainly. Mark would
never take him back, not now and he didn't think he could go back
even if Mark let him. He would have to start again, rebuild his
life; maybe moving away wouldn't be so bad. He missed England, or
perhaps Ireland would be nice. It didn't matter where really; he
was just so tired, so exhausted. Dr. McCoy seemed to have left
without his realising as he felt himself drift off again.

****

Viggo tried very hard not to glare at the figure that was currently,
rather unnecessarily and repeatedly prodding him in the back. "Stop
being such a wiener and go in!" hissed Elijah. "You've been with him
before. He's asleep now anyway. Why won't you just go in?" he
demanded, hands folded across his chest.

Viggo struggled to think of a reasonable excuse. "He could wake up,
I can't risk-"

"You don't seem to risk anything anymore. God Viggo, what's happened
to you? You were never afraid of anything. So you're scared
shitless, so am I. Did you ever think that Orli might actually need
you?"

"Elijah you don't understand! He was unconscious; I could say what I ted.ted. What if he wakes up? How the hell am I supposed to expl why why I'm here?" Yes he wanted to protect and cfor for Orlando, but to
walk in and face Orlando after so many years, he doubted Orlando
would welcome him. After all, he was the cause of Orlando's
suffering. Maybe he could protect Orlando from a distance, make sure
that Mark never got anywhere near Orlando again; keep in contact via
Dom and Elijah, that would be better…

"How about the truth? That Dom called you. Look, forget trying to
protect Orlando ok? It's too late for that. We've all failed to
pro him him but that doesn't mean we can't fix things. He still
loves you Viggo, no matter what's happened. You just need to find a
way to reach him. He thinks no one loves him, that he's unworthy of
love and forgiveness. Mark completely fucked up his mind, Orli needs
you to un-fuck it. Remind him what real love is Viggo," Elijah's
tone was soft, his eyes pleading. "You love him Viggo, use that to
help him." Slowly Elijah's words seemed to make a connection in theep rep recesses of Viggo's brain and he nodded slowly.

Taking a deep breath he slowly opened the door and crept softly to
the bed. He felt a small smile creep over his face as he saw
Orlando sleeping, looking so peaceful. The sleeping face was so
familiar, achingly so. He longed to reach out and caress Orlando's
curls, reach up and pull Orlando into his embrace. He was pleased to
note several machines were gone. He was breng bng by himself, but
that now only alloweggo ggo to focus on Orlando's more external
injuries the cuts and bruises, the broken arm.

Gazing around the room, he chose a delightfully cheap looking
plastic chair and sunk into it, his gaze never leaving Orlando. No
words or heart filled confessions spilled from his lips that night,
he just watched Orlando. The rhythmic breathing becoming almost
hypnotic. For a moment Viggo could almost pretend he was back with
Orlando, spending the night gazing at his lover as he'd done
countless times before. He silently prayed Orlando's dreams were
peaceful, because he wasn't sure that Orlando's life would qualify
as anything but a nightmare. No matter how much support he was
given, Orlando still had to face reality, feel the pain and Viggo
couldn't stop that, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

He'd been so absorbed in his thoughts while gazing at Orlando, that
he felt his eyes prickled in discomfort as the sun's rays began to
peek through the curtains. Had he really watched Orlando through the
whole night? Strange how time became irrelevant when Orlando was
around. Rolling his stiff neck, Viggo reluctantly dragged himself
up, grateful that Orlando had (peacefully?) slept through the night.
Stealing himself to walk away before Orlando woke, he paused for a
moment, reaching out to ghost his hand over Orlando's hair.

"I love you my angel, my Orlando," he whispered, stopping himself
from kissins fos forehead.

Forcing himself to turn away, he stole one last glance of his love
before he began walking to the door. As his hand touched handle, he
heard a rustle.

"V-Viggo?" came an all too familiar voice, shaky and tired but still
as soft and beautiful as ever. His eyes closed momentarily in pain,
in gratitude and fear. There was no way to escape now. Slowly he
turned around to meet a pair of very familiar eyes.

TBC in chapter 8

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