Walk on By VIII
WALK ON BY - VIII
Author: Lottie Lenya
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG (R/NC-17 in later chapters)
Category: AU
Disclaimer: This is fiction, not based in reality - to the best of my knowledge Viggo Mortensen has never lived rough and Orlando Bloom was never part of the Constabulary.
Beta: Ana who continually adds to my reality *g*
A/N - For Amanda ‘cos she makes me laugh like a loon and Lexi who never walks alone
The hospital was busy. It was just after chucking out time. A&E was packed with the usual suspects: the drunk, the stoned, alongside those who were genuinely ill or who just thought they were ill. It was a scene both Orlando and Bicknall had seen many times, it barely impinged on their consciousness. Someone came hurrying towards them; it was George.
‘Alright lad; you look like you dropped a pony and found a tenner.’ Thumping Orlando on the back, he went on. ‘So this is your guv’nor. Young Bicknall isn’t it?’ His brow furrowed. ‘I think I came across you at Hendon didn’t I? Would have been around the time that…’
Orlando ran out of patience. ‘George, what the fuck happened? Come on man, enough of the wittering, get on with it.’
‘Come on Flower, I’ll take you and young Bicknall here up to the IC unit and let the doctor explain the extent of his injuries. Frank’s sitting with him for now, waiting until you got here.’
Bicknall had been listening to George run on with the merest hint of a smile, but he could see that Orlando was reaching the end of his tether.
‘So how did he wind up at Frank’s place?’ He enquired.
‘As far as we can tell, two blokes caught up with him sometime early this morning. The cameras on Hungerford Bridge show him attempting to run from them at around 6am. Well, he takes himself to the Fezzy Hall, artists’ entrance and stays there, for approximately half an hour.’
‘How did you get hold of that information?’ Enquired Bicknall; he was pretty sure he knew the reason but was interested in hearing what he had to say.
‘I may be retired, young man, but I still have plenty of contacts. I remember, well, it would have been around the time that…’
‘Christ George, will you just get to it.’ Orlando was almost jumping up and down with impatience. George fixed him with an icy stare and the protests died on his lips. Bicknall could see why George’s reputation had preceded him back in the days when.
‘The guys caught up with him at the back of Frank’s gaff, strangely enough. Beat him near to a pulp. He’s got several broken ribs, his face is a mess, and, um, his left arm is broken.’ He paused as he tried to remember what else the doctor had said. ‘Oh, he’s suffering from malnutrition and he’s got TB. They’re feeding him drugs intravenously but they don’t seem unduly worried. Ah, here we are, here’s Dr Weybridge…’
Clearly exhausted, the doctor came up to them.
‘Which one of you is Orlando?’ As Orlando raised his hand, he glared at him. ‘Well with friends like you, Mr Morgan certainly doesn’t need enemies.’
To Orlando’s surprise Bicknall interrupted. ‘D S Bloom is not exactly a friend of Mr Moreton’s so do me a favour, don’t start all this fucking bleeding heart liberal bollocks.’ The doctor opened his mouth. ‘Shut up and listen. D S Bloom took pity on the bloke and bought him a few meals, they’re acquaintances, so I suggest you fucking well keep your Guardian reader opinions to yourself.’ Bicknall was on a roll by now. He could shmooze as much as the next man when he needed to, but on this occasion he didn’t, so the doctor was bearing the brunt of his displeasure.
‘Now my kids are sitting at home wondering why their fucking dad isn’t interested in their school work, with a wife who thinks I’m using the job as an excuse not to go to fucking parents’ evening, at a school which is fucking bankrupting me ‘cos we live in the wrong fucking area to get ‘em into a decent fucking state school. I am only interested in the state of this man’s health and I don’t fucking well want your opinion on what D S Bloom should or shouldn’t have done.’
As Orlando seemed to have lost the ability to speak, George cut in.
‘Good man, young Bicknall, couldn’t have put it better meself. Get on with it doc, for fuck’s sake.’
Ten minutes later they were ushered into a quiet corner of the IC unit. Frank was waiting for them.
‘Alright Flower? I’m off now, god only knows what the state of my pumps are gonna be when I get back.’
George and Orlando rolled their eyes; Frank was obsessed with clean pipes and was justly proud of the quality of the beer he sold.
‘Let me just fill you in, I waited to speak to you and there were a couple of uniforms sniffing around but I told ‘em to bugger off.’ Bicknall got out his notebook and nodded at Frank.
‘We were just bottling up and Boffur, me fucking dog went apeshit, barking and scrabbling at the door. I ignored it for a bit but he kept on moaning and whinging, so I got me kosh and went out for a gander.’
‘I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.’ Interrupted Bicknall.
Frank winked at Orlando and George and went on. ‘I gets out there and at first I thought someone had dumped some shit outside me back gate but I looked again and it turned out to be Vic. I got the lads to give me a hand and we carried him in. To be honest there’s nothing of him, coulda managed on me own I reckon.’
Orlando bit his lip and looked down. Once again, George thumped him on the back encouragingly.
‘He was still conscious so the wife rings 999 and I tries to get him to tell me what happened. As near as I can make out, the cunts caught him as he tried to get to the pub. They were in the middle of half killing him, when something disturbed them. He said one of them was gonna have a go at his bits, you know, sexually wotsit him.’
Bicknall’s brows shot up. ‘Are you sure that’s what he said?’
Frank looked offended. ‘Course I’m sure, fucking twat.’ The last said in an undertone. ‘They were arguing over who pulled his kecks down when they were interrupted. Luckily they just kicked him in the guts and didn’t stamp on his noggin! I reckon that’s what they were gonna do.’ Orlando’s already pale face seemed to turn paler. His fingers twitched, and he reached for a cigarette though he knew he couldn’t smoke it. ‘Well he may be a bum but old Vic ain’t a dickhead, he crawled the four hundred odd yards to me gate, took him hours he said, poor old git. And here we are. Now I gotta go, cloudy beer, it’s the curse of the drinking classes and I won’t have it, not in my gaff.’
Frank bustled out, having had a murmured word in his brother’s ear. A nurse came over to where they were standing.
‘No smoking in here sir.’ She said, pointing to the signs.
George glared at her. ‘Yeah, well he’s got shoes on feet but he ain’t walking is he? Fucking hospitals.’ The nurse had seen and heard it all before. ‘So who are you here to see?’ Recognising the police when she saw them, she didn’t bother to ask what they were doing in the IC Unit.
A muttered moan from Viggo’s bed brought Orlando to his side immediately. Sitting in the chair recently vacated by Frank, he took the still dirty hand, nails all caked with dried blood where the thugs had stamped on his fingers, and gently stroked his good arm. Another nurse came over.
‘Are you Orlando?’ she asked. When Orlando nodded she smiled. ‘He’s not good, love. Chin up though, it’s not terminal. He’s seriously undernourished, and his general weakness makes all his other ailments more serious. It might take him longer to heal but with a bit of care he should make a full recovery.’
‘S’all my fault.’ Said Orlando, his guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders. ‘I just thought he was a bit paranoid and didn’t give him a chance to tell me what it all meant.’
The nurse, whose badge proclaimed her to be Staff Nurse Rose Dunsford, brushed this aside. ‘If only, eh? Don’t waste your time feeling guilty; the past is past, nothing you can do about it, and if you don’t mind me saying, it would be rather self indulgent of you anyway. This man needs a friend now more than anything else. We can feed him; give him the drugs he needs but if he doesn’t have the will to get better then he won’t. You concentrate on what you can do, not what you can’t change.’ She glanced at her watch and started. ‘Fuck me, look at the time, 11.45 and not a pot washed. You sit there and talk to him for a bit and I’ll come back shortly.’
The sounds of the busy hospital faded as Orlando just sat, stroking Viggo’s hand and talking to him quietly.
‘Mate, I am so fucking sorry for all this, but I will make it up to you I promise.’
‘Yeah, as long as he gives us the info we need, eh D S Bloom?’ The voice of his D I brought him back to earth with a thud.
Meanwhile, Viggo hovered half way between consciousness and unconsciousness.
TBC
Author: Lottie Lenya
Type: RPS
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating: PG (R/NC-17 in later chapters)
Category: AU
Disclaimer: This is fiction, not based in reality - to the best of my knowledge Viggo Mortensen has never lived rough and Orlando Bloom was never part of the Constabulary.
Beta: Ana who continually adds to my reality *g*
A/N - For Amanda ‘cos she makes me laugh like a loon and Lexi who never walks alone
The hospital was busy. It was just after chucking out time. A&E was packed with the usual suspects: the drunk, the stoned, alongside those who were genuinely ill or who just thought they were ill. It was a scene both Orlando and Bicknall had seen many times, it barely impinged on their consciousness. Someone came hurrying towards them; it was George.
‘Alright lad; you look like you dropped a pony and found a tenner.’ Thumping Orlando on the back, he went on. ‘So this is your guv’nor. Young Bicknall isn’t it?’ His brow furrowed. ‘I think I came across you at Hendon didn’t I? Would have been around the time that…’
Orlando ran out of patience. ‘George, what the fuck happened? Come on man, enough of the wittering, get on with it.’
‘Come on Flower, I’ll take you and young Bicknall here up to the IC unit and let the doctor explain the extent of his injuries. Frank’s sitting with him for now, waiting until you got here.’
Bicknall had been listening to George run on with the merest hint of a smile, but he could see that Orlando was reaching the end of his tether.
‘So how did he wind up at Frank’s place?’ He enquired.
‘As far as we can tell, two blokes caught up with him sometime early this morning. The cameras on Hungerford Bridge show him attempting to run from them at around 6am. Well, he takes himself to the Fezzy Hall, artists’ entrance and stays there, for approximately half an hour.’
‘How did you get hold of that information?’ Enquired Bicknall; he was pretty sure he knew the reason but was interested in hearing what he had to say.
‘I may be retired, young man, but I still have plenty of contacts. I remember, well, it would have been around the time that…’
‘Christ George, will you just get to it.’ Orlando was almost jumping up and down with impatience. George fixed him with an icy stare and the protests died on his lips. Bicknall could see why George’s reputation had preceded him back in the days when.
‘The guys caught up with him at the back of Frank’s gaff, strangely enough. Beat him near to a pulp. He’s got several broken ribs, his face is a mess, and, um, his left arm is broken.’ He paused as he tried to remember what else the doctor had said. ‘Oh, he’s suffering from malnutrition and he’s got TB. They’re feeding him drugs intravenously but they don’t seem unduly worried. Ah, here we are, here’s Dr Weybridge…’
Clearly exhausted, the doctor came up to them.
‘Which one of you is Orlando?’ As Orlando raised his hand, he glared at him. ‘Well with friends like you, Mr Morgan certainly doesn’t need enemies.’
To Orlando’s surprise Bicknall interrupted. ‘D S Bloom is not exactly a friend of Mr Moreton’s so do me a favour, don’t start all this fucking bleeding heart liberal bollocks.’ The doctor opened his mouth. ‘Shut up and listen. D S Bloom took pity on the bloke and bought him a few meals, they’re acquaintances, so I suggest you fucking well keep your Guardian reader opinions to yourself.’ Bicknall was on a roll by now. He could shmooze as much as the next man when he needed to, but on this occasion he didn’t, so the doctor was bearing the brunt of his displeasure.
‘Now my kids are sitting at home wondering why their fucking dad isn’t interested in their school work, with a wife who thinks I’m using the job as an excuse not to go to fucking parents’ evening, at a school which is fucking bankrupting me ‘cos we live in the wrong fucking area to get ‘em into a decent fucking state school. I am only interested in the state of this man’s health and I don’t fucking well want your opinion on what D S Bloom should or shouldn’t have done.’
As Orlando seemed to have lost the ability to speak, George cut in.
‘Good man, young Bicknall, couldn’t have put it better meself. Get on with it doc, for fuck’s sake.’
Ten minutes later they were ushered into a quiet corner of the IC unit. Frank was waiting for them.
‘Alright Flower? I’m off now, god only knows what the state of my pumps are gonna be when I get back.’
George and Orlando rolled their eyes; Frank was obsessed with clean pipes and was justly proud of the quality of the beer he sold.
‘Let me just fill you in, I waited to speak to you and there were a couple of uniforms sniffing around but I told ‘em to bugger off.’ Bicknall got out his notebook and nodded at Frank.
‘We were just bottling up and Boffur, me fucking dog went apeshit, barking and scrabbling at the door. I ignored it for a bit but he kept on moaning and whinging, so I got me kosh and went out for a gander.’
‘I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.’ Interrupted Bicknall.
Frank winked at Orlando and George and went on. ‘I gets out there and at first I thought someone had dumped some shit outside me back gate but I looked again and it turned out to be Vic. I got the lads to give me a hand and we carried him in. To be honest there’s nothing of him, coulda managed on me own I reckon.’
Orlando bit his lip and looked down. Once again, George thumped him on the back encouragingly.
‘He was still conscious so the wife rings 999 and I tries to get him to tell me what happened. As near as I can make out, the cunts caught him as he tried to get to the pub. They were in the middle of half killing him, when something disturbed them. He said one of them was gonna have a go at his bits, you know, sexually wotsit him.’
Bicknall’s brows shot up. ‘Are you sure that’s what he said?’
Frank looked offended. ‘Course I’m sure, fucking twat.’ The last said in an undertone. ‘They were arguing over who pulled his kecks down when they were interrupted. Luckily they just kicked him in the guts and didn’t stamp on his noggin! I reckon that’s what they were gonna do.’ Orlando’s already pale face seemed to turn paler. His fingers twitched, and he reached for a cigarette though he knew he couldn’t smoke it. ‘Well he may be a bum but old Vic ain’t a dickhead, he crawled the four hundred odd yards to me gate, took him hours he said, poor old git. And here we are. Now I gotta go, cloudy beer, it’s the curse of the drinking classes and I won’t have it, not in my gaff.’
Frank bustled out, having had a murmured word in his brother’s ear. A nurse came over to where they were standing.
‘No smoking in here sir.’ She said, pointing to the signs.
George glared at her. ‘Yeah, well he’s got shoes on feet but he ain’t walking is he? Fucking hospitals.’ The nurse had seen and heard it all before. ‘So who are you here to see?’ Recognising the police when she saw them, she didn’t bother to ask what they were doing in the IC Unit.
A muttered moan from Viggo’s bed brought Orlando to his side immediately. Sitting in the chair recently vacated by Frank, he took the still dirty hand, nails all caked with dried blood where the thugs had stamped on his fingers, and gently stroked his good arm. Another nurse came over.
‘Are you Orlando?’ she asked. When Orlando nodded she smiled. ‘He’s not good, love. Chin up though, it’s not terminal. He’s seriously undernourished, and his general weakness makes all his other ailments more serious. It might take him longer to heal but with a bit of care he should make a full recovery.’
‘S’all my fault.’ Said Orlando, his guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders. ‘I just thought he was a bit paranoid and didn’t give him a chance to tell me what it all meant.’
The nurse, whose badge proclaimed her to be Staff Nurse Rose Dunsford, brushed this aside. ‘If only, eh? Don’t waste your time feeling guilty; the past is past, nothing you can do about it, and if you don’t mind me saying, it would be rather self indulgent of you anyway. This man needs a friend now more than anything else. We can feed him; give him the drugs he needs but if he doesn’t have the will to get better then he won’t. You concentrate on what you can do, not what you can’t change.’ She glanced at her watch and started. ‘Fuck me, look at the time, 11.45 and not a pot washed. You sit there and talk to him for a bit and I’ll come back shortly.’
The sounds of the busy hospital faded as Orlando just sat, stroking Viggo’s hand and talking to him quietly.
‘Mate, I am so fucking sorry for all this, but I will make it up to you I promise.’
‘Yeah, as long as he gives us the info we need, eh D S Bloom?’ The voice of his D I brought him back to earth with a thud.
Meanwhile, Viggo hovered half way between consciousness and unconsciousness.
TBC