A Fresh Start
Title : A Fresh Start
Author : dalehead
Pairing : VigBean
Rating : NC-17: For adult themes of a non sexual kind
Summary: Sean is in mourning.
A/N : For readers of VigBean - this is all made up
A/N 2: There death beneath the cut, but neither of the main protagonists.
At first the stillness unnerved Sean. The silence too. It made him nervous. Then there were the fucking birds. Singing their heads off at some unconscionable hour in the morning. He hated it.
That morning, he sat in the kitchen over his first pot of tea of the day and wondered what the fuck made him upsticks from the city and come live in the middle of nowhere. His health was one reason. The pollution was one, the price he got for his house another, oh and being so lonely he wanted to slit his wrists, that was the final straw.
“Hello, my name is Sean Bean, I’m a widower....” He spoke the words aloud, annoyed to find he was crying. Fucking bastard, how dare he go and die, just when they were at stage of their lives they could enjoy their lives together.
When the tears had stopped and Sean had blown his nose, he got up and went outside. The sun was up now, it promised to be a lovely day. He walked around the garden then went to stand by the garden gate, lighting a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and leaned against the gatepost.
“Smoking’s bad for the health.” A guy, a good looking guy, obviously out for a run, stopped to look at him.
“Yeah?” Sean took another drag. “So is life.”
“Wow, sounds as if you really mean it.” The man held out his hand. “I’m Viggo, Viggo Mortensen, I’m your next door neighbour.”
“Oh, um, I’m Sean Bean.”
“Good to meet you, Sean Bean.” Viggo grinned. “I’m going to get on with my run now but do you fancy coming over for breakfast. I know a place where some spectacular mushrooms grow, mushrooms on toast is my speciality.”
Sean hesitated, mushrooms on toast has been his favourite. To his horror, he felt his lower lip tremble.
“No … I …” Tears formed in his eyes. “I can’t.” He turned around and hurried back to the house to have his second cry of the day. When am I going to get over the watering pot part of grieving.
As always, the storm passed. But the morning was getting old before Sean could face unpacking some boxes. It was a desultory job but he gritted his teeth and at least his study was complete. All their favourite furniture was there; Sean lifted a cushion and sniffed it. He could faintly discern the smell of their old house, once again he fought back the tears and set it down. There. Done.
“What shall I do now?” His voice sounded too quiet, small. “I’m going to go for a walk.”
It was time to get outside especially on such a fine evening. He had barely explored the place since he’d arrived.
Turned out to be the best thing he could have done. Three people spoke to him as he took in the village shop, the church and the pub. The pub. He hadn’t been to the pub since … for a while. He took a deep breath, about to go inside.
“The beer is excellent.”
Swinging around he saw Viggo. He blinked. Before he’d thought his a good looking man, but now, dressed in an expensive pair of jeans, an Armani shirt and with his hair shining in the late summer sunshine, he realised good looking didn’t come anywhere near it. Stunning.
“Um...” He smiled. “May I buy you a pint?” Sean was embarrassed to have been caught crying. He was grateful Viggo didn’t ask him. Are you alright?.
“That would be lovely.” Viggo’s smile lit him up. “And they serve great food if you don’t fancy cooking.”
“Oh … Thanks.” Before he was widowed, Sean had loved to eat out, try new food and go to great restaurants. A wave of sadness washed over him.
“Um ...Sean?” Viggo didn’t ask if he was alright, instead he ushered him inside, found a corner table and installed him there, went to get drinks, bringing Sean a pint of local ale without asking what he wanted.
“You look like shit.” He said conversationally.
“I feel like shit.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
“That’s fine, you don’t have to.”
“My partner was in the army, got blown to bits on duty in the Helmand province of Afghanistan.” Sean replied dully. “When he died, my world sort of came undone.” Shit. His lip was quivering.
“Oh Sean...” Viggo leaned closer, took Sean’s hand. To his horror, Sean found himself holding on tight.
“Well, with the insurance money and his pension, we were married you see, I could afford to move, I’ll look for a job soon but not while I can’t stop crying.” A lone tear trickled down Sean’s face. “I miss him so much, we were friends, lovers, we met … I was in the army but it was too difficult, so I sold out. I’ve been doing team building stuff, was making a fair whack but then … And now I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking, why him? He only had a couple more days on duty and then he was coming home. We were going to pick up wardrobes, they ended up being delivered on the day of the funeral...” There were many tears now. No sobbing, just a never ending stream of tears. “I miss him so much. I feel like my heart’s been ripped out of my body.”
Viggo stroked his hand gently. “I’m so sorry, Sean, I’m so very sorry.”
“I wake up in the morning and he’s not there. Fifty times a day I think of something I meant to tell him but he’s not there, I turn over in the night expecting to feel his body next to mine but he’s not there. But everywhere, Viggo, everywhere I turn, he’s there. I can hear his voice in my head, his snide asides that used to make me laugh even when I knew I shouldn’t and when I’m not crying, I’m so fucking angry at him for being so fucking stupid, stupid enough to get himself killed, leaving me...” Sean ground to a halt. He took the hanky Viggo was offering, moppped his eyes.
“There’s nothing I can say to make it better, but it won’t always feel like this, so raw.”
“I’ve no one to talk to.” Sean held on to the handkerchief tightly. “That’s the most I’ve spoken since the funeral.”
“No family?”
“They stopped talking to me after I sold out. Bad enough to be a poof, but a poof who lived with another poof quite openly?” Sean’s laugh was devoid of mirth.
“And now?
“Now I’m a poof whose poof husband was careless enough to get himself ….” Sean’s voice broke once more. “And you know Viggo, when only a few months ago, we were talking about him leaving the army too, finding something else to do, but you see, he loved it. He loved being an army officer. It made him so happy. He loved coming home to me but he always thought he was immortal. They brought him back to Wootton Basset and there were people in the streets showing their respect but none of my family even turned up to the funeral.” Once again his grief overwhelmed him and his shoulders shook though he made no sound.
Viggo didn’t say a word, he just held on to Sean’s hand and let him cry. It was a quiet night, no one was paying them any attention.
Finally, Sean blew his nose. He mopped his eyes and with a hand that wasn’t quite steady, he picked up his beer.
“I don’t know what to do next.”
“Heal.”
“Sorry?”
“Start to heal Sean. That’s what you’ve come here to do.”
“But how?”
“Ah, well...” Viggo’s smile was sweet, faraway. “That’s the question.”
“Tomorrow … tomorrow I’m going to look around Roxwell Manor.” Sean put his drink down.
“It’s a good start.”
They sat there, quietly, each man deep in his own thoughts while they sipped their drinks. It was a comfortable silence and Sean felt just that, strangely comforted.
(tbc)
Author : dalehead
Pairing : VigBean
Rating : NC-17: For adult themes of a non sexual kind
Summary: Sean is in mourning.
A/N : For readers of VigBean - this is all made up
A/N 2: There death beneath the cut, but neither of the main protagonists.
At first the stillness unnerved Sean. The silence too. It made him nervous. Then there were the fucking birds. Singing their heads off at some unconscionable hour in the morning. He hated it.
That morning, he sat in the kitchen over his first pot of tea of the day and wondered what the fuck made him upsticks from the city and come live in the middle of nowhere. His health was one reason. The pollution was one, the price he got for his house another, oh and being so lonely he wanted to slit his wrists, that was the final straw.
“Hello, my name is Sean Bean, I’m a widower....” He spoke the words aloud, annoyed to find he was crying. Fucking bastard, how dare he go and die, just when they were at stage of their lives they could enjoy their lives together.
When the tears had stopped and Sean had blown his nose, he got up and went outside. The sun was up now, it promised to be a lovely day. He walked around the garden then went to stand by the garden gate, lighting a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and leaned against the gatepost.
“Smoking’s bad for the health.” A guy, a good looking guy, obviously out for a run, stopped to look at him.
“Yeah?” Sean took another drag. “So is life.”
“Wow, sounds as if you really mean it.” The man held out his hand. “I’m Viggo, Viggo Mortensen, I’m your next door neighbour.”
“Oh, um, I’m Sean Bean.”
“Good to meet you, Sean Bean.” Viggo grinned. “I’m going to get on with my run now but do you fancy coming over for breakfast. I know a place where some spectacular mushrooms grow, mushrooms on toast is my speciality.”
Sean hesitated, mushrooms on toast has been his favourite. To his horror, he felt his lower lip tremble.
“No … I …” Tears formed in his eyes. “I can’t.” He turned around and hurried back to the house to have his second cry of the day. When am I going to get over the watering pot part of grieving.
As always, the storm passed. But the morning was getting old before Sean could face unpacking some boxes. It was a desultory job but he gritted his teeth and at least his study was complete. All their favourite furniture was there; Sean lifted a cushion and sniffed it. He could faintly discern the smell of their old house, once again he fought back the tears and set it down. There. Done.
“What shall I do now?” His voice sounded too quiet, small. “I’m going to go for a walk.”
It was time to get outside especially on such a fine evening. He had barely explored the place since he’d arrived.
Turned out to be the best thing he could have done. Three people spoke to him as he took in the village shop, the church and the pub. The pub. He hadn’t been to the pub since … for a while. He took a deep breath, about to go inside.
“The beer is excellent.”
Swinging around he saw Viggo. He blinked. Before he’d thought his a good looking man, but now, dressed in an expensive pair of jeans, an Armani shirt and with his hair shining in the late summer sunshine, he realised good looking didn’t come anywhere near it. Stunning.
“Um...” He smiled. “May I buy you a pint?” Sean was embarrassed to have been caught crying. He was grateful Viggo didn’t ask him. Are you alright?.
“That would be lovely.” Viggo’s smile lit him up. “And they serve great food if you don’t fancy cooking.”
“Oh … Thanks.” Before he was widowed, Sean had loved to eat out, try new food and go to great restaurants. A wave of sadness washed over him.
“Um ...Sean?” Viggo didn’t ask if he was alright, instead he ushered him inside, found a corner table and installed him there, went to get drinks, bringing Sean a pint of local ale without asking what he wanted.
“You look like shit.” He said conversationally.
“I feel like shit.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
“That’s fine, you don’t have to.”
“My partner was in the army, got blown to bits on duty in the Helmand province of Afghanistan.” Sean replied dully. “When he died, my world sort of came undone.” Shit. His lip was quivering.
“Oh Sean...” Viggo leaned closer, took Sean’s hand. To his horror, Sean found himself holding on tight.
“Well, with the insurance money and his pension, we were married you see, I could afford to move, I’ll look for a job soon but not while I can’t stop crying.” A lone tear trickled down Sean’s face. “I miss him so much, we were friends, lovers, we met … I was in the army but it was too difficult, so I sold out. I’ve been doing team building stuff, was making a fair whack but then … And now I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking, why him? He only had a couple more days on duty and then he was coming home. We were going to pick up wardrobes, they ended up being delivered on the day of the funeral...” There were many tears now. No sobbing, just a never ending stream of tears. “I miss him so much. I feel like my heart’s been ripped out of my body.”
Viggo stroked his hand gently. “I’m so sorry, Sean, I’m so very sorry.”
“I wake up in the morning and he’s not there. Fifty times a day I think of something I meant to tell him but he’s not there, I turn over in the night expecting to feel his body next to mine but he’s not there. But everywhere, Viggo, everywhere I turn, he’s there. I can hear his voice in my head, his snide asides that used to make me laugh even when I knew I shouldn’t and when I’m not crying, I’m so fucking angry at him for being so fucking stupid, stupid enough to get himself killed, leaving me...” Sean ground to a halt. He took the hanky Viggo was offering, moppped his eyes.
“There’s nothing I can say to make it better, but it won’t always feel like this, so raw.”
“I’ve no one to talk to.” Sean held on to the handkerchief tightly. “That’s the most I’ve spoken since the funeral.”
“No family?”
“They stopped talking to me after I sold out. Bad enough to be a poof, but a poof who lived with another poof quite openly?” Sean’s laugh was devoid of mirth.
“And now?
“Now I’m a poof whose poof husband was careless enough to get himself ….” Sean’s voice broke once more. “And you know Viggo, when only a few months ago, we were talking about him leaving the army too, finding something else to do, but you see, he loved it. He loved being an army officer. It made him so happy. He loved coming home to me but he always thought he was immortal. They brought him back to Wootton Basset and there were people in the streets showing their respect but none of my family even turned up to the funeral.” Once again his grief overwhelmed him and his shoulders shook though he made no sound.
Viggo didn’t say a word, he just held on to Sean’s hand and let him cry. It was a quiet night, no one was paying them any attention.
Finally, Sean blew his nose. He mopped his eyes and with a hand that wasn’t quite steady, he picked up his beer.
“I don’t know what to do next.”
“Heal.”
“Sorry?”
“Start to heal Sean. That’s what you’ve come here to do.”
“But how?”
“Ah, well...” Viggo’s smile was sweet, faraway. “That’s the question.”
“Tomorrow … tomorrow I’m going to look around Roxwell Manor.” Sean put his drink down.
“It’s a good start.”
They sat there, quietly, each man deep in his own thoughts while they sipped their drinks. It was a comfortable silence and Sean felt just that, strangely comforted.
(tbc)