[identity profile] slashababy-mod.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] slashababy

Title: Fragments, put together
Recipient: [livejournal.com profile] eyebrowofdoom
Author: [livejournal.com profile] afra_schatz
Pairing: Viggo/Bernard
Rating: PG
Summary: 11 drabbles, 11 snapshots of Viggo's thoughts, somehow mostly revolving around Bernard.
Notes: Merry Christmas and all that, and I hope you like this, dear!

When it comes to chess, Viggo is a very sore loser. He doesn't force-feed pieces to the winners afterward, but he retaliates by, say, nailing the door to their trailer shut (with Dave still inside). There are a few exceptions, however. There's Ian, because everybody (even Viggo) accepts that Ian is basically Deep Blue in a human shell. There's Christopher, but Viggo only loses to him because he's too awestruck to concentrate. And there is Bernard who can barely tell a knight from a pawn. It's unfathomable (even to Viggo) why he keeps winning and lives to tell the tale.

Sometimes (mostly) during battle scenes, Viggo loses himself in the fighting sequences, etched into his memory. The stunties joke about it when again they have bruises to show. In the last fight with Lurtz, Lawrence for once leaves more marks on Viggo than vice versa. Later that day, Viggo locks himself in the bathroom of his empty house, takes all his clothes off. He takes pictures of the different colors of his skin, an entire film, then develops it. He burns the prints a few weeks later, when the bruises have faded, and the pictures have subsequently lost their appeal.

He can't bake for shit. He is supposed to bring cake to Bernard's birthday party because he didn't pay attention when Karl assigned tasks. He clogs his sink with margarine, has a (one-sided) shouting match with an egg carton, and nearly burns down his kitchen before he admits defeat. He bribes Sean (who has experience with baking and frosting thanks to two girls at home) to doing it for him in exchange for one of his cherished Jazz LPs. At that point Viggo would have been willing to give one of his kidneys for a handful of muffins with sprinkles.

One night in the pub, Viggo mentions Tolkien's poems to Bernard. He's read some of them over the last weeks, and they haunt Aragorn (or him, in a way) in his sleep. He talks about which one he'd like to sing, hums a melody, quietly, so only Bernard can hear. Bernard listens, and there is a small smile on his lips. He nods when Viggo has finished, but is quiet (while the hobbits make their usual racket in the background). Then he leans in and tells Viggo about his idea for Pelennor Fields. Nine months before the scheduled shooting time.

Henry visits, and Viggo secretly frets a bit. After the first sort-of party, he asks his son what he thinks of his new friends. Henry tells him to get his myriad of buddies to wear name tags. Viggo laughs, feels stupidly blessed to have a teenage son with a dry sense of humor. He has people over again the next evening, fewer this time. All of them are required to wear tell-tale home-made stickers reading things like 'British guy' (Sean), 'other British guy' (Orlando), 'scandalmonger' (Dom), 'Witch-King' (Lawrence), and 'Bernard' (Bernard). Henry loves them all, and God, Viggo is glad.

Viggo spends a sleepless night talking to Sean about football. He spends one day conversing with Ian in Shakespeare quotes, two days talking to Billy solely in Monty Python. He spends a week speaking more to Uraeus than to all of his other friends combined (Dom tells him to write a horse dictionary and ends up ass first in the muck heap). On a weekend when they don t have to work, Bernard takes him fishing. Neither of them says a thing for nearly 48 hours. Viggo is still searching for the right word(s) to capture those two days. Perfect, maybe.

When they film Helm's Deep, Viggo temporarily sort-of moves in with Bernard. Viggo is nerve-rackingly tired, functions on auto-pilot and doesn't question where his feet take him. He hasn't got a key, hasn't got a room, but Bernard always opens his door and expects Viggo to prepare his own meals. Viggo spends hours he should (needs to be) sleeping awake on Bernard's couch. He stares at the ceiling, hears Bernard shift in his sleep. He thinks about nothing in particular, thinks about someone in particular in those hours of the night when he's tired enough to be honest with himself.

Viggo admires Ian for his professionalism, Christopher for his experience. He admires Astin for his values, Sean for his faith in values. He admires Orlando for his enthusiasm, Dom and Billy for their wicked sense of humor and lack of a sense of self-preservation. He admires John for his patience, Cate for her serenity, Liv for her lightheartedness. He doesn't compare himself to them. Abstract concepts may be fitting for philosophic seminars, may (in combination with a little too much red wine) prompt halfway decent poetry. But they are useless companions for everyday life. One always falls short in comparison.

Bernard laughs at dirty jokes and comic strips in the paper. Sometimes he still smells of bacon and eggs when he bursts into the make-up trailer, almost late and with an easy excuse on his smiling lips. When Viggo chips his tooth, Bernard drives him to the dentist, even though cricket is on. In the waiting room he makes a slightly drugged Viggo watch the rest of the match with him on the tiniest of televisions. He hates moonless nights, pulls people into spontaneous dances for no apparent reason. Viggo learns all these things, keeps them to himself. Tangible things.

When Viggo kisses Bernard, it's not a joke, and he doesn't pretend it is. When Bernard pulls back, licks his lower lip and looks at him contemplatively, Viggo wants to say 'ask me anything, ask anything of me'. He wants to eviscerate his own chest, offer up everything he is. He doesn't. It's stupid. For a moment he fears that this is the epitaph of his own honesty, of everything this maybe could have become, been. Then Bernard nods. He says, 'Alright', and his hand comes to rest on Viggo's shoulder. Viggo's mind settles, fear is a foreign concept. Yes.

Date: 2012-12-31 10:34 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] evocates.livejournal.com
Later that day, Viggo locks himself in the bathroom of his empty house, takes all his clothes off. He takes pictures of the different colors of his skin, an entire film, then develops it. He burns the prints a few weeks later, when the bruises have faded, and the pictures have subsequently lost their appeal.

This is somehow perfectly Viggo to him - that he's incredibly fascinated by the sight of those temporary bruises on his skin, wanting to look at them in every angle using the camera because he can't do that with his bare eyes. But once the bruises fade, the pictures lose their meaning- it's really very much of an artist without flaunting his ~artistry~.

He bribes Sean (who has experience with baking and frosting thanks to two girls at home) to doing it for him in exchange for one of his cherished Jazz LPs. At that point Viggo would have been willing to give one of his kidneys for a handful of muffins with sprinkles.

OKAY THAT MENTION OF SEAN JUST HAS ME FALLING IN LOVE WITH HIM ALL OVER AGAIN (omg the implied imagery of him baking with his girls!!!!). And that slight hint of Sean and Viggo baking together - or Viggo watching Sean baked... I'm sorry, I'm a little short-sighted with my OTP. Moving on...

tell-tale home-made stickers reading things like 'British guy' (Sean), 'other British guy' (Orlando), 'scandalmonger' (Dom), 'Witch-King' (Lawrence), and 'Bernard' (Bernard).

I love this part, not only because Bernard is the only one with an actual name and Dom's sticker is hyper-accurate, but also because Viggo is doing all this to impress his son and he wants his boy to like his friends and I'm just going awwwwww all over the place.

But they are useless companions for everyday life. One always falls short in comparison.

Viggo is incredibly wise.

Viggo learns all these things, keeps them to himself. Tangible things.

Except when he behaves like a teenage girl with a crush. SERIOUSLY? I'm torn between cooing over him because he's being adorable, and pointing and laughing at him because he totally has a crush on Bernard and he's being stupid about it.

Then Bernard nods. He says, 'Alright', and his hand comes to rest on Viggo's shoulder. Viggo's mind settles, fear is a foreign concept. Yes.

I love this, and I love how the narrative slows down here - as if Bernard's tangible presence in the narrative has calmed Viggo's mind down and let him breathe and gives him a break from the way his head speeds along. It's incredibly fitting, especially with what Viggo had said about the fishing trip that they spent in silence. Bernard gives him a sort of peace, and okay, Viggo isn't entirely silly for crushing on Bernard, because who can resist that? 8D

As you can see by my long comment, I like this a lot, and I hope your recipient likes it too, mysterious author!

Date: 2012-12-31 09:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] foxrafer.livejournal.com
Viggo is still searching for the right word(s) to capture those two days. Perfect, maybe.

Viggo learns all these things, keeps them to himself. Tangible things.

For a moment he fears that this is the epitaph of his own honesty, of everything this maybe could have become


I really like the quiet reflection in this mixed with the brief moments of emotional turmoil. There's an honesty in these emotions that really resonates with me.

Viggo admires ... Sean for his faith in values
It's not really directly connected to the main thrust of the story, but I really do love this line.

Date: 2013-01-01 01:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] feelforfaith.livejournal.com
Aaah, perfect. Without "maybe" :).

Reading this was like slowly savoring a mug of hot chocolate on a chilly day. Just warms you up from inside.

This:

Viggo spends a sleepless night talking to Sean about football. He spends one day conversing with Ian in Shakespeare quotes, two days talking to Billy solely in Monty Python. He spends a week speaking more to Uraeus than to all of his other friends combined (Dom tells him to write a horse dictionary and ends up ass first in the muck heap). On a weekend when they don t have to work, Bernard takes him fishing. Neither of them says a thing for nearly 48 hours.

♥!

And the whole last paragraph - so, so good!

Date: 2013-01-01 02:31 am (UTC)
ext_14277: (sophisticated Orlando)
From: [identity profile] eyebrowofdoom.livejournal.com
Thank you lovely author, this is great! I love the singing under his breath, and that he made him watch the cricket.♡
Edited Date: 2013-01-01 02:31 am (UTC)

Date: 2013-01-02 02:44 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] itstonedme.livejournal.com
'Scandalmonger' Dom. :D

The last paragraph is special. So is the one before that, and the one before that, and the one...

Viggo -- your Viggo -- is incredibly alive in this story, complex and wacky and intense and sweet. A wonderful story, and I could have read much more of it.

Date: 2013-01-04 02:38 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] kiltsandlollies.livejournal.com
I absolutely loved this--so many excellent descriptions, and such great insight on a Viggo who's not always the strong, certain type he can be shown as so often in fics. And I love Bernard on the periphery and not, growing so important as the story continues. Really lovely!

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