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Flying With Eagles	By : Zar Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 10191 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Orlando Bloom. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Flying with Eagles
Author: Zar
Email: zarakan@hotmail.com
LJ: http://www.livejournal.com/users/squishypiglet/
Warnings: This is slash. Don't like it? Don't read it!
Pairings: Viggorli with special guest Eric Bana.
Disclaimer: This is not true, despite all my wishes.
Summary: Wet tables, sharp cutlery, heavy armchairs - everyday obstacles for heroes…

Chapter 34

Hmm. Fire. Okay, first rule is to stay calm, right?

Right. So, I am calm.

Very calm.

Now, to get help. I rush over to the house intercom to buzz and inform the security guard downstairs. No one picks up. Great wha what do I do? Okay…I’ll do what I normally do when I am in trouble.

I call Beanie.

Ring ring…ring ring…ring ring…ring ring…ring – then suddenly…

“VIGGO MORTENSEN!!! I SWEAR TO GOD – ”

“Beanie. Listen to me.”

He’s still shouting at me and I know I’ll have to speak quickly before he hangs up and keeps his phone off the hook for the rest of the night.

“BEANIE!” I try again to cut through his swearing.

“WHAT!”

“Listen! I need you to listen carefully. I need your help.”

“You don’t need help! Look, Orlando has left, but there’s no point – ”

He’s not getting the point here, and I don’t have muime.ime. I try to explain even as I open all the windows in the living room, including the doors to my massive balcony.

“BEANIE. You’re not listening. There’s a fire at Paradise. It started on the second floor suite, and it must have been burning for a while, because I can smell smoke from the fourth floor. I am guessing it started from the kitchen.”

There is utter silence on the line and for a second, I am wondering if the bastard hung up and went back to sleep before a hear a tentative,

“You’re not kidding, right?”

“No. And there’s not much time. Call the fire department for me, and explain to them the situation. I am going to evacuate with Jack now.”

Now comes thnic.nic.

“WHAT THE HELL!? There’s a fire?? How’d that – ”

He must really enjoy the shouting if he’s doing it all the time.

“No time. Call them.”

“But-but – ”

“I am counting on you.” Then as an afterthought, I decide to add, “I love you, Beanie.”

“You asshole! Don’t you dare do this to me! And you’re going to be melodramatic, are you? Well, just in case I really don’t see your sorry ass again, I love you too.”

I can hear a gentle tapping on his end, and I snicker quietly. That asshole couldn’t help knocking on wood, I just know it.

“Okay, going to get out now. Bye.”

“Be careful, Viggo!”
se ase are the last words we share and I know I should have just called the fire services for help myself…but I needed to hear his voice to ground and centre me. I can do this now.

I square my shoulders and pick up a towel in the bathroom, quickly soaking it through with cold water. Okay, that’s the best I can do for now.

Padding back into my room, I take the two seconds to put on my shoes and a warm sweater. It’s not much, but it’s starting to get cooler in London and I don’t want to stand outside the building freezing. Because of course I am going to get out of this. Of course. With Jack as well. Then Beanie and I can have a good laugh about this tomorrow over a beer over who’s going to have the crap luck of telling Vanessa that I almost smoked her baby boy.

“Jack, sweetie…you have to get up now.”

He’s pushing me away sleepily, but knowing we don’t have much tim pic pick him up, only to start the waterworks.

“Jack, listen. We’re going to play a game, okay? I didn’t want to play it with you at first,” oh boy, don’t I, “because I don’t think you’re brave enough.”

He’s curious about this game, and stops crying so he can hear me better.

“’m brave,” he announces indignantly.

“Yes, so we’re going to play this game only adults play. But you have to listen to everything I say, okay?”

He’s considering it, one hand gently smoothing the hair at the back of my head, his other thumb in his mouth. I pull his ‘lucky blanky’ tightly around him to keep him warm, and he nods quickly at me.

“All right then, let’s go.”

I am heading towards the door, but he starts to cry, pointing back at the bed. I don’t know what he wants until he pulls at my hair, insistently mumbling “lap’n”.

He wants his damned stuffed bunny. Fine. I oblige, darting quickly back and pressing the furry toy into his arms so we can get a move on. This would all be so much easier if he were agreeable and willing to listen to me, so what else could I do?

I gently cover his head with the wet l anl and shush him when the whimpering of “Weeg? Weego?” starts.

“I am still here, darling. It’sart art of the game, Jack. That’s a magic cloak,” I tell him, finally reaching the living room, “that’s to hide you from the bad guys. So don’t remove the cloak, okay? It’s to keep you safe.”

He’s burbling to himself, but I can see his little shrouded head nodding, before he adjusts the toy in his arms under the towel as well. Probably explaining the situation to his rabbit, I suppose.

Exiting the front door, I can already feel the heat hitting me at a sudden blast. Damn. We had better move quickly.

Jack doesn’t like the heat and begins squirming uncomfortably, making my job of holding him difficult, all the while, producing pitiful whining sounds.

“Bet!” he demands bossily.

“We’re playing the game now…you can’t go to bed.”

He’s slightly pacified since he had agreed to play, and at this point, I’ve made it to the fire escape staircase.

It is at this moment that the sprinklers all suddenly come on and the fire alarm goes off. Gee, thanks, you couldn’t have done any any earlier, could you? But in a way, it is reassuring to think that the fire couldn’t be all that big, if it’s only setting everything off now. So…think optimistically.

It is surprising the reaction the child has to the loud ringing of the alarm and all the water raining down on us. We’re almost at the third floor, when Jack lets out another high-pitched squeal, excitedly screaming “Olli!!” I have no idea how he knew we were almost at Orlando’s suite, but he does it again, laughing as well. Maybe the child has gone insane.

Now, we are faced with a problem.

It’s getting much smokier here and I think clean air is growing sparse. But that’s not what I am worried about.

After my god and Eric moved out, it had been Kurt’s job to sort through what was to be put in storage, what they needed sent to Australia, and what needed to be thrown away.

I was faced with a whole staircase well of the ‘what should be thrown away’.

The stairs were covered with all kinds of crap from bags of rubbish to furniture, and it would not be easy to get out of this. Crap, crap, crap.

Making sure the towel was still firmly over Jack’s head, I try to place him on one of the higher steps we had just walked down.

“Weeg!!”

He’s clutching onto my pyjama top and crying, refusing to let me go.

“Just for a moment, darling. Can you sit quietly for a moment?” I push the blue rabbit closer to him, “look! You’re scaring Lapin by crying. Can you sing him a little song so he’s not scared?”

There is sniffing coming from under the towel, but Jack stays where I put him, both hands clenched around his toy. I can just barely make out soft sounds of him talking to it while petting its ears. He’s a good, an, and if you tell him someone else is lonely, sad or scared, he’d forget his own pain to relieve theirs.

Seeing him suitably distracted, I try to tackle my biggest obstacle – a huge antique looking table jammed up beside some kind of armchair. Orlando, what on earth are you doing with furniture like this? Or maybe that’s why it’s been thrown away. I can’t spend any more time pondering that now.

Well, I suppose we could crawl under the table, but the armchair is still blocking our path. I climb over the table and give the huge seat an experimental push. Nothing. It doesn’t even budge an inch. Peering over its back to see what’s blocking it, I notice that it’s in fact tilted onto its back legs which are supported on three huge black garbage bags. The front legs are wedged tightly by the stairs above.

Okay, so it’s stuck. Now what? Try the garbage bags.

I can’t get under the chair to reach the bags, and I certainly can’t crawl over the back of it, so how am I going to reach? Instead, I poke around a little more until I come across some old wire hangers. Just what I need.

Getting a good grip of the table behind me, I lean tentatively over the chair back and use the sharp end of the hanger to try and burst the bag. Maybe if I can get its contents to spill, the bags will no longer support the chair and it will carry on with the momentum and fall, thereby clearing my path.

Fingers crossed that it works.

It takes me a while because my hands are starting to shake from the strain of bending it awkwardly around the chair back to reach, and added to that, I can’t see them since I am keeping one hand firmly wrapped around the table leg behind me, in case I succeed and the chair does fall, I don’t want to go down with it.

My throat is starting to get sore from breathing in the air but I know I can’t give up. Even worse, I know we’re running out of time as well, the sprinklers aren’t doing much to help except making the table slippery, so it’s harder for me to get a grip on it.

Eventually though, my hard work pays off, and after managing to puncture one of the stupid bags, I drag the hook further up and allow a whole load of cutlery to spill out onto the stairs. The chair tilts tellingly, and relieved, I give it another shove, hoping to knock it down.

This time, I am successful and with a groan, it rolls over backwards and bangs down the flight to solidly connect with the wwherwhere the stairs turn then continue downwards.

Jack is scared by the sudden loud noise and shrieks for me, but I had anticipated it and am shouting to him immediately.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, Jack! Just stay sitting there like a good boy – and don’t touch the magic cloak!”

His hand had gone instinctively to remove the obstacle obscuring his vision, but when he hears me, he freezes and panting, I make my way back over to him, climbing over the table again.

“Here I am, darling, I am here.”

The poor child is shivering, probably with the cold water pouring on us, and he’s shaking with the force of his tears. But the moment I heft him into my arms, he’s clinging to me so hard it hurts. I let him clutch all he wants, gently stroking his hair as I wrap his ‘lucky blanky’ warmly back around him.

It shouldn’t be so bad now since I’ve sort of cleared out the main route. We weave around other bags and pieces of furniture until we’re once again in front of the table. Damn thing.

I don’t think you would ever want to attempt scaling a huge wet piece of monstrosity in a smoky staircase with a screaming three-year old. It’s not fun, I can tell you that. I could only carry him with one arm since I needed one hand to help guide me in sliding and crawling across the slippery surface, but it was hard since Jack was squirming so much I had to stop a few times to keep a grip on him.

We made it to the other side of the table to the stairs where the armchair was previously and in my relief at having reached so far, I forgot about the cutlery littering the floor and unfortunately tripped on it down the last few steps.

Somehow, I managed to catch myself, but it was slightly too late. I landed hard on my knees with a crack though Jack was unharmed in my arms, and I allowed myself a moment to check on him. Ouch, ouch, it hurt badly. I didn’t know if I could carry on the rest of the way, but for Jack’s sake at least, I had to try.

My knees wouldn’t support me at first when I had to get back up – how ironic it is that I had to place Jack down in that damned armchair for a moment to regain my balance. Life is full of little twists. But even though there was pain and I collapsed down twice, I found steadiness and strength in them yet, though I was wobbling around like newborn Bambi. Again, Jack and I were off.

This next flight of stairs was an absolute nightmare and I can’t remember most of it, since it was so dark and smoky and…repetitive. The overhead lights were blinking on and off and I couldn’t quite see what was happening but I kept a grip of the stair rail in one hand to guide me down. The noise was also deafening – and no, I am not talking about the fire alarm, but about the three-year old who thought he could keep danger away by screeching at the top of his voice and instinctively thrashing his arms and legs. Since he couldn’t see either, I received a few good hits on my head, and I am sure I am scratched all over my shoulders and back thanks to him.

Searing pain racing down my legs but I ignored it and battled on until we reached the second floor and then…it was hell and beyond. The entire stair well was chockfull of billowing thick smoke and it pricked my eyes and made them water even more, further confusing my already strained vision. I was breathing erratically and shallowly, my head heavy and the world starting to swirl a little. It was here I made my biggest mistake.

Upon reaching the landing of the second floor, the floor of the wolves, I saw a tiny square of brightness in the otherwise dark and as if in a trance, I moved toward it slowly. Peering through the little glass pane, I looked on in fear and reverence. Beautiful orange flames flickered and twined at red, an exotic twist and dance of blaze…the crackling and creaking of burning wood…it was beautiful. The beautiful stone door was being slowly devoured by the orange and reds, they were licking at it from the edges, and the sound was so clear and crisp, the cackling. I was in absolute awe, just watching when the door suddenly collapsed under its own weight and I thought it was all going to end.

In its place, a wall of fire sprang up and it filled the doorway, that beautiful front door crashing down with a loud dull thud. I jumped back immediately from the fire escape door, the spell broken. How could I have been so stupid? I was wasting precious time and compromising Jack’s safety. Idiot, idiot. I could barely breathe anymore, I was taking in empty breaths of air and hacking in the smoke, coughing and spluttering. Jack appeared okay under the towel and despite the occasional whimper, stayed mostly silent. I think all the crying and excitement has drained him out and like me, the smoke is beginning to affect him.

At this time when I thought I couldn’t make it anymore, a memory came to me. A vision of a beautiful god and I once upon a time, also stumbling our way down these stair cases and appearing at the second floor suite to admire the stone door. We had been laughing that time, hiding from Kurt by not taking the elevator…and I had been supporting him. Now, I needed him to support me through this.

Staggering my way to the stairs, I managed to make it down those, purely by keeping my thoughts on Orlando. How he would have told me to be brave, and not look back. Just push on forward, going down one step at a time. It was tortuous, it was slow, but imagining him walking beside me seemed to help. I wanted to stop when I reached the first floor. The air was cleaner here, the smoke was travelling upwards, not down and I paused to let myself cough loudly, trying to clear my lungs of its uncomfortable itchy, smouldering feeling. My head was stuffy and my eyes were still watering, I was covered in soot and dirt from the grubby stairway and I had ripped my pants when I tripped down the stairs. Not looking good, Mortensen.

It was here, when I thought we were nearing safety that a sudden explosion deafened us and shook the entire building. I fall and roll down the last flight with the impact though I managed to shield Jack with my body, taking the brunt of the force in my shoulder when I landed in a heap.

I knew I could go no further.

“Jack, honey, are you okay?”

He is patting and pawing at my face, the towel lost in the tumble. He has tear marks down his face, his mouth turned down in a scream.

“Weeg!! Weeg!”

“I am okay, don’t cry.” I can’t even find the energy to raise a hand to wipe his cheeks as I normally do when he tears up. “Listen to me, Jack.”

Cuddling closer to me for protection and comfort he nods through his tears, still mumbling my name.

“Good boy, to finish the game, I need you to run downstairs. You remember how? Just down here to the lobby. Run as far away as you can.”

He’s already shaking his head at me, still crying, one dirty thumb in his mouth.

“You have to. Otherwise I’ll be sad. You don’t want me to be sad, do you?”

He thinks about it, then as an afterthought, pushes his rabbit over to me.

“Lap’n…”

“Thank you, he’ll keep me company now…you have to go.” He’s reluctant, I can see it, but he has to leave, and it has to be now. “Be a good boy. Run downstairs.”

Jack listens to me this time and gets up from the floor, lucky blanket around him like a cape and he makes his way to the stairs going down. He’s looking at me as he climbs down each step and I talk to him, encouragingly, telling him how brave and clever he is.

Then, I think it’s okay to let unconsciousness wash over me as it had wanted to do the past half hour. So long as Jack got out of it, then it should be okay.

My last thoughts were all on Orlando…and how I had failed him – how I should have tried harder, how I should have followed him to Australia, how…all the things I, or we should have done…together.

I had left behind the tape he made me. Left behind the mug. The music sheets he had laboured over for me.

So tired. So weak. So useless.

I am sorry…

TBC...

AHH! This chapter took up far too much time. It's 3:30 again. Damn me for always trying to produce chapters every other day. AHHH...I started this in the office, but it just kept growing in length till I had to finish it at home. 3000 wods...phew...

What do you think? Should I kill off Viggo? *Tempted* Hehe...thanks for your reviews, guys! I update because of you, *MUAH*
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Flying With Eagles