Fic: RunAway - XLIX. Liar

[silentdescant]

Series info, summary, warnings, and disclaimer

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Chapter Title: Liar
Chapter Summary: Viggo and Jack meet

Viggo felt slightly guilty about leaving Dominic when he knew Dom wasn’t completely mended. But then, Viggo doubted that Dom would ever get entirely “back to normal,” or at least back to how he used to be.

 

Viggo stepped off the plane, glad to be back home again, where everyone around him spoke a language he could understand. He smiled at the cab driver and gave his address, then settled back for the ride.

 

His thoughts stayed on Dominic. When they had said goodbye, Hans told him that he would call him regularly with reports on how Dom was doing, because Dom surely wouldn’t call Viggo himself. It didn’t take long for Dom to admit that he had severe problems, but it took entirely too long for him to actually accept help.

 

The cabbie dropped him at his driveway and Viggo lugged his bag up to the house. He bypassed the studio and headed for the kitchen. He had a sinking feeling, but he couldn’t place it and decided to drown it out with a beer. He tried to relax, but the nagging thought in the back of his mind wouldn’t go away.

 

Viggo shook his head, as if that would get rid of the feeling. He wondered if it was just because he hadn’t been home in so long. He decided to tour the house and make sure everything was as it should be.

 

The house was quiet, untouched. Nothing seemed out of place or changed from how he left it. But when Viggo got into the studio, something jarred him into alertness.

 

It was the painting. Well, not specifically the painting, but the things he had hidden behind it. They weren’t hidden anymore. Viggo bent to pick up the gloves. Why hadn’t he thrown them away? He knew they were hidden when he left, he knew they were, but now they were out in the open, in front of the painting instead of behind it.

 

It was troubling to him that something so small and seemingly insignificant would be such a big change to him. Viggo removed the evidence and took a deep breath. Nothing was wrong. Maybe Henry had been by while he was gone. He sometimes touched some things in Viggo’s studio that he knew he wasn’t supposed to touch. However much he tried to rationalize it, he went to sleep that night with an uneasy feeling.

 

***

 

The next day, jetlagged and feeling slightly sick to his stomach, Viggo stumbled out of bed to answer the insistent doorbell. At the door stood a man who was shorter than Viggo (but not by much), with a folder full of papers in his hand. Viggo looked at him questioningly.

 

“Viggo Mortensen?” The man spoke with a strong Scottish accent like Billy’s.

 

“Yes, that’s me.”

 

“I need to talk to you.”

 

“Who are you?”

 

“My name is Jack Jason, and I need to ask you a few questions on behalf of a mutual friend.”

 

“Oh yeah? What mutual friend would that be?” So far, this strange Scot wasn’t giving him much information. Viggo shook his head suspiciously. “Listen, man, I’m tired and, I suspect, getting sick. I don’t know what the hell you want, but now’s not the time to ask for it, alright?”

 

Viggo tried to close the door, but Jack stuck his foot in it before he could shut it all the way. Viggo glared at him.

 

“You’re not doing yourself any favors, y’know.”

 

“I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.”

 

“Fuck off,” Viggo growled. He kicked at Jack’s foot and pushed on the door. Jack yelped in pain when Viggo’s foot connected with his shin, then leaned his shoulder against the door, holding it open.

 

“Let me in, mate.” Viggo slammed the door, snapping the lock shut. Jack ducked around to a window and hit it with a closed fist. “Let me in! It’s about Dominic!” he shouted.

 

Viggo stopped, looking carefully at Jack. “What about him?”

 

“I need to ask you about him.”

 

Immediately, Viggo’s expression hardened and he pulled the curtains shut. Jack knocked on the window for a moment, then suddenly fell silent. Viggo sighed and went to fix himself a cup of tea. He had filled the teapot and gotten the teabags out of the cabinet before he noticed Jack sitting at the kitchen table. The teabags went flying and Viggo held the pot as if he were going to throw it at Jack.

 

“What the hell are you doing in my fucking house?”

 

“I picked the lock. We’ve got to talk about your friend.”

 

“Who the hell are you?”

 

“A friend of yours hired me, and I’ve noticed some… inconsistencies in the reports of Dominic’s disappearance.”

 

“That friend; wouldn’t happen to be Billy, would it?”

 

“Accent give me away?” Viggo snorted. “Alright, Billy hired me. Will you talk to me now? I’ll even make you some tea.”

 

Viggo watched him suspiciously as Jack bent to pick up the dropped teabags. Finally, he nodded. “What do you want to talk to me about?”

 

“Dominic. Or, more specifically, where he is now.”

 

“What do you mean ‘where he is now?’ He committed suicide.”

 

“I don’t believe that, and you don’t either. In fact, you know where he is now, don’t you? Germany, perhaps?”

 

“I have no idea where he is, if you’re to be believed and he is still alive. I think you’re bluffing. What do you want to trick me into saying?”

 

“You aren’t very trusting, are you?” Jack asked casually. He looked around the kitchen. “Mug?”

 

“Second cabinet to your left.”

 

“You look like you could use some strong tea.”

 

“How observant of you.”

 

“It’s my job.”

 

Viggo suddenly stopped moving, his hand poised to take the steaming mug from Jack. “It was you, wasn’t it? That broke into my studio.”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.”

 

“I could have you arrested.”

 

“But you won’t. I’ve not done anything to harm you. In fact, I’ve made you tea. In addition, I’m a friend of a friend.”

 

“You trespassed on my property. Twice that I know of.”

 

“Tell me where Dominic is.”

 

The conversation changed tracked so quickly that Viggo shook his aching head. Jack handed him the mug and Viggo took a tentative sip, breathing a sigh of relief.

 

“Why do you want to find him? Aren’t you satisfied with the police reports from New Zealand? And I’m sure you’ve already checked out his belongings with Elijah and his house in Hawaii.”

 

“His house has been rented, actually. But yes, I did contact Elijah.”

 

“Why do you want to find him so badly?”

 

“Honestly, Viggo? I couldn’t care less about him.” Viggo’s eyes widened. “It’s not as if I’m going to dishonor the dead, because he’s not dead, is he? The thing is, Billy wants to find him, and I don’t let my clients—my friends—down if I can help it.”

 

“I don’t know anything about him being alive. The last I heard, the police decided he’d killed himself. I’m sorry, but that’s pretty much a dead end, don’t you think?”

 

“Viggo… He called Billy, spoke to him, after he had, quote-unquote, died.” Jack tried to meet Viggo’s eyes, but Viggo kept looking down at his tea, sipping softly. “Then directly afterward, you took off to Germany on an unscheduled visit to a friend.”

 

“I know a few people there. One of them was having a personal problem and needed my advice.”

 

“Dominic.”

 

“No.”

 

“What about your painting? The big one of Dominic, the portrait.” Jack jumped up onto the table in front of Viggo and sat down tailor-style. “It has hair on it.”

 

“So? A lot of my projects are multimedia.”

 

“Artificially blonde, short hair. His hair.”

 

“You have no proof of that. Do you know how many people could have given me their hair?”

 

They both just looked at each other for several silent moments. Viggo broke the eye contact to sip his tea.

 

“Viggo, please,” Jack began softly. “Tell me how to find him.”

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