Title: Kaleidoscope Author: Jo Pairing: Karl Urban/Viggo Mortensen Rating: PG Summary: Karl sees.... Disclaimer: If you think this is real, I have a bridge in London that I'd like to sell you... Author's Notes: Written for the Contre La Montre merging colors challenge. Time limit of 45 minutes; written in 30.
"So tell me what it means." "It doesn't mean anything." Karl half-growls. Typical of Viggo. Create something that doesn't mean anything. Of course, Karl thinks, he can ask again in five minutes, and Viggo's reply will be "Everything." Karl doesn't even need to think to remember why he rarely hangs out with artists. But this isn't just any artist. This is Viggo -- friend, companion, former co-worker, confidant, sometime lover. And so, so very frustrating. "It has to mean something, Vigs," Karl says, canting his head to the left to study the painting from a new angle. It doesn't help. The painting still makes no sense to him. It's red and blue and yellow...a splash of white here, some slashes of black there, a bit of green dribbled down at the bottom. And words. Always words with Viggo. Words, words, words. Karl wonders, sometimes, if Viggo has ever been speechless. He doesn't think so. No one knows as many words as Viggo. Not even Harry. And Karl once thought that Harry had the entire dictionary memorized. Or he'd thought so until he met Viggo. Viggo is the only person he knows who has thirty-eight different words for blue and can use every single one of them. In a sentence. Intelligently. But then, Viggo knows the name of every single shade of blue. Show-off. That's what he is. Nodding, Karl cocks his head to the right. Nope. The different angle doesn't make a bit of difference. The painting still is just...splotches of colors. And words. On canvas. With a quiet sound of frustration, Karl finally gives up. Spinning on his heel, he faces Viggo. "What is it?" "It's a kaleidoscope." Viggo watches him, calm, amused. Kaleidoscope. Right. Karl knows what a kaleidoscope is. He used to play with one when he was little. In fact, Hunter has one at home that fascinates him for hours. Karl's praised the person that invented it more than once. An almost three year old can be a handful, and Karl cherishes the quiet moments that certain toys bring. "A kaleidoscope." Karl knows he sounds disbelieving, but he can't help himself. A kaleidoscope is a tube thingie with colored bits in one end. The painting is...well...it's a Viggo painting. Karl can't think of any other way to describe it. "Yeah." Viggo's soft voice wraps around Karl as Karl turns to study the painting again. He focuses his eyes. Unfocuses them. Even crosses them. And he still just doesn't get it. Then, almost as if Viggo can sense his increasingly mounting frustration, he steps up behind Karl, not quite touching him, but close enough that Karl can feel the heat coming from Viggo's body. And Karl shivers. A shift, a step, and...there. Viggo's chest is brushing Karl's back. "You're looking at it all wrong," Viggo says, his voice a soft hum in Karl's ear. "Unfocus your eyes." "I did," Karl replies, but does what he's told. A pale blur as Viggo's arm comes into view, one finger extended. "Keep them unfocused." Voice still soft, chest warm against Karl's bare back, arm casually brushing Karl's as Viggo points. "Now focus them there. Right there." And Karl does. Nothing. Fuck it. He wasn't cut out to be the artsy type. He's never understood any of Viggo's paintings in the past, and Karl doubts that he'll understand this one with its swirls and splashes and stripes of bright color. Another soft, half-growl. Then a muffled sound of frustration when Viggo moves away, taking his warmth and closeness with him. "What..." Karl's voices trails off when the lights go out. He blinks rapidly in an effort to adjust his eyes, not moving as things slowly come into focus. It helps that the moon is full tonight, and the curtains are only partially drawn. The thin strip of silvery light slides over the painting, touches Karl. "Now," Viggo whispers, lips brushing Karl's ear. He's back. And Karl jumps. "Look at it now. See it, Karl. Feel it...." And Karl looks again. But it's not the same painting. The bright colors he was looking at moments ago are gone now. All that's left are shades of silver and grey. Rich, metallic shades swirling across the canvas, blending, merging, melding. As he continues to look, focusing and unfocusing his eyes on different parts of the painting, Karl can see it. The kaleidoscope. It emerges, whirls around and around until his senses are reeling. This is it, he thinks. This is the first painting of his that I understand. And it doesn't mean anything. Yet it means everything. Karl steps forward, touches hesitant fingertips to the canvas. He can feel the weave of the canvas, the brushstrokes in the painting -- heavy here, light there -- and his fingers trace a line of black. It might be blue in the light, or even red, but not now. Now it's black. And still his fingers trace it, following it to where it crosses a splash of white and turns grey. The colors mesh so well, black and white, creating something entirely new. Just like the painting. When Karl tries to look at everything, he can't see anything. But the little bits and pieces of it...yes. That's where the true painting is. The true painting is in the whirl and blend of colors...in the kaleidoscope. It's all there, perfectly merged, making all the sense in the world. Once again, Viggo's chest presses to Karl's back. Only this time, a warm arm slides around Karl's waist. "Do you see it now?" Karl looks down, smiles. Viggo's arm, a light tan in the sunlight, is pale now. The moonlight leeches the color right out of it. As it's leeched the color out of his own skin. But his skin is naturally a little darker than Viggo's. And it still is, even now, even all silvered in the moonlight. And he realizes that the two of them create a kaleidoscope of an entirely different sort. A swirling, whirling pattern of color and life that merges and emerges, melding into something that's completely unique. "Yeah," Karl murmurs, lifting his eyes to the painting again, smile still curving his lips. "I see it."
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