Flying With Eagles

Well, this is it. Please be gentle, I haven't written fics in over 5 years, but since it's summer, I thought I would start again...

Title: Flying with Eagles
Author: Zar
Email: squishypiglet@hotmail.co.uk
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: "Why do I get the impression his mountain cat is going to eat up my poor birdie?"

Chapter 1

‘Well. That’s a huge mess. Wonder if any of the other tenants are going to complain…’ was the only thought running through me as I relieved my wheezing truck of my life’s possessions piled into the back. There’s a lot of crap there. I am starting to wonder if this is such a great idea. At least there’ll be a lift so I won’t be dragging all of this up myself. Thank god for the little things.

Heaving one of the larger boxes into my arms, I wind my way around the other boxes towards the entrance of the building. Why had I insisted on moving again? Right. Too many memories in the old house. Best not to think about that now. Concentrate on heavy box full of useless crap.

I try opening the door with my foot, but it doesn’t budge. It’s one of those high-tech glass doors that require keyed-in codes. Useless. The security guard is peering at me suspiciously through the glass in his comfortable little air-conditioned corner beside the mailboxes.

“Open the door!” I try yelling at him. All it earns me is a cocked eyebrow. He’s obviously sadistic and in need of some entertainment. Too bad it’s me who’s doing the providing.

“The door!” This time, I try to nod my head at it while keeping a precarious grip on my box. He must know who I am. I called yesterday with the details. How many other people are moving into this building today?

He must have some sympathy for me as I finally hear the tell-tale click of the door and I stumble into the cool of the lobby.

“Are you one of the movers for Mr Bana?”

I glance at him blankly.

“Bana? No, no, my name is Mortensen. I am moving into suite…” I give up and drop the box onto the floor, digging through my pocket for the scrap of paper. “…ahh, suite four – the eagle.”

Don’t know why they insist on giving the apartments different animal names. Perhaps it’s easier for some learning an animal than a number. Not what I would have done, but hey...

The guard seems to be sizing me up, running his eyes up and down my body. I know what he’s probably thinking. Scruffy jeans, paint-stained t-shirt and sneakers on a dishevelled man who drives a beat up red truck. Not the kind of person who woulde hee here – more like the kind he’s supposed to keep out of the building. No wonder he thought I was a mover. But what do you expect when someone is moving house? Polished leather shoes and a black suit?

I guess I pass the test as he nods towards where I remember the lift to be.

“Sorry…sir, but I am afraid Mr Bana is also moving in today…”

Following his gaze, I look to the left and my jaw drops open. This has got to be some kind of prank. There seems to be a beehive of activity as men in overalls systematically move boxes around while waiting to neatly shuffle them into the lift as it arrives. I notice that the security guard is still talking and I try to concentrate.

“…don’t think he’ll be done for another two, maybe, three hours.”

I don’t know how I managed to not notice the sheer amount of…stuff in the lobby surrounding the lift. Tables and chests of drawers, couches and chairs, rolled up carpets and golf clubs…and boxes. Oh my god, the boxes here arranged into complicated piles, which I can tell are colour-coded to indicate the contents within. Makes mine look like child’s play, what with my amateur taping job with Henry’s telltale indecipherable scrawl. What is going on?

“Well, how am I going to bring,” I emphasize my point my nudging the box at my feet, “my stuff? I can’t just sit here and wait three hours for Mr I-Have-Movers-And-A-Lot-Of-Crap!”

My outrage is merely greeted by a shrug and the guard points to the right. There is a side door there with a little plaque on it smugly declaring, “Fire Escape”. He can not expect me to hike up four stories.

The lift chooses that moment to give a little ‘ding’ and the doors slide open revealing an immaculately dressed man in polished leather shoes and a black suit holding a clipboard. If I had to choose one ideal man to represent the human race to aliens from outerspace, it would have to be him. Soft brown hair, and deep chocolate eyes…who was just addressed as “Mr Bana.”

Ahh…so he is the reason I am going to have to hike up four stories. Worth it? I glance subtly at him and find he is looking back at me. I guess I might as well say hello to the man who could be my new neighbour.

I head over to him, careful to not get in the way of the million of movers milling around the greek god lookalike and offer him my hand.

“I am Viggo. Mortensen. I can see you’re moving in too. I am in Suite Four. You know, the eagle one.”

He looks a little disdainfully at my offered hand and the box I was still carting around, before giving a little sniff.

“Bana. Suite One. Leopard.”

Great. Leopard, huh? Why do I get the impression his mountain cat is going to eat up my poor birdie?

Giving him a stiff nod of the head, I haul my box back up and head towards the stairway to hell. It is only when I’ve managed to drag up about five boxes and am currently taking a break on the landing between floors two and three that his words register in. He’s in Suite One. The first floor.

The obnoxious security guard gives me an odd look as I make my next trip back down. Guess he must have heard my bellow. Good. Maybe Mr I-Look-Like-A-God heard it too.

TBC...