Thank YOU to all who have commented so far, it is a great pleasure to read through the reviews and make me all go fuzzy inside :) Oh and Miff (my wonderful sister in spirit Mary 'wink') you write better than me, I'm actually envious ;-)

Chapter Two - Tá cas orm má gostuigear tú - Sorry if I hurt you

Days merged into weeks, weeks into a month, and Bronwyn had almost all forgotten her incident with the two actors. Her work was straining but she revelled in it. She had painted the backgrounds for the play with the help of Jim, who had been pleasant company nevertheless. Bronwyn had first been wary of his gruff exterior but with their shared work, she had soon realised his gruff manner hid a very caring and funny man.

"I heard the actors want to throw a big party on the opening night," Jim commented and applied another tuft of white to the canvas he and Bronwyn were painting. The background was for an act in the play and the director wanted to have a clear summer sky.

"So?" Bronwyn asked and wiped her paint-stained hands on her pant leg. "We are not supposed to mingle, remember?" she threw back good-naturedly, not having missed the crush Jim had on one of the actresses.

"Ah, yes but that rule was only for those newbies, you are not a newbie anymore. I had to make sure that you are not a fan girl," Jim grinned at her and then applied another touch of white with the sponge he was holding.

"I'm touched, Jim," she replied and looked around when the steel door opened. Craning her neck she could see Orlando walking into the room, seemingly oblivious to where he was going as he was buried up to his nose in the script, his lips moving silently. She had seen him on and off around the theatre, and sometimes had exchanged a few words when they had met in the personnel's cafeteria but apart from these few encounters she had stuck to Jim and Lynn.

"Oi, watch it mate," Jim bellowed which startled Orlando and made him step right into the freshly applied paint on the canvas.

"Huh?" Orlando made and then looking down cursed under his breath. His blue sneakers showing a good amount of green-blueish paint on the sole and the sides. "Ah fuck!"

"Hasn't anyone told you to stay away from a door that says No Entry - Personnel only?" Bronwyn asked and handed him a cloth dabbed in turpentine.

"What? No, I didn't ..." Bloom grinned sheepishly and shrug his shoulders. "I guess I was too deep into the play."

"I could see that," Bronwyn replied dryly and chuckled when she saw that Orlando had managed to smudge the paint on his sneaker instead of wiping it off.

Grabbing one of the high stools that stood scattered around in the work room, she placed it a fair distance away from the drying canvas. "Here," she motioned Orlando over to where she was standing. "Sit down and I look at your shoe."

"Thanks," Orlando said as he hopped onto the stool and blushed when she knelt down and opened the laces. "I can do that myself, you know, love."

"And getting those soft actor's hands all soiled up?" Bronwyn quirked an eyebrow from her perch at his feet. Taking the cloth he held in his hand she walked over to the work table and wiped off the access paint. "So what are you doing here?"

Orlando had watched her and when she looked up, he quickly averted his gaze for a short moment, before returning a steady gaze out of deep brown eyes.

"I wanted to learn the lines and looked for a secluded spot. Sean and Ian are driving me crazy with their antics. They are ad libing more than anything and always throw me into a loop."

"Ahh, the Guildhall pranks," Jim said and chuckled.

"Don't remind me, Jim," Orlando elaborated. "I mean it was already bad enough in my days, but these two, they can drive you nuts. And of course, Ian has to play the Gandalf routine," he shook his head and rubbed his neck. "He even called me the prissy Elf while I was supposed to beg for my life in that scene."

Bronwyn smiled. Ever since Sir Ian McKellen had joined the production, the tone in the theatre had changed. They all laughed more while they watched the great actor prancing around, taking the mickey out of everyone, including himself. During rehearsals especially. McKellen loved to play tricks on his cast members and in Sean Bean he had found a willing conspirator, driving the director to fits of laughter.

"This is not funny," she heard Orlando's voice near her ear and she whirled around in surprise. Orlando was standing right in front of her.

"Well I'm sure you got up to a lot of practical jokes too," Bronwyn said and saw the mischievous grin in the actor's face. "I knew it. So spill it, while Jim and I do some damage control on the canvas."

"Aww, come on, Bronwyn, most of the stuff we got up to are not for the ears of a gentle lady," Orli flashed her a grin and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Lady?" Bronwyn and Jim said in unison and they looked at each other before starting to laugh.

"I ain't seeing no lady here, just a prissy Elf impersonator and a paint-stained tomboy," Jim commented and averted Bronwyn's playful swat. "Oi, woman, get going, that is your part of the canvas."

"Aye, aye, Sirrrr," Bronwyn mock saluted and crouched down on the spot where Orlando had so foolishly trodden on.

Orlando had watched the exchange and he had to smile. He had met these two around the theatre a lot in the past weeks. Jim being the handy man, from doing the props to exchanging a light bulb, he was doing everything. Orlando had seen Bronwyn also in the fitting studios and around the theatre but she had never exchanged such easy banter as she had now. Most of the times he had gotten one syllable answers out of her, and he took the change in her behaviour as a good sign.

Thinking about this, it made him frown. During the past weeks Sean Bean had tried to chat her up and she had given him the same treatment, and now he feared that she would warm up to his friend as well.

'Oh come on, Sean needs to be cheered up,' he told himself, but the uneasy feeling he had had the first time Sean mentioned an interest in her remained. 'And they would make a cute couple ... if not for the age difference.'

Putting on his trainer again, he walked over to where Bronwyn was squatting on the floor.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, pointing to the smears and smudges his shoe had left on the canvas.

"Hey, no sweat, Bronwyn here only has to work over time, unpaid I might add, to redeem your little misstep," Jim's voice, dripping with sarcasm, could be heard from the other end of the canvas and Orlando blushed.

"I ... I can drive you home, when you are finished, that is the least I can do," he said.

Bronwyn shook her head. "Thanks, but I don't need a lift," she replied evenly as she repainted the part of the canvas. "Jim was kidding. I can finish this in no time."

Orlando nodded in understanding but didn't want to give up so easily. "You are Sam's neighbour, right? I can take you home, that is no problem. In fact we can drive together, I'll move in with her as my flat is getting new water pipes and all."

Bronwyn stopped her work for a moment before she faced Orlando. "Thanks, but no thanks. I need to get to the theatre at different times as you actors anyway."

"Oh-kay," Orlando replied. He knew when he got a rebuff and this was clearly one. While he stood up he caught Jim's gaze and the older man just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head in understanding. It seemed he had already this kind of conversation with Bronwyn before.

"Jim, is it okay if I come in here from time to time when I need a break from the pranksters?" he asked. "I promise I'll stay away from the canvas and other stuff, but I need some spot where I can learn the lines."

"Sure, Orlando, as long as you don't keep Bronwyn away from her work," Jim retorted with a grin and both men heard the snort of the young woman.

Over the next two days Orlando hung around Jim and Bronwyn in the work rooms, mostly sitting in the corner and learning his lines. Bronwyn, to her surprise, found herself listening to him reciting his lines out loud and she felt a calm filling her up that she had not felt for a long time. His voice wrapping around her mind and body like a soothing warm shawl.

"Bronwyn?" Orlando's voice was all too loud after his last line of reciting and she had a hard time blinking back the sudden warmth that had gathered inside her.

"Mhhh," she said, then she looked up when he didn't respond. He sat perched on one of the high stools, white t-shirt, saffron coloured flannel shirt and a pair of jeans that Bronwyn's mother wouldn't have considered even using as a rag. "Yes?" she asked and waited while Orlando slowly came over, his hands buried deeply into the front pockets.

"How would you like to come out with me tonight? Sam and I wanted to check out a new pub ..." Orlando said, looking anywhere but her.

Bronwyn was stunned. Here he was, Mr. Self-Assured Actor, looking decidedly shy. She frowned a bit, she had rebuked his offers to give her a lift, or going out to a pub or a club many times now, and she was stunned that he still tried to come on to her, or was he?

"Orlando ..." Bronwyn started but was cut off by Orli's voice.

"Orli, my friends call me Orli," he said with a grin and Bronwyn nodded.

"Yes, I know, but we are work colleagues, not friends," she retorted harsher than she had intended. She saw Orlando's frown and his smile vanished, so she cast her eyes down. 'Fuck,' she thought. 'Just because I don't like to be called by nicknames I shouldn't blast him if he uses them on himself'. "I'm sorry ... That's not how I intended it to sound ... I don't like nicknames much so I don't use them on others."

Orli's smile appeared again and a mischievous gleam settled in his eyes. "Let me guess, you were called Bronnie," Bronwyn grimaced. "Oh and probably Winny, too," he started to laugh when Bronwyn just shook her head and snorted unladylike. "Awww, Bron, I'm sorry," Orli said and hugged her close. He frowned when he felt her getting stiff in his arms.

Bronwyn almost panicked. Not that she didn't like the embrace, in fact it was the first human touch she had for more than a year. The last time someone had hugged her being her father when he had seen her after the trial. Her mind registered a few things simultaneously, like the heat emanating from Orlando's body, the mixture of after shave, cigarette smoke and unique body scent and the way her legs seemed to dissolve beneath her. Struggling to clear her mind, she pushed her hands flat against his chest, almost gasping when she felt more warm skin and muscles beneath the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

Orli let go of her the moment he felt her pushing against him and with a confused frown he slightly bend to look into her face.

"What is it, love?" he asked as Bronwyn turned away from him to hide her blush.

"Nothing," she shrugged her shoulders and hugged herself, to keep her shaking hands out of his sight. Looking back over her shoulder at Orlando, she managed a small smile. "You caught me unawares ... I don't like to be crowded ..."

Orli nodded his head in understanding. "So you are claustrophobic? I have a friend who suffers also from that ... poor chap gets almost a seizure if someone or something comes to close."

"Yeah, something like that," Bronwyn replied. Picking up her brush and pain canister, she moved further away from him and his body warmth. She still had the feeling she could smell him and with a wrinkle of her nose, she tried to breathe deeply in with her mouth.

The door opened behind them and not bothering to look, Bronwyn got down on her knees. "No touching the canvas, no fingering the paint," she yelled, which she now did every time the door opened ever since Orlando's mishap a few days before.

Someone chuckled behind her. "No touching the paint-lady?"

"Sean ..." Orlando started but was dismissed by a wave of the other man's hand as Sean Bean stood behind Bronwyn and bend slightly to tickle her.

His hands had only made contact with her hips for a short moment when Sean already found himself on the floor. Bronwyn had knocked her head against his jaw, when she had jumped to her feet and now she was glaring down at Sean.

"What is it with you people?" she asked angrily. "Don't you actors have nothing else to do than crowding and sneaking up on people?"

"I'm sorry, Bronny-luv, I ... just wanted to surprise you," Sean stammered from his place on the floor.

"Jesus, first Orlando and now you, why don't you go to the auditorium? Unlike you I have to work here for a living!" Bronwyn whirled around and stabbed viciously at the canvas with a brush.

Sean winced and slowly got to his feet. He knew when he was dismissed, and this was such a situation. Olrando followed him to the door and when it clanged behind them with a loud thud, Orlando breathed a sigh of relief.

"What did you do to her, to get her off like that?" Sean suddenly asked and Orlando stopped dead in his tracks.

"What?"

"You heard me, Orlando," Sean said. "What did you do to her?"

"Me?" Orli spat back. "I wanted to warn you not to sneak up on her, she was perfectly alright till you played that trick on her."

"Well she said first you than me ... so what did you do?" Sean growled.

"I hugged her," Orlando said through gritted teeth and tried to ignore the angry look out of Sean's blue steely eyes.

"Oh, great, I knew you couldn't keep your hands away from her. All this acting about not being interested and that I should go for it was just that ... an act."

"Oh come off it, Sean. It's not as if she has reacted to all your advances and I don't want to come on to her. I just hugged her and she told me she was claustrophobic. She is my sister's neighbour for crying out loud!" Orlando almost yelled and shook his head. 'Great now I'm yelling at Sean ... for what? Because he thinks I came onto Bronwyn?' he frowned. 'Well I did in a way ... but why? She isn't even my type'. With a sigh, he calmed himself. "Look, Sean, I really do not care if you want to date her or not. But if you just want to fool around with her while you're here in London, then forget it. Sam is quite fond of her and I really don't want to be caught in the middle of whatever you have in mind, okay?"

The other man nodded silently and watched as Orlando walked back to the auditorium.

"I'll be damned," Sean murmured beneath his breath. "The kid is falling for her and doesn't even know it."

When the paint job had been finished Jim had only reluctantly let her go to work in the costume work shop where she now worked alongside Lynn with the fitting of the costumes. Against usual opening standards this play they were working on was to open just the week before Christmas and almost all actors had been fitted out.

With a sigh Bronwyn bent over one of the jackets that had to be fitted right. This one was for Sir Ian McKellen who was now sitting across from her on a high stool, smoking one fancy French cigarillo while he eyed Bronwyn with keen eyes.

"You know, it is a pity really..." he started musingly.

Bronwyn stood up and came over to him. Helping him into the jacket, she smoothed any creases out of it on his shoulders, the brocade glimmering in the harsh light of the work room.

"What is a pity, Sir Ian?" she prompted the actor and Ian smiled warmly at her.

"Ian," he said, his blue eyes brimming with laughter.

"I beg your pardon?" Bronwyn looked up from what she was doing. Silently she berated herself for only listening with half an ear. Sir Ian McKellen was a very amusing and intelligent man whose anecdotes had amused her in the past two days where he had come in for the fittings, but today her leg was giving her trouble and without the pain killers that made her too woozy to work, she needed all her concentration to keep the pain at bay.

"Call me Ian, Bronwyn dear," Ian replied and looked at her closely. "You are not your cheerful self, my dear. Are you in pain?"

"How do you ..." Bronwyn's voice trailed away and she shook her head. "Ian, you are far too perceptive. Yes, my leg hurts."

"Ah, my dear, perceptiveness comes age. You were favouring your right leg ever since I came in and from the short answers you gave me all day, I presumed you are not your usual self." His hand cupped her chin, his blue eyes moving endlessly over her tired face, watching, looking, taking stock. "You should sit down, my dear, you look tired and worn out."

'Gee thanks!' Bronwyn thought but nevertheless she gave Ian a small smile.

"I will rest over the weekend, I wanted to move out some stuff anyway and afterwards I will pamper myself."

"This you should do, my dear. And you should go out more ..."

Bronwyn now grinned. "Oh and how should I manage that if I'm supposed to rest more?"

"Well you should have fun, live life to the fullest ..." he frowned when he saw that her face had become void of every emotion. "You shouldn't live in the past, my dear."

Bronwyn McKinnon moved away from the older man, then shook her head. Two days ago when she had met McKellen for the first time, she had known he had recognised her and his perceptiveness had made her weary. Over the last two days she had thought he would not bring it up, but she had assumed wrong.

"I do not live in the past, Sir McKellen, I just don't deserve a future," she whispered and moved away, bracing herself against the tall work table.

Ian watched the tensed back of the young woman, having a hard time matching her with the remembered image of the young ballerina he had seen four years ago as Odette in Swan Lake. Her face had seemed familiar when he had first seen her and when he had matched her name to her face, it had clicked. Her accident and the resulting trial had even made the papers back in New Zealand at that time. He had decided to keep quiet but seeing the young woman so shut off against the world, it made his heart ache, especially as he felt like the world had lost a beautiful asset when she had been forced to stop dancing due to her injuries.

Thinking back to the performance of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake at the Royal Ballet four years ago, he remembered that it had reduced him to tears. He had heard about her, had already seen her at the Vic Wells when a 17 year old Bronwyn McKinnon, Edinburgh born, had shown the obvious signs of stardom of British ballet. She had already been compared to the great ballerina assoluta Margot Fonteyn, and he himself had seen the greatness, the similarities between Fonteyn and McKinnon. It had been a shock to read about her accident and more over about the murder trial that had followed. McKinnon, youngest prima ballerina of the Royal Ballet of London, had taken her car and had driven it against a concrete wall with her partner and fiancé Alex Dmitrjov ending up dead.

Ian sighed and stepped over to her, placing his hands soothingly on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Bronwyn. It is none of my business to tell you how to lead your life, but it pains me that you have lost so much in such a short time."

Bronwyn closed her eyes for a short time, calming her breathing before she turned.

"I had the best as well, Sir Ian. When I was on the stage, I felt real and happy," she broke off and smiled. "But who am I telling you this, I know you have a similar feeling..."

"Yes, I do actually," Ian replied and winked at her. He wanted to say more but the door to the workroom opened and Lynn followed by Orlando came in.

"Bronwyn, I need your help," Lynn exclaimed and smiled at Ian McKellen while Orlando rose an inquisitive eyebrow at his fatherly friend after he had seen the casualness with which his hands rested on the shoulders of the young woman.

Bronwyn awkwardly wiped at her eyes before she turned to Lynn. "Sure, what is it?" she asked the other woman who drew her over where Orlando was still standing.

"Either I'm loosing my touch as a seamstress or this young man has a hunch," Lynn said and pointed to an dent right behind his shoulder.

Bronwyn looked at it, then slowly walked around Orlando. It really did look like Orlando Bloom, sexy heart-throb, had a hunch. Bronwyn had to grin at that.

"Perhaps he really has a hunch?" she commented with a sly grin to Lynn, and Orlando whirled around.

"I don't have a hunch!" Orlando huffed.

"Oh shut up, pretty boy," Lynn said and turned him around to face away from Bronwyn towards the full length mirror. "See this seam? It looks alright but as soon as he wears the jacket, it bunches up like this."

"Hmm ... can't be the lining ..." Bronwyn said and touched the seam. Getting up on tiptoe, she reached around and over Orlando's shoulder. Her hand disappeared inside his jacket and around his shoulder, fingering the lining. She flinched slightly when she came into contact with the warm skin of his neck.

Squeezing her eyes shut for the moment, she tried to shift her weight to her right leg, and cursed underneath her breath. She had all but forgotten that it hurt like hell.

Orlando watched her every move in the mirror and he had noticed the slight flinch and the flicker in her eyes when she had touched bare skin, so he moved from one foot to the other, the movement jarring her and the position she was in, all draped over him from behind.

"Stand still, Orlando," Bronwyn said through gritted teeth when her hand slipped inadvertently inside the collar of his shirt at his neck.

"Sorry," Orli piped up innocently, his face unusually blank but the twinkle of mischief in his eyes was clearly seen. He caught Bronwyn's gaze in the mirror and winked.

Shaking her head, Bronwyn slipped her hand out of his jacket and rolled back onto her feet, favouring her throbbing leg. "This is no good, does he always wear the shirt when he comes for fittings?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, he has always one of those atrocious shirts on," Lynn replied.

Rubbing her leg, Bronwyn squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

"Bron, you okay?" Orlando asked when he saw her in the mirror.

"Yeah, yeah, just peachy," she replied and motioned with her hand for him to take off the jacket. "Just take off the shirt underneath it and then put on the jacket again."

Orlando did as he was told and oh wonder, the jacket now fit to his tall frame.

"Okay, that is it. No more eye-hurting, flannelled shirts for you, young man," Lynn said sternly with a grin curving her lips. Checking her watch while she waited for Olrando to shrug out of the jacket, she gasped. "Cripes, look at the time. I'm sorry, Bronwyn. I didn't want to keep you away so long from home. HOw about you resume fitting Sir Ian tomorrow and go home now?"

Bronwyn exhaled deeply, trying to keep the pain out of her voice when she replied, "Sure, that would be lovely, Lynn."

"alright, then see you tomorrow," Lynn waved cheerfully, hugging Orli's jacket to her chest and left.

"Well I'll be off as well, I promised to be home earlier for a little entre nous," Ian lit up another one of his cigarettes and threw kisses towards Orli and Bronwyn.

"Yo, bye mate, and have fun," Orlando said and grinned.

When he had shrugged into his flannel shirt again Bronwyn was on her way to her locker, limping heavily.

"Will you let me give you a lift tonight?" he asked, while he watched her putting her coat on.

Bronwyn worries her lower lip while she put a heavy shawl around her neck. 'Shit, why can't he just lay off with this?' she thought.

"I ... I'm getting picked up ..." she said, chiding herself silently that her voice quivered.

"Oh?" Orlando said, raising an eyebrow at her. "You are having a date? In your work clothes?"

"Ye-es ... he'll drive me home and then I'll change."

"Okay, well .. then I'm off. See you tomorrow, Bron," Orlando said, having the nagging feeling he had just been lied to. He didn't see that Bronwyn was leaning against the door of her locker, squeezing her eyes shut in pain, as he walked out of the work rooms.

"Shit," Bronwyn breathed. "Why did I do that? With my luck he is earlier at Sam's than me .. then what?" With a sigh she closed her locker and hobbled towards the door, switching off the light.

Orlando was sitting inside his car he had parked on the street. From his venue he could see the front of the theatre as well as the side alley and up till now both streets where void of another waiting car. Rubbing his hands together, he breathed on them to keep them warm. He had not dared to keep the engine running in fear Bronwyn would see him. When he saw her dark figure emerging out of the side alley, he waited till she was further down the street, then he started the car.

With a frown he followed her to the nearest tube station, before he headed home.