Summary: Orlando is bored with all the blonde chicks that throw themselves at him and while he works on a play in London he runs into a girl that works at the theatre. She shies away from him, even though it turns out she is his sister's neighbour. What is her secret, and if Orlando finds out, will he still pursue her?

A great thank you to Sarah for beta reading :)

Chapter Four - Atgóna - Re-opening of Wounds

When Bronwyn had returned home to her apartment, she didn't feel like going to bed directly. At times like these when she returned to an empty flat, she wished she had the nerve to actually own a pet, perhaps a cat. A cat would wait for her and probably demand attention, keeping her occupied. With a sigh, she sat down and dug around in the heaps of books that lay scattered on her sofa but had not the calm to actually open one and read. She jumped to her feet, cursing herself when pain shot up her leg and she paced the length of her living room, taking each step cautiously.

She was surprised that during the whole of the evening with Samantha and her brother she had not once thought about her own life, her own misery. She had laughed and exchanged banter with Samantha and Orlando like any other normal person and something that Sir Ian had told her earlier replayed in her mind.

'He had been right, I should go out more,' she told herself and smiled despite the pain in her leg. Walking into her bed room, she moved to undress herself when her gaze fell upon the build in closet. She had left it empty but for three cardboard boxes which had been moved into the closet when she had first moved in. Now, she was strangely drawn to it, and with a shivering hand, she opened the doors and stared at the boxes long and hard.

After a few minutes of indecision, she drew the sealed boxes out of there and shoving them into the clear space in the middle of her living room, she went into the kitchen to rummage in one of the drawers for a knife before she settled down on the floor with one of the boxes between her spread legs.

The three cardboard boxes seemed to loom in front of her and reaching out an unsteady hand, she sliced open the first sticker tape with a knife. Opening the flaps, her hands drove into the depth of the box and the first thing she drew out were her Pointe shoes. They were still coloured to match the dress she had worn on her last performance, the night when her life had turned upside down. The orange colouring had already faded but Bronwyn remembered that they had once been dyed a bright orange to match the yellow, orange and red dress she had worn as Strawinsky's Firebird.

Lovingly, she caressed the battered satin covering of the shanks and the box, then she put them aside to retrieve some of her past. Going through the boxes she also found a photo album and after she had stared at it for long moments, she opened it with a shivering hand. The photos were numerous, showing her in costume and out of it. Then they changed to more private photos, showing her and Alex, her fiancé, while practising and during parties. The holidays they had taken, the romantic places they had been. The camera had caught a lot of happy moments, Alex with his arms around her, grinning foolishly into the camera while she laughed. Kisses, caresses ... all came back to her in a rush and the tears came.

She had destroyed it all, hadn't she? She had been the one who had killed Alex, just because he had told her on the evening of her greatest success that he was leaving her. Bronwyn closed her eyes, willing herself to remember the moment ...

"I don't know how to tell you, Bronnie, so I will get it out straight, Sylvie and I ... we will go to New York together," Alex' voice was chilling her to the bone while she tried to concentrate on the street in front of her. The old battered Vauxhall she drove puckered along the winding road towards Alex' house in Chiswick.

"Bron, please, say something?!" Alex asked.

"What should I say?" Bronwyn snapped, shooting him a glance before her eyes riveted back onto the road ahead of her.

"Well I would prefer it if you'd yell at me, and not be so bloody cold," Alex mumbled. "That is your bloody problem, you are always so cold. You are not like Sylvie, she's warm, outgoing ... you're just ... just focused on your work."

That was all she had always allowed herself to remember. She had conditioned herself to blank most of what had transpired between her and Alex that night. The only conscious thing she still let herself remember was the grey concrete wall rushing towards her, then the impact and the piercing pain. Squeezing her eyes shut, Bronwyn rubbed her temples furiously, digging the tips of her fingers into the skin, making herself wince.

What she had not told the police or anyone else for that matter was, that she had wanted Alex dead. She had been with him for more than five years, having met him during her time at the Vic. He had been her first boy-friend and in some irrational thought she had wanted him to be the last too. When her car was out of control, she knew she was going to crash into the wall. She had not braked, indeed, she had pushed her foot down on the gas, giving the car even more impetus before it hit the wall head on.

Orlando groaned when he woke. He had forgotten how bumpy the old mattress of Sam's old bed was and when he cracked an eye open he groaned. It was still dark outside, which wasn't a surprise considering it was almost mid November and in a month' time the play would open. Rolling onto his back, he rubbed his face with his hands and stretched lazily, his back and shoulder giving off loud popping sounds. Another reminder that he had broken his back a couple of years back. He shrugged and slowly stood up, checking his watch on the small bedside table. Switching on the lamp, he squinted his eyes.

'Fucking crap,' he thought. "Five o'clock ..." he mumbled.

Padding softly over to the bathroom, he took a shower. He still had another couple of hours till he was supposed to be at the theatre, so he had decided to drive back to his own flat and check up on things. He also wanted to pick up a few books and CDs he had forgotten when he had hurriedly moved in with Sam three days ago.

Still yawning he dressed after his shower, shivering in the cold room as he made his way over to the kitchen. Sam was still fast asleep and he rummaged as silently as he could in the refrigerator to prepare some frugal breakfast for himself. He heard the faint stirrings on the landing outside the apartment and although he suspected it was Bronwyn, he remained seated in his chair, hunching over his toast.

It had been weird last night after he had turned in. Bits and pieces of conversation with Bronwyn had replayed in his head. He could still picture her, the tilt of her head when she listened intently or the laughter at one of Sam's or his own wise cracks. For a first time in many months he had felt very much alive, and normal. He knew she was not his type, not at all, but over the past days he had spent in her company while learning his lines he had felt himself being drawn to her. Her opinion mattered to him and he had to wonder at that. The last time he had given so much about any woman's opinion that was not related to him, was when he had been together with Joanne.

Frowning, he stared at the toast on his plate. "Orlando, you promised," he mumbled under his breath. "You keep away from Bronwyn ..." But try as he might, all his thoughts evolved around her. Shaking his head, he had to grin at himself. "I promised not to hit on her, not that I will stay away!"

With a sigh he trashed the toast, having barely eaten at all, so prepared for the day when his eye caught the window and the street beyond. Stepping nearer he watched as a huddled figure in a big coat carried the last of a cardboard box to the trash can hold.

Bronwyn shivered in the cold of the November morning as she stared at the last of the boxes, she had lugged downstairs. Now the cardboard boxes were sitting right beside the trash cans. Posters, pictures, her pointe shoes - everything that reminded her of her past life - it was all there ready to be picked up later in the morning to go to the refuse heap.

With a sigh, she turned and walked down the street toward the tube station, never aware that Orlando had watched her getting rid of her past life.

When he had first seen her, he was about to call out to her but something had held him back. Silently getting ready, he put his coat on and walked downstairs. he was drawn to the boxes sitting beside the trash cans and curiously, he peered in. The first thing he fished out of one of the boxes was a glossy photo of a ballerina in black and white. Squinting in the poor light of the street lamp, he barely could make out the figure on the photograph but something struck him as familiar, and when he picked up another one, he recognised Bronwyn.

Photo upon photo of her in ballerina tutu and in work out clothes fell into his hands, and he shook his head.

'There must be hundreds,' he thought, as he opened the other boxes. He already heard the refuse men coming down the road, so he grabbed one of the boxes and hauled it over to his car that was sitting on the curb in front of the house. Putting the boxes into the trunk, he shook his head, as he stared at the pictures in his hands.

'Why would she throw away all of this?' he asked himself and cursed, when he remembered that she was not working as a ballerina anymore.

"Right, stupid of me," Orlando breathed as he got into his car, staring at the black and white photograph he had first gotten out of one of the boxes. It was a beautiful shot, very dark, of Bronwyn on pointe, her back arched and her arms gracefully raised above her head with her hair open and floating down her back. He turned it over and squinting his eyes in the light of his car, he read the writing on the back: Bronwyn McKinnon, p.b.a, Royal Opera Ballet, 1999

Throwing the picture onto the dash board he started the engine. Even though he busied himself Orlando couldn't get the boxes, or why Bronwyn had thrown them away, out of his head. When he had reached his own flat, the workmen still ripping apart his floor boards and walls, he had quickly put the boxes into his spare room, for further perusal.

Getting the stuff he came for anyway, he got back into the car and drove off to work, hoping to have a word with Bronwyn about the boxes.

The cafeteria of the theatre had the charm of a waiting room at Victoria Station but nevertheless half the staff of the theatre met here early every morning, sipping their teas and coffees and nibbling on toasts, buns and bread rolls. Ian and Sean were occupying a cleanly scrubbed but nevertheless battered looking table when Bronwyn walked in to get a cup of tea.

"Bronwyn, dear," Sir Ian motioned her over with a wave of a cigarette holding hand.

"Good morning," Bronwyn said with a smile as she walked up to the two men.

"Good morning to you too, Bronwyn," Sean said with a flashing smile that went undetected by Bronwyn but not by Ian. The older actor shot his friend an amused smile.

"Why don't you join us for a cup, dear," Ian suggested and Bronwyn nodded, unwinding her shawl and dumping it on one of the free chairs.

"I'll just get myself some tea," she said but Sean jumped to his feet.

"I'll do it... Milk and sugar?"

"Uh, yes, milk and two spoons of sugar, thanks," Bronwyn said and peeled herself out of the coat before she sat down while Sean Bean went over to the counter. McKellen was watching her and the dark circles beneath her eyes and the puffiness around them was a straight give away that the girl had not heeded his advice for getting an early night.

"You look awful, Bronwyn," Ian commented and tucked one of her stray bangs behind her ear. The young woman grimaced and looked up, her blue eyes big pools surrounded by dark lashed and dark circles.

"But I turned in early, and slept well," she lied while she avoided the concern look of the older man.

"And that is why you look as if you have cried your eyes out the whole night?" Ian asked, concern in his voice.

"I was in pain after dinner at Sam's..." she answered quickly, trying to forget why she had cried the whole night and barely had slept a wink. Looking up, her gaze caught Orli who just entered the cafeteria, she smiled and Ian noticed it with a grin.

"Any particular reason for that smile?" Ian asked and waved towards Orlando.

"No, I just had a very good evening ... Sam and Orli invited me over to home-cooked dinner."

"Oh is that so?" Ian asked with a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Samantha is my neighbour," Bron explained.

"Good morning Ian, Bron," Orlando plopped down in a seat beside Bronwyn, lighting a cigarette.

"Hi," Bron said and turned back to Ian but Sean set a cup of tea in front of her.

"Here, Bronwyn, I hope you like it like this," Sean said and scowled when he noticed Orlando. The younger actor shrugged and leant back, watching Ian and Bronwyn chat away. Orlando kept a close eye on Bronwyn and had to smile. She seemed to get along with Ian just beautifully and Ian used his whole charm to win Bronwyn over. When the older man mentioned having tickets for a ballet night in a fortnight his ears pricked up. Silently, he tried to gesture to Ian, but the man ignored him.

"Ian, do you need some more coffee?" Orlando asked loudly, interrupting Ian's flow of words.

"Oh you are a darling boy, Orlando, yes, thank you," Ian said, giving him a smile before continuing. "I think it would be wonderful if you were to accompany me, Bronwyn. I have been told these are the best seats..."

Orli noticed Bronwyn's pained expression and with a sigh he stood up. "Ian..."

"Yes, Orlando, my boy?"

"Give us a hand, will'ya?" Orlando said in his broadest Canterbury accent and Sir Ian raised an eyebrow.

"Why, Orlando, of course," he said amusedly. "Excuse me, please, Bronwyn."

When they had walked off and were out of ear shot, Ian chuckled.

"Smooth move, Orli, my boy, really smooth," Ian commented while Orlando turned slightly towards his friend.

"Ian, do me a favour and don't mention the ballet with Bronwyn. She ... umm..."

"So you know she was with the Royal Ballet before her accident?" Ian inquired. "I have seen her in Swan Lake and Stravinsky's Sacre Du Printemps, she was astounding."

Orlando stared at the older actor before he noticed he was gawking and shut his mouth.

"So you know ... I thought it was a touchy subject with her, she threw away all her stuff," Orlando answered.

Ian watched Orlando out of the corner of his eye as they both queued for more coffee and tea. He had detected that the boy as he called him, had developed a soft spot for the girl. Every time Orlando was needed and nowhere to be seen it was certain he would be found in Bronwyn's immediate company, sometimes just sitting around telling her about the filming of LOTR, of which the young woman was obviously a fan, or learning his lines while Bronwyn listened.

'Interesting,' Ian thought and chuckled silently. Over the years he had come to know Orlando quite well, had seen the heartache of the youth as his girl friend had left him, had been partial to the blonde chick phase and also to the model/starlet phase and had hoped that Orlando would grow out of it and it seemed he was slowly emerging.

"So will you have a look at her stuff? I can't believe she threw it all away, there is personal stuff in there as well as photos, mostly promo shots of her in ballet clothes..." Orlando's voice brought him back into the present.

"Errr, yes of course, but do you think it was sensible to pick up the boxes?" Ian asked and Orlando blushed.

"I don't know, Ian, but it seems it was an important part of her life," he said and shot Bronwyn a nervous glance who was talking with Sean Bean. Orli bit the nail of his left thumb. "Why should she get rid of it. There is personal stuff in there too .. I don't think she really had a good look at it."

"Well it is up to you, Orlando, but I still think you trespassed her rights there."

Orlando nodded to that and he knew Ian was right but try as he might, he didn't want Bronwyn to throw away part of her life, even if it were only pictures and posters. Perhaps he was just a hopeless, sappy idealist but he couldn't understand why someone would part so easily with memorabilia that was part of one's life, even if it had been painful.

Returning to the table, Orlando frowned when he noticed that Sean had sat down on his seat and was unabashedly flirting with Bronwyn.

"You know, Bronwyn, you really have to go out with me. Why not tonight? I know this nice, cosy restaurant just further down Tottenham Court Road, you will love it," Sean said, giving Bronwyn his most enigmatic smile.

"I ..." Bronwyn drew back slightly, she could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I'm getting picked up ... by my ... boy-friend..." Bronwyn stuttered and caught Orlando's gaze when he hid a chuckle behind a very fake cough as he sat down opposite her.

Orlando had to keep from laughing out loud. He couldn't believe that Sean was receiving the same treatment as himself. On one hand he felt sorry for Sean, and on the other hand, he was amused and seeing Bronwyn all flustered he had to admit she looked cute and adorable.

"I don't think your boy-friend will mind if you go out for dinner with Sean," Orli replied with a grin and received an angry look from Bronwyn.

"Orlando ..." Bronwyn growled softly and Orli grinned at that. He had to battle down the urge to stuck his tongue out at her, but when he saw her pleading look, he sobered up instantly.

"Why don't we all ... umm ... go out together ... sometime?" he offered. "Sam would love to see you again, Sean."

Sean Bean shot him an angered look, then he turned to Bronwyn again. "That would be great. What do you think, Bronwyn? Tonight?"

"I .. I don't think that is such a good idea, Se-Sean," Bronwyn mumbled. "I ... my boy-friend wanted ..." she bit her lower lip as her voice trailed away. Normally when she said she had a boy-friend men would lay off, but Sean Bean was persistent. Orlando noticed her predicament, and a surge of protectiveness washed over him.

"Didn't Ben want to go out with you and Sam and me tonight?" he asked, winking at Bronwyn who nodded furiously.

"Oh really, Bronwyn?" Sean inquired, shooting Orlando an annoyed look.

"Yes, and I get picked up tonight. I'm sorry Sean," Bronwyn quickly relented.

The blonde actor shrugged his shoulders and drained his coffee cup. "Well, I'll see you around then, Bronwyn." With this he stood up and left the cafeteria. Ian who had noticed the strange behaviour of Bronwyn and Orlando clucked his tongue softly before he, too, bid his good-byes.

"You should have told him the truth if you didn't want to go out with him," Orlando said after they were alone. He looked up and caught her gaze with his own. "You cannot expect me to cover for you just because I know you use your non-existent boy-friend to shun men. If you like Sean, you should go out with him. He is really a nice guy."

Bronwyn averted her gaze and picked at the styrofoam of her empty cup. "Perhaps that is why I don't go out with him, he is nice and deserves better." With this she hauled herself to her feet but Orlando was quicker. Grabbing her arm he turned her to face him.

"Just because you had the accident, Bron, doesn't mean you shouldn't go out anymore. Your limp isn't really noticeable ..."

Bronwyn shook her head and laughed bitterly. He sounded so genuinely touched. "It's not the limp, I can and have to live with it, Orlando. As I said he deserves someone who wouldn't put him into a clinch with the media."

Orlando watched her as she limped out of the cafeteria and he had to admit that part of him was relieved that Bronwyn wasn't going out with Bean, and part of him was puzzled why Bronwyn was so adamant in shunning any date.