"He's groping me again!"

"Come on, sis," Karl purred melodramatically in my ear, loud enough to carry. "Incest's a game the whole family can play."

A smatter of laughter, but at the end of a long day, the actors were getting sillier and the crew was getting less tolerant. Pete didn't even look up from his conference.

Karl sagged over my shoulder, chin digging in. "You're heavy," I grumbled.

"Support me, woman," he shot back, but his heart wasn't really in it. I couldn't blame him. It really had been a long day, and I still wasn't sure if Pete had finished the scene to his liking. We'd done it six different ways, it seemed, and he wasn't happy with any of them.

And it was only my first day, so I was nowhere near settling into the rhythm of filming. I was drained, aching, and very happy when Pete disbanded his meeting and declared: "Fine, we're done. Everyone can piss off."

"My pleasure," I muttered, sliding out from under Karl as he straightened with a faint grunt.

We walked slowly towards make-up. Karl stretched. "I gotta get a personal masseuse," he muttered.

"Apparently Orli's very good."

"Yeah, but you have to put up with the rest of him to get the hands."

I laughed. "Yeah, well. I've gotta stop playing nineteen year olds. It's becoming harder to remember how it feels to be that young and full of everything."

"Poor old woman." He grinned, tugged at my wig.

I tugged back at his. "Who's complaining of arthritis?"

His eyes widened with mock-affront, and he raised a hand: "Listen, wench..."

But I'd seen someone. "Sorry, Karl, I have to talk to Bean."

"You don't get away that easy!" he called, but I was already walking away. I grinned back over my shoulder, but didn't stop. Viggo and Bean were walking away from me as it was, and if I stopped to finish bandying words with Karl, I'd never catch them up.

As it was, I had to jog a little, and call out: "Sean! Hey Sean!"

It took a moment, but then his head raised, and he glanced over his shoulder. Viggo paused a little further on, looking back. They chatted quietly to each other as I jogged up, barely out of breath. Training was good for something after all. I had my snappy line all ready and waiting, but it flew out of my head as Sean turned to face me.

"Holy crap!" I burst out, and then clapped a hand over my mouth.

Viggo was laughing silently behind Bean, who was trying to look innocent, and failing. "What?" he asked mildly.

"You shaved it all off," I said, muffled by my hand.

Sean rubbed at his smooth chin, and grinned. "Yeah, well."

I couldn't help extending my hand to drag my fingers down his cheek. Along his jaw, where the beard had been, his skin was slightly less tanned than the rest of his face. "Jesus," I breathed.

"No, he had a beard," Viggo murmured, and Sean's cheek bunched into a grin under my hand.

"Anyway," he said, as I prised my fingers away from his chin, "I assume you didn't chase us down just to fondle my face."

"Yeah, well, I thought you were going to ignore me for a minute there," I said with a smile.

He smiled back. "Not used to women calling my name."

"I would've thought it happened all the time," I returned.

Viggo burst out laughing, and Sean grinned. "Not used to being called Sean," he clarified. "I've been here too long, being Bean."

I met Viggo's eyes over Sean's shoulder; he was laughing and shaking his head. "I'm not commenting on your sex life or anything to do with length," I said, and was rewarded as Viggo threw his head back to laugh harder, and Sean chuckled.

"I see your reason now; you felt the desperate need to insult me," he said, still grinning. "Miranda, I'm touched that you'd go out of your way for me like that."

"Actually," I told him bluntly, "I still have your jacket."

"Oh." As we got to business, Sean's face cleared a little. He turned to Viggo. "I should go and -"

Viggo waved a hand. "Get it. I'll go via props and meet you -"

"In the carpark. Sure thing." And then Viggo was striding off, and Sean was standing beside me, looking expectant.

"Do you two share a brain or something?" I grumbled, turning away.

Sean fell into step beside me. "Sure," he said cheerfully. "He got all the artistic stuff and I got what's left."

I laughed. "I'm sure that's not true." Sean cocked his head at me, and I smiled winsomely. "I'm sure Viggo has some brain that isn't artistic."

He laughed. I watched the unfamiliar play of muscle and skin along his jaw.

My trailer was quiet, the jacket still on the chair I'd thrown it over that morning. I'd brought it along assuming I'd see him at some stage today, even though he was finished filming. I picked it up now, presented it with a flourish to him as he took a few steps inside the trailer. "I didn't clean it or anything." It still smelled of him, and faintly of me.

"Ugh," he said, screwing up his nose, but taking the jacket readily enough. "Girl germs."

"You've been spending too much time with Elijah." We laughed, and I shook my head. "I just can't get over your face."

He mock-leered. "Sweet of you to say."

I swatted his arm, protected by the jacket slung over it. "You know what I mean. It's unbelievable. Completely changes your look."

"Comes as a bit of a shock in the mirror," he admitted, rubbing his chin again. It had the look of a nervous habit in the making.

"Why'd you do it?" I asked, watching fingers on cheek.

He dropped his hand, held the jacket in both hands. "Symbolic, you know. It's all finished, for me. Make a break, really tell myself it's over. Boromir's all gone."

I nodded, leaning against the chair. "So, when are you off again?"

"Sunday."

"Hope you're getting pissed Saturday night, then," I said with a grin.

"Friday night." He grinned back. "No flying with a hangover for me."

"Unadventurous," I teased.

"Sensible," he corrected. Juggled the jacket, and finally slung it over his shoulder. "You're coming on Friday night, right?"

I'd already heard all about it, talked with Viggo about the farewell present, chipped in, signed the card. "I might," I said. "If you come and pick me up."

His eyebrows rose, and there was a new element in his grin. "As milady commands." He made a passable bow, and caught the jacket as it slid off his shoulder. We laughed together. "Well," he said, "I'd better let you go get de-Eowyned."

I tugged at my wig. "The hair's driving me nuts."

"Shave it all off," he suggested quickly.

I laughed; he left.

When I got home that day, the message light on the machine was blinking. I flicked through them as I pottered about, discarding shoes, rummaging through the fridge for something edible for dinner, humming happily. My agent - "Hi Mir, just touching base, hope everything's fabulous down there, thought you should know…" - Kelly - "Hey Miranda, just an update to your schedule…" - and finally, my father.

"Hi there, little one. Haven't heard from you in a bit, but I know how hectic the start of projects can be. Drop us a line sometime soon, if you could, just to say hi."

I was reaching for the phone to call him back, but the message wasn't done.

"Uh -" and my hand froze on the receiver; my father was never lost for words. "Paul dropped around today." Paul, Paul, Paul. Bright eyes, ready grin Paul. This is for the best, it's time for us to break up Paul.

I realised I'd missed the rest of message, and hit rewind.

"…just to say hi. Uh, Paul dropped around today. He had some mail for you, so I've forwarded that, but it might be easier if he forwarded it himself. And he sounded like he might like to talk to you, Randy. Give it a thought, eh? Love you."

Rewind. "…sounded like he might like to talk to you, Randy…"

I stared at the machine for a minute, and then hit the stop button. When I turned around to face the kitchen, Eric was sitting there on the window ledge, looking at me. As much as a potplant can look at you. Maybe I was coming unhinged.

"I need a drink," I told him.

He didn't say anything. I hadn't really expected him to. There were the last two of a Coopers' Pale Ale sixpack left in the fridge. They were good enough for me.

I snooze-alarmed my way to sleeping in the next morning, and had to rush through breakfast to get to make-up on time. No time for anything as I rushed out the door.

When I arrived on the set in Eowyn-garb, Sean was lurking on the fringes, talking football with two of the crew. I took a detour, tapped him on the arm.

"Hey, g'morning, Miranda."

I smiled at him, stepped closer as one of the Weta boys slid past. "We never decided what time you'd pick me up."

"Oh, for the drinks." He shrugged. "Don't know if there's an official time. I thought I'd head in around seven-ish."

"It's a date," I said with a wink. He laughed; I left.