It wasn't really that unusual for half the cast to show up to watch the shooting of a scene, even if they weren't in it. And even if the scene was what Dom had referred to as 'Arwen arsing about Rivendell'. That's all it really was, just arsing about, but it was arsing about as Arwen, in full costume, in full character, in front of the cameras and crew and everyone. The real test. Dom had never been so glad of the moral support in his life.

As the scene drew to its end again - the third time, but a few takes were the norm - Dom found himself holding his breath, looking for the hobbits and Orli out of the corner of his eye. PJ called: "Cut!"

And then: "Nice work. It's a wrap."

Dom turned in a swirl of hair and sleeves and skirt, and the others were hurrying across the set towards him.

"Well done!" Orlando declared, giving him a one-armed hug. He was in costume, due for filming later this afternoon. The hobbits, bouncing up excited and grinning, were in jeans and T-shirts. They'd finished their filming this morning.

Dom laughed, shook Billy's offered hand. "All I can say is that it's a good job Arwen has to look stressed in this scene."

"You did fine," Liv told him.

"Thanks. How'd you go this morning?" Dom had been in make-up at the time.

"No worries!" Elijah declared, mimicking the Aussie drawl of half the crew.

Sean laughed, and leaned on Liv's shoulder. "Nah, Dom did great."

They were getting better with the names, but there was still a jarring sensation for Dom, hearing his name given to someone else. How long would they be swapped like this? How long until he was the only one who still remembered he was the real Dom?

"Hey." It was Liv, nudging him with an elbow, and showing him a smile that told him she understood what he was thinking. He smiled back. "Go get de-elfed. You want to come back to ours and go over tomorrow's scenes again?"

"Sure," Dom agreed, and separated from the cluster to head back to makeup.

And that was another weird thing. Living arrangements. Obviously, like everything else, they had to swap. Which left Liv sharing Dom's old house with Billy, and Dom rattling around alone in Liv's place. It had taken him half an hour just to figure out where everything was in the kitchen. It was still eerie. Like being in someone else's house when they weren't there. Exactly like that, in fact. It didn't feel like home. He didn't belong there.

Mind you, he didn't really belong in his house with Billy, either. Though he could pretend for a little, while they were sprawled in the untidy living room, practicing and analysing and playing around with their lines for the next day's shooting. It became a daily ritual, this gathering, even as the week went on and they started to get the hang of it, and it became less and less necessary. Dom wasn't about to suggest they stop. For a little, every day, he could slouch in his old chair, and go and get a beer from the fridge, and be just the same as always.

But at the end of the day, he still had to smile, and say his goodbyes, and go back to Liv's place. His place, now.

Which is where he found himself on Friday night. Alone, padding around the house in a bathrobe over T-shirt and boxers - he still hadn't got the hang of this satin nightgown thing, whatever Liv said about feeling sexy. The hobbits had been shooting all day, and they were too tired to go out. Dom remembered nights like that. Him and Billy, in front of the TV with junk and beer, watching, commenting, eventually falling asleep to wake in the morning hungover and sore.

But he was Liv now.

Yeah, well, he didn't need that shit anyway, right? There was a football match on TV. He'd forget about the washing up from dinner, watch the football, and get an early night.

At least, that was the plan. In the middle of Dom's pre-game channel-surfing, there came a knock at the door. Dom froze, mind racing. Who'd be knocking on Liv's door at this time of night? He couldn't very well pretend not to be in, not with the lights on and the TV going. Tying up his bathrobe, he crossed to the front door, flicked on the outside light, and opened the door a fraction.

"Viggo!"

Viggo, who'd been half-turned away from the door, staring off into the darkness, turned back, his smile wide and natural. He'd never smiled at Dom like that before. Of course, he wasn't smiling at Dom now, was he? "Hey Liv. Just thought I'd drop by; it's been a while." He held up a bottle of wine. "I brought something to share."

This was officially weirding Dom out, but Viggo didn't seem to think there'd be anything unexpected about this. In fact, the way he was talking, it sounded like a regular sort of thing. And why not? Why shouldn't Liv socialise regularly with the other members of the cast? They hadn't talked much about things like that, too concerned with the important details of the roles and personalities. Liv could have half of Lothlorien over to tea every Wednesday, and Dom wouldn't know about it.

Just play along. At least he'd have some company. Though Viggo probably wouldn't want to watch the football. Damn. Oh well, it was just Leeds and Blackburn. Dom smiled, opened the door fully. "Good to see you, Vig." Yeah, Liv always called him that, right? "It has been a while. Come in."

Viggo slid past him in the entry hall, continued along the hall towards the kitchen. He seemed at home. Even more so than Dom. Dom wondered if he should get dressed. Settled for cinching the bathrobe belt tighter.

"We haven't really spoken since before the break," Viggo said idly, stopped in the kitchen doorway and looking over his shoulder. "You went off with the hobbits. By the lack of bruising, I'm assuming they didn't coax you onto a surfboard." That with a warm, almost cheeky grin.

Dom laughed, remembering their panic on the surf trip when Viggo had managed to deck himself on his surfboard. They'd seriously considered fleeing to Australia, rather than face the wrath of PJ. Dom shoved at Viggo with his shoulder as he slipped past him into the kitchen. "Maybe I'm just better at it than you."

Viggo followed him - quite closely, Dom thought, but he was still bothered by the difference of personal space between male and female - into the kitchen. "That wouldn't be hard, I suppose. I was pretty woeful."

That was a bit harsh; Dom thought Viggo had been doing pretty well before that unfortunate wave. But he bit his tongue; how would Liv know that? He grinned instead. "Well, you have other gifts."

Viggo grinned in return, and set the bottle on the bench. "Dozens and dozens. What are you up to tonight, anyway?" He leaned back against the cupboards, and it was really a little distracting, Viggo's lean frame propped against the cupboards, blocking the space off. There was no one else here, and Viggo had always made Dom a little uncertain.

Concentrate. What did we need? Wine; glasses. Right. Open the cupboard. An answer might be good too. "Oh, I was just going to watch -" Liv wouldn't be watching football; think! "- some TV and have an early night." Two wineglasses. Close the cupboard again.

And Viggo had never looked at him like that before, either. A sort of casual consideration, leisurely and faintly concerned, and this close Dom could follow Viggo's gaze tracing slowly over his features. "Are you all right, Liv?" he asked faintly. "You've seemed... different for the past few days."

Shit! Double shit and buggery. Dom kept his face calm, raised his eyebrows in what he hoped appeared to be mild incomprehension. "Oh? I'm fine. Just fine."

Viggo nodded slowly, and his gaze met Dom's. Dom forced himself not to look away. "That's good," Viggo said, and leaned forward slightly. Raised his hand, and laid it against Dom's cheek.

Don't react. Don't flinch. Smile slightly. Yeah, that's good. What the fuck's going on?

And then Viggo leaned forward even more, and his lips were on Dom's, his breath against his cheek, he was kissing him, he was fucking kissing him, holy fucking hell!

Dom was moving before he could think about it, stumbling backwards, so far and so fast he almost fell over the end of the bench. Put out a hand to steady himself and almost knocked over the wine glasses. He was breathing hard with an edge of panic he knew was painted all over his face, in his eyes.

Viggo was still looking at him with that quiet contemplation. He lowered his hand.

"Um," Dom said.

"Hmm," Viggo said, a hum in the back of his throat that communicated nothing. "Well, I'll be going then."

"Viggo -"

But he was already moving, halfway across the kitchen with that lazy energy he always had. "Keep the wine." He paused in the doorway, though, looked back. "You know where to find me if you want to talk, Liv."

He was gone, the sound of the door closing behind him. Dom was alone in the kitchen. In the house. The sound of the television in the next room, and he curled his fingers around the base of a wine glass.

Jesus. What the fuck was all that about, then?

Dom was still breathing in deep, ragged breaths. Viggo, so close, and the kiss, and... He needed to talk to Liv. Where was the phone?

After three rings it picked up, the laughing end of a shouted comment before Billy said: "Hello?"

"Put Liv on."

A pause as Billy got his train of thought on the right track. "But you're L-"

"Just put her on."

There was a faint click, and then silence. After a few moments, Dom heard his own voice say: "Hello?"

"Liv, why the fuck did Viggo just kiss me?"

"Oh. Shit."

Dom sagged against the wall, slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Twined the phone cord around his finger. "Yeah. Shit is about sodding right."

"I'm sorry, Dom. I should have mentioned something, it's just it didn't even occur to me to say... I mean, Vig's just a friend."

"You snog all your friends?"

On the other end of the phone, Liv sighed heavily. "No, of course not. But with Vig... well, that's just how it is. We hang out, and do whatever. Sometimes we just talk. Sometimes we sleep together."

"You fucking what?"

"Chill out, Dom. It's no big thing. It's just... we're there for each other. If we need a little care and attention, then... yeah, well."

"Jesus."

"I'm really sorry."

Dom realised he'd hopelessly kinked the phone cord. It refused to curl up again. "Anything else you should tell me, Liv? Anyone else going to show up at my door?"

She laughed a little. "No. Just Vig."

"Good."

There was another pause, then Liv asked, sober now: "Are you OK, Dom?"

"I will be. Just need time to think. Maybe I should sleep on it."

"OK. Well, you know where we are if you need us. Sleep tight."

"Night."

He sat on the floor for long minutes, the dead phone in his hand. And then a loud cheer from the television reminded him that he'd left it on. Clambering to his feet, he hung up the phone, and scrabbled about on the couch until he found the remote, killed the TV.

Only then did he wander back into the kitchen. He put the wineglasses away again, and turned to look at the bottle of wine. Tilted it up so he could read the label. It was very tasteful, red calligraphy and simple black text on white. Penfolds Bin 128 Coonawarra Shiraz. Interesting.

But Dom knew nothing about wine, and he couldn't keep pretending to be seriously considering the vintage just so he didn't have to think about what had just happened. He pushed the bottle into a corner of the bench. Tomorrow. He'd think about it tomorrow. For now, he'd take his own advice, and go to bed.

When he woke up the next morning, he thought it might have been a dream. But the bottle was still in its corner of the bench. Dom glared at it, and muttered into his orange juice. "Bloody hell. Nothing can ever be simple, can it?"

Which made him laugh. The whole body-swapping thing was 'simple' now?

He was shooting with Viggo that day. He did quite a few scenes with Viggo. Though he approached it with a hint of dread, nothing seemed different. There was still the same air of business, the same faint banter when they weren't needed, the same touch of camaraderie. And if Dom occasionally thought he saw Viggo watching him with that quiet consideration... well, maybe he was imagining it, too.

Then the scene was over, and Dom was sitting alone in make-up. The hobbits were off shooting their own scenes. You know where we are if you need us, Liv had told him. Yeah, he knew where they were. Together. And he was alone, again.

Viggo had said the same thing. You know where to find me.

Dom thought about that.

There for each other, Liv had said.

He thought about that, too. And he thought about a bottle of red wine, sitting on his bench. It looked like good red wine. He'd never really drunk much of the stuff, but maybe he could get used to it.

If he was going to be stuck as Liv for any length of time, it'd be nice to have a friend. Just for the talking thing. Just for the being there for each other thing. Not for, like, um, the sex. No. Because that was just too damn weird.

So that evening, as dusk hesitated over the streets, Dom took the bottle of wine and walked around to Viggo's place. It was close enough to walk to, from Liv's place. Not even quite fifteen minutes. Long enough to make you start having doubts. Short enough that you hadn't quite talked yourself out of it by the time you arrived at the front gate.

No turning back at that point, because Viggo was sitting on the front steps, sketchpad on his knee, mug of something in his hand, raised to his lips, one eyebrow raised as he watched Dom hesitate at the gate. Dusk had arrived; the air was think and blue. Viggo sat the mug beside him on the step. "Hello, Liv," he said.

Dom came up the path, not that far really. He paused at the bottom of the half-dozen steps. "I, uh, thought I should bring your wine back." That was a bit brusque; he was trying to be friends, after all. So he smiled as he held out the bottle, and tried not to hold his breath as Viggo watched him with shadowed eyes.

"It was supposed to be shared," Viggo said finally, leaning forward to take the bottle in one hand, at the base. He held it like it was natural in his hand. Dom was always uncertain about wine. Viggo hefted it, considered it, shifted that gaze back to Dom. "Should we open it?"

"Um." Sharing wine, and getting drunk, and would that be a prelude to more kissing? He needed to do something with his hands, or he was going to get caught up in all sorts of non-Liv nervous gestures. He stuck them in the back pockets of his jeans. Yeah, he'd seen Liv do that sometimes. "Not right now. There's things... I should... I just came past to give it back, and... uh..."

"I'll keep it, then," Viggo interjected smoothly, and put the wine next to his mug. "For a special occasion." He looked back at Dom. "And...?"

Oh yes, give it back and... "Um, and to apologise for last night."

Viggo was inscrutable, and what was worse was that he didn't mean it, didn't mean to be so blank that Dom couldn't read him, it was just the way he was. Small, subtle, like his voice when he wasn't using Aragorn's careful enunciation, when it was just a stream of almost-mumbled, soft sounds trickling together. "There's no need for apologies between us, Liv. Things are the way they are."

Yes. Maybe between him and Liv. But Dom wanted this relationship to be on his own terms. Of course, Viggo wouldn't know the difference. But Dom would. "I want to apologise, though. I felt... I was rude. I..." Why hadn't he thought this through more? How on earth was he supposed to phrase this? He took a deep breath. "I don't want to lose your friendship through a misunderstanding. It's just... I'm having trouble, lately." Dom grimaced. "Having trouble just being myself. For me. And... well, I'm not sure I can be anything for anyone else. Not in that way. Or..."

Dom trailed off as Viggo started to move, setting aside his sketchpad, and moving the mug and bottle, clearing space on the top step. Space that he patted with one palm. "Come and sit down, Liv."

Dom climbed the steps slowly, a little nervous about what might follow sitting in such close proximity to Viggo. They were hip-to-hip on the top step, and the light was almost all gone from the sky, the evening pulling close and intimate around them. But Viggo rested his forearms on his knees, clasped his hands. Didn't even look at Dom beside him, staring out at the street. Hands no longer in his pockets, Dom realised his fingers were twining together. He looked down, forced them to stillness. When he looked up again, Viggo had turned slightly, was watching him half-sidelong.

"I'm always here for you, Liv. Whatever you need."

"I know." And Dom did know. It was like a newly-discovered solid rock in a sea of uncertainty. Viggo wouldn't ask questions, wouldn't judge, would just watch and be what he needed.

Viggo smiled slightly. "Maybe you do. But you keep forgetting. And I can't always be there, especially if you don't want me to be."

Dom had no response to that. Viggo watched him a moment longer, and then moved, sitting up straighter and raising his hands to his neck, fiddling with something around the side and back that Dom couldn't quite make out in the deepening darkness. "Viggo, what are you...?"

But he trailed off as Viggo pulled something off over his head. Briefly silhouetted against the last dying embers of the sun, Dom saw something dangling on a leather thong, and he knew what it was. Remembered the trip, just one more random trip on a day off, to a local marketplace somewhere, where they sold what Orlando dismissed as 'standard ethnic tourist wank'. He'd made fun of Viggo, buying the little piece of carved jade, threaded on a leather thong. It was called a tiki, Viggo replied, unruffled as ever, and maybe it was just the usual tourist piece of junk, but if he wore it while filming, then it would have real significance as a souvenir, wouldn't it? Memory was what you made of it.

And that was the last that had ever been said about it, and Liv hadn't been on that excursion, so Dom did his best to look blank, and said: "What's that?"

"A reminder," Viggo declared. He took Dom's hand, turned it palm up, and lowered the dangling tiki carefully, eventually covering it with his own palm. "A reminder that I'm here. Even if I'm not there."

Dom looked up quickly, caught the quirking edge of Viggo's smile. Replied with a smile of his own. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Viggo murmured. He turned to look back at the dark street, but his palm was still over Dom's, the tiki smooth and solid between them. It was kind of nice, Dom admitted. Unquestioning contact. The sort of thing girls could do. Guys couldn't. Just randomly holding hands wasn't a male thing. Then again, Viggo was doing it.

With a girl, Dom. You're a girl, remember?

"I should go," he said, and Viggo's palm lifted. Dom curled his fingers around the tiki, the leather tie slipping between his knuckles. He shifted, stood up.

Viggo leaned back against the steps as Dom descended. Waited until Dom was halfway down the path before calling after him: "Let me know when you want to drink the wine." As Dom paused, turned to look back at him, just a pale shape against the rest of the dark, he added: "It was meant to be shared."

Dom tightened his grip on the tiki, and smiled in the dark. "I will."

In the light of the next day, Dom looked at the tiki. Really looked at it; turned it over and over in his hands and examined it minutely. It was carved out of a small, rounded oblong of some grey-green stone. Dom assumed it was jade, but he knew as much about that sort of thing as he knew about wine. It was a carved face, he realised, tilting it to catch the light through the window. An ugly face, with heavy slanting lines and a grimacing expression. Almost hideous. Very Maori.

The leather cord it was on had sliding knots for adjustment. Viggo had worn it short, resting at his collarbone. Dom lengthened the cord, let it hang further down. Once he got dressed, it was hidden entirely under his T-shirt.

It wasn't that he was ashamed of it, Dom rationalised. If he was ashamed, he wouldn't wear it. The slightly-cool feel of it against his skin was reassuring. He just didn't want to have to explain it, especially to the hobbits. This was his business. His and Viggo's.

Dom wasn't shooting at all that day. He was the property of the wardrobe department until lunch. Liv had said she really enjoyed these sessions, outfitting Arwen. Like dress-up, she declared. Dom hadn't particularly appreciated his own time with wardrobe, and wasn't looking forward to going through it again. He was bored. Bored already, and all he'd done so far was start stripping out of his street clothes. Not even the fact he was down to (lacy) underwear in front of full-length mirrors promised any interest; the thrill of a female body up close and very personal had waned remarkably quickly. He was practically used to it. Almost used to looking in the mirror, seeing breasts and curves and softness, and thinking: "Me."

"The necklace too, dear," the distracted wardrobe woman said, doing something with a swathe of dark red material.

Dom lifted the tiki over his head, ran a finger over the carving thoughtfully before he set it aside.

Maybe, since he was stuck in this body, this role, these clothes, he should actually make an effort. Try and see what Liv liked about it. Try and have fun. Memory was what you made of it, Viggo had said, talking about that tiki. Life was what Dom made of it.

As they draped things over him, and pinned this, and marked that, and made him move and turn and pose - as they did all that, Dom did start to see the appeal. His hobbit clothes had never had any purpose beyond making him look hobbit-like. These clothes, though... these were designed to make him look elegant and graceful, flowing and sensual and languid. Well, to make Liv look all those things. But him, too.

Dom turned, watched his reflection, the feminine curve and sway of wispy, draped fabric.

"What do you think?" the wardrobe woman asked critically.

"It's beautiful," Dom declared.

That afternoon, they had the first rough rehearsals for scenes to be filmed in the following weeks. As he waited while others were positioned, Dom jumped at a touch on his neck. Half-turned to see Viggo standing behind and beside him. He'd been moving forward, away from the touch, but he paused, held still while Viggo trailed a finger, just the tip, down his neck, pulled the collar of his shirt away a little, until his fingernail caught in the leather cord.

He smiled. Dom smiled back.

"Right! Now, Liv, you're going to be over here..."