Shaohannah McGovern stood in line at Starbucks, a typical morning activity for her. She was a set doctor in Hollywood, an MD who hired out privately to be on film or television sets in case something happened. She had been an emergency room doctor in one of South Central LA’s busiest hospitals, specialising in traumas, but had burnt out after her friend Monica’s brother came through her ER, dead.

He’d been assaulted when he accidentally wandered into the wrong neighbourhood, at the wrong time. Despite being white, the Bloods, the gang controlling that neighbourhood, had taken offence to his blue clothing–the colour of their chief rival, the Crips. Shaoey had tendered her resignation immediately, and nursed her friend through the ensuing emotional breakdown.

Looking up she saw the line had moved. . . WOW! a whole three INCHES! She stepped out of line resigned to a day of drinking the sludge they called coffee at the set. Maybe she’d get a break long enough to run to Starbucks. She rolled her eyes–yeah, and there’s the Easter Bunny! she thought sarcastically.

This was her first day on this set, and she would be with this group for the entire 16 weeks of scheduled filming, possibly more if requested. She got one day a week off, thanks to studio EMTs who rotated through movies and shows being filmed, for the express purpose of giving the poor MDs a day off.

Pulling up to the designated parking area at the secluded stretch of beach, she turned her car off and groaned. Call to set at 5 am was definitely her LEAST favourite part of this job. She wondered if there was anyone interesting in this movie. The last movie she’d worked on Alan Alda’d had a small part, which she thought was cool. People didn’t realise how many lame movies and TV shows filmed every day, and how many of them had no one with any type of recognition. Producers and directors fought for recognition, just like actors, and without a name, they had a next-to-impossible time getting any name actors.

Locking her car, she shouldered her equipment bags and clipped her credentials to the waistband of her shorts. Stopping at the security checkpoint, she pulled out her driver’s licence to present; the guard would check her name to his list before giving her permission to pass.

‘Hey Doc,’ said the guard.

‘Randy! Damn, you following me? This is the third set in a row we’ve been on together!’

‘Naw, just goin’ where the work is. You’re good to go Doc,’ the guard, Randy, said. Lowering his voice he said, ‘Can’t tell ya who, but there’r some big names on this one. You’ll see soon, they’re all here.’

Shao grinned and squeezed his shoulder, before heading off toward the set. There was already a hustle and bustle despite the early hour; there usually was in the first weeks of shooting. She found the off-set staging area for the required staff and dropped her bags, massaging her shoulders. She’d loaded up on IV fluids because it was already 80º at four am when she’d left her apartment.

‘Excuse me, where can I find the producer?’ she asked one of the go-fers rushing about. The man pointed. Following his point she added, ‘terrific, but there are FIVE men there. Which one IS it?’

‘Red shirt, blue hat,’ came the short response.

Rolling her eyes, Shao headed over toward the men. Standing a respectful distance back, she waited for the producer to free up or, more likely, notice her and ask what she needed.

‘I always love first days, don’t you love?’ came a faintly British, and VERY familiar, voice behind her.

Turning, she found herself staring into a pair of eyes that could only be described as liquid chocolate. In person they were more mesmerising than on screen. And, oh lord!, did he ever smell GOOD! ‘Where the hell did THAT thought come from Shaoey Beth?!’ she thought to herself.

Shaking her head to clear away those thoughts, she gathered her wits. ‘Uh, not really,’ she laughed. When he quirked an eyebrow in silent question she added, ‘I’m the set doctor. The middle of filming is the least likely to have accidents that require my services. In the beginning, everyone’s getting used to the set, each other, and learning the bulk of their stunts. At the end, everyone’s tired, and attention wanes. Both are accidents begging to happen.’

‘Set doctor huh? You’ll probably see a lot of me and my mate over there, Viggo. I’m a klutz, as you Americans say, and he does the bulk of his own stunt work.’

‘I know,’ she said without thinking.

‘Ahh, a fan eh?’

‘Who’s a fan OB?’ an energetic blond with a Scottish accent asked, bouncing.

‘Found the coffee already, eh Billeh? She’s a fan,’ indicating Shaoey, ‘Dr . . . ah sorry love, I missed your name.’

‘Orlando Bloom not getting a pretty girl’s name? That has to be a first.’

‘Eh, sod off filthy human!’

‘Only if you come with me, prissy elf,’ was the retort.

Shao just stood watching 3 of her favourite actors enjoy their early morning repartee. The only one missing was. . .tackling Orlando! She jumped back, directly into Viggo.

‘Easy Doc,’ he chuckled. ‘Sorry bout hijacking your conversation; this is kind of a reunion. We haven’t worked with each since New Zealand. That was. . .’ he paused thinking back.

‘2003,’ Shaoey answered, eyes twinkling with suppressed laughter.

‘Ah, you are a fan then.’

Just then the producer ended the meeting and was free. ‘Scuse me!’ Shao exclaimed, excusing herself from Viggo. Stopping the producer, she introduced herself. ‘Dr Shaohannah McGovern, set doctor. Is there any particular area you want me set up?’

‘Not really. Anywhere in off-set staging. During down times, you can mingle with the cast and crew if they’re free. It’s good to know those you are working with.’ Shaoey immediately relaxed. A director who said working with, not working for, and encouraging set employees to mingle with cast and crew was rare. It always made for a pleasant work environment, too. Thanking him, she allowed him his leave.

Suddenly a pair of hands covered her eyes and a voice said, ‘Guess who?’

Shaoey squealed, recognising the voice. ‘Monica!! What are you doing here?’

‘I’m your assistant. Because there are so many name stars working on this film they wanted a full time set medic as well as the doctor. Hey, who ARE the names anyway?’

Shao put her hands on Moni’s shoulders and turned her so that her friend was facing the still-reunioning group. Monica gasped. ‘Omilord! That’s . . . and . . . And . . . And that’s!’ was all she managed.

‘Well, wasn’t THAT articulate, Moni!’ Shao teased. ‘And yes, it is, him, and him, and him, and HIM!’ she teased further, drawing a swat from her friend.

‘Where are we set up anyways?’ Monica asked, shifting her trauma bag and picking up her Advanced Life Support/Advanced Cardiac Life Support (ALS/ACLS) gear. Shao led her over to the staging area, now covered—thank god!—by a heavy canvas tarp. Monica set her equipment next to Shao’s, and a quick peek revealed she too had overstocked IV fluids as a precaution for heat exhaustion.

‘The producer said for me, which I assume is now us, to mingle with cast and crew when there’s downtime. From what I heard, we have about 45 minutes before all the cameras will be set up.’

The two friends wandered down the beach, keeping ever watchful eyes on the cast, crew, and extras that were assembled.

‘How’s the divorce coming?’ Shao asked her friend.

Monica’s husband all but abandoned her when her brother died. That was the final thing to push her over the edge from major grief into a full fledged emotional breakdown. Shao had found her friend wandering barefoot, feet bleeding, through her neighbourhood, on one of the coldest days of the year. The usually balmy LA air had turned frigid, mid-40s, and her friend was shivering, lips and fingers blue.

‘It’s a done deal. I filed the decree of divorce a week ago. Two days later he called me asking to reconcile,’ she laughed bitterly. ‘As if!’

‘And how are you doing?’ Shao asked, leaving no doubt as to what she was asking.

‘Well, I’d be lying if I said good. But better. I hate taking medicine everyday, and hate not being in control of my life. But I’m doing better. I had to get back to work, but I can’t work the streets; not after, well, you know. . .’

‘She knows what?’ a voice broke in, as Orlando and Dom pounced on the bench where the girls sat.

‘That we need to keep you away from the coffee,’ Monica retorted to Dominic.

‘Good call!’ Orlando teased. ‘They pegged you right S’blomie!’

‘Careful, Lando. You’re next.’ Monica added.

He clapped his hands to his chest, feigning indignation. ‘You wound me!’ he cried melodramatically.

‘Good idea,’ muttered Shaoey. Monica laughed when the Brit sputtered.

‘Am I going to have to collar and leash you two?’ Viggo’s voice cut in.

‘Hmmmmm,’ said Dom, thinking it over. ‘Nah, I’m not really a submissive type, Vig. Ya know it’s the name and all.’

The whole group groaned, leaving Dom to look around in mock bewilderment. ‘Was it something I said?’ The group laughed.

Viggo sat down next to Monica. ‘I’m Viggo Mortensen.’ He offered his hand, which she took, somewhat reluctantly.

‘I know. I’m a fan.’

He laughed. ‘Well, that’s good to know. I’m sorry, but I missed your name and what you do here.’

‘Oh, Monica Dobbs, err, Farley. I am an EMT-Paramedic, and am the set medic.’

‘“Dobbs, err, Farley?”’

‘Just divorced,’ she said quietly, eyes downcast.

‘A bad one by the looks of it. I’m sorry to hear that, Monica.’

‘Thanks. It was a learning experience.’

Just then Dom jumped up onto the bench on Monica’s other side. ‘So, I’m Dominic Monaghan–at your service, love,’ he said grabbing her hand suddenly. Her eyes flew up to his, startled.

‘Umm, hi; I . . . uh. . . I know,’ she said very quietly. Viggo’s assessing eyes missed none of this. Dom, as usual, was oblivious, not in a bad way; he was just operating on hyper-drive. As politely as she could manage Moni pulled her hand away from Dom’s, and stood. ‘I’d better go find Shaoey.’ She fled.

‘What was that about?’ Dom asked aloud.

‘She’s been hurt Dom. Recently. She’s just divorced, and it wasn’t a good one, judging by her body language. You DID kind of just pounce on her’

‘Shite. I guess I better go apologise to her. Don’t want bad feelings there,’ he said quietly.

Further down the beach, Monica found Shaoey talking to someone–the director? – about safety protocols. Deciding not to interrupt, she headed back for the staging area. As she turned, she found herself face to face with Dominic. Startled she stepped back suddenly, lost her balance, and fell.

‘Oi!’ Monica cried as she landed. She took a moment to gather herself before she stood, having just done an ass-plant in front of one of America’s hottest actors, and one who had tried to flirt with her not 10 minutes before.

‘Hey,’ a voice said softly. She looked up; it was Dom. Groaning she dropped her head, burying her face in her arms.

The same hand that had grabbed hers earlier now took hers gently. Another hand snaked its way under her chin and tipped the blush-red face up, so that she was looking into his eyes. ‘You okay, love?’ he asked gently. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you. Actually came looking for you to apologise. I was being an ass back there. I’m sorry,’ he said, sincerely.

She studied his face, her slightly troubled eyes finally meeting his. ‘Okay,’ she said quietly. ‘I accept your apology.’

His face broke into a grin, and he stood, pulling her up with him. ‘Great!’

‘Principles on set!’ a production assistant called.

‘Shite! I gotta go love.’

‘I have to head that way. My medical equipment is in the staging area.’

‘I’ll walk you.’

When she reached the staging area, she sat down with Shaoey, who glanced at her with piercing eyes. ‘What happened back there, Monica? Viggo said Dom scared you off.’

‘He’s right. He just. . .’ she took a steadying breath. ‘. . .He came on kinda strong. Flirting; probably didn’t mean anything by it, just how he is, but it reminded me of. . .’ her voice trailed off.

Shao nodded. ‘I understand. Are you sure you’re up for this job?’

Moni nodded. ‘Yes. I just wasn’t expecting what Dom did.’

‘Okay folks, this is a rehearsal, but try it like the cameras were going. If it goes well we’ll get some film after,’ came the director’s instruction. One camera taped the rehearsal as a basic reference for the director, to check lighting, blocking, and the other myriad miscellanea he was responsible for.

The two friends sat quietly watching. It was amazing how with just words, the actors went from joking friends to on screen enemies. Monica followed the action in front of her, never tiring of watching filmings. Shao followed the action as well, but kept an eye on a procured script. As the set MD, she needed to know what stunts were coming up, with whom, and when.

‘Okay folks. Let me go check the prelims, and we’ll put that on film if it goes well. Be back here in 15 minutes.’

Shao and Monica stood and started handing out sports drinks, knowing the best treatment for dehydration was prevention. The drinks were unchilled to prevent cramps, but the actors drank them, although not without dramatic facial expressions of disgust.

‘So how many of these do we need to be drinking anyway?’ Billy asked in his Scottish lilt.

‘Two an hour when you’re active; one every hour if you’re not—minimum.’

This brought grimaces and groans from all actors.

‘Hey, if any of you can ring up Mother Nature and get it to cool down, I’m all for it,’ teased Monica.

‘Oi, ain’t that the bloody truth,’ groaned Shaoey.

The director returned then, pleased with the prelims, and called for the scene to be filmed. Makeup was reapplied, hair was restyled, and mussed clothing fixed, all in a controlled chaos. Orlando grinned at Shaoey, unabashedly flirting, while his clothing was fixed.

‘Okay people. This time it’s for real. Quiet on the set . . . marker . . . roll cameras, and ACTION!’

The actors ran through the scene again, for the cameras. Seven takes later, the director called print, and released the actors for lunch. ‘The principles and extras need to stay after lunch, so do the stunties; all other actors are free to go.’

The girls remained behind, working as a team, checking supplies. ‘We’re good on drinks right now, although if we go more than 4 more filming hours we’ll need more, Shao,’ Monica said after a quick inventory.

‘Okay,’ she replied. ‘I’ll let Mark know,’ referring to the director.

‘Aren’t you two coming to lunch?’

‘Oh, hi Lando,’ Monica said.

Shao smiled. ‘I’m on my way. You coming, Monica?’ she asked, despite already knowing the answer.

‘Um . . . not right now. I uh. . . I need to do some studying,’ she said, making excuse.

Monica decided she really should do some studying, more out of not wanting to be caught lying, than a need to study. She opened her book on juvenile delinquency and tried reading, without success.

‘That must be a fascinating page,’ someone said behind her. Dropping her book from surprise, she looked up.

‘W-what?’ she said. ‘Great Monica, he’s gonna think you’re a fucking airhead!’ she berated herself.

‘I said, that must be a fascinating page, for as long as you were staring at it that is,’ Viggo teased.

Monica flushed. Had he been watching her? He bent forward and picked her book up, closing it carefully, and setting it beside her.

‘You okay Monica?’ Viggo asked, his voice quiet, his expression sincere. ‘You seem kind of. . .’ he paused searching for the word he wanted. ‘Skittish,’ he finally concluded.

‘I’m okay. I just feel a little out of sorts after this morning, with Dom. . . .’

He then revealed the reason for his visit. ‘Shaoey said you weren’t coming up for lunch, so I brought something down for you. It’s going to be a while til dinner; you really should eat while you can. Can’t have our medic getting sick,’ he teased with that open grin of his.

The gesture touched Monica, and it, along with his easy grin, put her at ease. He had also brought his lunch down, and they ate together, making small talk. Several times, out of the corner of her eye, she caught him studying her. The last time, she looked up meeting his gaze. Unabashed, he continued to look at her til she looked away.

Finally, she spoke. ‘You’re staring at me,’ she said quietly.

‘I am.’ It was not a question, but an agreement.

‘But why?’

‘Curiosity, interest. You’re attractive, for sure, but there’s also a mystery about you, and a sadness. Does it bother you? My watching you that is.’

She wasn’t used to people being so direct. ‘Not that I expected anything less from Viggo Mortensen,’ she thought to herself. Seeing that he was waiting for an answer to his question, she bit her lip, thinking before speaking. ‘No. . . . Not really. It’s . . . it’s a little unnerving. I’m not used to it, and not so openly. . .’ her voice trailed off.

He nodded, understanding, and smiled gently. ‘I don’t want to make you nervous, angel.’

Uncharacteristically bold, she blurted out, ‘So what do you want?’

‘To know you.’

Before she could ask him what he meant, people started making their way back from lunch. ‘So this is where ye disappeared to then Viggo,’ Billy said, sitting down next to him. Seeing Monica, he offered her his hand. ‘Hello, love, I’m Billy. We’ve not formally met yet.’

‘Monica. Set medic.’ She took the offered hand, shrieking when he pulled her over for a hug. Since Viggo was still sitting between them, she found herself pressed up to him. Instinctively his arms wrapped around her, keeping her from falling, but also pressing her more closely into him.

Billy, oblivious to what the physical contact with each other was doing to Viggo and Monica, threw his arms around both of them. Another person came up from behind and joined in the group hug.

‘Oi, no group hugs without me!’ said Orlando, to whom the last set of arms belonged.

Time stood still, at least it seemed that way to Viggo. Having Monica pressed up against him, even involuntarily, was hell on his thought process. Her hair was soft on his cheek and neck, and she carried the scent of vanilla. Finally, the hug broke, Orlando and Billy being called off to do a run-through of the next scene.

When Monica pulled back, he assessed her face. ‘You okay, angel?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. . . uh. . . fine. Wasn’t expecting that,’ she answered. ‘Wasn’t expecting the hug or the way it felt?’ she asked herself.

‘Sorry, I should’ve warned you. This group’s a little, well, very, affectionate. That may well become the next daily ritual.’ Someone called his name. ‘Look I have to go; I need to work on some stunts and all. Have dinner with me? We’ll be here; tonight’s shoot will probably go until 11 or so.’ When Monica nodded he broke into a smile. ‘Great, I’ll see you then. Wait for me here.’ With that, he was gone.

Meanwhile Shao was kept occupied watching the fight choreography and rehearsal. Orlando and Billy had to learn a tricky fight sequence, block it, and run through it repeatedly, increasing the speed of the movements gradually.

Shao was amazed at the ease with which the two men picked up the fight-dance. She was always amazed at how graceful fights seemed when they were done slowly, not at all like what they looked like run through at full speed.

‘No, not that way!’ came the shout just before a blow struck Orlando’s face, sending him reeling.

Shao jumped up and headed over to where Orlando sat, cradling his cheek. Kneeling down, she pulled his hand away from his face. ‘You hurt, Orlando?’

‘Just my ego,’ he groaned. I can’t believe I did that. ‘And in front of. . .’ his voice trailed off, embarrassed.

Pretending not to have heard, Shao tipped his head to the side, running her fingers over the already-bruising area. Satisfied that he was indeed okay, she stood and held out her hand, which he took. ‘You’ll be okay. The makeup artists are gonna have fun with that bruise, but your body’s intact at least.’

Orlando groaned. ‘I’m gonna hear it in makeup tomorrow. And how!’ he sighed.

Shao laughed. ‘Sorry, not much I can do about this except ice, and that won’t do anything for the bruising.’

Orlando looked at Shao, a teasing glint in his eye. ‘Kiss it and make it better?’ he teased, turning a chocolate brown puppy dog gaze on her.

Shaoey laughed and obliged, pressing a gentle kiss to Orlando’s cheek, drawing a wolf whistle from Billy. ‘Okay, back to work with you.’

Orlando grinned and returned to the choreography area.

Shao returned to her chair to fill out an incident report form, so that if anything did happen as a result of the injury, no matter how minor it seemed, there was a written record.

Monica was at the other choreography site, watching Dominic and Viggo rehearse their scene. The scene called for various ‘weapons’ to be used, so extra care was being taken so that no one was injured. She had lugged all of her equipment to the site because of that.

Checking her watch she noticed that neither man had stopped for the full 30 minutes she’d been there. She approached the choreographer running the rehearsal and indicated that both men needed to stop for hydration.

‘I really don’t want to stop right now,’ he replied. ‘Maybe another 30 minutes?’

‘Do you want an unconscious actor on your hands?’ Monica retorted.

The choreographer started to say something when Viggo swore. ‘Shit! Medic!’

Whirling, Monica grabbed her IV kit. Dom had passed out. She started an IV in the antecubital vein, in the crook of his elbow. She set the fluids to run as fast as they could through the needle. She set up a bag of saline and one of Ringer’s lactate, and prepped a second bag of saline.

While the fluids were running, she checked his vital signs. His pulse was good, though a little fast, respirations slightly shallow but otherwise normal, and his pupils reacted normally. His temperature was 102.8º though. ‘He’s done for the day,’ she announced. ‘I need to get him into air conditioning,’ she said looking up at Viggo, ignoring the choreographer. She was too pissed at him to talk to him at the moment unless absolutely necessary. Viggo nodded at a trailer about 50 metres from the scene.

‘Can you help me carry him? He’s not very big, but he’s big enough,’ Monica requested. Viggo scooped Dom up in his arms, and headed toward the trailer, and Monica grabbed her equipment. She looked at the choreographer and said, ‘Do NOT leave. We need to talk.’ She sprinted to the trailer to finish tending her patient.

Word about the incident filtered over to Shao about the incident. She told a runner to send word to Monica of her location, if she needed help. She chose not to tell the two men, Dom’s friends, about the incident unless it became necessary.

Back in the trailer, Monica started the task of carefully bringing Dom’s body temperature down. She ran some cloth bandages under warm tap water, and applied them to his forehead, neck, underarms, and groin, the ‘hot-spots’ as they were called. These were the places the body temperature tended to be highest, and if she could cool the temperature of these locations, the rest of him would similarly cool off.

She repeated the procedure, gradually cooling the temperature of the water soaking the cloths, to prevent a sudden drop in body temperature. After 45 minutes of repeating this, his temperature was 99º. She checked his IV bags, changing out the saline for a new bag, the third, of it.

Throughout all this, Viggo had been pacing, like a caged tiger. When Monica stood and walked toward him he stopped. ‘Is he going to be okay?’

She hesitated. ‘He’s stable, and in good condition. He’ll come around fine, although I’m recommending work restriction for the next 2 days. Not treated properly, heat exhaustion can have lasting effects.’

Viggo’s eyes widened at the last two words. ‘What kind of lasting effects?’

‘Relax, Vig. He’ll be more prone to heat exhaustion in general for a few years, but I’ll teach him how to watch that–I’ve been through it personally. He was treated properly, and promptly; he’ll likely come through with no other effects.’

‘. . . happened?’ slurred a voice from behind them.

‘Hey, Dom,’ Monica said quietly. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Like death warmed over.’

‘Yeah, that sounds about right. You have heat exhaustion. You’re done filming for today. I want you to take a few days off. You need to get better before you start serious physical activity like this again. Rest here til dinner.’ Turning to Viggo she said, ‘Stay with him, if he tries to get up don’t let him—sit on him if you have to. I’ll be back.’

She left the trailer and went looking for the choreographer. She found him in off-set staging. Grabbing his arm, she said, ‘We need to talk, now!’

‘Get your hands off me.’

‘If you don’t come with me, I will have this out with you right here, and it will cause a scene.’ Her voice grew dangerously quiet–the calm before the storm.

He looked around; they were getting a few looks. He decided to call her bluff. ‘I’m not leaving.’

Monica exploded. ‘I have a sick actor, who was unconscious and almost had to go to hospital, because he was under-hydrated. I told you they needed to break for hydration, you told me to shove off! When was the last time he had a drink?! Do you even realise he could have died?!’

Everyone was watching them now. The choreographer’s face turned white with her last sentence.

‘What is going on?’ stormed an associate producer.

‘Dominic Monaghan is in sick bay, thanks to him!’ fumed Monica. ‘He refused to break rehearsal for rehydration, and Dominic passed out from heat exhaustion.’ Turning back to the choreographer she added, ‘It’s 98 fucking degrees out, when the hell was the last time he had a drink?!’

‘All right, Monica,’ Rick, the AP said. ‘Take a breath. Dan,’ he said to the choreographer, ‘get off my set. Do not return. Do not ever let me see you again.’

Dan shoved past Monica, and stormed off. Monica turned on her heel and headed back to the trailer acting as Dom’s sick bay. When she returned, Shao was just finishing examining Dom.

‘How’s he doing Shao?’ Monica asked.

‘He’ll be fine. I changed out his Ringer’s and saline, but his vitals are fine, and temp is back to 98.6º. You did a good job with him.’

There was a knock on the trailer door. ‘Hey, can we come in?’ It was Billy and Orlando. The girls looked at Dom.

‘You up for it?’ asked Monica. He nodded, tiredly. ‘All right, you can come in, together, but only for a few minutes. He needs to sleep.’

Monica sat down in the next room, and prepared to write an incident report. She questioned Viggo about how much they had drunk before she got to the site, learning that he had also requested a hydration break, minutes before she got there. Carefully, she detailed the incident, including the following confrontation with Dan, and his subsequent dismissal. By the time she finished, she had written a full two and a half pages on the incident. She took one more set of vital signs, noting that everything was in normal, if not optimal, range.

‘Well Dom, you’re free to go, but there’s no way in hell you’re driving yourself to wherever you’re staying.’

‘I’ll drive him; he’s staying with me anyhow. I’m free til after dinner now,’ said Billy. Monica nodded.

‘Sounds good then. Dom, call me or Shao if you start vomiting, get dizzy to where the room is spinning, or you just feel like something’s really not right. DON’T tell yourself that it’s nothing and that you’ll be okay. You’re body had a massive injury today, don’t forget that.’

‘I’ll try to get the evenin’ off to keep mah eye on him,’ said Billy.

‘Talk to Rick, the AP, and say that I recommend it. He should go for it.’ She removed the IV from Dom’s arm, covering the spot with a wad of gauze and some tape. Dom left, with Billy offering support.

‘Want to go see about dinner?’ Viggo asked putting his hand on the small of Monica’s back.

She hesitated, an emotion crossing her face too quickly for him to identify it. He smiled gently. ‘Why don’t I go get dinner for both of us, and we can eat here.’ He had a feeling it was something to do with the crowd that made her nervous.

She smiled. ‘I’d like that.’ Relief was evident in her voice.

‘Great, I’ll be right back, angel,’ he said, pulling her in for a quick hug.

Viggo soon returned with a box and a bowl. ‘Pizza and cut melon for dinner,’ he said. ‘I had to wrestle the pizza away from elf-boy, he was hell bent on hogging it.’

Monica laughed. Viggo set a paper plate and a couple napkins in front of her and at the next seat over. Monica piled fruit onto her plate, craving the sweet red meat of the watermelon. Viggo started with the cantaloupe. Dinner was a longer break, two hours, since they would be filming late into the night. Viggo had locked the trailer door, needing a break from the chaos of the cast, even his friends, and wanting to spend some time with this skittish, intriguing medic.

‘So what led you to California? You clearly aren’t from here. You actually sound like a New Yorker,’ Viggo commented. ‘And how did you come to be our set medic?’

‘I am a New Yorker. Four hours north of the city, in the Adirondacks. Grew up there, hating it every day. Spent a few months in the Boston area, and realised that I love big cities. Spent 11 months in Maine, where I got my EMT-Basic certification. Went back to New York, spent the next six and a half years there, five of it in college. As for how I ended up here, a set medic . . . it’s . . . well, it’s a long story.’

Viggo saw the pain in her eyes, and chose not to press her. ‘So tell me about Monica,’ he said.

She studied his eyes, the interest was genuine, she noticed. ‘What would you like to know?’ she asked quietly.

‘Well, how old you are, for starters. I don’t know; see you have an advantage. You’re a fan, so you know a lot more about me than I do you.’

Monica conceded this as truth. ‘I’m 27, to answer the first question. I . . . shit I don’t know what to tell you.’

‘Well, how bout your family?’

‘My dad’s the only one left. My mum died of cancer last year, and my brother . . . died a few months later. . .’

‘Does your brother’s death have anything to do with why you became a medic?’ Viggo asked softly. ‘I saw the book you were studying, juvenile delinquency’s not a common topic for medics to study.’

Suddenly restless, Monica jumped to her feet, pacing to the window at the far side of the trailer. ‘I can’t. . . I’m sorry, I just. . .’ her voice trailed off. She jumped, startled when Viggo came to stand behind her.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push,’ Viggo whispered. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

She nodded, unable to speak for the tears that threatened. She turned, intending to go sit down, but Viggo didn’t move, so she stood, her back to the window, trapped by his gaze. After a moment, he took her hand. ‘Come on, let’s sit down,’ he said softly. She allowed him to draw her to the sofa and sat down, slowly relaxing, letting her guard down.

‘Monica, I do hope someday you trust me enough to tell me about your family. I know we just met, though, so I won’t ask more.’

She looked up into his eyes, seeing the concern, the sincerity, in them. She knew in her head she could trust him, could see it in his eyes. It was convincing her heart to let go that was the issue.

She smiled at him. ‘Thank you Viggo. I appreciate your not pushing.’

He squeezed her hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. ‘You’re welcome love. I still want to know you, Monica. I want to know everything.’ His voice dropped, deepening into a sexy timbre, as he continued. ‘Tell me something about yourself—anything.’

‘I write to cope,’ she blurted, before she could think.

‘And what do you write, honey?’ he asked.

Blushing at the endearment, she answered, ‘Stories, poems. Mainly stories.’

‘Does it help?’ When Monica nodded he said, ‘Good. That’s why I write a lot of times. It helps put jumbled emotions into coherent thoughts. Or,’ he amended, ‘more coherent than if I left them alone.’

Monica nodded. ‘Yeah, it does.’

‘Can I see you later, Monica? After filming tonight I mean? We could go for a late dinner, coffee, drinks, whatever. . .’

‘I’d like to, but I have to be back here at five again, and I live in Glendale; it takes me over an hour to get here from my apartment. I’m lucky it’s that fast, it’s over 50 miles driving.’

Viggo thought for a moment. ‘I have an apartment in Rancho Palos Verdes. I have a spare bedroom you could use, if you wanted to come out with me tonight?’ Monica studied his face, her eyes assessing. ‘Sorry, that probably sounded like a terrible come-on, didn’t it? I didn’t mean anything by it other than a sincere offer.’

‘All right,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll go out with you tonight.’

Viggo smiled, his eyes lighting up. ‘Terrific! I’ll meet you in the staging area after we get cut loose. I have to call my son before we go anywhere,’ his smile softening as he thought fondly of Henry.

Monica nodded. ‘Sounds good.’

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. ‘Vig? We’re needed on set!’ called Billy.

‘¡Mierdas!’ Viggo exclaimed. ‘I can’t believe it’s already been two hours!’

‘You better go. I don’t want Rick on my ass for you being late.’

‘You don’t have to worry about that, angel,’ he said, before brushing a kiss to her cheek.

Monica was working the main set after dinner, so she didn’t have far to go to wait for Viggo. She hadn't seen him all night—he was working with the stunties on some fight scenes. She had just finished repacking her medical bags after an end of shift inventory when she heard him approaching, talking with someone. She took a form listing the supplies she carried from the side pocket of her ‘jump kit,’ the bag that had a little of everything that she might need. She carried four bags total: her ALS/ACLS bag, an IV kit, the jump kit, and a trauma bag. The total weight of her bags was around 120 pounds, which made for a long walk from car to set and back each day.

‘Hey, angel,’ she heard him say, approaching from behind her.

‘Hey Vig,’ she said, looking over her shoulder. ‘If you want to call Henry, I have a few things I need to finish before I’m set.’

He smiled and nodded, pulling out a cell phone. He called his son, and Monica set about filling in what supplies she’d used that day onto a form she would fax to her office so that her employer could pack a restock kit for her. A truck would be dispatched the very next day, to the set she was working, with the supplies, lest she run out of something. Monica signed the document as Viggo hung up the phone. With a sigh she packed the document in her bag.

‘I was thinking,’ Viggo started. ‘Since we’re going to the same place tonight, and we both have a five am set call, why don’t we just take one car?’

Monica pondered that briefly. ‘We can do that,’ she said. ‘I don’t really care which one we take, but I would have to get some things out of mine if we were to take yours.’

‘We can take yours if you want. I have everything I need.’

‘That settles that. I’ll even let you drive,’ she teased. ‘I only have one rule about my car, though. You can’t smoke in it.’

‘No problem. I'm trying to cut back anyways. Are you allergic?’

‘No. I quit smoking a few years ago, but the time I spent smoking did a lot of damage to my lungs. I have a reactive airway. Similar to asthma.’

He nodded. ‘I understand. Can I help you carry your bags?’

Monica grinned. ‘You just made my will with that offer!’ she laughed. ‘I have to carry this one,’ she said, hefting the ALS/ACLS bag. ‘There’s a $3000+ defibrillator in this bag; I'm responsible for it, and that’s one piece of equipment I will not let anyone but Shao touch. We actually work for the same company.’

Viggo took her jump kit and trauma bag, and she picked up her IV bag. By this time, they were the only people left on set besides the director and two APs. They walked to the car park from the beach, a secluded area between Palos Verdes Point and Point Vicente. They said good night to the evening security guard, Marc, and signed out.

‘You carry these bags every day?’ Viggo asked, amazed.

‘Yep. All totalled the bags weigh over 100 pounds. There’s a reason I don’t have a gym membership,’ she joked, eyes laughing. She stopped, setting her bags in the back of a large 1970-something Dodge pickup truck. Opening one of the lockboxes in the bed of the truck, she packed all of the equipment inside before closing and relocking it.

She turned to see Viggo watching her. ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘I didn’t figure you as a sports car type, but I didn’t figure on a beast either.’

‘Hey now, don’t be callin her a beast. I had her retrofitted so that she's more economical on gas; did it when I had her retrofitted to comply with California emissions standards.’

‘Lotta money to spend on an old truck,’ he commented, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Tossing him the keys she answered, ‘Well, they just don’t build ‘em like they used to. 33 years old and she’s still going strong. Besides, I don’t mind spending money on quality. The retrofitting cost a pretty penny, but the savings in fuel for just a couple months, when prices went to over $3 a gallon, paid for it.’

‘You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, for sure. Most people look at the short term dollar, and would've junked this truck instead of retrofitting it.’

‘How do you think I got this one?’ she asked. ‘The guy didn’t want to spend the money to retrofit, so he sold the truck, and used the money I paid him to pay cash for a used car that met the emissions standards.’

Viggo looked over at Monica. ‘So where to, angel?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know this area very well. You'll have to help me out.’

‘Well. . .’ he said, drawing out the ‘e,’ ‘what are you in the mood for?’

His gravely voice and choice of words sent Monica’s mind right to the gutter, filling her head with all sorts of carnal thoughts of what she was in the mood for. Shaking her head to clear away the x-rated thoughts, she said, ‘I could use something to eat. Just a sandwich or something though.’

‘Okay, that works. Trust me? Or do you want to pick a place?’

‘I trust you. There’s not much you could pick food wise that would put me off.’

‘Really?’

‘I'm almost always willing to try something new. I just sometimes need a little coaxing.’

‘Hmmm, I’ll remember that. I'm not up for being adventurous tonight though, so you’re safe. There’s a little deli, not far from my place, that makes good sandwiches. The owners are Jewish, and learned from their parents, so they maintained the same care and quality when making the food; no shortcuts for them.’

‘They’re open this late?’ Monica asked, surprised.

‘Midnight.’ A quick glance at the clock affixed to the dashboard told Monica it was 11.13. ‘They only close early Friday night—at sundown, and on their holy days.’

‘Sounds good then.’

Viggo found a parking space near the deli, and he and Monica walked the half-block up the street. Monica noticed that all the signs were in Hebrew or Yiddish here, verifying Viggo’s assertion that the deli was indeed a real Jewish deli.

‘Gutn-ovnt, Mamele,’ Viggo greeted the woman behind the counter as they entered the deli.

‘Viggo!’ she cried, ‘too long it has been since you come to see me and papa! You no forget us I see! Iz gut!’

‘Neyn, Mamele. I haven’t forgotten you and papa. I was in Denmark for a while, and Argentina, then I had to go to Spain to make a movie.’

‘You see your mishpokhe—your family—then. Gut! And who is this lovely creature. You have a beloved you keeping from Mamele?’

Viggo laughed. ‘No Mamele, not a beloved. A new friend. She is part of the crew on the new movie I'm doing.’

Mamele looked hard at Monica, who smiled at the old woman, standing up to her scrutiny. Finally the woman looked back at Viggo. ‘She will be good for you, young Viggo. But you take care—she hurts, this one. I will dance at your wedding, you will see!’

Viggo chuckled. ‘Mamele . . .’ he started.

She cut him off, ‘You will see, child,’ she said firmly. And as expected, that ended the discussion.

Viggo ordered their sandwiches and some potato salad, as well as bagels with smoked lox cream cheese for breakfast the next morning. In short time their order was ready. When Viggo went to pay Mamele refused him.

‘Neyn! Mama not take money for feeding her children, Viggo!’

Smiling mischievously at her, he took her hand and folded it around the money. ‘Ja, Mamele.’

When she started to protest, he picked up the sack with their food, smiled at Mamele, and said, ‘It is done, Mamele. Dank. Adye, Mamele!’

‘Zayt mir gezunt, kinderlekh!’

Once outside, Monica looked at Viggo in surprise. ‘I didn’t know you spoke Yiddish,’ she remarked.

‘I don’t, not really. I learned what I know from Mamele. I moved here after my wife and I separated. Mamele, which is Yiddish for dear Mother, adopted me. I think sometimes she forgets that she isn't really my mother, which quite frankly I don’t mind.’

‘What was that last thing she said? I know a bit of German, so I was able to follow most of it.’

‘Zayt mir gezunt?’ When Monica nodded, Viggo said, ‘It’s a goodbye. It really means be well, or be healthy. Kinderlekh is children. Looks like she’s adopted you too, now. I hope she didn’t embarrass you with what she said. . .’

‘Not at all. She’s like my gammy. Also adopted,’ Monica grinned.

Reaching the car, Viggo shifted the sack to one arm and opened Monica’s door with the other. She climbed in, and took the sack from his arms. Automatically, she leant to the side to unlock the driver’s side door.

‘You’re the first girl that has ever done that,’ he remarked.

‘Done what,’ she asked, puzzled.

‘Unlocked the door for me. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. I don’t know, it’s a habit, I guess.’

‘A thoughtful one. It shows consideration for others. And the fact that you didn’t even realise what I meant tells me a lot about you, Monica. And makes me want to know you even more.’ He wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing gently, before starting the truck.

Monica thanked god for the darkness hiding the blush in her cheeks. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention and praise. Hell, she wasn’t used to any kind of praise.

Within minutes, Viggo was pulling into a secluded car park. He turned the engine off and handed Monica her keys. Monica soon discovered that Viggo’s and her definition of apartment were vastly different.

What Viggo had called an apartment was a three story townhouse, not exactly elegant . . . but compared to her little walk up, this was a mansion. Viggo noticed her expression. ‘Not what you were expecting, I gather?’ he remarked.

‘Uh . . . not exactly.’

He laughed. ‘It’s okay; I think my face matched yours when the realtor showed me the place. I was expecting a walk up flat or something. C’mon,’ he said, grabbing her hand. ‘I don’t know about you, but I worked off my dinner pretty damned early.’

‘Nah, I sat on my butt the last few hours, watching the extras flirt with Orlando.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You’d think they thought he was God.’

Viggo laughed. ‘You mean you don’t?’

‘No, not really. When my friend and I were in Wal-Mart, she mentioned Troy, which had just come out. Now I knew who Brad Pitt was, and was even familiar with Eric Bana. She mentioned Orlando, and I went, “Who’s Orlando Bloom?” She shrieked, “What do you mean who’s Orlando Bloom!” and dragged me over to the posters. She flipped to a Legolas poster, and said “HIM!” to which I replied, “Um okay, still don’t know.” I hadn't seen Lord of the Rings yet, so it was lost on me.

‘When I finally saw Lord of the Rings, I was more taken with another character. Although at least I finally learnt who Orlando Bloom was.’

‘Hmmm, another character huh? Let me see. . . I’d have to guess Merry or Pippin.’ Monica shook her head. ‘No? Not Frodo or Sam. Surely not Gandalf. You don’t mean. . .’

Monica smiled. ‘Yeah, Aragorn.’

Viggo grinned. ‘Really. Tell me why.’

After swallowing a bite of her roast beef sandwich, Monica said, ‘Honour, courage, integrity, and nobility. I see too few who exhibit any of those, much less all. I haven't had experience with good people, in general.’

Viggo cupped her cheek with one hand. ‘I'm sorry hon. I wish I could erase your old hurts.’

‘I'm who I am because of those hurts. Everything I went through shaped who I am. Granted, I’d rather be without depression, and would prefer not to have. . . well, there are a couple things I wish hadn't happened. But I wouldn’t change them, regardless.’

‘God. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. How do you do it?’

‘What?’

‘Keep such a. . . good perspective. I don’t know anything you’ve been through, but I get the feeling that most people would be mired down in why-me’s and not a functioning, productive, and seemingly happy part of society.’

‘Oh, I've had my share of why me days. And I haven't always been functional, or productive. As for happy, life is better when you're happy. My nickname is Sunshine. I’m not sure which came first—the name or the attitude.’

By this time, Monica and Viggo were sitting on his couch, Monica sitting with her back resting against one arm of it, ankles crossed and knees bent, and Viggo was sitting close to her, one leg tucked under him, the other resting on the floor.

‘Dance with me?’ Viggo asked, suddenly.

‘Huh?’ Monica was confused by the non-sequitur.

‘Will you dance with me?’ Viggo repeated.

‘Um,’ Monica dropped her head, ‘I don’t know how.’

‘You don’t need to. Come on angel, it'll be fun.’ With that he took her hand and pulled her to her feet. He led her up the stairs to the second floor, and into what had to be his entertainment room.

There was a large screen television on one side of the room, and on another a stereo system, with speakers positioned around the room.

‘I thought. . .’ Monica started.

‘What hon?’

‘I thought you didn’t watch TV. . .’

‘The TV’s for Henry, when he comes over if I'm out, or if he brings friends over. I turn it on for news sometimes now and then, especially after something like 9/11 or when we invaded Iraq.’ He put a cd in the stereo and set it to a selection he liked.

He walked over to Monica, who was looking down, nervously. He cupped her chin, and tilted her head up, smiling gently. ‘Trust me, angel.’ He ran his thumb over her cheek. ‘I won’t do anything to hurt or embarrass you.’ He dropped his hand to hers, taking it in his. ‘Dance with me, Monica,’ he said, his voice low, gentle, soothing.

She looked up into his eyes, revealing her vulnerability. Without waiting for her to answer, but moving slowly, trying not to scare her, he put an arm around her waist, his hand coming flat against her back. She was tall; they were almost eye to eye when he stepped in close to her.

Still nervous, Monica dropped her eyes. ‘Uh, uh. Look at me Monica,’ Viggo coaxed, softly.

She brought her eyes back up, looking into his. They were the same slate blue as hers, but he had flecks of green throughout the irises, she noticed, which explained why they sometimes seemed greenish-coloured.

He still had one arm wrapped around her waist, and he now placed his other hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, his thumb stroking her back soothingly. Finally, Monica put her arms around him, one around his waist, the other around his back, with the hand resting on his shoulder from behind.

‘Just relax,’ he whispered, hardly more than a breath in her ear. Gently he swayed, holding her close. After a few moments, Monica relaxed enough to rest her head on his shoulder.

When Monica put her head on his shoulder, Viggo smiled softly. He’d hoped she’d come to trust him enough to let go, just a little; he was glad when she did.

The two swayed to the music gently, slowly, barely moving, for more than an hour.

| HOME |
| Parts 6-10 |
Like the Story? Tell Me!