Twenty Questions

Posted: August 2003
Title: Twenty Questions
Author: Dhvana
Type: RPHet
Pairing(s): Orlando Bloom/OFC
Rating: PG
Summary: Orlando finds his opposite.
Disclaimer: Pure fiction.
Author's Note: Written in about an hour, this ficlet has been plaguing me for almost a week. Thought it would be fun. As always, feedback would be most welcome!

*****

"Chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry?"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes as they walked down the wooden planks of the boardwalk. Odd question, but as the conversation had lulled, it was better than silence. "Chocolate," he answered, then looked questioningly at her.

"Strawberry, but only if it's real vanilla with real strawberries, not any of that pink, artificially flavored stuff."

"Picky."

"Discriminating."

"Hmm."

It was a beautiful evening—light ocean wind, softly cresting waves, not too hot, not too cold. The ideal setting for a first date, and as dates went, so far, it had been moderately pleasant. They didn't immediately love or hate each other, it was awkward without being uncomfortable—things were going well.

"Cat or dog person?" she asked.

"Dog."

She shook her head. "Cat."

He bought a couple of bottles of water from a cart, handing one to her and twisting the cap off his own.

"Beach or mountains?" she continued.

"Beach. I love the ocean."

"Mountains. I love the smell of pine."

"City or country?" he countered.

"Country, but with a city within at least a twenty minutes drive."

"City. But it really doesn't matter. I'd never be home enough for it to matter."

"Tragic."

He shrugged. "I'm getting used to it."

"Spring, summer, winter, or fall?"

"Spring," he said with a decisive nod.

"Fall."

He chuckled. It seemed as if their entire night had been made up of opposites. "We're not doing too good, are we?"

She smiled at him, her eyes shining. "We're not doing too bad, either."

"American, Mexican, or Italian?"

"Italian."

"Mexican," he chuckled. Fifth date, and they still hadn't gotten it right, at least where their tastes were concerned. Otherwise, things were going fairly smoothly. "Can't we agree on anything?"

"That would take all the fun out of it," she laughed. "And the movie—comedy, action, horror, romantic comedy, drama?"

"Romantic comedy."

She gave him a surprised look, but didn't comment. "I'm more in the mood for action."

"What if I promise you that after the movie?" he asked, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

She slid an arm around his waist and nuzzled his neck. "Romantic comedy it is."

During his week off from filming, he flew her to Hawaii.

"Snorkel, scuba, or surfing?"

"Scuba."

"Surfing."

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Seems we have a problem. Diving waters and surfing waters do not mix."

"True. But there is a solution. I could teach you to surf."

"But I can't teach you to dive. Well, I could, but I might forget something, and I don't want to risk that."

"Then I'll take lessons, so we can both go diving."

Her eyes softened as she gazed at him, her resulting grin even more brilliant than the sun. He did so love making her smile.

"How could you do this to me?"

"I didn't do anything," he protested, trying to grab onto her hand, but she shook him off. "I swear, nothing happened!"

"I saw the pictures," she growled, shoving clothes into her suitcase.

"I know, I'm sorry. But it isn't what it seems! She climbed onto me, she was a little drunk, and I politely, but firmly, pried her off, but not before she kissed me. Of course, there would happen to be a photographer there, and now the pictures are everywhere."

"So I've noticed," she said, briskly zipping up her suitcase.

"If I'd thought this would be such a big deal, I would have told you yesterday."

"If you'd thought you would get caught," she corrected him, hefting the suitcase off the bed and heading for the door, "you would have told me yesterday."

"That's not true." He grabbed onto her arm, turning her to face him, holding her gaze with his own. "I promise you, nothing happened. I would never do that to you. Don't you trust me?"

Tears filled her eyes at the earnestness of his face. Her lower lip began to tremble and the suitcase in her hand grew too heavy to hold on to any longer. She let it fall to the floor and threw her arms around him. "Of course I trust you. I'm just so afraid."

"Of what?" he asked, smoothing the hair from her face.

"Of losing you."

"Don't be," he said softly, and kissed her.

"They're transferring me to Seattle."

His face turned pale. "They can't do that!"

"They can," she said, sitting on the sofa next to him, curling up against his side. "I've been fighting with the CEOs all week, but they refuse to budge. They won't let me stay."

"Is this why you've been in such a bad mood?"

She nodded. "I was afraid to tell you. I kept hoping I could change their minds. I can't. They say they need me there."

"I need you here!"

"And I need to be here with you."

"Then don't go."

"Orlando, I have to. It's my job."

"Find another one!" he snapped, and seeing her flinch, instantly regretted it. Knowing he was being irrational, he stood up and started pacing the room. "How can they do this?"

"Because they can," she sighed, stretching out on the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. "Does it really make that much of a difference? You'll be traveling most of the time. It'll be just as easy for you to visit me in Seattle when you've got some time off."

"But I'll be filming here a lot of the time also. It makes more sense for both of us to be here. This is our home!"

She raised her eyes to meet his. "‘Our' home?"

"Yes," he said, kneeling down in front of her, clutching her hands in his. "Our home. You and I, together."

"If that's all it takes, we can make a home in Seattle."

He looked down at her hands, then raised them to his lips. "I know, and you're right, but it will mean less time together."

"That's why phones were invented," she said, attempting a smile. "And cars, and planes, and trains, and boats, and skates, and bicycles, whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes," he nodded. "I love you."

She leaned over to kiss him. "And I love you."

Opening the door, she was nearly drowned as a soaking wet Orlando wrapped himself around her. She didn't care that she was now almost as drenched as he was, but laughed and held onto the dripping Englishman with all her might.

"Does it always rain like this?" he asked, giving her a thorough kiss.

"No, you just got lucky. It's usually much worse," she winked, wiping the damp curls from his face, the paused at seeing the troubled look in his brown eyes. Her joy at seeing him faded, her heart skipping a beat. She knew what was coming next. She was just surprised it had taken so long.

"Tell me, quickly," she whispered, "before I refuse to listen."

"I can't do this anymore," he said softly. "It's too much, being away from you. I hate not being with you. I hate always wondering what you're doing, who you're with. I need more."

She sighed, stepping away. "I know, and you should have more. I'm just sorry I can't give it to you."

"No!" he said, seeing the sorrow in her face. "It's not like that."

Turning around to look at him, her expression grew confused. He was grinning. He shouldn't have been grinning, not now, not when things were ending. "It is like that," she whispered.

"No, it isn't," he insisted, shaking his head.

"Then tell me what it is!" she cried, hating that he was dragging this out.

"It's like this."

Her eyes widened as he dropped down on one knee before her, holding out a powder blue jewelry box. He opened the lid to reveal a sparkling diamond ring.

"Will you marry me?"

THE END

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