Always Be Here

**Disclaimer: I do not know Orlando Bloom. I have no knowledge of
him personally and this is simply a work of fiction....strictly my imagination
here folks. If you do not see him this way, then do not continue to read. I make
no profit from this, and it is written for my own enjoyment, and hopefully that
of others.

I’ve seen a lot of sad people

I’ve seen a lot of strange things

I’ve seen a lot of bad people

Do a lot of bad things

You know I’ve done some wandering I’ve done a little bit of this and that

You know I’ve done some traveling You know I always come back--yeah back

And I relied upon you so

I’ve decided on you

And now I wonder

Do you think about me

What do you think about me

Do you think about me

What do you think about me

~Sister Hazel

Thursday 7:00 AM (Morocco)

Didn’t sleep. She’s in there you know. Right in the next room? Absolute torture.
I had no idea it’d be like this when I decided on this suite. How many bloody
times have I stayed at her place, with her right down the hall? I mean, I just
saw her in nothing but a thong three days ago.

Satin thong. Red with little flowers on it.

See what I mean? Suddenly I’m fixated on everything about her. Bloom, you’re
such a blighter. You bring her out here, for what? So you can seduce her? First
off, she’d never fall for that shit and you know it. Second, what kind of person
would that make you? A blighter, that’s what kind. You know how she feels about
actors. Albeit you don’t know why, but that’s utterly beside the point.

Ok. New plan. Cook breakfast for her, then back to business as usual. Need to be
on set by 10 AM. Baby’s coming too, which will finally make being here somewhat
bearable. Well, another shower can’t hurt, huh? Then I’ll cook. Hope she like
omelets.

7:15 AM

The kitchen’s well stocked, just as I’d requested. Ok. Now to make my favorite.
Vegetarian omelets. I’m not the best cook in the world, but I managed to feed
myself well enough to make it in London when I was on my own. At least I’ve
never had any complaints. Besides, cooking’s fun. Great way to relax too. Wonder
when she’ll be up? She was really bad off when I put her to bed last night.
Never even woke up.

Damn. Don’t start thinking about last night. Concentrate. Maybe I can teach her
some cooking basics while she’s here. It’d help her take better care of herself
when she gets back home.

Ok, I’m into the groove now. Omelets looking good.

“Morning Bloom. Whatcha up to?” I hear from the door. Startled, I tense at the
sound of her voice. I look over my shoulder at her and grin. She’s fresh from a
shower and wearing a short satin robe that stops mid-thigh. Showing legs I’d
forgotten were so long. And tan. And shapely. Bloody hell. I try to keep
my visual appraisal of her brief, for both of our sakes. Remember Bloom, she’s
not on the menu.

“Just cooking you breakfast, luv. How’s your head this morning?” I ask with a
wink, popping a slice of fresh mushroom into my mouth.

“Not great, but I think a Dr. Pepper might help,” she says. She seems relieved
for some reason, and I’m just glad to see that she’s not still pissed at me. I
step over to the fridge and grab a can for her.

Popping the top, I hand it to her with a grimace-how can she drink the
stuff so early?-and say “Here, luv. Maybe you could go and watch some TV while I
finish up in here?” Winking at her again I wait for her answer. I notice that
she’s looking at my chest a bit longer than normal, and I feel a heat in my
blood. Stop it Bloom!

“Sure Orli,” she says and wanders off to the front room. Thank God! If she’d
stayed in here for another minute, there’s no telling how these eggs would’ve
turned out.

7:30 AM

“Come and get it, luv,” I call as I walk over and set our plates on the table.
I’m aware of the fact that my last words could easily be taken in so many
other ways, but this is baby we’re talking about here, so I’m sure it's taken at
face value. Sure enough, here she comes. I hold her chair out for her and when
she’s seated, I push her chair in for her then take a seat opposite from her.


Surprisingly she didn’t balk at letting me do this for her. Usually she’d be all
over that quickly, with a scathing comment about how she doesn’t need a
man…blah, blah, blah. Maybe we’re making some progress here?

“It smells great, Orli. Um…what is it?” She asks, looking at the omelet
hungrily.

“That’s a vegetarian omelet, baby. Compliments of yours truly,” I say with a
grin. She’s looking at my chest again, and it’s quite distracting.

“Well, if it tastes half as good as it looks then I’m sure it’s wonderful. I
wonder if I should have it framed, though. Seeing as how you made it an
all,” The grin she shoots across the table makes my pulse race, but her words
hit me like a slap.

Damn. What will it take for her to forget who I am? Well, not who I am, but
rather what I do for a living.

My brows furrow at the thought, but I simply say “Just eat, you,” and take a
huge bite. It’s really good. I’m glad, since this is the first time I’ve cooked
for her. She eats with an eagerness that makes me smile, hardly taking a breath
between bites.

“This is delicious, Orli. Really good,” She manages between bites.

“Thanks,” I tell her with a smile. I love that I’m comfortable enough with her,
and she with me, that we don’t feel the need to make small talk. We simply enjoy
the meal together.

For some reason all I can think of is what she might be wearing under that robe…