A lot can happen in five years. Since that night when I'd made a fool out of myself over the phone at Viggo's TIFF premiere, I've managed to get most of the acting bug out of my system. Primarily, I work in theater. I find it easier to live life on my own terms when I don't have to work around the powerhouses of the big industry film companies.

"Orlando, please stop squeezing my hand so tightly. These old bones are about to crumble."

Yeah, right. I hope I look as good when I'm 50-something as Viggo does right this minute. Now that we've devoted our lives to each other, I make sure he takes care of himself and that he eats at least two meals a day. I can't keep him away from his painting long enough for three. Although, that may soon be changing.

Viggo, you see, has retired. I know you find that as difficult to believe as I do, but now he accompanies me to the theater, and never lacks giving me advice and/or moral support when it's needed. He's still the center of my universe, as is evident by the course we're now walking.

"Sorry. Just nervous."

He smiles at me and leans in to give me a quick kiss. He knows what this means to me... means for us. At least he's been through it once before; he has some idea of what to expect. I, on the other hand, am as green as the husk on a fresh ear of corn.

The building looms large in front of us as we approach, and for an instant my heart jumps into my throat, my pulse pounds in my ears, and all I can think is 'what the hell am I doing?'. Viggo senses it, and I hear the soft sound of a Spanish lullaby come from his lips. He's so attuned to me. I love him dearly.

He opens the large glass door for us and I enter first, releasing his hand so I can wipe the sweat from my palms on my slacks. I want to make a good impression. Viggo says it won't matter, but I can't seem to make myself believe him. He got me to change out of the suit and tie, though.

"Your beautiful smile and warm touch will be all that matters," he'd said when I was dressing.

We approach the reception desk, which I have to say looks like we are booking a room at a resort. Apparently privately funded orphanages are quite well maintained.

Viggo gives our names to the woman behind the desk and she stands, beckoning us to follow her with a wave of her long fingers and finely manicured nails, her smile gracious and inviting. I feel somewhat better after that, but I am still so nervous that I'm jittery.

She leads us to a room and invites us to sit while we wait, and then another woman enters, her professional demeanor worn like a badge of honor. I'm barely listening, and it isn't until Viggo nudges me to respond that I realize she's speaking to me directly. It's all about the business at hand, but I'm anxious to get to the good part; I've waited so long for this moment to arrive.

It seems I've nodded in all the right places and said the right things, because she rises from her seat and leaves the room.

"No turning back now," Viggo warns, but his smile is eating up his face with its broadness. He's as excited as I am, there's no denying it.

I reach over and squeeze his hand, and then the door opens and the first woman comes in again. I can see a small form hiding behind her skirt, and I lean sideways, trying to catch a glimpse.

"Orlando, Viggo, I'd like you to meet Felicia."

At the sound of her name, the child steps out from behind, her blue eyes - the color is almost exactly like Viggo's, I can see them so clearly - apprehensive but curious about us. I hope the smile on my face is welcoming, and it must be to some extent because the beautiful little girl comes toward me with one hand outstretched. I lean forward expectantly, and small fingers find their way into my hair.

"Your hair is the same color as mine," she says in wonder.

"And almost as long, too," I agree, watching the dark ringlets dance across the tops of her shoulders and delighting inwardly when her face suddenly lights up with a smile.

She looks at Viggo, wrinkles her nose in a grin, then looks to the woman who brought her in. "He's going to be my new Daddy," she announces in the matter-of-fact way only a four year old can manage.

Whatever trepidation I felt coming in here vanishes at those words as two sweet arms wrap themselves around my neck and a tiny kiss is placed on my cheek.

I can see Viggo holding back tears of joy as he watches me with our new daughter. "Come on, Elfboy," he says, his hand still wrapped in mine, "let's take her home."

~END~