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(For Amy and Mysterywoman, without whom this story would not have existed.
So if you don't like it, blame them! )

The London night was clammy and cool as Rachel stepped out of the theatre. She slipped her arms through the sleeves of her coat and secured the tie. She flipped her shoulder-length honey colored hair from the fuzzy collar of the coat, and wrapped her arms tightly around herself to ward off the chill night air. She wiped a tear from her cheek as she began to make her way down the sidewalk. The play had been marvelous, as full of laughs as serious turns, and with such a moving ending. She ran her favorite scenes over in her mind as she made her way to the busy cross street. She turned and began walking down the throughway.

"Maybe tomorrow I'll catch another play," she thought to herself as she dodged the Saturday night pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk. "I think "Private Lives" is still playing and I'd love to see Alan Rickman live… or maybe the new Judi Dench play." The downside to traveling alone was always finding fun things to do in the evenings. She wasn't into to the solo bar scene and clubbing just wasn't as entertaining without friends.

Suddenly pulling herself from her mental musings, she looked up and discovered she was walking in the wrong direction. Stopping to get her bearings, she realized that she had gone the wrong way out of the theatre and her hotel was, in fact, behind her. Two choices sat before her: walk all the way back around the lighted block in her new four inch heels or take the shortcut through the alley that looked like it would come out near Leicester Square. The alley was reasonably well lit, with several cars parked on it. She always followed her gut reaction and the alley felt safe.

Halfway down the first block, she noticed the car. A vintage Mini, red with a white racing stripe. She paused to admire it, wishing once again that she could get one. "How did we miss importing this car to the U.S. and the Yugo made it over?" she wondered internally.

Stepping away from the car reluctantly, she continued down the pavement. Just as she reached the corner of the building, she looked over her shoulder to take one last look at the precious little car. WHAM! She smacked right into a wall.

Toppling unsteadily on her heels for a moment, she struggled to regain her balance for a moment before admitting defeat. Her feet flew out from under her and she landed hard on the cement. She felt a sharp shooting pain go through her left ankle and up from her right wrist. She lay sprawled for a moment trying to catch her breath.

"Oh, shit!" the wall exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

She looked up from her prone position to see that it had not been a wall that she had hit, but a man. Half hidden in the shadows from the streetlight, he stared down at her, dismay showing in his light-colored eyes. She lowered her gaze, noting in shock that he also was wearing heels comparable in height to hers, stilettos no less, and had somehow managed to stay upright during their collision.

"It's not your fault," she assured him. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Ah, an American! What are you doing off the beaten track?"

"Oh, just trying to make it back to my hotel and I took a wrong turn, as per usual," she replied. Then she moved to stand and cried out in pain.

"Oh, no! You are hurt!" The stranger dropped the breezy tone in his voice and rushed forward to help her to her feet. He lifted her up beneath her arms and helped her balance on her good foot. Next, he slipped one arm around her waist to support her. As he bent slightly to examine her injury, she noticed the light reflecting from his tousled blonde hair.

"Ok, we're taking you to the nearest Casualty," he said in a tone that brooked no argument as he straightened back up.

"No, I'm sure it will be fine. I'll just get back to my hotel - "

"It's already swelling and you can't walk on it. How do you think you'd make it home?" He swiveled his head to look at her. She got her first fully lit view of his face and drew in a sharp breath. It was him, the actor in the play that she'd just seen. What was his name, Eddie something? Eddie Izzard, that was it, she remembered seeing it in the program. The streetlight caught the planes of his face, causing him to look quite severe as he continued on," I'm not the sort to injure a lady and then leave her to her own devices. My car's just over here and then we'll be on our way."

He assisted her as they began to hobble in the direction he had gestured to. As they stopped in front of the gorgeous little Mini she had been admiring earlier, the laughter bubbled up out of her.

"What?" he said, almost irately. "It's a great car."

"I take it all back," she laughed. "The accident was your fault."

"Oh, how do you figure that?" he said, still confused.

"The reason I wasn't watching where I was going was because I was admiring your car," she explained. "I've wanted one since I started coming over here."

He preened a bit at the compliment to his car as he swung the door open and helped her lower herself onto the leather seat. Gently, he lifted her injured foot in and placed it carefully on the floorboard. He shut the door firmly and walked around the other side and got in. The car roared to life at the turn of the key, and he gave her a jaunty look as he pulled the plucky car onto the main road. Smiling, she reached behind her to pull on her seatbelt and cried out in pain for a second time.

Eddie turned and nearly missed getting the car into second gear in his concern for her. "What, am I going too fast? Did you hit your foot on something?"

"No," she whimpered. "I think I've hurt my hand as well."

He cast a grim, worried look in her direction as he pulled to a stop at the traffic light. Leaning over, he pulled the seatbelt across her midsection and snapped it closed. Warm tingling sensations rushed through her as his fingers brushed against her hip. Well, at least I haven't gone numb from the pain, she smiled inwardly. Her foot was beginning to swell a bit, she realized, so she reached down with her good hand and slipped off her shoe. Eddie was silent as he maneuvered in and out of the late night London traffic. Less than ten minutes after their journey had begun, they were pulling in front of a hospital emergency room.

He hopped out of the car and ran over to an orderly who was lounging at the door. He spoke quickly to the man; Rachel couldn't quite make out what he said. Whatever it was, it got the young orderly's attention. He grabbed a nearby wheelchair and began following Eddie's quick stride back toward the car. Eddie opened the door and leaned in. As he unsnapped her seatbelt, she noticed the musky, intoxicating scent he was wearing. Pulling back, he smiled reassuringly at her and helped her escape the confines of the small car. The orderly settled her into the wheelchair and began pushing her through the door. As they went through, Rachel turned to say something, but then realized Eddie was no longer there. Glancing back, she saw his automobile pulling out of the emergency driveway.

"Well, he could have said goodbye," she thought, more than a bit miffed.

The orderly wheeled her into a corner of the drab waiting area, and then made the nurse on duty aware of her presence. After twenty minutes of solitude, Rachel was feeling thoroughly sorry for herself. After weeks of work, she was finally done and had planned to spend the next week enjoying London. Now she would be on crutches and heaven only knew what she had done to her hand! Tears began to slide down her face as she contemplated her options and came up with the only one that made any sense at all: she would have to go home early.

"Hey, no tears, beautiful," a soft, smoky masculine voice chided. She looked up and Eddie was standing in front of her.

"I thought you'd left," she sniffed, wiping her face with her left hand.

"No, no, I just went to park the car," he clarified. "I'm sorry; I should have explained. Are you in pain?"

"No it's just throbbing but not too bad," she straightened her shoulders and looked away, embarrassed to have been caught in such a vulnerable position.

"Then why the showers?" he asked quietly.

"A case of the "Woe is me's," I'm afraid," she admitted. "I was feeling sorry for myself for ruining my vacation."

"You're here on vacation by yourself? Or is there someone I should be calling for you?" he asked.

"No, I'm alone. I came over to work, and just finished up. The next week was supposed to be just for me. Sightseeing and the like."

At this point, the nurse at the desk finally deciding to make her presence felt and dropped a clipboard of admitting forms in her lap. Rachel looked at them in dismay.

"What's wrong?" Eddie inquired.

"I'm right-handed," she explained. "There's no way I can fill these out."

"Well, that's no cause for alarm. I'll take care of it." He took the clipboard and began reading the first form. He was silent for a full minute, and then looked up at her sheepishly. "First one's a stumper."

"Oh, really?" She leaned over to read the form. Question 1: Name

"I was so worried about getting you over here, I never introduced myself," he laughed.

"I'm Rachel," she smiled. "Rachel Brannigan."

"I'm Eddie."

"I know. I was coming from your play," she explained. "It was quite good, I enjoyed it."

"Thanks," he smiled, a bit distantly. "Are you a fan of British theatre?"

"A relatively new one, I suppose," she laughed. "This was my first experience. But I enjoyed it greatly. My friend Magenta recommended it, along with a couple of others she thought I might enjoy. Otherwise, I probably would have ended up at 'The Mousetrap' with all the other tourists."

He laughed, seeming more at ease. We worked through the rest of the form and turned it back into the nurse, who took a good look at Eddie and suddenly became much more helpful.

"I should call Magenta, she'll be worried about me."

"Do you have her number? I can call her while they're patching you up."

"Um, no. It's 020-something."

"Well, that narrows it down then doesn't it?"

As the clock struck midnight, Rachel's name was finally called. The orderly spun her back into the examination rooms after vetoing Eddie's offer to accompany her with a curt, "Family only."

Two hours later, a nurse wheeled Rachel back into the waiting area. Eddie was draped in a rather uncomfortable-looking way over three chairs, fast asleep. He looked dead tired, and she hated to wake him up. She waited until all the discharge papers had been signed, and then she asked the orderly to rouse him.

"All patched up and ready to go!" she chirped cheerily at him.

"Final damage report?" he asked blearily, looking at the cast now covering her ankle.

"Wrenched my wrist and snapped the ankle right in two," she updated. "But the pain medicine is incredible."

"Oh, god, you're high!" he laughed. Then he sobered, and added, "How are you going to get around? You can't use crutches with your arm in a sling like that."

"I know, it's not going to be easy. I've called ahead to my hotel, and they have a wheelchair to get me to my room, but I can't keep it on loan. The concierge is going to look into rentals for me."

"Then I guess all that remains is to get you home," he said. "Wait here and I'll collect you in the car. It's gotten wet out."

True to his word, she soon found herself seated in the Mini again, woozily giving him directions to her hotel as the pain meds kicked in wholeheartedly. Staring out the window into the rain, the drenched streets of London took on a kaleidoscopic hue as she spun in and out of consciousness. Suddenly, she heard Eddie's voice struggling its way through the fog in her head, fighting for comprehension.

"Home sweet home," he said with a wry note in his voice. She sat up and blinked her eyes several times, willing them to focus. They had pulled up in front of her hotel, and Eddie was waiting on the curb with a bellman and a wheelchair. She thrust her good leg out of the open door, and Eddie leaned over to help her. With the aid of the bellman, they began a bizarre three-person dance that landed her in the wheelchair.

Eddie and the bellman were talking as they moved her down the sidewalk and into the handicapped entrance. She sincerely hoped they were talking to each other and not to her as her mind would not focus on anything long enough to digest it. She had a fleeting thought that perhaps she should have mentioned to the doctor that she had a low tolerance for drugs, before giving way to the floaty sensations going through her head and surfing the wave of unreality filling her mind. Hallways, lights, and the odd person swirled by and she started laughing at the blend of colors and sights as they passed. The last thing she was aware of was the sensation of warmth radiating from her forehead as Eddie tucked her into bed and kissed her goodnight.

* * *

Her eyes opened slowly. Whoever had hit her over the head with a sledgehammer was going to pay. Big time. She started to reach for the alarm by her bed to see what time it was and then realized she couldn't move her arm. It seemed to be tied to something. Puzzled, she shifted up on her left arm. As she took in her still dressed self, complete with sling and cast, the previous evening came flooding back in glorious Technicolor. She moaned and scooted herself up on the bed. Propping an extra pillow behind her head, she reached for the phone with her good arm. Just out of reach, she thought, cursing fluently.

She sat all the way up and slowly moved herself toward the phone, until she could grab the cord and pull it closer. Mission accomplished! She dialed zero and was in no time speaking to the concierge. He had already been on the phone, bless him, and had procured a wheelchair for her.

"Should be here shortly, madam," he informed her. "We'll call you when it arrives."

As she hung up, she noticed the message light flashing furiously. She followed the instructions to retrieve her messages… three of them, all from Magenta.

* * *

By noon, Rachel found herself ensconced in Magenta's first floor flat in Tufnell Park. It had taken some doing to get her there, and she was mentally composing a letter to the people in charge of the Tube. Wheelchair friendly? Um, no. Madge had left her there with the remote control and emergency phone numbers and strict instructions that if she should run into any more sexy celebrities, she should text Magenta immediately. She chuckled to herself as she replayed her last call to Magenta and the changes it had wrought.

"Fuckin 'ell!"

"I know, it's a fine mess I've gotten myself into," Rachel laughed as Magenta's shock radiated down the airwaves of the phone.

"No, not that. You met Eddie Izzard?! I knew I should have skipped out on work and come with you to the play!"

"Well, if you had, none of this would have happened, as you wouldn't have let me go the wrong way out of the theatre."

"Too true," her friend agreed wryly. "So what happened, did he give you his number? Did you give him yours? Are you going to see him again? Details, woman, I need details!"

"Whoa, whoa, it's nothing like that. I'll likely never see him again, Madge," Rachel warned. "He did his duty, got me patched up and delivered safe home. As for details, between the actual pain and the medicine for the pain, it's all kind of blurry."

"Oh," the disappointment radiated so deeply through Magenta's voice that Rachel felt compelled to offer a small tidbit.

"He did kiss me, I think."

"What?! Where, when, and how was it?"

"It wasn't what you're thinking! It was a forehead kiss, a tuck-your-niece-into-bed-type kiss." She chuckled. "Oh, hold on, will you? There's someone at the door."

She held the phone away from her and shouted, "Who is it?"

It was the bellman with her wheelchair, which distracted Magenta from the Eddie-directed conversation loop and brought her to the immobile friend-stuck-in-hotel track.

"You'll come stay with me, of course," she directed. "We can't very well have you wheeling yourself in a circle in your room for the next week, now can we?"

So it came to be that Magenta and her latest fellow swooped into my West End hotel in all their Goth glory. Madge made quite a picture, Rachel laughed to herself, with her nearly translucent face, eyes ringed with dark kohl and lidded with black eye shadow, flashing as she explained in clear, concise legal terms as to why her friend would be receiving a full refund on her pre-paid reservation despite checking out two weeks early. Magenta must be the world's only Goth law student, she mused. Between the legal jargon and Magenta's boyfriend's magnificent array of piercings, the hotel staff had been too shocked to put up much of a fight.

Off they went, on the aforementioned journey through Underground Hell. Rachel whiled away the afternoon flipping through all five channels and wishing fondly for her digital cable back home. By the time Magenta came home from class, she was so bored she had taken to counting the dots on the ceiling tile. Madge had brought groceries home, and Rachel rolled after her into the kitchen, having discovered that if one moved quickly one could roll both wheels with one hand. It wasn't easy, but it worked to traverse short distances and gave her a feeling of self-sufficiency. They were halfway through preparations for dinner when the doorbell rang.

"Must be Geoff," Magenta said as she threw down the tea towel she'd been drying her hands on and went to answer the door. Rachel continued clumsily stirring vegetables into the Chinese stir-fry dish they were making, not an easy task considering she was not much more than eye-level to the stove.

Two minutes later, Magenta came back in the kitchen, her face four shades lighter than her normal translucent hue. Rachel was about to ask what happened, when Madge managed to croak, "Prince Charming's at the door for you."

Rachel laughed, deciding that this was another of Magenta's jokes. "Well, tell him to come in here. In my book, the prince always comes to the princess, not the other way 'round."

Magenta didn't return the laugh, just spun on her heel and back through the door. Rachel shook her head at Madge's weird behavior and went back to her stirring.

"Hello, Rachel."

The sensual, cultured tones wrapped themselves around her and filled her with warmth. Slowly, she wheeled her chair around to face the doorway.

Eddie leaned against the doorjamb, in blue jeans and a cloud-print shirt that reminded Rachel of her favorite Magritte painting. His hair was delightfully tousled, and his goatee was well trimmed. He looked fantastic, and she drank in the sight of him. One hand was shoved into his front pocket and the other was hidden behind his back.

"Hi Eddie," she managed, barely, to keep her voice even. "This is a pleasant surprise."

"I hope you don't mind my tracking you down. The hotel gave me this as your forwarding address," he looked nervous suddenly. Rachel hastened to reassure him that he wasn't exhibiting stalker-like behavior.

"It's kind of you to check in on me."

"You look much better. Definitely more lucid." He grinned at her.

"Oh, no! Was I really that bad?" she blushed.

"You were talking to the wall at one point. I believe it was called Bob." He teased.

"I've always had a thing for walls. Was it a cute wall? I don't want to damage my reputation by speaking to disreputable walls," she grinned back.

"Bob was a very nice wall, highly recommended and introduced by two walls of family homes."

"Well, I'm glad I didn't compromise myself," she said primly, then ruined it by flashing a dimpled smile his way.

He laughed and relaxed a bit.

"I had another motive for visiting," he admitted.

"Oh, and what's that?"

He pulled his hand from behind her back to reveal her left four-inch black platform shoe. "Ta da!"

"I left it in your car? I don't even remember taking it off!"

"Well, we've already established your mental state for last evening. I think you can be forgiven." He moved into the kitchen and set the shoe on the side table. They both stared at the shoe for a moment as they searched uncomfortably for a new topic of conversation. Suddenly the tea kettle began to whistle.

"Crud, I can't reach it. Could you grab Magenta?"

"Nonsense, I've got it." He rolled her away from the stove and took the kettle off the burner. She took in the domestic scene as Magenta came around the corner. She offered Eddie a cup of tea, which he accepted. Then she offered him dinner, which he also accepted, much to Magenta's and Rachel's surprise.

During dinner, the conversation flowed easily between the three of them and the air was filled with laughter. Eddie and Magenta had an hour-long discussion about the Goth lifestyle, which flowed into transvestism and then, two bottles of wine later, into the meaning of life. Around ten, Magenta made noises about class the next day, and then excused herself from the table. Eddie looked across the table at Rachel and smiled.

"I have a confession to make."

"What?" Rachel asked.

"Before I found your shoe in the car, I was racking my brain trying to think of reasons to come see you."

"Really," Rachel struggled to breathe normally. "What had you come up with?"

"How would you like a personal tour guide?" he asked. "A very personal tour guide." "That would be lovely," She smiled and he reached across the table and took her hand.

* * *

Two weeks later, Rachel eased herself back into Eddie's red Mini, carefully adjusting her bum leg and its walking cast. Today, rather than sightseeing as they'd been doing for the last two weeks, she had gone back to the clinic for a new cast.

"Mobile again!" She announced joyfully.

"Before you know it, you'll be back in those four-inch platforms," Eddie laughed, then got a mischievious look on his face.

"What?" Rachel said warily.

"Did I ever tell you," he paused, then continued. "That I tried on your shoe before I brought it back?"

"No, really?" Rachel laughed. "How'd it suit?"

"Just like you. A perfect fit." And he leaned across the car to kiss her.