Beginning, Section II, Next Section

(4)

Posted on 2012-09-03

Sings the stream
A hot knife slicing snow
The soul unsealed

Elise stole from the konyoku's dressing room, wrapped in reserve as surely as she had wrapped herself in her yukata. She moved briskly along the pool's edge, speaking as she walked, but never actually looking at Will. "I still can't believe you're here, of all places. See you later, okay?"

She didn't pause for his answer.

"Wait," he called, more commanding than he intended.

She stopped near the exit, the sun slanting in to caress her face and melting her hair to a fluid brown. She studied the tiny stones embedded in the pavement.

"We have a year to catch up on, and this hardly counts."

She glanced back at him, with the barest trace of a smile. "You didn't find the onsen revealing enough?"

"No. I mean, yes," he felt himself coloring, even as he stammered, "but not -"

"Don't worry," her smile momentarily broadened with humor and then faded, "I'm sure we'll run into each other."

Panic nosed at him. "How about lunch?"

"I don't…" She stared straight ahead, through the open door, her countenance like that of a caged animal quivering to be loosed.

The silence lengthened.

"I'd really like to hear more about your time in Japan," he urged.

She rearranged the towel around her neck and pulled her shoulders back before peeking at him. "All right, I'll meet you at noon." And she bolted.

So, here he was, at the appointed hour, patrolling the foyer in front of the ryokan's gift shop, one half of which served as a café. Darcy attempted to pace, but the yukata limited him to mincing strides. He checked his watch again and frowned, before a contented expression crept across his face. This was how it had ever been.

Elise's voice sailed over his shoulder. "Sorry I'm late."

"You're not; I was early." He spoke as he turned, and she stopped a couple yards away.

Her eyes traveled the length of him, her uncertainty visibly yielding to amusement. She approached him tentatively and, to his surprise and alarm, started unfastening his belt. "Did no one show you how to tie the obi properly?"

He wondered to where her earlier reticence had fled, but neither did he resist.

She lifted the vest, coaching him to hold it, and centered the length of fabric at his midsection, leaning against him as she reached around to cross it behind his back before bringing the tails to the front. He held his breath, his pulse accelerating, and fixed his attention on the ceiling, concentrating on the thick log beams. Were they felled from the surrounding forest?

She straightened, tied a knot, smoothed his vest and patted him on the chest, before stepping back.

"There. Much better," she said brightly, and he exhaled. She must not have any idea how she affected him. She had always teased, yes, but from an exuberance of spirit, and it was the very artlessness of her joie de vivre which drew him.

He extended an arm toward the café. "Shall we?"

Conversation at lunch was, predictably, thankfully, less awkward than in the onsen. Darcy shifted on a bench hewn from a single evergreen trunk, watching Elise lift her bowl from a matching table and slurp her noodles with carefree abandon. "You certainly seem to be enjoying the soba."

She raised her head, perplexed, and then her puzzlement vanished. "Don't worry. To slurp one's noodles is good taste and a compliment to the cook, besides cooling each bite." She illustrated and then nudged him. "Come on, try it."

He made the attempt, but a lifetime of etiquette was not easily vanquished. He shook his head, laughing. "I just can't."

Elise detailed some of her adventures as they lingered over coffee. The longer she talked, the more demonstrative she grew, and he relished it. Eventually, she resorted to clasping her hands before her.

"There's so much more I could tell you. I wish you would be here in February. The snow sculptures in Sapporo are almost beyond description: elaborate, enormous - some several stories tall - and absolutely inspired. And the lantern festival at Hirosaki castle is like a fantasy come to life."

He visualized his calendar, mentally rearranging his schedule to accommodate a return trip.

"In April, the sakura bloom and we're deluged with pink and white cherry blossoms for weeks. Makes DC's seem mere raindrops by comparison. There are countless festivals and parades during the summer and into the fall. I even caught a salmon with my bare - well, gloved - hands."

He chuckled. "I would like to have seen that."

"In Aomori, at the end of the Nebuta festival, the parade floats are set afire and sent out to sea. Breathtaking. There's cherry picking and blueberries and the crispest apples you've ever tasted, each protected in its own sleeve on the branch. And the hiking and camping are without peer." Her sigh was bittersweet.

"You're going to miss living here."

"Yes, but not just the nature and culture." She lifted her cup and, discovering it was empty, swirled the dregs before meeting his eyes. "I've fallen in love with the people, with my students. We've been through so much together."

"The earthquake?" She nodded and he could see tears glistening. "You don't have to tell me."

She wiped away the moisture and glanced around the tiny café. Another couple conversed in hushed tones and several guests browsed for souvenirs. "I want to, but not here."

She led him from the lodge and into the building he passed each time he walked to and from his own room. The layout reminded him of a barn, with a wide aisle in the center and stalls to either side. She slid open a panel and invited him into her small tatami room. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the meandering creek and walking paths. A couple paused on the other side of the glass, admiring the snow-encrusted garden and nodding when they caught his eye. Rather like a zoo creature on display.

He scanned the room, fingering an inner wall in mild disbelief. "Is this rice paper?"

"Yes, very traditional."

"But, that can't afford much soundproofing."

She laughed quietly. "I was treated to quite the symphony of snoring."

"But what about couples when -"

"They go to a love motel."

"Excuse me?"

"Love motels, rent a room by the hour." She waggled her eyebrows. "You know…"

"No, I had no idea. That sounds rather sordid."

"It's not like that, not that I've been in one. What's a couple to do, if you live in a small home with three or even four generations and not much privacy? It's very discreet. Though Americans are discouraged, for having abused the privilege." She shrugged and moved to the low table. "Tea?"

"Sure." He sat on a cushion opposite her and leaned against an outer wall, watching as she measured powdered matcha from the canister and pumped hot water into their cups. "Still want to talk about the earthquake?"

He sipped the pungent green tea, and she plucked at the tightly woven flooring. "Did you know rooms are measured by the number of tatami and their arrangement is considered auspicious?" He shook his head. "Senjojiki is the beach of a thousand tatami. The rock formations are stacked like mats."

She traced an index finger along the fabric border where the edges met, and then she stilled. "It was terrifying. There were foreshocks in the preceding weeks, though they are so common that no one knew what was coming."

"The few tremors I've felt have given me a little taste."

"When the big one hit, it went on and on and on, rolling and shaking. We were in class and the students are regularly drilled, but when the electricity went out, the books jumped off the shelves and the bookcases threatened to come down, I wondered if we'd make it out alive. Some were crying out 'Bennet-sensei, Bennet-sensei,' and I have never felt so helpless."

He regretted his distance as well as his failure to protect her, not that it had been his right. "I wish I had been with you."

She glanced at him quizzically, but continued. "The academic year runs from April to March, so my classes hadn't actually started. It was during my orientation. I barely knew the students and only a handful of words, but it drew us together. How could it not?" She pressed her fingers to her eyes. "And the tsunami. Some lost family members who were too near the coast and didn't escape in time. Some of their homes were swept out to sea. It is the most horrible thing I have ever experienced."

He recalled the anxious news reports tracking the potential nuclear meltdown. "Did you evacuate when it was offered to ex-pats?"

"No." She turned solemn eyes on him. "If my students couldn't leave, why would I? Several families stayed in my apartment at the beginning. I brought what relief I could in the shelters until school reopened. We pulled through." And as a consequence, he perceived even greater steadiness and maturity in her character.

"I'm sorry you had to go through it, but your courage doesn't surprise me. I've always admired your compassion and independence."

"Thanks." She smiled at him briefly and returned to worrying the rushes in the mats.

"And your students, are you on holiday?"

She nodded. "Though some are studying for placement exams that will determine their future. The pressure's intense. I feel guilty for enjoying myself, but I have less than three months left."

"And then?" He tried not to sound too eager.

"I don't know." She sipped her tea. "I should be job hunting, but I haven't wanted to waste precious days. Jane and Charles invited me to stay with them."

Or marry me, live with me, he thought. "If there's anything I can do, my resources are at your disposal."

The lamplighter interrupted with a gentle rap, before entering to hang a lantern on the hook in her ceiling. It oscillated rhythmically, the shadows rocking across the mats. When the man did not exit promptly, Darcy glanced up, but nothing seemed amiss.

The man bowed, before meeting his eyes. "You are Fitzwilliam Darcy?"

"Yes." Will bowed his head gravely.

"Just checking," the lighter said as he vanished, the door sliding silently closed behind him.

Elise gave a sharp laugh. "What in the world?"

"I can explain, but you should have seen me in Tokyo. Imagine men in white gloves literally packing us onto the metro like sardines. So, I'm wedged in and this voice behind me says, 'Are you Fitzwilliam Darcy?' I couldn't turn around, but I must have given myself away because he said, 'Just checking,' and by the time I exited, he was gone and I was mystified."

Her brow puckered. "Who are they?"

"The most my office could learn is one of the intelligence agencies decided to track me as an exercise." When she still seemed baffled, he continued, "They have a vested interest in making sure I don't get into trouble, DARK and all that."

"Oh. Congratulations on the contract, by the way."

He thanked her, and they resumed their conversation, the polite exchange of questions and answers like carefully placed stones, each one narrowing the distance between them. At some point, Darcy knew, they would have to speak of how they parted and why she left without a word.

Dinner was unlike any Darcy had experienced, though it was neither the finest nor the grandest. In Tokyo, his business associates had feted him with a feast of delicacies, even hiring two English-speaking geisha. In their sumptuous kimonos, pale faces and bouffant wigs, they floated about the salon with other-worldly grace, proving as adept at conversation as entertainment.

But he infinitely preferred this humble mountain inn, suffused by the golden glow of lantern light and the pleasantly discordant tones of a three-stringed shamisen being plucked. Because here, perched on her knees and appearing the epitome of a Japanese lady, Elise dined across from him.

She stood. "Would you care for miso soup and rice?"

"Yes, but allow me." He started to rise.

She placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "It's not done; let me serve you. It would," she held his eyes but he found their dark depths inscrutable, "be my pleasure."

He watched her glide across the room, waiting her turn in line and bowing in gratitude to the woman who ladled the soup. He watched how deftly she handled her chopsticks, pointing out the small rest on which he was to place them when not in use. She even made drinking from a bowl seem elegant. When she brought him a small mountain trout, skewered from head to tail, salted, and roasted over a fire, she demonstrated how to eat it from the unwieldy stick. Once, he reached to refill his water glass from the pitcher on the table, but she stopped him.

"Never fill your own glass, but always keep one hand on it while it is being filled," she instructed as she poured.

He took the pitcher when she had finished. "Will you permit me?" She smiled demurely and held her glass.

She explained the courses as they arrived, as well as the small dishes, with clear appreciation for the culture in which she was immersed. They were the last couple remaining in the banquet hall, conversing long after they had polished off bowls of coffee gelatin drenched in sweetened cream.

"What?" Elise quizzed, smiling enough to dimple one cheek. "What are you staring at?"

"You." How could he not? Kneeling across from him, arrayed in her yukata, having spent the evening spiritedly engaging with their neighbors, savoring her food and enthusing over her narratives, her eyes bright with amusement or pleasure and occasionally fastened on him with almost tenderness. He was too overcome in the onsen to speak his thoughts, but he did now. "You are stunning, Elise. No one rivals you."

She reacted immediately, and he sensed her withdrawal before she spoke. "Please don't."

"Don't what?" he asked, confused.

"Compliment me."

"Why? It's the truth."

"And some truths are better left unsaid."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I can't, Will. I won't do this again." Her eyes were shaded with pain, her voice with pleading. She rose quickly from her knees. "If you'll excuse me, I didn't sleep well last night and I'd like to go to bed early."

She was already through the door and stepping into her slippers by the time he wrestled his long legs from beneath the low table, where he had unfolded them after ten minutes of kneeling in discomfort. He skated swiftly down the hall to catch her.

"May I see you to your door, at least?"

"No, thank you."

He recognized the cool civility from Bingley's wedding, but ignored her request. He wanted to hold her hand or take her arm, as if in bridging the physical distance he could somehow close the chasm gaping between them. He wracked his brain for what to say. Moments like this made him invariably stupid. "I hope you'll sleep better tonight. Is there anything I can do?"

"No," she said wryly, "thin walls, remember?"

"Then sleep in my room, it's very quiet." At her look of shock, he amended quickly, even as he felt himself flushing, "Not with me, I mean, we could swap rooms."

A smile flickered about her eyes. "I appreciate the offer, but no thanks."

"Will you at least accept earplugs? I was wondering why Anne packed them."

He expected another negative, but she agreed. They continued in silence, parting ways where the path split, he with a promise to hurry his return and grateful for the excuse to delay their farewell.

She was awaiting him on the stoop of her building, encircled by flickering candlelight and the stream's song flowing out of the darkness. It should have been romantic. He pressed the foam cylinders into her palm, cupping her hand between both of his and squeezing gently. She closed her fist and withdrew it abruptly.

"Elise, what did I say? Tell me what I did wrong."

"Nothing. You were just being you."

"That's not much help. You're saying I'm the problem?"

"It's not about you." Her shoulders sagged. "I already told you, I won't do this."

"What?"

"You and me."

"I thought we used to be friends."

She opened the door and stepped into the entry, elevating her almost to his eye level. "Friends? Really? You broke my heart, and I am not going to let that happen again. Oyasuminasai, Will. Good night."

It did not prove to be a good night at all. Darcy's dreams orbited Elise. They were in the onsen again, but it was as if, no matter how he tried, he could not see her. In the periphery of his vision, he perceived her entering or exiting the pool or standing to reach for snow. But when he turned to look, she vanished. He caught a fleeting expression on her face, pain or hope or fear, but then she averted her head. He felt her advance, so near her skin brushed his, but when he reached for her, she disappeared and he woke breathing hard.

The dreams cycled endlessly, until they coalesced into ringing in his head. Incessantly. In the same tone as his mobile.

He jerked awake, fumbling for his handset, his eyes too bleary to read the screen, and answered groggily, "Hello?"

"Will?"

"Georgie?"

"Did I wake you?"

"It's all right." He was relieved, actually. He held the phone away from his ear, squinting: 3:30 am. Dread nudged him. Why was she calling at this hour? "You okay, sis?"

"Sure." Her tone was unconvincing. "Why don't I call back later."

"No, no, this is fine." He remembered it was mid-afternoon for her; she must have overlooked the time difference. "What's up?"

"How's your trip?"

"Fine." He debated telling her about Elise, recalling how much the two young women had enjoyed each other, but he didn't want to raise her hopes, not when Elise's parting words had sunk his. "Though I don't think you called to inquire about my travels."

"No."

In the long pause that ensued, his alarm resurfaced. "What's going on, Bug?"

"I know you're going to be disappointed, but I had to."

"Had to what?" He was fully awake now, grateful Wickham was incarcerated. At least whatever she wished to confess couldn't involve him.

"I dropped my music concentration."

"What?"

"I know I won't graduate on time, but I couldn't take it anymore. See, I told you that you were going to be upset." She sounded vaguely petulant.

"I'm not upset."

"You're not?"

"I am a little perplexed. I thought you were enjoying your music again."

"I do, I am, but I'm tired of theory. If I wanted to perform, I should have gone to Juilliard."

She had applied, but her performance was not sufficiently competitive. "Doesn't Harvard have a partnership with New England Conservatory?"

"That's not the point. I want to teach. When I finish my Bachelor's, the School of Education offers a one year Master's and I can focus on early childhood."

He inhaled deeply, a vision of his gentle, classy sister devoting her days to wiping little noses. She was an heiress; she need not ever work. "You're sure?"

She sighed. "When I'm with the children, there's this joy beyond words, like I'm doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing and it's incredibly fulfilling. Ever feel like that?"

"Sometimes." With his work, with Elise.

"Life's too precious to waste on something you don't love, you know? I almost made that mistake." He paused, struck. How had he missed this?

"I'm proud of you, sis, and I'm sorry." Even as they left his mouth, the shock of recognition rocked him. His dad had spoken the same words to him.

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

He couldn't answer, staggered by his own realization.

"Will?"

"I'm excited for you, Georgie, truly."

She continued chatting, eagerly describing her new classes. He endeavored to concentrate, but she must have sensed his distraction, for, not long after, she rang off with assurances of her love and appreciation.

Darcy rolled onto his side, his gaze mesmerized by the geometric pattern of the woodwork window that separated his room from its small vestibule. At the center of the hexagon, two carved cranes took wing on the shadows of the low-burning lantern.

How had he failed his little sister so spectacularly, when he thought he'd been there for her? Maybe he was like his father after all. More available, yet still distant. He loved her, the best way he knew, by providing her everything she needed and smoothing her path through a world rife with suffering and loss. But when her heart cried for love, she'd turned to Wickham, not him. And when she wanted to share her deepest longings, did he listen? Did he even know her hopes, her dreams?

Only a few weeks prior, on her Christmas break, her music had beckoned him, the notes seeming to soar and plummet from Pemberley's cathedral ceiling.

She sat before the Steinway grand, her straight back and slim figure seeming an extension of its sleek, glossy lines. A single spotlight highlighted the russet tones in her brown hair.

He climbed the two steps from the spacious living room to the circular pedestal of hardwood, and slid onto the bench beside her. Just as he had when a boy, to sing hymns with their mother.

She glanced at him with hazel eyes so clear they were almost gold, and smiled briefly, even as she continued playing, her fingers weaving a plaintive melody from the keys.

He appraised the lone artwork on the vast wall beside them, an oil landscape of the English countryside in autumn. A gilded field, partially harvested, sheaves standing in the background, and in the fore, detailed heads of barley, bending in the wind, heavy with grain. And somehow Georgie's music became that wind, those dry stalks, and it evoked in him sorrow, not despairing, but aching, longing. His spent soul bent under the weight of hopes deferred.

He didn't notice when she ceased playing, but her soft voice roused him. "You seem sad."

"Maybe." He didn't want to talk about himself, even if he were able to tether his feelings to words. He scooted as far as the narrow bench allowed and angled toward her. "Is that a new composition?"

"Not really. I've been working on it for a while."

"If I'm melancholy, maybe it's because your music is sad."

"Is it?" She trilled a few notes.

"I don't mind. I simply appreciate hearing you play again."

"I know." Her posture slumped. "I still love piano, but sometimes it feels like theory drains the life from me. I'm not sure this is what I want."

"But you're gifted, Georgie, don't ever question that."

She rested her head against his shoulder, and he curled his arm around her. "I love you, Will. I couldn't ask for a better brother."

At the time, her affection buoyed him, but now, feeling the firm floor through the thin futon, it pressed down with the weight of condemnation. So generous a love, when, right there, on that piano bench, she had begun to share and he had dismissed her. How often had he done it unwittingly? Because he couldn't face her doubts, her longings, her fears; he had enough of his own. How often had his father done the same? Perhaps that was how his dad had felt, with a nearly grown son and a young daughter, grieving and in need, and he consumed by his own loss.

Sorrow lapped at Darcy, again, but this time without anger. The words rose, again, but for the first time, granting instead of entreating. I miss you, Dad, and I'm sorry. I forgive you. And in forgiving, he knew he was forgiven.

Darcy paced his room, gripped by a strange euphoria. He felt… free. And utterly incapable of sleep. He had not yet sampled the fourth onsen and that might unwind him.

He tramped through the snow to the lodge and soon eased into the indoor pool, the aroma from the cedar walls curling around him on tendrils of steam. The stream danced in soothing eddies, the current moving it under one wall and out via another. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes in the muted light, willing his muscles to relax, but new thoughts swirled through his mind.

If he hadn't truly listened to his own sister, dear to his heart, had he done the same with Elise, all those months of unofficial dating? Or what about today? He replayed the long descent, from the peak of stumbling upon her in the onsen to the devastation of her last pronouncement. He'd watched her, talked with her, but had he really listened, when his own feelings, words, actions clamored for attention?

Did it even matter? She didn't want him.

He passed wet hands over his face and through his hair. That they had fortuitously met, on the heels of his decision to pursue her, was an unquestioned miracle. Had he not prayed for such an opportunity only days before? It was a gift, his one chance to correct whatever had gone wrong between them, and already it was plunging into disaster.

A miniature whirlpool skirmished toward him and dissipated against his chest. Her voice echoed in his memory. She was afraid he'd break her heart. Again. And what of his? Even a year had been insufficient to heal the heartache she'd exacted from him.

His head snapped up, suddenly alert. That must mean she had loved him, once, had hoped her affections would be returned. He thought of the Bingleys' wedding, those last months of distance and coolness. Dashed odd way to show it. Had he offered friendship, when she had been waiting for more, just as Anne theorized?

He smiled broadly, nearly laughing aloud, and leaned forward, his conclusions skipping past the old questions and into the present. Perhaps she was afraid of loving him again, perhaps loved him still. Yes, that made sense, and it would explain her conflicting behavior, the alternation between reserve and ease, as if she were rejecting him with one hand and beckoning him with the other, her own desires torn.

The thought energized him. Now, he need only prove that he had never ceased loving her, that he was worthy of her trust.

When the doors opened for breakfast, Darcy entered the room, scanning for Elise. Unless she skipped the meal, he would intercept her, even if it required waiting two hours.

He nursed a coffee, declining food, to the bewilderment of the staff, and second-guessing his early morning epiphany. Maybe she really didn't want anything to do with him. It had been a year, after all.

When she finally entered, dark circles underscoring her eyes, he flagged her to his table. She joined him reluctantly.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I'm sorry about last night." Her smile wavered. "I lost my cool, shouldn't have said that to you."

"It's okay. I didn't know I'd hurt you, gave me much to think about." She looked surprised, but he plowed ahead. "Any chance you'd forgive me?"

"I did, long ago." Uncharacteristic melancholy settled over her countenance.

This wasn't what he expected, but he was undaunted. "I'd like to try again, succeed this time."

She opened her mouth, as if to speak, and then closed it. They studied each other in silence, and he discerned the anguish in her eyes. "Oh, Will, it's not that simple. Can't we just enjoy breakfast?"

"Sure." For the moment, anyway.

They tackled an assortment of vegetables, rice and tamago, a cold sweetened egg omelet, their dialogue drifting to lighter subjects. Darcy picked up a small dish of what appeared to be beans in a viscous brown sauce.

"Natto." Elise lifted her matching dish, whisking a bite into her mouth. "Fermented soybeans, considered very beneficial for digestion and overall health. Give it a try."

He did, immediately regretting it and attempting to choke it down without offending the locals. It smelled like manure and tasted of earth.

"How can you eat that?" he asked in amazement.

She giggled. "It's an aphorism that you're not truly acclimated to Japan until you like natto. It grows on you. Try the pickles." She gestured to another small bowl, this one filled with red and yellow cured tubers. "It will take away the flavor, I promise."

He eyed her skeptically, but was pleased to find the pickles did cleanse his palate.

When they finished, she produced a small paper sack and pushed it across the table toward him, a weak smile tugging at her lips. "I never did know what to buy for a man who has everything, but, well, this is part apology and part memento of your time at Aoni."

She was wrong. He didn't have everything - didn't have her - and he could never forget Aoni, but neither did he say as much. He withdrew a small lantern magnet from the bag and turned it over approvingly in his hands, his pleasure disproportionate to the size of the gift. "It's perfect, thank you. So, what's on the agenda for today?"

"Oh," she sat back, startled. "I thought I mentioned it yesterday. I'm leaving on the morning shuttle, on to the next adventure."

Darcy felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut. "Where are you going?"

"Naqua Shirakami, ski resort. Not the finest in Japan, but it's not far and more than ample for my skills."

"Since when do you ski?" She hadn't, last he knew, though he'd predicted she would be a natural and looked forward to teaching her. Another opportunity lost.

"Since living in Japan. You've seen what it's like. How could I not?"

"I'm jealous."

"You needn't be. I'm sure it won't compare to skiing near Pemberley."

"I wasn't referring to the skiing." He felt the gulf expand between them, but he'd already crossed one ocean. "My plans are flexible. Mind if I invite myself along?"

She pressed her forehead into doubled fists for a minute before answering. "Probably not a good idea."

"You think I'm going to give up that easily?" He gazed at her tenderly, loving her with his eyes, and was gratified by her instant blush. "Your face betrays you, you know."

One dark eyebrow arced elegantly.

"You want to invite me, but you're afraid."

"That's a little presumptuous."

He extended his arm toward her, sliding his open palm along the table. "Just a few days skiing, let's see how it goes."

She seemed to examine his fingers with a pensive fascination, her delicate eyelashes skimming her cheeks. Then, she placed her hand in his.

(5)

Posted on 2012-09-11

Drumming, thrumming
In land and man, in love
A heartbeat pounding

They stood in the nearly empty car park, the shuttle having dropped departing guests and gathered incoming ones. Elise headed for a bank of vending machines. Darcy had noticed them everywhere, near buildings and fields and even in obscure locations along roads. He paused beside her, surveying the offerings. Each boasted more than two dozen types of beverage: the ubiquitous Coke products; Fanta in a variety of flavors; aloe, peach and a host of other juices; an assortment of waters featuring different vitamins; and teas: lemon, jasmine, royal, green, barley, black.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Coffee."

"Which one?"

"What do they have?" He was uncertain how to decipher the Japanese labels.

"Espresso, black, little sugar, lots of sugar, cream and sugar, or latte. You pick."

All in a vending machine? "How about a little sugar."

"Coming up." She inserted the coins and he reached into the bin when he heard it drop.

He withdrew his fingers swiftly. "That's hot!"

"Of course it is, silly." She grinned at him. "It's the middle of winter, but there are iced coffees, if you prefer."

He retrieved it gingerly, marveling at the ridiculously hot, small can. Elise chose a hot honey lemon drink, insisting he try a sip. Warm comfort in a can, reminiscent of the sweet, tangy concoction his mother had prepared when he had a cold.

She leaned toward him conspiratorially. "I won't tell anyone, but in Japan it's considered rude to drink while you're walking." He tried to recall if he'd committed that faux pas. Yes, the sake in the Shinkansen, yet not one disapproving look from the nationals he'd offended.

Elise scanned the parking lot. "Where's your car? We missed the bus."

"Right there." He moved toward the compact.

"You're kidding. Will Darcy, whom I've never seen in anything other than his Mercedes hardtop convertible, is driving a lime green roller skate?"

He decided it was prudent not to remind her of the Rover at Pemberley, or the rest of his fleet, for that matter.

"Are you sure you fit?"

"Barely," he acknowledged, as he stowed their bags, closed her door and moved to slip into the driver's side.

"I don't mind driving, 'hiney on the liney,' and I'm used to shifting with my left hand."

He folded his legs under the wheel. "You can trust me. I drive often enough in the UK."

"No insult intended." She patted a hand to his thigh and left it there as she studied the atlas. "If you take a left out of the parking lot, by the time we reach the bottom, I'll have figured out where to go next."

He stared at her hand. Though the gesture was not suggestive, the heat of her touch burned through his jeans. How often had she done the same, those many months ago, with the natural informality of friendship? It astounded him, really. Where he battled through despondency like slogging through a quagmire, she could shrug off gloom and assume her habitual cheerfulness as easily as taking his hand. Or patting his thigh.

He glanced at her, but she was absorbed by the map and unconscious of her effect. He lifted her fingers and gently pressed his lips to them. Her head snapped around, her dark eyes half-questioning, half-accusing, and she snatched her hand back. He only smiled and turned the key in the ignition.

The ski resort was a charmingly modest family-run venture with primarily beginner and intermediate hills. Darcy checked into a room down the hall from Elise, purchased goggles and undersized ski pants, rented equipment with a sigh of regret for his gear languishing unused at Pemberley, and soon was pulling on his boots beside her.

A shadow fell across the bench and he sat up, meeting the wide eyes of two Japanese women, probably college age, though it was difficult to tell. One wore a striped scarf, its neon rainbow nearly blinding; the other sported Minnie Mouse on the front of her purple jacket.

"Excuse me," Minnie spoke, her voice high and soft. "Are you Will Darcy?"

"Yes, and you're just checking. I've got it." Elise coughed quietly from beside him, stifling laughter, no doubt.

The young women exchanged a quizzical look and a few words he didn't understand. The scarf produced a camera and Minnie asked, "May we take a photo with you?"

"No, you've already verified my location. A photo is going too far."

Their eyes widened further, and they began simultaneously bowing and backing away.

Elise reacted instantly, whispering to him as she stood, "I think they're legitimate fans." He was about to object, but she was already accepting their proffered camera with a gracious smile. "It would be his pleasure. Here, allow me."

He good-humoredly glared at her and acquiesced. The pair snugged themselves to either side of him, their glossy black crowns well below his shoulders.

"Ichi, ni, san - sushi," called Elise and his admirers each raised two fingers in a V before the camera flashed. They surrounded her, bending their heads over the screen with subdued exclamations. The threesome chatted for some minutes, Elise, in her irrepressibly gregarious fashion, asking where they were from and what they were studying. There was a time, before her, when he might have been impatient with the imposition and delay.

He participated in a round of "arigato gozaimasu" (thank you very much) and "do itashimashite" (you're welcome), punctuated liberally with bows from all parties, but instead of leaving, the young women thrust an open magazine before him. He blinked as the photo registered, his heart sinking. He wore a tux, and on his arm, in a gold-sequined cocktail dress, tailored with precision and long enough to be sophisticated but short enough to flaunt her shapely tanned legs, Natalie.

She could have been a model and was, in appearance at least, nearly opposite Elise: voluptuously statuesque, her blonde hair never braided, her face never devoid of cosmetics. She had neither Elise's naturally brilliant complexion and penchant for neglecting sunscreen, nor her lissome curves and athletic physique. There was little he could say. He didn't recall the event; it could be any in the last year, but that didn't matter. Elise would simply have to trust him, though it would be asking a great deal, considering the fragility of their renewed acquaintance.

Elise's merriment evaporated and she said archly, "Go ahead. Your fans are waiting."

"I'm sorry, but I don't give autographs." Even if he did, he would not sign this picture.

The scarf and Minnie commiserated briefly, then Minnie tilted her head. "Where is your girlfriend?"

Three pairs of eyes waited expectantly, though Elise's were laced with challenge. Will hesitated. How often in those wonderful, agonizing six months together had he swallowed his affection? This time he would speak, leave no room for misinterpretation. As with his failed proposal, he might err on the side of boldness, but with a qualitative difference: now he knew to listen. In the seconds these thoughts coalesced, Will made a decision, and he slipped his arm around her shoulders. "Right here."

Her eyes flashed and he thought she might shake him off, but she only sputtered and then pinched her lips.

"Oh, oh." Bright spots appeared at the temples of both young women, and they began bowing and retreating again. "So sorry, so sorry. Please excuse us, we did not know."

Elise ducked from under his arm, one palm extended to each. "It's okay, really. We're not offended. Don't worry about it. Please." He observed, fascinated, as she placated them, and inclined his head courteously when they looked to him for confirmation.

Once his fans had disappeared down an aisle of lockers, Elise marched back to him, scowling. "I'm not sure what to say first."

He patted the bench. "Let's get it over with."

"I'd rather stand." But she seated herself anyway. "You're little fabrication mortified them, you know. It's a shame-based society, and you, the hero, embarrassed them."

"I'm sorry. I had no idea they'd take it personally."

"And did you think about how I'd take it? I am not your girlfriend." She arched a brow. "But you and Natalie make a striking couple."

He ignored the jibe. "I wish you were."

"Skiing, Will. Just a few days skiing, remember?" She started to stand, but he stayed her.

"A thousand Natalies could never outshine you."

"Oh, please." When she began to rise again, he reached for her hand, but she withdrew from his touch and crossed her arms. She looked down at him, her features conflicted.

"You are the most beautiful, the most elegant, the most attractive woman that I know, not to mention intelligent, insightful, honest, virtuous, joyful, impertinent, witty, humble, kind, fun, creative, passionate..." While he cataloged his admiration, rosiness crept into her cheeks and the tight lines around her mouth relaxed. "Shall I go on?"

She smirked slightly. "You mean I'm no longer 'cute but unappealing?'"

"Hardly." They had teased about his injudicious comment many times before, and he liked returning to established ground. "I'm afraid you've crossed the line from appealing to absolutely enthralling. I don't know what you were thinking when you stood up in that onsen, but you gave me a heart murmur."

She laughed, light suddenly overspreading her countenance. "I wasn't thinking, actually, just intent on revenge with a snowball."

The revelation stunned him.

She hastily added, "Or, at least, I didn't think until I saw how you were staring at me and realized I had shocked you. I forget the onsen is new to your Western sensibilities."

"More like 'shock and awe.'" He chuckled, though only half in jest. "Acculturation has nothing to do with it. I could never grow used to seeing you like that," he wiggled his brows, "though we might test the theory."

"You're terrible!" She shoved his shoulder. "Let's go."

They spent the afternoon on the slopes, another wish become reality. Elise proved as much a novice as she had asserted and as apt a pupil as he had anticipated. Darcy exulted in accompanying her down the long, slow runs, offering tips when asked, laughing with her over her mistakes, and helping her when she wiped out. Nor could he regret the frequent quarter hours they spent in line or riding the chairlift or sitting in the powder off-piste, simply talking. She even allowed him to warm her hands.

And it came to him with welcome familiarity, with the comfort of that which is known and loved, that this was what he had missed most, the companionship of her presence. How quickly they resumed their easy camaraderie, their conversation sometimes serious, sometimes teasing, though always skirting the circumstances that had separated them. The moments melted into hours and the hours faded until it felt as if they had never parted. Only when he expressed his regard did her diffidence surface, but even that diminished with the day's progression and his persistence.

At dinner, he observed her appreciatively over a growing pile of crab legs. Who knew so small a woman could consume so much food? He'd always been baffled by dates whom he escorted to fine restaurants only for them to nibble at a salad. Not so with Elise, but then, she had exerted herself skiing.

As he was finishing his pears soaked in port wine, she grinned at him lazily. "I'd like to see the parade, it's in fifteen minutes."

"By all means."

They stood beside one another, the hotel's deck crowded with guests, as skiers navigated the slope in costume, their tricks eliciting oohs and ahs. Darcy relished watching Elise as much as the spectacle, her face kindling in delight, her breath visible as she exclaimed over each new feat. The floats followed, mythic scenes and figures crafted carefully from colored rice paper and lit from within, and interspersed with them, glittering paper dragons, winding down the hill and bobbing in time to the beat, the snow blooming with reflected light and color. The tattoo of the taiko drummers thrummed through him. He had seen performances in the States, but it was elementally different here. The astounding synchronization, the deep throb in his bones felt like an artery exposed, the very pulse of the land.

Will moved behind Elise, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and gently pulling her against his chest. She stiffened for a moment and then yielded. He pressed his lips to the fleece of her ski hat, and he felt the drums beating and his heart beating and maybe hers too, pumping life and hope through his veins.

When the pyrotechnics ended, she twisted around, her eyes dancing with brilliance, as if fireworks had been launched in their night skies. "I have an idea. This is going to be such fun!"

Her pronouncement elicited the accustomed mixture of anxiety and anticipation, and he embraced it. She dragged him down the steps, thrust a sled into his hands, and began trudging up a closed hill.

"I don't know…" He hadn't been sledding since Georgie was a child.

"Don't be a stick-in-the-mud. You're going to love it!" When she was satisfied with the starting point, she clambered in and patted the sled. "Sit down, I won't bite."

Despite his earlier protests, he gamely squeezed himself behind her. They whipped down the slope, their jubilant shouts stolen by the wind, and he dug in his boots as the ground began to level.

Elise prattled happily, her voice growing raspy from hollering, as he carried the sled up for "one last run" at least the fifth time. As with each previous occasion, he savored the sensation of her body pressing into his, but when he moved to slow them, she grabbed for his legs, missing one. His heel bit into the snow and before he could correct them, they spun sideways and then flipped, sending the sled careening high overhead.

They tumbled together. Darcy landed with a soft thud, Elise atop him, her forearms pressed to his shoulders.

Snow feathered her eyelashes, and she was breathing hard. He waited, unmoving, following her merry eyes as she scanned his face. Then he lifted his head and kissed her. Their lips had barely touched when she sat up abruptly. He folded his hands behind his head, content with how she was perched on him and with her surprised but not unhappy expression. Opportunity and risk.

She jumped to her feet and offered to assist him. "That was fun."

"Indeed." The corner of his mouth quirked. "How about one last run?"

"Oh?" She blushed. "I had something warmer in mind. How about karaoke?"

"Not if my life depended on it." He threw her his most imposing glare.

"But it's not like that in Japan. You don't have to embarrass yourself in front of anyone. Just a private room. You and me." She stood on tiptoe to whisper into his ear. "If you sing me a love song, I might let you kiss me again."

"Blatant manipulator."

"Did it work?"

"Absolutely."

So it was Darcy found himself tucked into a small cubicle with Elise, thumbing through a song catalog as thick as a phone book and laughing themselves silly as they, or rather she, attempted to sing the lyrics. He had listened to her often enough in the car and at church, and she had a pleasant alto voice, though she had never sung to him.

When she selected a jazz number, swaying her hips to its rhythm and crooning with an exaggerated sultriness that would have been comical, had it been anyone else, he slid down on the bench with a groan. The old questions resurrected. Was she flirting or just being herself? He reviewed their day and the thaw that had brought her to this point. Whether one would term it slow or fast was a matter of perspective. The old Will would be cautious, would credit this to her liveliness, would be immobilized by all the unanswered questions drifting around them.

He beheld her, her eyes closed, her svelte form moving as fluidly as her mellow voice, and totally immersed in the moment. He knew she had enjoyed his company, despite her reservations.

The song ended, and she looked at him oddly. "You okay? You seem a little flushed…"

"Fine, fine."

"Your turn. I'm going to hold you to it."

But when she pressed the mic into his hands, he grasped a vortex of memory and emotion. Love and joy, pain and sorrow, and apprehension spiraling through him. Since his mother's death, he had only sung at worship services and then never loud enough for anyone but God to hear.

He entered the code of the ballad he had chosen. For Elise. He could do this, for Elise. He fixed her eyes unflinching, and he sang of walking in golden fields, of wind moving like a lover's hands, of a harvest heavy with promise.

She withdrew slowly, inching away until her back rested against the door by the time the last note faded. "You have an amazing voice, I had no idea…" Her laugh was sharp, forced.

He rose, two strides bringing him to tower before her, and she stared up at him with those fine, fine eyes. His heart felt too full for words; he could drown in the wonder of her. They stood like that, until her scrutiny grew unsettling, less of admiration and more of something he couldn't quite place. "What's wrong?"

She pushed a hand against his chest, startling him back a half-step. "Why now? Why, after a year of silence, do you serenade me with a love song?"

His jaw dropped. "If I recall correctly, you asked me, not that you're one to talk. You weren't exactly crooning a lullaby."

"It always has to be about you, doesn't it."

"Me?" he repeated incredulously, but a further retort died on his lips. Listen to the girl. He modulated his voice, speaking calmly and sincerely. "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"I'm a little upset right now." She inhaled and blew out audibly. "Maybe I'd better go to bed."

Anger makes a hard pillow, his mother murmured in his memory. Not that he'd followed her advice as soon as he should have. "You're angry."

"Yes. No, not at you, but the circumstance. Oh, I don't know."

"Please tell me. I'll do my very best to listen."

She smiled, in spite of herself, he thought, and stretched to straighten his collar. "You're cute when you do that."

"What?"

"The earnest eyes." He tried to repeat the expression, and her cautious smile dissolved in laughter. "Now you look silly."

"But I made you laugh." He swiped a thumb across her cheek, where he thought a tear might have been playing dot-to-dot with her freckles. He slid his hand to her shoulder and with the other pulled her into an embrace. She came to him unresistingly, resting her arms on his waist and hiding her face in his shirt. Could he shelter her from pain and hurt and grief, he would. He would lay down his very life for her. But her wounds were beyond his reach, and so he did the only thing that remained: he held her and lifted her to One who could touch her heart.

At length, she raised her head. "Thank you."

A profession of his love was on his tongue, but she cupped her hands behind his neck, stood on her toes, and pressed her lips to his in one blinding, electric moment that scattered his thoughts like so many snowflakes. She pulled back, almost shyly. "Promise kept. See you in the morning."

The door closing roused him from his stupor. He contemplated following, but instead sank onto the bench heavily, leaning his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. The shadows were thick with all that remained unsaid.

It was almost the lunch hour as they slowed near the lifts for the countless time. Elise's appetite for skiing was unappeasable.

"Again?" Will asked.

She nodded brightly. "But why don't you go to the top, tackle some steeper trails. You must be bored stuck with me. I'll be fine without you."

"I cut my teeth on the Dolomites and the Alps. Even if the most difficult could challenge me," he chucked her under the chin, "I'd rather be with you." But someday, he would take her to that little resort hidden in the Austrian Alps and on a moonlit night they would take a sleigh ride through the valley and hold hands under the blanket…

"Then take me with you."

"What?" Had he spoken his thoughts aloud?

"On a more difficult run. I'm ready for a little challenge."

"All right, but only after we eat and have a chance to rest."

They conversed amiably as Elise cracked a fresh egg into the boiling broth of their common nabe pot and stirred the rich orange yolk briskly, before replacing the lid and allowing it to cook.

Darcy sensed the inexorable expiration of their remaining twenty-four hours at the resort. "I spoke with Rich and Anne, and they'd love to see you. Any chance of a detour on your way home?"

She trapped a bite of meat and vegetables, following it with a scoop of rice, and chewed pensively before answering. "I hadn't planned on it."

"What's your plan?"

"Oh, I don't know. I wanted to go to Cape Shiriya, see the lighthouse and the wild horses, maybe a snow monkey or two, but I'm not sure about the roads this time of year. Maybe I'll take the train under the Tsuguru Strait. I hear Hakodate's like a little Europe, though it's hard to imagine."

Her love for mountains and one of Rich's earlier comments suggested an ideal alternative. "Could I lure you with something more exciting?"

Curiosity and reluctance warred in her features. "Such as?"

"Something you'd love to photograph."

"I'm listening…"

"I'm not telling."

"Unfair." She threatened him with her chopsticks. "How am I supposed to make a decision without all the facts?"

"I happen to know you like surprises, and I guarantee you'll like this one."

"What happened to 'just a few days skiing?'"

He smiled innocently and then sobered, reaching across the table to press her free hand. "Please, Elise. It'll be fun. Trust me."

She studied him, and he reveled in the intensity of her brown eyes and how they shifted from thoughtful to mirthful. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a hard time taking no for an answer?"

"I take it that's a yes?"

"Yes."

"Then how about one of those adzuki cakes to honor the occasion?"

She bounced up, snagging his wallet from the table. "My treat!" He was amused and grateful that the ease they recaptured yesterday seemed to be increasing, plus he had gained several more days to bring his plans to fruition.

When she returned, she set down the bean-stuffed, fish-shaped pastries, her exuberance replaced by inquisitiveness. "I didn't mean to snoop. It just fell out, but what in the world did you buy?" She extended the receipt for the ring to him.

He snatched the small paper, folding it quickly. "A gift."

"I hope it fits in your suitcase," she arched an eyebrow, "it cost more than my car."

He wanted to tell her, wanted to withdraw the little red box from where it rested over his heart. But he knew the moment was not right, not here, not like this. With the receipt fresh in her mind, it would be about the ring and the expense and not her. It was too soon. She might refuse such a lavish present.

"I'd be happy to explain, just not now."

"Is it for Georgiana?"

"No."

She narrowed her eyes. "Is it for Natalie?"

"No, of course, not." Her question took him aback. "Why would you even ask?"

"Other than the fact that she's gorgeous and random strangers think she's your girlfriend?"

"How many times do I have to tell you? You are -"

She put a finger to his lips. "Just checking."

"Amazing," Elise pressed her camera to the plexiglass window of the gondola, "if only it weren't so scratched, I might take a decent photo." She pocketed her camera and surveyed the vista. "Where else in the world can you see the ocean from a ski lift? Anywhere?"

"Nowhere I've been." He leaned forward, looking past her at the snow rippling over the folds of the Tsuguru plain, an ermine robe spilling into the blue-green curve that marked the west coast and the Sea of Japan.

"It must have been amazing to grow up skiing." She sounded wistful.

"Yes." A vision caught him: his parents snuggled beside each other in their ski suits, while he moved from window to window in boyish fascination. He'd been around Elise's parents enough to know they pursued their individual interests with little appreciation for the other. His years with two parents may have been few, but they had been filled with self-giving love. "Yes, it was. My father enjoyed skiing, and my mother indulged him. They were good that way, always looking to please the other."

"You're like that."

"Am I?" Her compliment startled him.

"I see it now." She turned toward him. "Even the business with Bingley and Wickham, I didn't understand at first, but you meant well." Her face clouded.

"My parents gave me good principles, but I didn't have their example when I needed it most. That's why I'm thankful for you. You've made me a better man."

"I still feel guilty for what I said." She fiddled with her gloves. "My accusations were totally unfair."

"More like totally deserved, and if you hadn't, I might be unchanged still." He caught one of her hands and pressed it between his. "It's one of those little miracles; it turned out for good. I can't regret it."

She furrowed her brow. "How did you ever forgive me?"

"It was so long ago, I hardly remember." He chuckled quietly. "That was my goal, you know, when we ran into each other at Pemberley and spent that fall together. I wanted you to see that I was different, that I had taken your words to heart."

"I noticed, but I thought…"

When she didn't finish her sentence, he pressed on. "And I hoped you'd give me a second chance."

"You did?" Her look of shock invited one of his own. Was it true, then? Had she really not known, all that time? "But you were always so firm about your intentions, that we weren't going out, that we were 'just friends' sort of chaperoning Jane and Charles."

"I didn't want to pressure you. I wanted you to know me and trust me, as a friend first, without our history hanging over our heads." They were very still for a moment, and he added quietly, "I never said that was all I wanted."

The gondola clanked on the track and slowed, the door sliding open. Of all the poor timing, he groaned inwardly. He leaped out, but she sat motionless, almost dazed.

"Are you coming?" He walked beside the car, his hand extended. "We can take the gondola back down, I don't mind."

She shook her head mutely and accepted his assistance. They donned their gear, the clatter of the pulley the only sound. He wasn't sure what to say. Only at the lip of the run did she finally focus reproachful eyes on him. "But you never said you wanted more."

Then she peered over the edge, her face registering alarm so transitory he was unsure he saw it. She managed a couple quick turns, but it was obvious to both that her optimism outstripped her skill. She halted, balancing on her downhill ski, assessing the slope in frustration. "What do I do now?"

"Sit down." She looked puzzled, and he explained. "We need to talk. You can't keep running."

"That's easy to say when I'm stuck on a mountain." She snorted.

He smiled gently. "You think I coordinated this?"

"No," she chuckled, "you're right."

"I'll make a deal with you. I get you to the bottom of the hill, and tonight we talk."

"Deal," she furrowed her brow, "but how?"

"How about after dinner and over homemade cakes in the Tea Lounge?"

"That's fine, but I meant -"

"Then it's a date."

"Okay," she spoke slowly, "it's a date." He wanted to pump his arm in victory. "Now, how are you going to get me down this hill?"

"Hold on to me." Her forehead wrinkled, uncomprehending. "Put your feet between mine and hold on, just be careful not to go over my skis. I can take us both down." He hadn't raised a timid sister for nothing.

"Can you really do that?"

He didn't deign to answer.

Once she was nestled against him, he resumed the course, and if he took the turns a little slower and traversed the trail more than was necessary, well, he was not about to abbreviate the pleasure of her arms around him. When they reached the head of a run he knew she could handle, he stopped at the side. Though she was not heavy, his burning quads made him grateful his daily runs and regular weight routine. "You can take it from here."

She mumbled something, her voice muffled by his coat, and he twisted, trying to see her. "What did you say?"

She lifted her head, her cheeks pink. "I said that if it's all the same, I'd just as well stay."

He grinned, but said grudgingly, "If you want to conquer that longer run, you're going to have to master this one, and it's not going to happen between my skis."

Just then, a bundled figure skidded to a standstill beside them. "You two okay?"

Darcy nodded. "No problems."

From the way the woman examined him, he thought he ought to recognize her, but he didn't. "Are you Fitzwilliam Darcy?"

Before he could answer, Elise peeked around his back. "Yes, he is, and he thanks you for checking."

The stranger appraised her. "You're welcome, Miss Bennet."

Elise jolted in surprise. "What? How -"

But the woman merely smiled, pushed off and rapidly faded from view.

Elise repositioned herself next to him. "I don't know if I should be worried about that or not." Before he could answer, she challenged him, raising both brows competitively. "Race you!"

She went too swiftly, but agilely kept her feet, her braid swinging wildly. When she was well ahead, he pursued, knowing he would effortlessly pass her and she would chide him if he checked himself. He would be at the base to catch her, to celebrate with her, to listen to her, to repeat the process again and again, until she tired. But he could never tire, not with her so near. His heart expanded with the force of happiness, the pressure of joy, and the shadows fled. It seemed the unattainable was finally within reach, that if he could peer over the horizon, she would be waiting, her heart as open as her arms.

As the afternoon drew to a close, leaden clouds were chasing the last rosy rays behind the snow-frosted forest. They had ridden the gondola twice more and Elise had finished the steeper run on her own.

Darcy would have given her a high five if his hands hadn't been full with the equipment he was toting to the lockers. "Congratulations! You should feel very proud of yourself."

"I do," she rubbed her thighs ruefully, "but, boy, am I sore. Just don't ask me to climb any stairs."

"Perhaps an onsen is in order?" She glanced at him sharply, and they laughed together. "Actually, I have a surprise for you."

"Really?" When he saw the appreciation ignite in her face, he could no longer begrudge the hours they would be separated.

"A massage. I made appointments for after dinner, with enough time for a soak in between, and then the Tea Lounge. How does that sound?"

Her low, sweet voice swathed his soul in velvet. "It sounds like the start to a perfect evening."

(6)

Posted on 2012-09-23

Earth spins the chasm
Burning deep beneath our feet
Leap into the stars

Under a sky blackened by portentous clouds, fishing boats plied their trade, their colored lights the only stars in the inky distance. Darcy turned from the view to smooth the napkin across his lap. The ambience was exactly what he wished: the occasional clink of silver on china, the quiet hum of conversation, the stark linens muted in the low light, and in the small blue vase, daisies.

The waiter stepped to their table and displayed a bottle of sake for Darcy's approval, its brown label eloquent with calligraphy. He nodded solemnly, though he didn't know how to distinguish one from another. The waiter placed two glasses in two small cedar boxes and began to pour, the clear liquid rising until it overflowed. He bowed and departed.

Will cautiously lifted the cold, dripping glass. "This is different. How exactly do you drink from it?"

"From the cup first and then the masuzake, though I've received differing advice about whether to pour the extra into the cup or drink straight from the masu. The cedar enhances the flavor." Elise sampled the beverage. "Oh, that's really fine."

He copied her, agreeing with her assessment. "This wasn't how it was served at the ryokan."

"No, it's usually around the New Year or for special occasions. It's a blessing of abundance. Something along the lines of, 'May your life overflow like this cup.'"

He briefly touched her fingers. "That seems apropos."

"You know what this makes me think of?"

"What?"

"That time when the waitress was distracted by looking at you and overfilled your glass."

"Don't remind me." He'd been watching Elise and when the icy water poured from the table into his lap, he'd jumped, knocking heads with the waitress.

"And then she obligingly offered to help you dry your pants." She giggled.

"Yes, well, I remember another young lady who was determined to drench me."

"The Outer Banks." Her eyes were sparkling now. "That was a great day, despite the soaking. You must have vacuumed sand out of your car for weeks." He hadn't, though his driver did smirk a little when he explained why the convertible needed to be detailed.

"Remember the photo you snapped? I've…" When he found it suddenly difficult to continue, she nodded and looked at him expectantly. "I've carried it ever since. It's been an anchor in the storm of this past year."

Conflicting emotions warred in her face, the resentment he'd seen before and maybe sorrow, maybe sympathy. "You've thought of me then?"

"Every day."

They held each other's eyes, Elise breaking the contact to sip her sake. "We've shared a lot of fun days."

He noted that she avoided his overture, again, but opted to follow her lead. "What's your favorite memory?"

In her thoughtful silence, the main course arrived, both meals artfully presented. "There are so many that it's hard to choose, but probably the times you took me flying."

"Any particular place?"

"No, not the place, just the flying. With you." Her expression mellowed. "You're more talkative, like somehow you break free of your restraints and I see more of who you really are."

He wasn't sure what to say. He always felt the high, thin air and vast space cleared his mind, but he had no idea she'd picked up on it.

"Does that offend you?"

"Not at all. Very perceptive, I shouldn't be surprised." He sliced a curried scallop in half and swiped it through the sauce, enjoying the ease of cutlery after so many meals with chopsticks. "I've always enjoyed sharing my love for aviation with," he was going to say 'the woman I love,' but settled for, "you. I'd love to take you flying when you come home."

She seemed to consider for a moment before speaking. "I'll take you up on that. So, your turn, what's your favorite memory?"

"These last few days with you, they've been the best since we met."

Her mouth curved gently, but he didn't miss how her eyes dimmed in marked contrast.

He set down his utensils. "What's troubling you?"

"The dinner's lovely, and I'd rather not go into it."

He hadn't planned to either, not until later, and sidestepping would be easier, but the shadows were encroaching. "I know, but I don't want to make the same mistake we did last time."

She arched a brow. "Which one?"

"You mean there's more than one?"

Her answering smile confirmed she'd correctly interpreted his tone.

"When I met you at Pemberley, I thought we could start over, as if Rosings never happened, but that was naïve. We can't outrun our history, plus there's another year between us now." He looked at her compassionately. "I may be a little thick-headed when it comes to relationships, but I heard you. You said I broke your heart, that's not something to brush aside. Sooner or later, we're going to have to talk about it."

"I already told you that I forgave you, and you apologized." She sounded mildly defensive.

"I'm not questioning your sincerity or mine." He was inspired to try Anne's approach, to rephrase in Elise's language. "But maybe it's like a spreadsheet. If a number's wrong at the top of the column, the calculation will be wrong. We can't fix the total without fixing the earlier entry."

"You can't change the past, not like correcting a spreadsheet."

"Unless we reconcile, I don't see how we can move forward."

"Are you certain that's what I want?"

Her question startled him. "Well, I -" He studied her. Apart from appearing focused and perhaps a little tense, she was unreadable. "It seemed a logical conclusion based on how you've responded to me, but no, I wouldn't want to presume. What do you want?"

She stared into the light-studded darkness, her meal forgotten and her posture straight, before meeting his eyes. "Being with you, like this, it's a dream come true. When I don't think about it, when we're having fun or talking, it's like we've never been apart. Then I remember you're going to leave, I'll wake from the dream, and the pain's going to be worse than the first time."

A dream come true? His heart stood still. To hear her confirm, in a voice concentrated with emotion, that she returned his affections, his longings, it almost eclipsed the rest of her statement. Almost.

"Will?"

"That's why you recoil when I come close to confessing how much I still care for you."

"I promised that I'd never put myself in this position again. Then you appeared and every time I intend to say 'no,' I break my word." She chuckled briefly, though without humor. "It's a little irritating, actually."

"I'll admit I'm glad, but what happened, that you made such a vow?"

"How can you ask?"

"Because I want to put it right, if I can, and avoid hurting you again."

She started to reply, but stopped and angled her head. "You… you really don't understand?"

"I could guess," he laughed dryly, "but guessing has landed me in trouble."

She attacked her remaining fish, her meal seeming suddenly fascinating. "Here I am gabbing and our food's nearly cold."

"I don't care about the food. I want to hear what you were going to say."

"Since we'll have tea cakes later, I don't think I'll order dessert. How about you?"

"Forget dessert. Why won't you tell me?"

She glanced at the table and then around the restaurant, her panic palpable.

"Please look at me." Such anguish. "I'm sorry for pressing you, but I need to understand."

"I want to explain, but I can't. I just… it's too hard." She stretched a hand toward him tentatively. "I like you so much it scares me. Please don't hurt me."

He covered her small hand with his. "Never again."

"Thank you," Elise said, "I really needed that." They stood to either side of her closed door, each leaning a shoulder on the doorjamb.

"You're welcome." Will's voice was low, quiet.

"I've never had a massage before."

"Then we'll have to repeat the pleasure."

"Just not before a serious conversation." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm sorry, I know you're disappointed."

"It's okay." He caught her hand and squeezed gently. "You're right, it's not wise to dive into a difficult subject when we're both tired. It's been a long day."

"But a good one." She looked up at him, her smile, her eyes, her countenance dazzling, and for the first time, he thought, undimmed. Much remained to be said, but at least they were moving in the right direction. She pulled her fingers from his and touched his cheek lightly. "A perfect evening. You don't need to wait, I can see myself in."

"I don't want to say 'good-night' before I have to."

She turned to the door, pulling her key from her pocket, the large fob engraved with her room number, old style. The lock was sticky, and she set to work jiggling it. Though she rejected his offer to help, he delayed, studying her profile and savoring her nearness.

The oils shimmered, beckoning him to caress her. He refrained, but allowed his eyes to trace the sheen down her neck and into the deep V of her yukata, where she had not secured the overlapping fabric as snugly as she usually did. He tried not to think about how little either of them wore beneath the thin hotel robes. He was playing a dangerous game, his inhibitions perilously lowered by his own weariness, the relaxing heat of the onsen and the massage.

Elise had twisted her straight hair into a clip, but tiny tendrils along her hairline had curled in the humidity. He pulled one and watched it spring back. On impulse, he leaned over and touched his lips to the back of her neck. She gasped quietly, her flesh prickling. Her skin was warm and fragrant, and he kissed her there again, more urgently. She bowed her head. Words were overrated.

He trailed tender kisses along her skin as he rotated her toward him: on the smooth spot behind her ear, along the side of her neck, in the hollow of her collar bone. When he stopped, her eyes fluttered open, and he recognized the fire sparking in their brown depths. He awaited no further invitation, and he seized her parted lips with a furious passion, born from years of restrained longing. The door swung open, and they stumbled into her room, locked in each other's embrace.

Will lost awareness of his surroundings. It might have been three minutes or thirty. There was only Elise. Glorious, beautiful, magnificent Elise, and the unspoiled sweetness of finally, truly kissing her.

She crushed herself against him and he felt he could never hold her close enough, yet even as her curves pressed into him, an alarm rang weakly, as if from a great distance. In his mind's eye, he saw them standing, hand in hand, at the edge of a precipice. Elise was gazing up at him, her eyes trained on his, her face aglow, and he knew he need only speak the word and she would leap with him, heedless of caution. He looked down, as from a dizzying height, and the stars spun. What was he doing?

The vision dissolved, having come and gone within a blink, and Elise clung to him still. He extricated himself with utmost care, holding her gently away, one hand on each of her shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. You are perfect." He smiled his reassurance and traced a finger down her temple. "Elise." He waited until she met his eyes and then he waited longer, waited until he read the questions surfacing, waited until he felt every fiber of her being attuned to him.

Then he lifted his hands to either side of her face, holding her softly, and he opened his heart. "I love you." He felt her shiver in his hands, and he kissed her again, tenderly, before releasing her. In two long, backward strides, his hand was on the doorknob. He didn't know how it had closed.

Before he could open it, she drew near, her eyes beseeching. "Please don't go -"

He stopped her with a finger pressed to her lips and spoke slowly. "I love you too much to stay." He combed one hand through her shoulder length mane, reveling in its silkiness. Only vaguely did he recall pulling it free. He could lose himself in her, wanted to, desperately, but every minute he lingered made leaving more difficult. "We'll talk tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" she whispered.

He nodded, bade her good night, held her bewitching, imploring eyes for one last agonizing moment, and then there was the snick of the lock in the latch.

He faced her closed door, pressing his hands to wood the same color as her eyes, resting his forehead between them. He exhaled heavily. Leaving her was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He had revealed his heart and she had answered, though not with words. If he had asked, she would have given herself to him, but she would have regretted it, the betrayal of a deeper commitment, a higher allegiance. They both would have. He felt at once sated and starved.

Darcy straightened, pulling his shoulders back. It was foolish to loiter. If she sought him, he might not find the fortitude to walk away again. He strode to his room, slotted his key in the lock and turned it, the mechanism reverberating in the quiet hall. But he heard the answering click echo from behind him, even as he pushed open his door.

He turned toward her, as she flew toward him. Elise, all-radiant, his soulmate, his match, his very heart. The words he yearned to hear were in her eyes and on her lips, and he was reaching -

A movement in the periphery of his vision wrenched his head toward his room. And his world convulsed. In one blink. In one heartbeat.

Elise stopped before him, her breath fast. "Will, I -"

And then she saw too.

He beheld the inevitable, the inescapable, the seismic collision. Relentless as tectonic shift, irrepressible as a towering wave, and completely outside his control.

He didn't follow her gaze, instead observing her face, grasping, clutching the memory of what they had shared, the fragrance of her skin, the feel of her lips, of what might have been. The glory dimmed, the rosiness faded, the freckles stood out on her pallid cheeks. Her mouth compressed to a white line.

He looked at the floor and the contrast arrested him. Elise was barefoot, a French pedicure - and was that a tiny daisy on one toenail? - peeking from beneath the edge of her yukata. Elegant and innocent, playful and pure.

And where it ought not be, nearly toe to toe as if in some bizarre mirror, a black stiletto embracing the arch of a much larger foot. His eyes traveled up one shapely, tanned leg, extended from between the panels of a yukata tied to emphasize rather than conceal the figure. Her hair and eyes as light as Elise's were dark. Natalie.

He glanced between them, stupefied, his mind reeling. The women glared at each other. Elise raised an eyebrow. So did Natalie.

Elise spoke first, addressing him. "I didn't realize you had a business appointment." She emphasized the final two words.

"Oh, this isn't business," corrected Natalie, even as she slipped her hand through his elbow and dragged a manicured fingernail down his chest, where his skin was exposed by the yukata.

He removed her purposefully, holding Elise's eyes. "It's not -"

"What it looks like?" She laughed coldly. "Yes, you've said that before. No wonder you were in such a hurry to leave me."

Natalie began, "It's exactly what -"

"You're not helping." Will rebuked her harshly. Natalie frowned, and he returned his attention to Elise. "I can explain."

Elise's arched brow, which had not resumed its normal level, climbed yet higher, if that were possible. "Oh, really. I should like to hear you try."

"Me too," quipped Natalie.

Elise glowered at her and continued, "But, as it happens, I have my own pressing engagement, and I certainly don't want to keep you," she looked the taller, older woman up and down, "from whatever it is you had planned."

Elise spun and marched down the hall. Darcy leaped in front of her, walking backwards as she pushed him.

"Elise, please." He despised the pleading, the despair in his own voice.

He backed into the shallow alcove, blocking access to her door.

She stabbed him with a look. "Move, Will."

"I didn't know. I have no idea why she's here."

"I should think that would be obvious."

"But it's not like that, not with anyone, and certainly not Natalie. She's always been professional."

"Mmm," Elise nodded, "very professional. Would you please move?"

"No, you have to believe me."

"Believe you?" There was a hysterical quality to her laugh. "Listen to yourself. What am I supposed to believe? You kiss me like the world's ending. You tell me that you love me and then you leave, and when I come after you, I find you with another woman, the same woman I've seen cozying up to you for a year. I believe it all right. Because I'm the fool here, for trusting you again, for falling for you again, for letting you break my heart again."

She'd left her door ajar and reached past his waist to thrust it open, trying to duck under his arm in the same movement.

He caught her, holding her against him. "Don't do this." His voice was ragged.

"It's already done, and you're the one who did it. Let me go."

He released her, and she stormed into her room, whirling to confront him. Her eyes, shiny with betrayal and dark with anger, pierced his. "You said that you loved me."

The door closed and he heard the deadbolt slide into place, a death knell to his soul.

When Darcy entered his suite, he first noticed Natalie's yukata, neatly folded, the coiled obi tucked into the neckline. Relief washed over him. Perhaps she had left as quickly and unexpectedly as she had come. In the next instant, anxiety choked him. Perhaps she remained, clothed in even less or, heaven forbid, in his bedroom.

He stepped forward cautiously, both conjectures proving false. Natalie was settled in the far corner of the sitting room couch, her crossed legs made longer still by tight black jeans and a shimmery blouse draping to reveal décolletage without being indecent. He repented of his last thought immediately. He knew her better than that. Though she played the part consummately, it was mostly an act.

He halted on the opposite side of the coffee table, holding her eyes. They were the color of the winter sky, sometimes pale blue and, at this moment, cloudy grey. His anger boiled, roiling through him turbulently. He wanted to order her out, but he wanted answers more. He hesitated, wary of scandal, not wanting to be alone with her, but knowing they would be unable to speak freely in any place less private.

He raised both eyebrows, holding one palm up in question.

She nodded. "I already checked. Your suite's clean."

He stalked to the windows and yanked the curtains closed, before returning to his post in the middle of the room.

"At what point, did I ever give you the idea that this," he gestured vaguely at her and the room, "was what I wanted?"

"You didn't." She rolled her shoulders delicately. "You were always above reproach, the model of integrity."

"Then, why?" He spread his hands again.

"I was trying to help."

He believed she was sincere, at least according to her flawed inner logic. When she was first assigned to him, nearly a year ago, he dismissed her as a vacuous blonde, but subsequently discovered a keen mind and a kind heart behind the tangle of deceit, conflicting values and a painful past.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I'm sorry, Will. It's not how I planned it."

"Not how you planned it. What exactly did you think would happen?"

"Have you forgotten how often we had to innovate in order to accommodate your scruples?" Her voice was cool, absent of judgment, almost as if she were instructing a child. "Isn't your policy never to bring a woman to your room at night? I didn't expect Elise would be an exception."

"I wasn't bringing her to my room."

"I see..." She arched a brow, a habit that always maddeningly reminded him of Elise.

"Leave her out of it. And thank you for the refresher. Now that you mention it, what are you doing in my room?"

"We needed to talk."

In the past, they had discussed, she with passion and intelligence equal to his, politics and national security or the latest offering at the Kennedy Center. But she had always been professional first, and then a friend, never asking, never seeking more. "You didn't look dressed for mere conversation."

She fluttered her eyelashes. "A little persuasion never hurt."

"Really. If you believe that, then you don't know me." Though she'd caught him by surprise, she was only one in a long line of women who had thrown themselves at him, but he refused to be won by seduction. It had the opposite effect, made him more inflexibly resistant, more determined to find and hold that which was genuine and enduring. "Be careful, Natalie. Play the game too long and you're going to lose your soul."

"I miscalculated, that's all."

"Well, your little miscalculation has cost me the only woman I've ever loved." He regretted the jab even as the words left his mouth.

She didn't move, didn't flinch, not even the smallest muscle in her face, and yet he glimpsed the truth flash through her eyes, like a wounded animal fleeing a predator. She blinked and the steely look returned.

He continued, "I thought we understood one another, that neither of us had any interest beyond a necessary partnership."

She stood slowly, every movement sensual. How often he'd witnessed her work a room, never failing to insinuate herself with any man, and most women, from whom she wanted intelligence. Though she never turned her wiles on him, they laughed at the same dry humor, bonded in the loss of both parents. Not that he didn't find her attractive, but she'd been safe. Until now.

"It was inevitable, I suppose." She stopped before him, in her high heels nearly eye to eye, and placed one hand over his heart. "You are too fine a man to resist. Oh, yes, the world sees Darcy Systems and the 'Person of the Year,' sees your handsome face, your fine physique, your wealth and success. But here," she patted his chest, "here is the real man. Noble, compassionate, honest, generous to a fault. And painfully devoted."

She encircled his neck with her arms, her full, glossy lips too near, her voice honeyed. "Can you blame me if I coveted your heart, if I wanted to be loved the way you love Elise?"

He lifted her arms away and stepped back, increasing the distance between them. "Even if my heart were free, even if I loved you, it would never be enough for you." He thought of Georgie, of Wickham, of the painful lessons in his own inadequacy, of the grace he'd found and the strength from which he drew. His heart broke for her, and he penetrated her pewter eyes. "No merely human love, no matter how intense, how devoted, will quench that yearning, will heal those wounds. Don't settle for a river when you could have the ocean."

"See what I mean? That's what I love about you, that you can stand here, with your own heart bleeding, betrayed by a friend, and still be concerned about me, about my well-being." She stroked his cheek and turned away.

They remained still, cloaked in silence for several long minutes, Darcy reviewing their dialogue, trying to wrap his mind around what had brought them to this pass.

He folded his arms. "Let me see if I have this straight. You waited until I was in Japan to inform me you've suddenly developed feelings for me, and you thought you'd do so by breaking into my room and seducing me."

"No, not when you put it that way." She faced him again. His words might have incited an untrained woman, but she had proved her cool under fire, even saved his life, at least once that he knew of, while making it appear the reverse. Her voice was dispassionate. "My plan was to force you to a decision and out of the mire you've been wallowing in. It seemed inconceivable that any woman fool enough to let you go in the first place would still want you a year later. I planned to comfort you in your disappointment."

"That's a little warped."

She quirked an eyebrow and shrugged.

"Wait." He replayed her words. "You knew Elise was here?"

"Don't look shocked. It's my business to know. Do you think she just happened to visit Aoni the same time you did?"

"What?" He stared, uncomprehending.

"Oh, not the konyoku, that was coincidence or fate or whatever you want to call it." She laughed.

"The konyoku. You know about that?"

"I wasn't there, if that's what you mean. Not that I would have minded," one corner of her mouth curled, "I hear it was quite the show."

His anger resurfaced. To think, that disastrous, wonderful, awkward reunion with Elise was being observed. "If photos turn up, I'm -"

"Haven't seen a paparazzi yet, and we've been watching, though I ought to slap your wrist. No more fan photos, Will. We're not here to correct your mistakes."

"They were just -"

"And you've already generated chatter, wondering what business has delayed you up here. It's keeping the air base on their toes."

"All those agents, I should have known you'd be involved." He blew a puff of air. "You have me in a quandary. Do I need to report you for misappropriation of government resources?"

"I'm on assignment," she waved away his concerns, "and the rest are legit. Your office had it about right. The agency's a little touchy."

"Why? Can't a guy take a vacation?"

"Three excellent reasons: Russia, China and North Korea, all just across the water. If they had any idea the brain behind DARK has been cavorting in onsens and gallivanting around northern Japan, I shudder to think, but you've been suitably unpredictable. I couldn't have arranged a better training exercise."

"Training? They've been downright obnoxious. Every time I turn around someone is 'just checking.'"

"Did you like my little game? I thought it'd make things interesting."

"Very funny, but I'm more interested in your assignment."

She bit her lower lip, tilting her head coyly. "I bet you are, sweetheart. And when you stew over this, because I know you will, you just remember that you wouldn't have had a reunion with Elise if it weren't for me."

"Small comfort. I might have had a chance, if it weren't for you."

"Don't worry, you still do."

He snorted. "You do realize I can't work with you, not after this."

"I know, but not for the reasons you're thinking." Her voice resonated with uncharacteristic resignation.

Though she was indecipherable, he studied her at length, measuring what he knew of her with her possible motivations. "That's it, isn't it. They put you up to this, maybe threatened your job?"

His assessment didn't seem to surprise her. "I think you deserve to know, but it can't go beyond us. You must never tell anyone, not even Elise." He grudgingly agreed. "My cover with you has granted me unprecedented access to critical circles around the world. It was suggested that it might benefit my career to make the position more… permanent, shall we say. Lest you think me mercenary, this coincided nicely with my own feelings. Of course, I knew Elise was the major impediment, so it was extremely convenient when business brought you to Tokyo. The rest was easy, even if it didn't go the way I hoped. Tonight was plan B, my last gamble, and I lost." Her shrug was eloquent.

"I can imagine less risky and more certain means to achieve your goals."

"Ouch. I'm not that callous." She touched the lone black pearl dangling above her blouse. "I meant what I said, that I wanted your heart. That's why I gave you one last chance with Elise, I just never dreamed…"

"How long have you known she was in Japan?"

"Since my initial brief, before I was assigned to you."

He blinked in shock. "Why did you never tell me? You knew. All this time I was struggling over her, I thought you were a friend."

"It wasn't my secret to share." She looked at him kindly. "For what it's worth, I hope things work out between the two of you. She's everything you always said she was."

When only angry retorts came to mind, he changed the subject. "What are you going to do now?"

"Celebrity break-ups are a dime-a-dozen, and yesterday's news lines the litter box. They'll give you a new agent, me a new assignment, life goes on."

"Will you pass along a message from me?" She raised a brow. "Nothing personal, but I want a male agent, and tell them I'm contemplating major changes to DARK, to divide the responsibilities more equitably." One of Rich's older brothers had been agitating for a larger role; this might be just the answer and still keep it in the family.

She frowned. "That will complicate matters."

"It's already cost me enough. I need to live."

"About time." They shared an understanding smile, not that she was one to talk.

Darcy accompanied Natalie to the front desk, mainly to ensure she checked into a room on a different floor and returned his extra key, not that a lock would stop her.

They stood together in the elevator lobby, waiting for the lift.

"Will…" In a practiced movement, she sent a cascade of blonde locks over her shoulder. "I really do care. If things don't work out, you know how to reach me."

"I don't see any recovery from this, but you and me, it's not going to happen."

The bell dinged and she stepped inside, the door closing on her last words. "You're wrong about Elise. She loves you."

"Elise. It's Will." He rapped on her door again.

Silence.

"I know you're in there. Please open the door."

Nothing.

"Believe what you like, but it won't change the truth: I love you."

He hammered his forehead into the unyielding wood. Was it less than an hour ago he had stood here, in this exact position, flush with hope and longing? He spread a hand against each side of the shallow alcove and pushed, every muscle straining, as if he could by sheer effort bring down the wall, though even were it possible, it would not garner him Elise. But he knew the end of his strength for what it was, the beginning of trust.