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Coconut Trees
by Anton M.

Chapter 19: Leaving

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Darcy was hot. His chest felt uncomfortable. He felt like someone had shoved a thick branch into his airways and left it there. He struggled to rip it off.

"Uspokoitsya. Uspokoitsya." (Calm down. Calm down.)

He squinted. The lights were bright. Two nurses in blue hovered in front of him—a woman and a man. He was almost sitting up on the bed. A man, in white, stood behind them, holding his head toward his left shoulder.

"Elizabeth," Darcy whispered, but only a gurgle-like sound came out.

"Uspokoitsya," the woman repeated, holding her palm out to him, motioning him to calm down.

"Stop struggling, Dr. Darcy," the bald man leaned closer. "You are in a hospital in Yakutsk, Russia. You were in a plane crash. You have been in a coma for three days. Please calm down."

Darcy, desperately focusing his eyes on the man, took an uncomfortable breath but stopped struggling. Memories rushed back to him, memories mixed with dreams, dreams mixed with nightmares, and all he cared about was whether Elizabeth had made it.

"Elizabeth," he attempted again, but another gurgle made his throat hurt.

"Please, Dr. Darcy. I am your doctor, Miroslav Nikitin. We have weaned you off barbiturates and you passed SBT but I felt it safest to extubate while you are conscious. I know doctors are the worst patients but please do as I say."

Dr. Nikitin started giving instructions in Russian but translated the words to English for Darcy. The endotrachial tube was suctioned, and Darcy suffered through the discomfort.

"On my mark, take a deep breath and exhale. While you exhale, Sofia will deflate the cuff and remove both tubes."

Darcy, overwhelmed, did as he was told, suffering through extreme discomfort before the tubes were removed. He began coughing, and looked at the male nurse with disbelief as he suctioned his mouth.

"Deep breaths, now. Cough everything out. Good."

Sofia placed an oxygen mask on his face, and Darcy coughed for half a minute before he calmed down. He attempted to talk, but it took him a few minutes to gather his bearings and stop feeling dizzy.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, finally. His oxygen mask fogged up when he spoke.

The doctor rubbed his chin. "I've never heard of an Elizabeth."

Darcy knocked over a box of equipment as he sat upright in a panic. He felt like breath was sucked out of him. Wild fear squeezed his chest.

"You must have," he rasped, coughing. "5'5, brown hair, eyes like she can see into your soul. You must have. She had to—"

The doctor patted Darcy's knee. "Eyes like she can see into your soul," he quoted, smiling. "Indeed. It is an accurate description. Of course I know her. She sits by your bed every day."

Darcy relaxed, his chest rising and falling with his breaths as he sent the doctor a murderous glance.

"You are not funny."

Dr. Nikitin smiled. "It got you to take deeper breaths than I could've imagined. Well done."

Darcy was not amused, but he could not alienate the doctor who had information about his Elizabeth.

"Is she okay?" he asked. "Is she injured or ill? Where is she staying? Is everything okay?"

"She is to visit you in a few hours," Dr. Nikitin replied. "You can see for yourself."

"But is she okay?" Darcy repeated.

"With concern like that I must ask why you haven't married the woman."

Darcy blinked, taken aback by the personal question, but he paused and cleared his throat.

"It's because I'm stupid."

Dr. Nikitin laughed and patted Darcy's leg. "The first step is admitting it," he said. "Nevertheless, she's perfectly fine. You will see her soon."

The doctor summarised his treatment of Dr. Darcy, the antibiotics he was on, the expected timeline of his healing and the (hopefully minimal) side-effects of coming out of an induced coma after three days. Darcy listened half-heartedly, his mind still cloudy and full of concern for Elizabeth. He refused to believe that she was okay until he saw her with his own eyes.

Darcy argued with his doctor about some details of his own treatment but Dr. Nikitin took his words with good humour, listening to his input and yet dismissing it.

"All doctors are a pain to treat," he finished, smiling as he ran his hand over his bald head. "You are no different. Until you disagree with my entire treatment plan, we will continue according to it. Meanwhile—" The man turned to look around. "Where is that New York Times copy that the American consulate made so popular with the survivors?"

He spoke in Russian, and the male nurse left the room before he returned with a dog-eared newspaper and handed it to Darcy.

"It's from Friday," Dr. Nikitin said. "Maybe get some rest before you attempt reading. I have given you a lot of information."

"What day is it today?"

"It is nine AM on Sunday, December 17," Dr. Nikitin replied before he left the room. A nurse, Sofia, adjusted Darcy's oxygen mask and his bed, motioning at the red button on the side. Darcy nodded in spite of being annoyed by the silent instructions, and the nurse left.

He felt agitated and slightly confused. His throat hurt. He'd only been in a short-term coma, and his clouded mind couldn't decide if his side effects were due to a placebo—given that he knew the side effects well enough for his mind to produce them—or because he was genuinely experiencing them. He took a few minutes to breathe, attempting to focus his mind, and fell asleep for half an hour before he woke up with a newspaper on his chest.

A massive photo covered the front page. A row of people held hands and smiled on a flat mountaintop surrounded by snow. Darcy recognised Elizabeth among them, but it took him a moment to understand that it was the plane crash site. He'd never been outside of the plane while conscious.

CNA-9122: 15 SURVIVORS FOUND IN MIRACLE RESCUE

When the experienced wildlife hiker Evangeline Synnøve Lange (76) turned on her homemade radio in the deep Alaskan bush at five PM (UTC-9) on December 13, hearing an SOS signal in Icelandic from the survivors of CNA-9122 was certainly not what she had expected.

Yet, the impossible has been confirmed: 15 people from 9 countries (including 3 citizens of the United States) survived the crash of the now-infamous flight CNA-9122 that left Beijing 11:10 PM (UTC+8) on Monday, December 11. The flight disappeared from the radar at 12:15 AM (UTC+8) and is now known to have crashed 220 miles south of Yakutsk, East Siberia. The plane appears to have broken into several pieces of which only the tail remained intact enough to provide shelter to the survivors for three nights. Although the internet is awash with speculation about the possible cause of the crash, a formal investigation is still undergoing.

A full leaked list of those on the airplane showed several candidates of those capable of building a transmitter: two hardware engineers, a Master's student in Electrical Engineering, and a Physics teacher. However, we now know that the unlikely hero, instead, is a British wedding photographer Elizabeth Bennet who built the transmitter through the night, having memorized verbal instructions given by Samuel Forster, a Spanish physics teacher who lost his leg in the crash.

Darcy read and reread the sentence in disbelief, amazed and overwhelmed with pride.

"It was quite funny when they first contacted us and we had to confirm three times that it was a wedding photographer who built the damn thing. They thought they heard wrong."

A man stepped into the room. Darcy blinked, taking a moment to recognise the tall, slightly-overweight, curly-haired man. He wore grey pants and a cardigan.

"Roger," Darcy said, fogging up his oxygen mask. "I didn't recognise you without your sparkly hoodie."

Roger laughed but sat down next to Darcy. He rested elbows on his knees and looked up.

"Good to see you awake, man," he said. "Elizabeth will be over the moon."

Darcy nodded, hoping that was the case.

"Did she really—?" Darcy asked, still incredulous.

"Amazing, right?"

Darcy didn't have words for his pride, but Roger rubbed his neck and gave Darcy a tight smile.

"I'm actually here to take the heat off Elizabeth. We know you guys aren't married."

Darcy coughed. "Heat?"

"We've been using your credit card since Friday, most of us. Hotel, food, clothes, a few phones. Elizabeth said she'll take responsibility for doing it—she'd take your anger and pay you back if needed but… the rest of us just want you to know that she's not to blame. Don't punish her for her kindness. It's just that the alternative was to be indebted to Dame Whats-her-face, and we'd rather pay back to you than to the Dame."

Darcy cleared his throat.

"But… I made Elizabeth my power of attorney in the plane crash," he replied, confused.

"I… didn't know that. Does Elizabeth know that?"

"She would if she read the will I wrote to her. I left her my money and instructions for accessing it for whatever amount needed in case I was incapacitated or dead. My PIN she already knows, so… You're beating a dead horse. I don't care. Tell everyone it's on me."

"That's… very kind. It's probably thousands of dollars at this point. Or pounds. Probably true in both currencies."

"That's fine," Darcy said, absent-mindedly, wishing to see Elizabeth already. "Wait, why did you need it in the first place?"

Roger explained the vanished credit cards and their suspicion that Lydia and Wickham had something to do with it. Darcy cursed, more for the hassle than for the money he himself lost as a result. It made him feel better that Wickham probably met his end in the wilderness of Siberia, but Lydia, while ignorant, probably didn't deserve the fate.

"Elizabeth's family is a piece of work, huh?" Roger asked, changing the topic.

"What did they do?"

"Her mother told her how grateful they were that it was Elizabeth who crashed in the plane and not any of her sisters."

Darcy paled. "They didn't."

"We thought it was a compliment," Roger said. "But… other words were said. They were on speaker phone, and… I don't think her tears were tears of happiness. You might want to make sure she's okay."

Darcy didn't know what to say. "Thanks for telling me."

Mary, Kitty and Elizabeth arrived, talking among themselves, smiling. None noticed that Darcy was awake. Roger stood up, covering Darcy's face from (most of) their view.

"Roger, you sneaky bastard," Elizabeth said, grinning. "You're abandoning us, aren't you? Flying to Novosibirsk with Lei and Juan tonight?"

Darcy adored the sparkle in her eyes. For the first time since he woke up at the hospital, he felt like he could take a proper, deep breath. Elizabeth wore jeans and a large blue jumper Darcy recognised as his own, and her hair was tucked into the collar of the jumper. She had purple shadows under her eyes, but she'd never looked more beautiful to him.

"Guilty as charged," Roger replied.

"Well, I'm glad they'll have you until you can all meet up in Frankfurt with Carter."

Darcy watched as the group grew. Fatemeh, Li, and Juan joined them, and although Darcy had been too sick to form closer friendships with the group, he felt like Elizabeth had formed a family around her. The teasing, the laughter, the eagerness to get back together again—he could see the bittersweetness of the counted hours in their faces, and when Elizabeth expressed her desire to finally meet Kitty's parents, Kitty excitedly ran to Darcy's bed.

"And then maybe Doctor Darcy will wake up and meet them, too!"

Darcy's eyes met Elizabeth's, and he felt her relief as much as his own when she realised he'd been observing them the whole time. Congratulations were voiced for his recovery, but Darcy's eyes barely left Elizabeth's. Kitty wanted to sit and chat with Darcy until Mary nudged her and whispered in not-so-uncertain terms that the couple wanted privacy. Finally, Elizabeth closed the door behind her and walked up to him. When she sat on the chair beside him and pulled his hand in her lap, he felt like the world was right again.

Darcy smiled in his oxygen mask when Elizabeth brushed her fingers through his hair.

"How much do you remember?" she asked.

"Bits and pieces," Darcy replied, coughing a bit. "Some of it I might've made up, there were so many dreams and nightmares mixed in."

"Do you remember the part where I told you I loved you?" Elizabeth asked, eyes twinkling, and Darcy relaxed. His smile was almost shy.

"I was hoping that one wasn't a dream."

"It wasn't." Elizabeth kissed his knuckles. Darcy felt slightly out of breath, talking, but it was to be expected so soon after being pulled off the ventilator.

"I heard you're an engineer now," he said.

Elizabeth grinned. "Only in emergencies."

Darcy admired her features in a way that made her impatient for his recovery.

"I cannot tell you what a wonder it was to wake up to this," Darcy said, his voice tender and full of awe. "There's no words for how proud I am of you."

Elizabeth pressed her lips against his skin and hummed. "I think those are the words. Thank you." She blinked rapidly, taking a breath. "It's annoying, I've been so on edge about your recovery that everything makes me emotional. But… I needed to hear that."

"Good because I intend to say it a lot," Darcy replied, relishing the touch of her lips. "I have so many questions," he continued, but a phone buzzed in Elizabeth's jumper pocket. She took it out and stopped the buzzing before turning her attention back to Darcy. He hesitated.

"You can take it."

"No, it's… reporters are reaching out to get stories, not just from me but from all of us, but now they've also discovered that I photographed the entire thing, so… it's a bit overwhelming. I want to see and edit those photos before I can even consider sharing them."

Darcy paused when her phone started vibrating again. She silenced it.

"Can you give it to me?"

Many (unanswered) calls and messages on multiple platforms filled her notifications. Darcy googled her and the plane crash and saw pages upon pages of news about the survivors. The New York Times article was the tip of the iceberg.

"Some reporter from Time magazine flew out here from Moscow and had an interview with all of us yesterday evening," Elizabeth said. "She scheduled a meeting with me after Christmas in London, but I don't even know if we'll be there by then. Several reporters told me to let them know if or when you wake up, but… I think you should get some rest."

Darcy squeezed her hand. "I don't know if I'll ever talk to them."

"That's okay," Elizabeth replied. "Are you upset that I'm doing it?"

"No. I prefer it that way, actually. You did so much, more than any of us, and I want the world to see you the way I see you."

Elizabeth held his knuckles against her lips, feeling the weight of his admiration. She adored the way his eyes drank her in, as if scared she'd disappear.

"Tell me," Darcy said, coughing. "How are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm brilliant," she replied. "It's surreal, being here, especially now that you're awake again. I'm calling Georgie and Jane every day."

"Good. How did you get a hold of Georgie?"

"Facebook," Elizabeth answered, grinning. "By some miracle, she never unfriended me. She cried when I called her that first evening. Dr. Nikitin gave you a 50/50 chance of survival on the first 24 hours, and those were—tense. But Georgie was elated by the news. For her, 50/50 meant 50% higher chance of survival than what she already feared, and when you started improving yesterday and taken out of the ICU… Georgie and I are becoming fast friends through this."

Darcy smiled behind the oxygen mask. "I knew you'd get along."

"I also… I had to ask her for money in the beginning. She tried helping me contact your bank to allow using your card in Russia but neither of us could make it happen. I nearly asked her to transfer thousands of dollars to Roger's account before I remembered you'd written a will."

"You read it?"

"I read it," she confirmed. "I think the fever made you go mad."

Darcy left not half but all his wealth to Elizabeth, including instructions to access his money. He must've remembered how broke Elizabeth was because he also left instructions for her to activate his card in whichever country they crashed, and Elizabeth was audacious enough to take advantage of his kindness because none of them wished to be indebted to Dame Catherine. His will made her his power of attorney and removed the roadblocks that prevented Elizabeth from using his card in Russia, and she couldn't have been more grateful.

"Not at all."

Elizabeth's smile was sad. "Georgie is entitled to your money. Not—"

"The love of my life?"

Elizabeth smiled against his palm, her eyes soft and playful. She was reminded by his straight-forwardness and proclivity to say what he wanted without considering how he delivered the words. He could say the sweetest things in the most matter-of-fact manner.

"Georgie has as much as I have," Darcy said. "It would've made virtually no difference to her life to receive my money. But you… it would give you the kind of security you need. You wouldn't have to rely on anyone if something happened to your job or health. It should be yours."

"But we weren't even… anything to each other when you wrote the will."

Darcy gave her a bittersweet smile. "I like the past tense."

Elizabeth laughed. "I love you."

Darcy searched her eyes, still in disbelief that she playfully voiced the words he'd imagined for so long. She was better than in any of his dreams.

"Roger was under the impression that you didn't have permission to use my money."

"Oh, shit. I think I last spoke to him about this at length on Friday noon when Georgie and I were trying to figure out how to get your card to work in Russia. We solved it but I probably forgot to tell everyone in the middle of all the insanity that your will solved our problem. I'll talk to him."

Elizabeth traced little patterns on Darcy's hand, relishing the warmth and the way he kept turning his hand around to capture her fingers in his palm. His attention awed her. She updated him on Bingley and Jane, and even Darcy's father George, with whom Elizabeth had had a curt but necessary conversation. She briefed Darcy on the incredibly annoying and time-consuming visa process they were all going through, but at least she could help Kitty and Charlotte with all the details that the Canadian consulate needed.

"Canadian?" Darcy repeated. "Not British?"

"I'm a permanent resident of the UK but still a Canadian citizen," Elizabeth reminded Darcy. "That first night they didn't know what to make of me. My mom is American, my dad is English, I was born in Canada but I've lived in London since I was twelve. At first, they gave me the papers that the UK requires, and then reconsidered and gave me the Canadian paperwork. We're all a bit rattled and annoyed by the roadblocks. Roger, Lei and Juan—the Americans—were the first to get their temporary visa. They received permission to leave yesterday evening, but Lei and Juan's father Carter was denied a visa to enter the country. He thinks it's because he prevented some Russian oligarch from doing shady business with a company in his previous job, but… it still means he couldn't come here to get his kids. Mary is in a bureaucratic nightmare because her passport is missing, and… It's been a mess."

Elizabeth caressed Darcy's fingers, noticing his tired eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to bore you with the details."

"No. Please do," he replied, clearing his throat. "It's… it's such a wonder to wake up to this."

Elizabeth smiled. "I got your papers moving, though. Your little handwritten will that also made me your power of attorney solved a lot. They'll still need your signatures on a few papers now that you're awake but you're not starting from scratch."

"Thank you," Darcy said, his voice hoarse but soft. "Tell me, did everyone make it?"

"No," she whispered. Memories of the horrific and chaotic Friday morning rushed back to her. "Everyone made it to Yakutsk but Orri passed away on the first night. Heart attack. He shared a room with Charlotte but Charlotte herself was taken into surgery, so nobody discovered him until mid-breakfast. That first helicopter that took you away—there were two—a man there, Yaroslav, gave us a beautiful bottle of vodka. We drank a celebratory shot of it at the restaurant on the first night we got here, after an evening full of red tape. Orri made some friends with the locals and stayed up late. Of course, I don't know if he also overdid it with the vodka, but it couldn't have helped.

"We all cried when we told Charlotte after she woke up in the morning. Imagine surviving the plane crash, surviving that wire in her chest, waking up feeling on top of the world, and then… poof. Everything taken from you. William Collins sat with her the first day, and… never stopped sitting next to her. Charlotte will be discharged today, but she's… she's like a ghost of herself. I sometimes sit with her as well but it's… There are no words that would help her." Elizabeth paused. "Also, Sam isn't talking to me or Roger. When the initial rescue crew arrived, he tried to take his life but Roger and Katya retied the belt and I gave him my blood on the spot."

"0 negative," Darcy said, remembering. He squeezed her hand, his eyes torn. "He wanted to be with his husband."

"I know."

Elizabeth pressed a small kiss on Darcy's hand, assessing his exhausted eyes. As much as she wanted to keep talking to him—and they had a lot to talk about—Darcy was fighting to keep himself focused on her words, and Elizabeth gave him a bittersweet, relieved smile.

"You should rest," she said.

Darcy opened his mouth to argue but reconsidered. "When do the visitor's hours end?"

"At four," Elizabeth answered. "But they're making exceptions for us."

"Good," he replied, his attentive, tired eyes observing Elizabeth in a way that spoke of unexpressed stories and questions. He coughed, and his voice was hoarse and vulnerable. "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

Elizabeth, feeling a rush of affection, pressed a kiss against his hand and held it against her lips. "Always."

Darcy fell asleep not even a minute later.

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Three hours before Roger, Lei and Juan were scheduled to catch their flight, the entire group of fourteen survivors (plus baby Darcy) gathered in Darcy's pastel green room. Even Sam and Dame Catherine rolled in with their wheelchairs, and people took turns holding baby Darcy. Charlotte attempted a smile at Elizabeth and Darcy but averted her eyes, and William Collins sat quietly beside her, his right arm on a tattered but strong sling. Anna arrived last with a tray of sweetened black tea in paper mugs, and bewildered, bittersweet eyes met.

Lei shifted.

"I know you took the antibiotic from my mom's puffer jacket," he said to Kitty.

Kitty stared into her cup and said nothing.

"It's okay," Lei said, a bit awkwardly. He pressed his lips in a thin line. "I would've done the same." He brushed Juan's shoulder of nothing in particular, and cleared his throat again. "I'm… I'm sorry I didn't allow you guys to use my mom's jacket. I didn't… It was stupid. I should've let you use it."

"Water under the bridge," Roger replied, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "We're here, now."

Lei gave everyone an awkward smile, swallowing. "Anyone else get nightmares?"

Eyes met. More than half of the room, including Elizabeth and Darcy, nodded, none wishing to elaborate. Elizabeth and Darcy looked at each other with a question in their eyes, but Elizabeth only kissed his knuckles.

"I still owe Elizabeth a year's worth of chichi-poopoo from Myrtle's Boho," Roger said, desperate to change the topic. The group laughed.

"Chichi-poopoo," Elizabeth repeated, grinning. "Chilaquiles from Mildred's Soho. And no, you don't owe me any. I'll go there myself."

"We'll send you a selfie," Darcy said, amused.

"I can't say that I'm eager to actually liquidate my 401K," Roger said. "But at least let me pay for one night. You saved us."

"You don't have to—"

"I'll go through Darcy if I must," Roger argued. "I insist."

A friendly argument ensued. The survivors shared stories of which reporters had contacted them, what they'd shared, what they'd forgotten. As they laughed and reminisced, Elizabeth looked around the room, realising that this group, with exactly these people, would probably never meet again. A bittersweet weight squeezed her insides.

"Do you think Wickham and Lydia will show up alive?" Kitty asked.

"It would be the eighth wonder of the world if those two survived," Roger replied. "It was the right call for us to shut our credit cards, but… there's just no way. The choppers have been combing the area since they found us, and... nothing. They'll probably thaw out of some lake in April."

The crowd hummed, having discussed the topic to the point of almost being desensitised to it, and the clock kept ticking. Roger, Lei and Juan had called a taxi for 4 PM.

"Do you think we'll ever meet again?" Fatemeh asked, and air was sucked out of the room.

"I want to say yes," Elizabeth said with a sad smile. "But… life happens, and we live so far apart from each other. But—I'd love it if we could keep in touch."

"I'd like that," Lei said quietly.

A few of the older people suggested Facebook, but the younger folks declared it to be an obsolete platform and suggested Instagram instead. WhatsApp was banned in China and Roger had barely heard of it, but it was the easiest solution for keeping in touch. Emails were shared to make sure everyone would have a way to inform the others of their new phone numbers, and in the end, WhatsApp won.

At exactly 4 PM, bittersweet goodbyes were said, and Elizabeth hugged Roger twice. He held her shoulders after the last hug, and their eyes spoke of the wonders and horrors they'd gone through together, keeping each other afloat and making decisions in conditions none envied. Roger patted her arm before he shook hands with Darcy.

"We'd appreciate a word or two when you reach," Elizabeth said, smiling through the bittersweetness in her throat.

The edge of Roger's mouth quirked up. "I think you'll see it in the news."

Elizabeth hugged Lei and Juan. They picked up their backpacks and waved one last time at the remaining survivors before they disappeared in the hallway, and the rustle of gathering the crunched teacups had a desolate feel to it.

: :

Most of the survivors sorted out their paperwork in the next few days, and each day brought new farewells and happy news of their arrivals home. But the sliver of joy was surrounded by the cloud of grieving families because only less than four percent of the crew and passengers had survived. The misery was made worse by the fact that, until DNA from the scene was collected and confirmed, those who were dead were declared missing, giving false hope to too many families.

Liling—the reason Elizabeth had been in China in the first place—screamed for a solid minute after she heard Elizabeth's voice, and the survival of her wedding photos was just the cherry on top of her joy that her friend was alive. Elizabeth had two weddings scheduled for the upcoming two weeks, and informed both couples that she'd be available to be their photographer. One of the couples had already found an alternative person but was eager to cancel them, and the other was just happy that no plans had to be changed.

Elizabeth contacted her roommate Finley to see how Coconut was doing, and found out that her cat was chilling in a cardboard box in the living room, blissfully unaware of having almost lost her owner.

Darcy called Georgie, Bingley, and his father before informing his hospital of his health. He was supposed to fly back to London on (the next) Wednesday after spending Christmas with Georgie, but the holidays he hadn't taken out would cover the rest of the week—and even several weeks after, if needed. He asked not to be scheduled for shifts until the Monday after Christmas, and the circumstances were extraordinary enough that nobody questioned his request.

Dame Catherine's leaving and subsequent arrival to London on Monday brought the most media attention to the incident, and she bathed in the curiosity and awe, sharing some stories, exaggerating others, announcing her generosity in a manner so cheerful one could've thought she actually gave the money happily away instead of borrowing a little bit of it.

On Tuesday, Mr. and Mrs. Côté arrived in Yakutsk. Kitty's father Emile was a soft-spoken and brown-haired master distiller working at BluePearl Distillerie whose 5'9'' frame appeared taller because of his lithe frame. Kitty's mother Genavié, almost three inches taller, was an excitable elevator mechanic. She had Kitty's soft jaw and sharp eyes.

Both hugged Elizabeth tightly when they met as if they were long-lost friends instead of strangers.

"We cannot thank you enough for taking care of our daughter." Mrs. Côté said, drawing the -eer in daught-eer with a beautiful French accent as she assessed Elizabeth. "Mon Dieu, you are a child yourself! I thought you were our age!"

"I am 24, ma'am."

"Oh I know I am in my fifties but please do not ma'am me," the woman replied, letting out a high-pitched but lovely laugh. "Call me Genavié! Kitty tells me you were born in Montreal? Parlez-vous francais?" (Do you speak French?)

"Non," Elizabeth replied. "Malheureusement non." (No, unfortunately not.)

"And yet you pronounce so well!"

Elizabeth's smile was self-deprecating. Now that she had a phone with a Russian SIM-card and internet, she had spent a few mornings googling the issues she was starting to accept, and some of them, while painful, were a relief to find out.

She had lived twelve years in Montreal, a French-speaking city. All of her sisters picked up the language within their first years of school, and yet Elizabeth remained the only sister whose struggles with spelling in English were already intense enough without bringing a second language into it. She had been shamed in her childhood, sometimes by her parents and sometimes by her parents' friends, for not picking up French, but now she finally knew why she hadn't.

"I have dyslexia," Elizabeth said with a sad smile. She felt Darcy's sharp gaze on her neck as she admitted it but did not look away from the couple. "It is not for a lack of effort that I do not speak French. I know words and phrases, but learning a second language is a struggle for me. I'm sorry."

"Oh do not be sorry! I did not know!" Genavié exclaimed, squeezing Kitty's shoulder as she looked at her daughter. "You didn't tell me!"

Kitty shrugged, embarrassed. "It didn't seem important."

Elizabeth could've fallen into Kitty's arms for such a small, precious comment.

She bonded with Kitty's parents. They kept thanking her for taking care of their daughter and expressing their awe that she had built the transmitter, but they also invited her to Montreal to visit them whenever she was in the city. Elizabeth adored the warmth and love of Kitty's parents, and their farewell was not without shimmering eyes.

Sam left on Thursday, December 21, and only Mary and Elizabeth were still in Yakutsk to send him home. Sam had still not spoken a word to Elizabeth since the day they were rescued, and he exclusively spoke to Mary when they said goodbyes in the stark white hallway of the hospital.

"I know you don't want to talk to me but I'm not sorry that you're alive," Elizabeth said, leaning against the wall. Mary tried to cajole Sam into acknowledging Elizabeth while he pretended that Elizabeth didn't exist. Eventually, the taxi came, and Elizabeth felt tightness in her throat when Mary hugged Sam. She respected Sam's boundaries in not wanting her to touch him, but still, sending off the man who'd made the impossible possible should've happened with a hug.

"I hope you have a safe trip home," Elizabeth whispered. Sam stared at the stub left of his leg, but his jaw tightened, and Elizabeth knew he'd at least heard her sentiment.

Mary, who had gone through the worst, one-step-forward, seven-steps-back paperwork, left on Thursday evening with a temporary paper replacing her passport, and Elizabeth hugged her for a solid minute before she left. Every farewell was bittersweet.

When Elizabeth entered Darcy's room on Friday morning, he was sitting on his bed in dark-washed jeans and a white woollen jumper accentuating his broad shoulders. His eyes were clear and well-rested, and his smile took her breath away. The severity of his features faded as he smiled at her, and she felt a precious yearning in the pit of her stomach.

"Dr. Darcy," Dr. Nikitin said, snapping a finger in front of him. "I know that a much prettier face has arrived but I need you to acknowledge that you will continue the same course of antibiotics for one more week, two times a day, and you are not to return to work before your own doctor has seen you. Am I clear?"

Darcy tore his eyes away from Elizabeth, amusement glinting in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, you were saying?"

Dr. Nikitin made a sound that was suspiciously close to a groan while Elizabeth laughed.

"Elizabeth," Dr. Nikitin said, turning around. "We doctors are the worst patients, so you have to personally ensure that Dr. Darcy will not return to work before his own doctor in London has given him permission to do so. Yes?"

"Yes," Elizabeth repeated, smiling back at Darcy. She moved to hug Dr. Nikitin goodbye but the man held out his palm in front of him.

"No hugging. I don't hug."

"Very well, then." She shook hands with the man. "Thank you for everything you did for Darcy. We'll forever be in your debt."

"I expect an invitation to your wedding," Dr. Nikitin said without a hint of a smile.

"It's a deal," Elizabeth replied, adjusting the backpack on her shoulder as she turned back to Darcy, acting as if nothing special had happened. "Ready?"

Darcy assessed Elizabeth with an intensity that made her feel like countless butterflies settled in her stomach.

She helped Darcy into his black designer coat, the same one that survived the plane crash, and wrapped him into a woollen scarf and a hat with yellow polka dots on them.

"I know it's not your style," Elizabeth apologised. "But you're still vulnerable and it's the warmest I could find. It's -31 today."

Something precious danced in Darcy's eyes when he observed her adjusting his scarf.

"I'm okay," he said, voice soft.

The freezing temperatures nearly took his breath away when they exited the hospital, but together, they took a taxi to the small, light blue Yakutsk Airport with a single runway. It was a wonder to leave the city, and casually holding hands with Darcy tugged at Elizabeth's heart. He was a calm, severe-looking presence beside her except when his attention was on Elizabeth—then, his edges softened, the way they'd melted all those nights ago at Bingley's dining room, and she kissed his knuckles every time she caught him observing her. They shared bewildered smiles as they boarded the plane by Aeroflot Russian Airlines heading to Moscow, a seven-hour flight, and took their places next to each other in the back of it. Elizabeth sat next to the window.

They both eyed the blue seats and orange headrest covers with new eyes, the intact seats, the galley boxes they could see on the back of the plane, the phone Elizabeth had torn apart in the other plane. Not only did everything feel too orderly, the airplane felt fragile beyond what Elizabeth felt comfortable with.

Darcy gripped her palm almost to the point of pain as they took off, and she lifted his knuckles to her lips, watching the snow-covered Yakutsk become smaller underneath them.

"The chances of us finding ourselves in another plane crash after the first one are so minuscule we'd be world-famous immediately," Elizabeth said, eyes twinkling.

Darcy's lips were pursed when he attempted to smile.

"I didn't know you were scared of flying."

"I'm not," he replied, tearing his eyes from the window to focus on Elizabeth. "Heights. I'm scared of heights."

"I… didn't know that," she whispered, gently, rolling down the blinds beside them the moment it was allowed. Gratitude filled him as their eyes met—soft, full of questions, sparkling and relieved. It was a wonder for Elizabeth to sit next to Darcy, a healthy Darcy, with his clear blue eyes drinking her in, attentive to the smallest changes of expression on her face.

Finally, they were out of the hospital, and alone—or as alone as a full plane allowed.

"Sam still isn't talking to me or Roger," Elizabeth said quietly. "I don't know if he ever will."

Darcy took her hand in his lap, brushing his fingers over her warm, soft skin, amazed that she was with him.

"There's nothing you can do," he said, voice just as silent. His eyes were torn. "If time doesn't make him understand then nothing will. If you'd—if you'd died in that plane crash I might've done what he did."

"Don't say that."

"But it's probably true," Darcy said, matter-of-fact. "I love you. I tried living without you and I… I failed. I tried moving on and I failed there, too."

"You tried moving on?" Elizabeth asked.

He gave her a sad, almost pitiful smile. "Tried being the key word. One of my colleagues set up a date for me and I… I couldn't do it. I even entered the restaurant but then I saw her sitting there, and… All I could think about was how she'd try to agree with me like everyone else and how boring that would be, and... I realised I couldn't do it. I wasn't over you."

"But you… when was this?"

"The December after we broke up, I think. Half a year later."

"You didn't try contacting me?"

"I sent you a few emails, desperately trying to be casual, but just like my previous emails, you ignored me, so I… I figured you'd moved on."

Elizabeth gave him a sad smile. "Did you ever see my inbox?"

"No, why?"

"I'm one of those people who has four thousand emails and only ever gets to it once a month or so, skimming through them. The written word is… not my forte. I never saw them."

"Not a single one?"

"Not one," Elizabeth replied. "I'm sorry."

"That, actually, strangely enough… makes me feel better. I thought you were still bitter, or that you'd moved on and were desperate to forget me. Were you still in Northern Ireland, then?"

"I was there for a year, so yes," Elizabeth gave him an embarrassed smile. "I… I have to admit that I avoided you like the plague when I visited. I didn't allow Jane to ever talk about you except when I needed to be 100% certain I wouldn't see you at Bingley's."

Darcy stifled his smile. "Did you stop visiting Jane at his place?"

"Only when I knew you were there," she admitted, amazed that they were having this conversation. They'd covered a lot in the crashed plane, but there was so much left to discuss.

"When did you move back to London?"

"July. 5 months ago."

Darcy paused, pulling off his scarf and setting it in his lap but not letting go of her hand. "And then you found out I'd paid for your mom's medical bills a few months ago and tried calling me?"

"A few times," Elizabeth answered. "I just… I think I just needed to thank you. I even tried timing it according to the schedule I thought you'd have so that I wouldn't call when you're in surgery, but it always went straight to voicemail. When that happened, I knew you didn't want anything to do with me, so I… I then tried to only be at Bingley's when Bingley, too, was gone."

"Which was almost all the time because he was travelling so much, and I had no reason to come there when he wasn't there."

"Yeah," Elizabeth agreed. "But I also thought that since you didn't want to accept my calls, you must've still wanted to avoid me, so I kept figuring out the times you'd be there so that you wouldn't have to see me. I was convinced that if I made a mistake I would've walked into the kitchen and seen you play with Sophie and Chloe, except instead of me on the doorway you'd have some beautiful, sophisticated woman with a PhD in something like Molecular Embryology, and she'd stand there watching her future with you and I'd just have to pretend that it didn't kill me inside to see you replace me with a better model. I'd accepted that you'd moved on, but it was too much to have to witness it."

Darcy surrounded her hand with both of his, squeezing her palm. "We wasted a lot of time. I should've just called you."

"Why didn't you?"

Darcy pulled her hand to his lips, kissing it before he breathed against it and began to absent-mindedly rub her skin. Elizabeth could've melted from how tenderly he held her.

"I think a part of me knew that… I had not been the kind of boyfriend you should've had. It was the happiest I'd ever been, but I… I did not deserve you. And some of the things I said to you… I didn't know how to apologise for them, or if you'd even listen to me if I tried."

Elizabeth gave him a soft smile before she kissed the corner of his lips, adoring the scruff. His mouth parted in surprise as he stared at her lips in wonder. Elizabeth filled with affection.

"And yet you kept the photo of my student ID card in your wallet."

He averted his eyes, hesitating. "You were not supposed to see that. It's not… it's not there to convince you of anything. You left it on my counter once, telling me to throw it but I—I very much didn't want to. I cut it out and put it in my wallet when we were dating, and… it made me happy to see you there. I put it backwards after we broke up, swearing I'd throw it." His smile was sad. "But I never did. I just… I just kept it."

"Like you kept the bracelet."

Darcy shut his eyes, resting the back of his neck against the armrest. "This is really not showing me in the best of light," he said, quietly. "I'm not—I wasn't—" Darcy cleared his throat, taking a breath, facing her. "I didn't keep these things because I thought I had a chance with you, or because I was still in love with you—which I was, of course. I was just deep in denial, still. Bingley was so effective at not talking about you that I convinced myself, much like you, that... you'd moved on. It was more there because… I started therapy, and it was a glimmer of light into a happier time, and I… I hoped that I could work on myself enough to deserve… someone like you. So I kept it a little bit as a reminder, or a push, to be a better man. The kind who would deserve a girl like you."

Elizabeth swallowed the uncomfortable tightness in her throat.

"You really loved me, then," she whispered.

Darcy's eyes, sparkling and alive, softened as he looked from her one eye to the other, and then he gave her a toothy, charming, beautiful smile that reached his eyes. She didn't know how she deserved a love like his.

"I didn't know how much," he replied softly. "After we broke up, when I thought you'd cheated, I was hurting and bitter and… I thought, girls like you were probably dime a dozen. I convinced myself that I never really knew you, or loved you, but… it became harder to stay in denial when Bingley told me what really happened, and when I learned and realised what a colossal ass I'd been to you, I tried to morph what I felt for you into… a drive to change myself. You know, in therapy, I—"

Darcy stopped talking. He looked at her with his piercing blue eyes, analysing her. Elizabeth was amazed by the man in front of her, just like the Darcy she'd known a few years ago and yet nothing like him. She felt proud. A wild emotion expanded and exploded in her chest, leaving her almost breathless. She couldn't wait to get to know Darcy again, this Darcy.

"You…?"

He pecked her lips, just once, and Elizabeth felt warmth spread all over her.

"I scheduled an event for myself each half a year to assess whether I needed your photo in my wallet. November, May, November. A month ago, I took out your photo, and I toyed with it for maybe ten minutes, willing myself to throw it away, but… I couldn't. I didn't know where you were or what you'd done with your life… I almost googled you. But you were such a beacon of a happy time in my life that I put your photo back in my wallet, face up, just like that. Trying to face my feelings and get over them at the same time."

"Oh yeah?" Elizabeth said, eyes twinkling. "How did that work out for you?"

Darcy let out a laugh so boyish Elizabeth could scarcely believe it came from the man.

"I love you," he said, stifling his smile.

Elizabeth lifted his hand, grinned against his skin and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. A flight attendant in orange asked if they wanted to buy drinks, and Darcy bought coffee. He grimaced as he took a sip of it and offered her a taste. More sugar than coffee, it was a sweet concoction, but they only shared a knowing smile when she handed it back to him.

It was surreal to be on a flight, casually, talking and buying drinks. There was a part of Elizabeth that expected the plane to jolt and the stewardess to hit the ceiling, and when she locked eyes with Darcy, she knew that his thoughts had travelled in the same direction. But talking distracted them both.

"There's one thing, though," Elizabeth said. "When I met you again on the flight, you seemed angry and you didn't even want to be friends with me."

"I felt like death on that day." Darcy put down his paper cup and traced a line along its edge, pausing. "If I was rude, I'm sorry. I was just too sick for pleasantries, and you know how much I despise small-talk."

"I understand. But… you don't want to be friends with me?"

She couldn't keep the hurt out of her voice, but Darcy's eyes, piercing and alive, almost sparkled when he took a sip of his drink.

"If there are endless universes out there, there is not one in which I could be just friends with you."

Elizabeth felt her stomach drop before she paused, searching his eyes. She let out a relieved breath.

"Because you'd want more?"

Darcy smiled. "Because I would always want more," he said, and the light in his eyes was a joy to witness. "I could never visit Bingley and… have what we had, and listen to you talk about some fool you're dating while also not wanting to… take you home and," he hesitated, his voice lowering, "make you mine."

He looked at her as if she'd vanish into thin air at any moment, his eyes full of admiration and yearning and two years' worth of suppressed feelings. Elizabeth pressed a tender, slow kiss against his knuckles, and he leaned his head closer to her, shutting his eyes. He smiled when Elizabeth pressed a kiss against his shoulder.

"I want this," she whispered. "The way you are now, the things you share now… I want this. And I don't want to start from scratch because that would be delusional, but also… I have issues I need to sort out that have nothing to do with you, and I want to see if the people we are now, if we still… I want to see—"

"If you want to be with me," he finished with an undertone of hurt in his voice.

"Darcy—"

"I'm not, I'm not blaming you." He coughed, but it was a residual, dry cough. "It's how it's supposed to be."

"It's not because I don't want to be with you," Elizabeth said, fighting with herself not to apologise. "It's because… what we went through was so intense. Everything I said, I was telling the truth about what I wanted, but I don't want to assume that things will just magically fall into place now that we both survived this. I don't want to rely on our history to build the future. We need to get to know each other again, and see that we can make it work, but... be better to each other this time. Share the fears as well as the joy."

"You're right." Darcy gave her a relieved but bittersweet smile before he cleared his throat. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

Elizabeth grinned and pressed her nose against his shoulder, squeezing his hand. "I'd love to."

Darcy touched his nose against her forehead, loving the sparkle in her eyes.

"How about… next Wednesday, the 27th?"

"That's less than a week away! What's the rush?"

"The rush is—" He brushed his fingers over her hair, holding a tendril, and his eyes were ever-so-tender. "I almost lost you. I agree that we should get to know each other as we are now, but… I still want to spend time with you. As much time as possible. I don't want to lose another two years without you."

Elizabeth reached over to kiss him, intending to peck the corner of his mouth, but Darcy parted his lips and tasted her with a yearning and passion that set her aflame. He tasted like sweet coffee and affection, strong and undeniable, and when his fingers slid into her hair behind her neck, she shivered with anticipation. She felt swallowed by the sheer strength of her affection and the firm, gentle hands on her neck.

"Sorry," he whispered, voice slightly hoarse as he stifled a smile against her skin, not removing his face from hers. He couldn't get enough of her soft lips. "You just told me you want to take it slow and I… I can give you space."

"I didn't say anything about taking things slow," Elizabeth whispered, playful as she nuzzled his coarse cheek. Her lips brushed against his jaw, and he could feel her smile. "And I didn't say anything about space."

Darcy's face snapped backward. He searched her eyes, playful and beautiful, with a depth he could barely comprehend, and then he took hold of her neck and pressed his lips against hers in an unashamed expression of his wishes. Elizabeth felt soft and pliant against him, and her warm breaths against his mouth might as well have come from his dreams. He smiled against her lips when he forced himself to part from her, but the peaceful smile on her lips nearly undid him.

"Well, now I'm sorry," Elizabeth whispered, ever-playful and all the more beautiful for it.

"Why?"

She let her head fall closer to his chest. "I'm sorry we're not alone," she admitted, quietly.

Darcy let out a sharp near-groan. He pressed his lips against her hair and helped her sit straight again.

"How do you know I'd put out before our first date?" he asked, amusement and fire in his eyes. Elizabeth laughed, happy to witness the effect of how much she'd changed him. His eyes were piercing, yearning, and he had to tear them away from her to calm down.

"You already have," she replied. "I don't think we ever went on a single, proper date, did we?"

They had not. They'd gone to a restaurant maybe twice or thrice, but only spontaneously, and never got dressed up for it. They'd skipped the going out on dates part of their dating.

"I didn't even take you out on a single date?"

"Technically… no," she replied, grinning when he made a face. "But I don't mind. I loved our nights in your studio apartment, and I never really thought much about it until this conversation. I'm okay with dinners at your place."

"No wonder you thought our break-up was inevitable," he said, grimacing. "I'm sorry."

"Darcy, seriously. I'm not upset. I don't need expensive, hoity-toity evenings—"

"Next Wednesday, I'll pick you up at six from…?"

"Croydon."

His jaw tightened. "You're joking."

"I'm not joking. Croydon is fine. It has cool street art."

"It has cool stabbings and murders, too."

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "Croydon is cheap. I need cheap. I'm not reckless and it's fine."

Darcy grimaced but said nothing.

"So, next Wednesday," Elizabeth challenged. "You'll pick me up from…?"

"Croydon," he finished, looking like the word left a bitter taste in his mouth. Elizabeth couldn't help but smile as she locked eyes with him. It was sweet of him to be concerned for her safety.

Darcy assessed her as he pondered his own reaction to where she lived. He slid his fingers across her palm before he intertwined them.

"I was… I still am—" He paused. "—judgemental. I've improved but I'm not a saint."

Elizabeth laughed. "I know. It's okay. I'm not scared of butting heads with you. I'd be scared if we agreed on everything under the sun."

Darcy's eyes danced as he squeezed her hand in his, and she relished the warmth of his palm. Watching their hands together, she realised she'd forgotten to give him back his watch. She rolled back her sleeve as she began to remove it, but Darcy gripped her wrist.

"Don't."

"I forgot—"

"Keep it," he said. "Keep it until our first date."

Elizabeth secured the strap before Darcy lifted the armrest between them and pulled Elizabeth against him. She inhaled his scent—a lingering aftershave, probably something generic the hospital provided—and felt it fill her with longing and a precious tugging at her heart. Darcy brushed his thumb over his watch on her wrist, and Elizabeth grinned against the side of his chest.

"You just don't want me to back off from our first date, do you," she said, eyes sparkling.

Darcy kissed her head, sniffing her hair, lingering. He couldn't help his smile. "Definitely not."

The flights passed quickly. Landing in Heathrow felt surreal for both of them—being surrounded by (British) English, seeing familiar stores, walking through crowds while remaining largely anonymous. Just before exiting the luggage area, Darcy pulled Elizabeth to the side of the hallway and against his toned chest.

"Nervous?" he whispered, holding her in his arms. They couldn't afford to be as tired as they were.

"Less than I should be."

"I'm so proud of you." Darcy inhaled her scent, squeezing her, feeling her softness against him. "I'll be with you every step of the way, but I'll leave the talking to you."

They walked through the gates, officially entering the UK, and it was worse than they'd expected.

The cheers and yelling were near-deafening. Flashes of light blinded them, posters were splattered among the crowd, and multiple cameramen and reporters rushed closer when they spotted them. Darcy squeezed Elizabeth's hand, almost smiling, his gaze admiring and proud when he looked at her. He leaned closer to her ear, pausing.

"I love you," he whispered.

Elizabeth felt like walking on air in his gaze. "I love you, too," she replied, her eyes teasing and gentle before she tore them from his and started scanning the crowd, her hand still firmly in his. Her words to the reporters were brief and polite but playful only in the way that Elizabeth could achieve, and she made promises of further interviews to lessen their sense of urgency. Darcy, being the tall man he was, spotted Bingley and the Hursts, Georgie, Elizabeth's family, and a group of people who appeared to be Elizabeth's friends. Elizabeth felt protected and loved when Darcy held her against him as he forced the crowd to part.

"No Jane?" Elizabeth whispered.

"Can't see her," he replied against her ear.

Bingley was wearing a shit-eating grin when he spotted the tenderness and hand-holding of the couple. The two men fell into each other's arms.

"Son of a bitch. I should've known," Bingley said, grinning, half-yelling on top of the crowd. "Your head's too thick to die."

Darcy gave him a firm thwack against his back but laughed, and Elizabeth felt more than saw more flashes go off as Georgie, shorter than she'd thought, fell into her arms. Hugging Georgie while Darcy hugged Bingley, the two locked eyes, and the disbelief and relief in their shimmering eyes didn't need words.

After everything they'd been through, they were finally home, and the hope they both had for a second chance to make things right with each other defied words.

: :

A/N: Monstrous chappie this time. Thank you so very much for reading. I adore having you all here.

Your reviews are the absolute best reward for writing!