The Other Side of the Story

By S. Faith, © 2009

Words: 23,105 (Part 1: 7,737)
Rating: M / R
Summary: Mark had his ups and downs with Bridget, and for both, he had someone to talk to. Especially the downs.
Disclaimer: Isn't mine. And I made a lot of stuff up, too.
Notes: I know there are a lot of people who didn't care for this character, but I thought she could have been so much more than just a punch line. After all, she attended Bridget's parents' wedding do-over.

And it had seemed like any other day, from the start of it.

First day back after the Christmas/New Year holiday, and she had been dreading the return to work as much as any warm-blooded working woman was, with the additional dread of a new assignment, as the man to whom she'd been executive assistant was clear across the ocean and starting life anew in America. When Jeremy, one of the remaining partners, had come in that morning, he'd been curiously and smirkingly silent on the subject of whom she'd be working for now. "Time will tell," he'd said, then headed into his office and closed the door.

She glanced over to what was her former boss' office. The door was closed, the blinds on the windows were drawn, though his nameplate was still on the wall beside the door: MARK DARCY. His was a pair to the empty office around the corner that had belonged to the woman who'd accompanied him. She sighed, wondering how long before another couple of law partners would be brought on board, if Mark's replacement would be as nice to work for, if she'd be working for Jeremy for the interim.

She got up to fill her coffee cup before sorting through the filing. Out of the corner of her eye there was movement accompanied by cheerful humming, but she was too focused on filling her cup and not spilling it on herself to turn right away to see who had entered; a new client, an interviewee for Mark's vacant office, a courier. She begged a moment and said she'd be right with them.

When she could finally turn her eyes away from pouring steaming hot coffee, she nearly dropped mug and carafe both; there, hovering over her desk, setting down a pastry for her, was Mark, attaché in hand. Mark, who was supposed to be thousands of miles and several time zones away. Mark, who was smiling and humming, bringing her a flaky, sugar-dusted, chocolate-drizzled pastry, something he'd never, ever done before.

"Good morning, Rebecca," he said, looking to her at last, smile still in place. "Lovely day. Crisp and sunny. I brought this for you. I'm told no woman in her right mind can refuse chocolate croissants."

"Mark?" she asked, then said in the most understated way possible, "I was… not expecting you."

"No? Jeremy didn't…." He drifted off, an alien but rather pleasant dream-like quality about his features. "No, clearly, he didn't tell you. I decided not to take the New York position."

Jeremy's comment suddenly made sense. Considering how much it had taken to arrange such a coup for two of England's best and brightest legal minds, Mark seemed terribly nonchalant in this explanation. He went back to humming softly under his breath as he headed for his office door. She knew something momentous had to have occurred for him to have stayed. Rebecca was dying to know but did not have the nerve to ask what on earth had happened to bring him back for good.

Rebecca could see as he opened the door and flicked on the lights that all of the boxes packed up in the week prior to Christmas were still sitting there; it was only the sight of them that seemed to deflate his mood a little, but only temporarily. "Well. I know what I'll be doing today," he said, his smile returning.

"Just let me know if you need a hand."

"Oh," he said, turning back to her. "Yes, that would be great, if you're not doing anything else."

She had the filing to do, but her curiosity level at present was too high to focus on that tedious work. "I'd be happy to. I'll just… get my pastry first." As she said it, she remembered that Mark was very fastidious about his office. Food and drink were absolutely verboten.

"Yes," he said disconnectedly, "bring it in. Those are best when they're still warm, I hear."

Generally speaking, Rebecca was not a fan of science fiction; one phrase, however, leapt to mind. Pod people.

She took a seat near his empty desk after setting her coffee and chocolate croissant down as Mark tore into a box and began unloading books back onto a shelf. He began to hum that same tune again, and it was at that moment she realised it was the theme song for the television show Friends, which, were it twenty-four hours earlier, she would have gambled her life sure in the knowledge he had never seen a single episode.

Definitely pod people.

"So," said Rebecca. "Did you have a nice holiday?"

He set the book onto the shelf, and didn't say anything right away, only smiled to himself again. "Very," he said at last. "Ah. That reminds me." He popped open the attaché and pulled out a small photo in a classic, tasteful silver frame, standing it on his desk so that it would be perfectly visible when he was sitting. She could see it from where she was, too, though not directly, and she craned her head a little to try to figure out who it was. From what she could tell, it was a woman; blonde, sitting on a sofa, hand in her chin.

He saw her looking, which prompted her to ask as she reached out for the frame, "May I?"

Mark seemed surprised that she wanted to have a closer look. "Yes, go right ahead."

Rebecca took the frame to examine the photo in detail. She knew a lot about Mark's life, knew the people closest to him, and though vaguely familiar, she could say with certainty that she had no idea how Mark knew this very pretty woman who was looking into the camera lens with a challenging gaze and a slight pouty smile, hair just brushing the tops of her shoulder. Rebecca looked back to Mark, who seemed to be distracted by the photo again. "So who is this?"

He seemed reluctant to say, only returned to unpacking his books, but all the while the remnant of that smile played on his lips. "She really did not want me to take that picture," he said at last, clearly reminiscing fondly. "I wanted one for my desk, though, and she wouldn't give me one—said she was too fat in all of them, which is ludicrous—so I surprised her with my camera. Dared me to take it, and you can tell, can't you?" He pointed to the frame again. "That turned out to be the best of the lot, though, certainly the one with the most personality shining through, so when I went back to the house, I printed it off."

Rebecca noticed he had not actually answered the question. She tried a slightly different tack. "What is her name, Mark?" she asked slowly.

"Oh," he said. She caught a flush racing on his cheek. "That's Bridget. Bridget Jones."

The name rang a distant bell, and then Rebecca flashed back to November, to when Mark had successfully defended Kafir Aghani, to the interview he'd given, and she realised why she'd recognised the woman in the picture; she had been the one holding the microphone that day. "Oh," she said.

Unprompted, Mark added, his tone a little sheepish as he said it, "She's my girlfriend."

"Oh." The single syllable fell from her lips once more only because she could think of nothing else to say. As far as Rebecca knew—and this was only little more than a fortnight prior—Natasha was his girlfriend, and the rumour was she was to be a fiancée before last year's end. It was only the second of January. Whatever had happened with this Bridget had happened very quickly. Rebecca also had the sense that whatever had happened was the cause of Mark's pod-person-like state, as well as the reason he was still in London. He was very definitely smitten.

"She's lovely," Rebecca said, setting the photo down at last.

"She's more than that," he said quietly, almost more to himself than to her.

"Tell me about her," urged Rebecca; she got the feeling he wanted to say more, but was holding back, perhaps embarrassed to share his personal life with his assistant.

"Only if you don't mind, Rebecca," he said.

"Of course I don't, or I wouldn't have said anything," she said. "And please, feel free to call me Becky."

He looked to her, smiling broadly again. "She's one of those people," he began, "that only becomes more beautiful when you get to know them better. When I first met her I thought she was average looking, but I suppose that wasn't helped by the outfit she was wearing." She knew Mark was not a slave to fashion, and could only imagine what on earth Bridget could have been wearing—A clown suit? Fairy wings?—to garner such a comment from him. "Then I caught a glimpse, that lucky glimpse into the heart of who she is, and… well, I'm afraid I've been rather sunk ever since."

"Was this over the holiday?" she asked tentatively, afraid he'd said all he wanted to say, afraid that more probing questions would cause him to shut down and revert to the pleasant but taciturn man she had gotten used to working with almost every day.

Unexpectedly he chuckled. "Last summer was when that occurred," he explained, rightly surprising Rebecca. "I was too blind to see it then, too proud to admit it." He stopped unpacking then, at the point he'd emptied the box, and leaned on the edge of the desk, that strange, faraway expression on his face once again, his eyes sparkling as he continued to speak. "She is as outgoing and as talkative as I am not. Well. As I am usually not." Rebecca smiled before she could stop herself. "She's funny, witty, and sharp as a tack; warm and caring, and argumentative when she's adamant about something…. She's loyal, veritably incapable (as best I can tell) of a dishonest word or deed; she's not afraid to laugh at herself, to be spontaneous, and has a sense of wonder that I have only ever seen in small children before, to her credit. Overall, I find that the better I get to know her, the more I realise she's constantly surprising me, which I never would have guessed I'd like (or more importantly need), but…" His eyes travelled to the photo again as he trailed off; he did not need to finish his sentence for her to know what he was thinking.

She had never before seen him like this; how animated he'd become in describing this new woman in his life, how differently he spoke when it was matters of the heart, but with no less enthusiasm. This was the fire of an entirely divergent species, separate from when he was fervidly arguing in court; this was the passion that comes with finding something one doesn't know one's looking for until it's suddenly there and attainable… and willing to take a chance, too.

Rebecca began to piece together what must have happened: some sort of revelation of a personal nature over the Christmas holiday; an epiphany would be the only thing to explain such a radical shift in his priorities, his demeanour, his willingness to overlook issues of pride and—she laughed inwardly, considering her boss' name—prejudice to accept a woman so unlike him so totally into his heart.

"She sounds marvellous," said Rebecca. "I can't wait to meet her."

He grinned once more—it was truly a pleasure to see—as he broke into another box. The pastry had been all but forgotten in the mountain of disclosure he had just heaped upon her, so she nibbled into it, taking sips of cooling coffee between bites.

"You'll get your chance," he said, unearthing his framed Cambridge degree, and hanging on the hook it had been taken down from only a week and a half prior. "At the very least, I have every intention of bringing her with me to the Law Council Dinner at the end of February."

"Great," she said; glancing to the photo again, she had to admit a small measure of disappointment that she'd have to wait so long to meet such a spectacular-sounding woman, but she was careful not to let it show. "I'm very much looking forward to that."

She finished the chocolate croissant, which was tasty but not the sort of thing she could eat every day, and drank at the coffee before rising from her seat.

Mark did not wait to direct her. "If you wouldn't mind unpacking that box," said Mark, "I would greatly appreciate it." She knew what was in there, as she had packed the box to begin with; tall and light, it contained his court wig, its tiny twin, and their respective stands.

"Certainly." She pulled at the edge of the packing tape and ripped it to the side, parted the flaps, pulled out the foam packing, then gingerly lifted the stand up out of the box. She set it into its place behind his desk, then did the same for the miniature reproduction that always sat at its side.

"Mark!" It was Jeremy, peeking his head in. "Good morning!" He looked at Rebecca. "I told you time would tell," he said, winking to her. He came into the room, saw the meagre amount of unpacking that had occurred so far. "Sorry I can't help with this—I have twice the work I usually handle." Jeremy was grinning. "But not for long."

"It's all right. We have it under control." Mark tore into another box. "I'm motivated to be mostly finished by lunchtime."

"Ahh," said Jeremy; simultaneously he seemed to spot the photo. "Ah, mate, you have this pointing the wrong way if this is supposed to be your motivation." He turned it around to face where Mark was standing. Rebecca swore she saw him blush again, even as her own eyes were drawn to the blonde again. "Always thought she was a looker, but never would have put her with you. So I trust you had a pleasant New Year?"

"Very pleasant indeed," said Mark.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she abruptly asked, "Jeremy, do you know Bridget?"

"Mmm, yes," he said. "Friend of my wife's. Known her for years. Always turned up at our dinner parties alone, always rejected every friend we thought suitable for her. I trust this won't be an issue in future, though."

Mark chuckled at that. "We're not exactly long-term at this point," said Mark, "but if I have anything to say about it, no, it won't be."

"So," Jeremy asked in a confidential tone. "How long did it take you after you came back to go grovelling at her door?"

Surprisingly, Mark chuckled again. Rebecca wondered from where he'd returned, aside from another planet. "Approximately the time it took to stop by my house to drop my luggage off, shower and shave."

Jeremy laughed. "…And?"

Mark turned from lifting another box to the desk for Rebecca. "With her picture on my desk, the rest should be obvious."

"No details?"

"A gentleman does not kiss and tell," said Mark, a smirk on his face, "and should either assist in unpacking, or get to work."

It was Jeremy's turn to chuckle. "Whoever told you I was a gentleman is sadly misinformed," he said. "I do have to get to court, though. Cheers."

She took the contents out of the most recently opened box, his desk set, and began removing the contents. She grabbed his eighteen-month day planner and, as he preferred, opened it to the current week to lay it on his desk, but not before glimpsing to the previous. She saw that the twenty-seventh had been the day he'd been scheduled to leave for New York. Leave… but was here before New Year's. She furrowed her brows. He'd returned from somewhere; surely he had not gone all the way just to turn around!

Curiosity got the better of her. "From where were you returning?" she asked.

"Pardon?" he asked.

"You said you stopped home long enough to drop your luggage."

He laughed lightly. "Sadly, I did not really make the decision to stay until I was already on the ground in New York." He stopped what he was doing, pulling a small piece of statuary out of bubble wrap, to look at her. "All that silence and solitude, the hum of jet engines, makes for a great atmosphere of contemplation."

"And when did you inform Natasha of your… decision?"

"We didn't really have a discussion. One of the junior partners came for us at the airport, and that's when it hit me, really hit me, that I couldn't stay."

"How did Natasha take it?" Rebecca asked before she could think better of it. Leaving New York meant leaving her, too.

"She didn't say anything, just called my name as I grabbed my bags and dashed back into the airport," he said. "I suspect she'll never speak to me again, which… I wouldn't really blame her. I should have just accepted things sooner."

She could hardly believe his candidness. "So you've been back… how long?"

That wasn't really what she wanted to know, but could think of no delicate way of asking; Mark seemed to understand what she wanted to know. He stopped what he was doing, and she watched him tap his fingers one at time as if counting. "Now on day four."

Rebecca smiled. It was really charming to see him like this, open and warm, relaxed and gushing about his new sweetheart. She must have been very special, indeed. "Well, I for one am glad you decided to return, and not just for my own selfish reasons."

He chuckled. "I'm sure you would have gotten used to working under Jeremy very quickly. You adapt well to change, which I have always appreciated about you."

"Thank you," she said.

"You know," he said, ripping the tape off of another box, "since we've let our hair down, as it were, I just realised I haven't asked a thing about you. Are you seeing someone? Married? Children?"

"I'm not," she replied. "My ex left me last summer."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mark said. "I have every confidence that you'll make a smarter man very happy some day."

She laughed hollowly, her eyes turning to Bridget's photo; it was too soon for the deeper disclosure required to correct Mark's misapprehension regarding her ex. "Something like that."

At that moment she heard his mobile start to ring. He pulled out the phone, glanced at the incoming caller display and smiled tenderly. "Excuse me," he said. She took the hint, picked up her coffee, and left his office.

"Hello," he said warmly as she pulled the door mostly shut behind her; she was surprised, as she had never heard him answer his phone with anything but his name before. "Yes, a good morning so far," he continued. "And yours?" Pause. "I'm glad to hear," he continued, then was quiet before speaking again. "I miss you too. Looking forward to lunch." Another pause. "Unpacking my office. No, no, I have help, and you are, quite frankly, too much of a distraction, because—" His voice dropped down, though still easily carried out to where Rebecca was standing. "—all I'll think about is how much I want you in my arms, how much I want to kiss you, how much I want to drop the blinds and close and bar the door." He stopped at last; Rebecca felt herself blush, and wished she had closed the door all the way. "I'll meet you there then, at one. Okay. Bye."

She heard the beep as he pressed the End button, and waited for him to call her name before she re-entered the office. "The rest of these should all be books and case files," he said. "If you don't mind returning the files to their drawers, I'll handle the books, and we should be done in no time flat."

She could not help but add, "In time for lunch."

"Yes," he said with a smile.

………

Rebecca returned from an afternoon errand to find that Mark was still gone. She had to admit that she was not entirely surprised, given what she'd seen and heard earlier, given that he had no current caseload or appointments. In fact, given all of that, she was surprised that the man had bothered to come in at all.

Jeremy returned, and he waved to her as he passed by, reading what must have been a particularly good article in the paper. As he passed by Mark's empty office, he stopped, took a step back, and peered in. He turned to face Rebecca. "I didn't actually hallucinate seeing Darcy here earlier, did I?"

"No," she said, amused. "He hasn't returned from lunch yet."

Jeremy's brows shot up about as far as they could go. "Perhaps we should have required a DNA test to let him back to work," quipped Jeremy. "The Mark I've known for a decade or so barely went out of the office for lunch, let alone returned late."

She grinned. "It is rather nice to see."

"Agreed," said Jeremy. "It's about time the man got his oats on… no offence intended," he added quickly, apparently remembering he was talking to a woman.

"None taken," she said, even as she felt her cheeks tinge with heat, and lowered her gaze to non-existent work on her desk.

"Came to see her when he got back," he said thoughtfully. "So, how long does that make it?"

Rebecca did not like to encourage him, but she also knew Jeremy would not let it go until she told him. "He said this was day four."

He snorted a laugh. "I daresay he did not apply his usual, er, rules in this case."

"Rules?"

"Three dates. Ha," he said, more to himself than anything, "I bet he shot straightaway from the airport to her flat to shag her!"

Thank God the telephone rang just then, which Rebecca cleared her throat and picked up to answer. "Mark Darcy's office, this is Rebecca."

"Becky, it's Mark."

Her eyes of their own accord shot up to look at Jeremy, which unfortunately he noticed, and mouthed with a slightly lecherous grin, "Mark?"

"Hi, Mark," said Rebecca. "Having trouble?"

"No, no trouble at all," he said. She was ashamed to say she was listening attentively for indications of a second person with Mark. "I just wanted to let you both know that something's come up, and I won't be able to make it back in."

"Well, you've had no calls," she said. "I'll be sure to let Jeremy know."

"Great," he said. It struck her once more how happy, how relaxed he sounded. It was truly miraculous. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye."

She replaced the phone on the receiver. As she did, as expected, Jeremy asked, "Well?"

"He's not returning today."

"Did he say why?"

"He only said that something's come up."

She wished she'd thought about her choice of words before she'd spoken, because if she had she would not have said anything at all; at her statement, Jeremy began to howl like a pre-pubescent boy. "Oh," he said when he caught his breath at last. "Yes, I'm sure something did come up."

………

Mark did show the following morning; he was a little late, but was still smiling and was generally speaking in an amiable mood despite looking a bit tired. Nevertheless, he and Jeremy had a lengthy meeting over redistributing the case load. As one day slid into the next, slowly but surely things returned to the way they were prior to the Christmas holiday, prior to Mark's planned leave. While there was difficult work to be done as always, often time well into the evening hours, there was a definite sense of normalcy present, though the mood of the office was brighter and happier than it had been. Little wonder.

It was about a week after Mark's return that Giles came in after his extended holiday. "Rebecca," he said cordially in greeting, then, as he headed towards his office, stopped dead in his tracks and did an almost comical double-take when he saw Mark's office.

"He didn't go," she said, anticipating the inevitable question.

"Didn't go? What do you mean, didn't go?"

"I mean he chose to remain here in London."

Still glassy-eyed and surprised, he asked, "Did something happen?"

Rebecca chuckled, thinking how much Giles' reaction mirrored her own initial one. "Yes," she said, smiling a little as he turned to look at her. "He found himself a lovely new girlfriend."

Giles blinked as if he could not comprehend what he had just heard as being English. "He stayed for that?"

She thought it was probably too much to go into at the moment, and not really her business to say so anyhow, so she just smiled and said, "Pretty much."

Giles whistled, then his chubby face split in a grin. "Must be one hell of a woman."

Rebecca thought of the photo sitting on Mark's desk, of the wonderful things Mark had told her (and continued to tell her) about Bridget, and smiled wistfully. Must be, she thought.

………

Things has been so busy during the latter part of January that Rebecca soon found herself with a backlog of work of her own, and she decided to return after dinner one night to finish entering final notes in the computerised file system. She had told Mark, who had said it was not necessary but appreciated. She came in to find her desk lamp on, and could see Mark's door ajar, the light shining out from within. She did not have a direct line of sight into his office from her own desk, but figured he was probably in there.

She figured the sooner she started, the sooner she could finish, so rather than pop her head in and disturb Mark, she got right to work in entering the notes. The quiet tapping of her keys was the only sound she heard for many moments until she heard Mark's voice.

"Bridget. Hi."

His phone must have rung.

He continued, "I'm very near to finished. I'll be there very soon."

Rebecca smiled. The old Mark would not have cared it was nearing nine in the evening.

"I hope so." A woman's voice, presumably Bridget's; he must have hit speakerphone so that he could continue working. "Dinner's waiting, and so am I."

She could hear him chuckle. "I miss you too," he said.

Very sweet, she thought.

"You really ought to get here while—" Bridget began, then said, "Oh. Am I on speaker?"

"Mm-hm," he said, "but I'm here alone, so it's all right."

"In that case," she continued, her voice distinctly sultry, "you really ought to get here while we're both still hot."

Rebecca heard him drop his pen, and she immediately wished she could vanish into thin air. "Bridget, it's bad enough I've got to finish this," he said, "and that I've been thinking of you all day, looking forward to—" He broke off.

"To what?" she asked, teasing in her tone.

"I think you know 'to what'," he replied. His voice was low and throaty when he continued. "If it were possible to get away with nourishing myself on you alone, I would."

Shocked to hear such a thing come out of Mark's mouth, Rebecca clapped a hand over her own to silence her gasp.

"Mmmm," Bridget said, clearly pleased. Rebecca began shutting down all of her programs, wanting to get out of there before she embarrassed herself or her boss. "I like the way that sounds. What else would you do if you could get away with it?"

He cleared his throat, then said, "You aren't helping, darling."

"Mark, what else would you do? Tell me," Bridget insisted in a very alluring voice. Rebecca imagined the woman in the photo, her boss' girlfriend, a woman she'd heard a lot about but had never met; she pictured Bridget, her eyes wide, her lips pouting with a challenging smile, begging this question of Mark… and felt herself thinking unwelcome thoughts. Rebecca knew she needed to get out of the office even faster than originally planned, because she was sure he'd be running out from behind his desk at any moment.

"I'd never sleep again," he said at last, his voice huskier than Rebecca had ever heard it; "I'd just spend my time running my fingers over your skin, over your gorgeous curvy body; I'd never stop kissing you; I'd loathe to stop making love to you."

Bridget made a sound very much like a purr, then said, "Oh, I do like the sound of that. So what on earth is it you're doing that's so important?"

As Bridget was speaking, Rebecca switched off her monitor, slipped out of her chair, dressed in her coat and grabbed her handbag. She stole out of the office, quietly closing the door behind her. Clutching her purse to her chest, she stood against the wall in the hallway to regain her composure; her cheeks were flushed and her breath was unsteady.

"Becky?" It was Mark; she didn't know how much time had passed since she'd left, but she reasoned it could not have been more than a minute or two. She was glad she had gotten out when she had.

"Oh, hi," she said, flustered. "I was, uh, just looking for my keys."

She thought for a moment he must have known she was lying until he said, "I think I saw them on your desk. Good thing you caught me on your way back in."

"Good thing," she said.

"Must be cold outside."

"What?" she asked at this apparent non sequitur.

"Your cheeks are a bit ruddy," he said with a smile. "May want to invest in a nice warm woollen muffler."

She made herself smile brightly. "Yes, of course. Great idea. Thanks."

He smiled; she had always liked Mark as a boss, but ever since meeting Bridget, he had been less like a boss, more like a friend, and she quite preferred it. "Well," he said. "Try not to stay too late working. It's not good for you."

"I won't."

She went back into the office and closed the door, looking to the ceiling, wondering how long she could safely stay in there before taking her keys from her desktop and leaving again.

………

The invitations arrived that day for the yearly Law Council Dinner, and as Rebecca handed Mark's to him, he looked a bit conflicted. This surprised Rebecca, as she knew he had been looking forward to bringing Bridget to the dinner. Her expression must have asked a thousand questions, and he smiled slightly, studying the florid calligraphy on the invite.

"I still want her to accompany me," he said, "but I'm afraid… I'm afraid that she'll hate it."

"Why do you think she'll hate it?"

"I have no illusions about these get-togethers," he said. "And for all the wonderful things about Bridget, she is nothing like the rest of us in very pointed ways."

"Meaning…?" she prompted.

"She holds some opinions that would make Horatio's hair curl," he admitted. Rebecca understood: they were rather more than a little left of centre. "And while I think she has come to accept that I am more conservative than she is, I'm afraid that she will not appreciate being the lamb surrounded by wolves."

Rebecca couldn't help but chuckle. "Mark," she said, "from everything you've told me, I think she will more than hold her own amongst the lot of us—and besides, we are hardly a pack of wolves."

He folded the invitation closed and slipped it back into its envelope, looking at Rebecca again. At least he did not look as torn now. "I suppose you're right," he said, smiling fondly in such a way that she knew he was thinking of Bridget again. "And I appreciate your confidence in her."

………

A few more late nights and Mark had accomplished what he had set out to do, securing asylum in the UK for a Congolese nurse. Spirits were even higher in the office than previous, which said quite a lot.

It was midmorning the day after this win when the delivery man arrived bearing something shaped suspiciously like a wine bottle and an enormous bouquet of wildflowers in a variety of gorgeous, vibrant colours, all contained in a cobalt blue glass vase.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"I'm told this is where I can find Mark Darcy's office…?"

"Yes," she said, reaching for her phone. "Let me get him."

Mark was quick to answer and she only asked him to come to her desk. She turned to see him exit his office, then stop dead in his tracks with a perplexed look on his face upon seeing what the delivery man held in his arms.

"What's this?" he asked as he got nearer.

"For you, sir," said the newcomer, "if you are Mr Mark Darcy."

He blinked rapidly. "Yes," he said.

The delivery man handed the flowers and the bottle to Mark while Rebecca signed for them.

"Sir, miss," he said before leaving, "have a nice day."

"Thank you," said Mark absently. He set down the vase and the bottle on Rebecca's desk so he could pull the card off of the bouquet. He slipped a fingernail under the edge of the envelope so he could pull it out to read. As he did, a smile bloomed slowly on his face.

"Who's it from?" asked Rebecca, though she already had her suspicions.

Mark handed her the card.

Mark,
Congratulations on a major victory for freedom and justice. Am so bustingly proud of you. Hurrah!
Happy one month, too!
XOXOXO,
Your B
P.S. Celebrate with your colleagues—you deserve it!

Bridget's handwriting was definitely feminine and reinforced her free-spirited nature, lilting and looping in bright blue ink on the white card. Next to her initial was a kiss-print in pale, shimmering pink. Rebecca smiled and looked back to Mark, handing him the card. "This is so sweet of her."

"Yes," he said, grinning in a way that, were it on anyone else's face, she might have described as smug. He busied himself with the second package, the obvious bottle of some kind, and opened it to find a bottle of sparkling wine.

"I guess that's what she meant by 'celebrate'," said Mark.

"Would you like me to dig up a few glasses?"

He thought about it, then nodded. "Sure," he said, which surprised her; she thought for certain he would have wanted to take the bottle home and share it with Bridget instead. But then he added, which explained everything, "I can always stop for another bottle for later."

Rebecca grinned, then headed for the break room where an array of different types of glasses and dishware resided, to make sure suitable glasses were ready to drink from. Mark took the sparkling wine to chill in the mini fridge in his office. When everyone who had been out to court or elsewhere returned to the office later in the afternoon, the cork was popped and glasses were poured for all.

"To the triumph of justice," said Horatio, lifting his glass.

"Hear, hear," said Jeremy.

"Yes," said Giles. "Congratulations to Mark for a stunning turnaround on that Congolese woman's case."

Jeremy said, "I never would have even guessed he was working on something so difficult. Has been so pleasant to be around. I wonder to what we can attribute this amazing personality change?" Jeremy winked. "Or rather, to whom?"

Mark, for his part, looked humble, slightly sheepish, yet amused. "I can't imagine."

"When do we mere mortals get to meet this lovely ray of sunshine?" asked Giles.

Mark smiled. Rebecca knew, through repeated conversation on the subject, that he liked to keep work and personal time as separate as he could. She also sensed that despite assurances to Mark of the contrary, Bridget meeting the stodgy, conservative lawyers that he worked with (and, it might be argued, that he was once himself) might be a bit like trying to make oil and water mix.

"I have every intention on asking her to the Law Council Dinner next month," he said at last.

"Very much looking forward to it," he said, his cheeks pink with delight at the good fortune of scoring champagne at work.

"I think we all are," said Rebecca, smiling fondly to Mark.

………

In early February, Mark had suggested the mid-month meeting be held at his house rather than in the conference room in the office. Rebecca thought it probably had little to do with a dislike of the conference room itself, confirmed by a casual mention by Mark of the short walking distance between his place and Bridget's, and further supported by Mark taking to working from his home office whenever he could, or leaving early in order to finishing working from home.

A few days before that meeting was scheduled, Mark came in looking traumatised. "What is it?" asked Rebecca, somewhat alarmed.

"I haven't thought about it in years," he said. "I'm not sure what to do."

"Mark, I have no idea what you're talking about. What's the matter?"

He looked at her as if she'd materialised out of thin air. "Wednesday."

She had to think about it for a moment, then it dawned on her, and she smiled. Wednesday was Valentine's Day, and it was Monday. "Ah," she said.

He nodded. "I'm at a loss."

She stifled a laugh. "Do you need help thinking of something?"

"That would be marvellous," he said. "I really don't want to screw this up."

"Have you had any ideas so far?" she asked.

"Well," he began tentatively. "I thought of dinner, roses and chocolates, but thought it might be a little too… ordinary. Banal." He looked embarrassed. "She has such a lively spirit that I'm afraid of being seen as an unimaginative, boring old man."

At this Rebecca chuckled. "I think that's a lovely idea," she said, "and I suspect that anything you give to her or do for her, she will see as meaningful."

"What have the men in your life done for you in the past that you've found particularly touching or memorable?"

She smiled warmly. "There was the time that Jenny surprised me with tickets to Mamma Mia!…" she said, drifting off with the pleasant memory.

Mark did not reply, only looked slightly confused. It was only then it occurred to her that she had let slip her most recent ex's name, the gender of whom was fairly unambiguous. In some ways Mark was as old-fashioned as he was open-minded, which is probably why he looked more and more ashamed as the seconds ticked away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "That was foolish of me to assume."

"Please, don't apologise," she said with a smile. "I don't exactly set off anyone's radar in that respect."

He smiled at last.

"And," she added, "it doesn't exactly disqualify me from helping you."

"Quite true," he said.

After a little more discussion, Rebecca convinced Mark that his idea was still quite delightful—there was, after all, something to be said for tradition—but that it could perhaps be accentuated with a lovely gift, which then became the topic of further debate.

"I did have something else in mind," he admitted almost reluctantly. "A ring."

Rebecca was sure she had not heard him correctly. A ring? As in, engagement? She blurted in her shock, "After only six weeks?"

Mark looked almost hurt at her reaction. "I love her."

Rebecca did not doubt his word in the least, and she found it touching. "I think it's a very sweet sentiment," she said in a placating tone, "but it might be a bit soon to be so serious."

"I knew my first wife for years before we got engaged," he said. "Let me assure you it's not the age of the relationship that qualifies it, but the quality of it."

"Mark," said Rebecca, then faltered. She had no idea what to say, because she had no idea if Bridget felt the same way, or very differently; she couldn't have known.

She needn't have said anything more though, because Mark sighed. "I suppose you have a point," he said, then with a sheepish grin, added, "I could well imagine her reacting in a manner that would be… disheartening." After a moment, he added, "At the very least she might react much the same way you just did."

Hoping to help after shooting down his idea like so much game fowl, she suggested, "Earrings might be nice."

He shook his head. "She doesn't wear them," he replied.

"Bracelet?"

"She doesn't wear much in the way of jewellery," he said, then added, "Well, I would hope a ring would be the exception."

"Hm." Her thoughts drifted unbidden to lingerie, and she said, "What about something pretty from La Senza or Rigby and Peller—?" She stopped when it became clear he had no idea what she was talking about. "Something pretty. You know. For after dinner."

He finally understood and said, "Oh. I'm, er, not sure I'm comfortable shopping for something like that for her."

Rebecca smiled. "Women really love that sort of thing," she said. "Trust me."

He seemed to allow his smile reluctantly.

"And I imagine you have spent enough time with her to estimate her size," Rebecca added.

"I suppose," he said at last, "that they'll be staffed anticipating clueless males shopping for their wives or girlfriends."

Rebecca laughed lightly. "That's a safe bet."

For lunch that day, Mark advised he would be out longer than usual, and when he returned, he bore a rather large plain white carrier bag and two smaller ones. Rebecca fought her smile as she continued her work.

That Thursday morning, it was all Rebecca could do not to come out and ask outright how things had gone for him on Valentine's, but she thought that the persistent smile on his face said more than enough.

It didn't surprise her when he came up to her later that day to offer his thanks, even though his sudden appearance at her desk did take her aback. "Becky," he said; when she looked up, he continued to speak. "I just wanted to let you know how much your help the other day was appreciated by me, and especially by Bridget."

"It was no trouble at all," she said with a smile. "So long as you had a lovely Valentine's together."

"She told me it was the nicest she'd ever had, and I'm inclined to agree." He chuckled. "She even bought me a present, which was a first for me." He reached into his pocket, pulled something out to show her; her brain didn't make sense of it at first. Thankfully he explained. "A key fob. Newcastle United. With, er, matching boxer shorts."

She smiled. "That's very sweet," she said.

"I especially appreciate your advice regarding…" He trailed off, then spoke in a lower tone. "Well. Let's just say she would have been mortified at the inequality of the cost of our respective gifts were one of them a ring."

"Still thinking of that?" she asked.

He smiled, and it was a bit more mysterious a smile than she was used to seeing. "More than thinking."

………

It was common enough to see a dignitaries or officials departing Mark's office, but it was not common to see said persons exiting with barely suppressed looks of amusement on their faces. Mark looked a little flushed as he escorted the group with whom he had been meeting out of the office amidst puzzling stray comments regarding Mark's good fortune. He then returned to his office immediately without saying a word.

Rebecca's curiosity got the best of her and she went to Mark's office door. He usually did not close it, but this time he had. She rapped quietly. "Yes?" she heard him say.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"Certainly."

She pushed the door open to see him sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. He looked up.

"Everything all right?"

Mark sighed heavily. "Aside from my complete mortification, everything is just fine. And the thing is, I can't even be angry with her." He laughed under his breath. "I should have known better both than to answer the phone via the speaker button, and keeping it on once I realised it was not related to the business at hand."

"Bridget?"

"Unfortunately, yes," he said. "Please do not ask for the details. I am sure they will be common knowledge soon enough."

"I'm sorry," she offered sincerely. "I doubt she would ever intentionally try to embarrass you."

"I know," said Mark. He sighed once more, then sat back in his chair. "Of course, I suppose I knew what I was getting into when I first met her, regarding her ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time." He grinned at last. "I suppose there could be worse things to complain about than a girlfriend who thinks highly of me." She did not understand the comment, but felt it best not to ask.

"Well," she said. "There's fresh coffee if you're interested."

"Ah, yes." He rose from his seat at the desk. "I could do to stretch my legs after that long meeting."

She retreated from his office and backed right into Jeremy. "Sorry," she said.

Jeremy was not paying enough attention to Rebecca; he was too busy looking amused as Mark exited the office and headed towards their break room.

"I can see the rumour is true," said Jeremy cheekily, calling after Mark.

"What's that? Rumour about what?" said Mark.

"About how gorgeous your bottom is," he said. "Nice arse, indeed."

Mark turned and gave him a look that might have liquefied steel, but he kept on walking just as Jeremy burst into adolescent peals of laughter; Mark continued on and went into the other room. "Oh, this will give material for months to come," said Jeremy, barely able to breathe. "You didn't overhear, did you?"

"I did not," said Rebecca.

Jeremy then explained what the head of Amnesty International, an old friend of his, had just told him their group had just heard at the meeting about shag flashbacks and gorgeous bottoms, and Rebecca blushed to deep crimson on Mark's behalf even as she was amused.

Notes:

Days of the week during EOR happen to line up with 2007, if you're curious.