Summary: Pride & Prejudice. Sometimes, when a plane crashes, it doesn't have the decency to pick a tropical island filled with coconut trees. OOC, modern
A/N: Happy new year! I hope you've had a safer time travelling than my two heroes are about to have. As always, if you have subscribed because of Twilight, please feel free to ignore my foray into the world of Pride and Prejudice. (Although I will be incredibly happy to have you here, of course.)
Your thoughts mean the world to me, if you have a minute to share them.
Disclaimer: Pride and Prejudice belongs to Jane Austen. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, belong to the author of this story, Anton M. No copyright infringement is intended.
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Coconut Trees
by Anton M.
Chapter 1: Impact
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"33E? At the very back, Miss. Have a nice flight."
I waited after wailing children, earbud-wearing teenagers and frequent fliers, most of whom were filled with relief and impatience after an hour's delay. Letting go of my carry-on, I forced a tired smile at a particularly snail-paced woman, but when an opening cleared the aisle, I nearly knocked over a gentleman with my forty-pound suitcase as I approached my seat.
"Christ."
A brown-haired, pleasant-looking man rubbed his elbow.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir."
"No bother."
He came to my aid when I struggled to lift my bag to the overhead compartment, and I had no choice but to admit my gratitude. His smile was filled with charm.
"Are you a geologist?"
"Why?"
"You appear to have stolen all the rocks in China."
I smiled but didn't reply. Between me and my seat sat a man whose neck was protected by a giant scarf, immersed in Nature. The turquoise and pink cover read 'Germ-Cell Tumour Genomics', and after making sure that I had my phone and water bottle with me, I tapped his shoulder. Dark eyes locked with mine, and I took a step back.
Imposing build, strong jaw-line and equally severe eyebrows made the man look stricter than he was, and while I had thought of the man often, I'd never thought I'd see him again.
Doctor Fitzwilliam Darcy.
His mouth fell agape. His nose was red, and the clearing of his throat revealed a cough. As if in slow motion, he stood up and avoided my eyes.
"Elizabeth," he whispered, folding the magazine in his hands when he stepped out of the way. "I can request another seat if sitting next to me makes you uncomfortable."
My heart ached for the man.
"No," I replied, quickly sitting down. "It's quite all right."
Indecisive, he stood, staring at his chair until a coughing fit hit him. When he sat, he put his magazine in the pocket by his knees and intertwined his fingers in his lap. His thumbs started circling each other.
"I have Advil and Tylenol, if you'd like some."
His eyes firmly in his lap, he said, "I have codeine and penicillin, thank you."
Leaning back, he shut his eyes, and I couldn't help but feel responsible for some of his discomfort. He ran his palms up and down his thighs as the captain greeted us, and I wondered why a man like Darcy would not fly in first class.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome on board to China Northern Airlines Flight 9122 from Beijing to Montreal. We apologise for the delay. The flight will last 12 hours and 55 minutes, and our arrival is now scheduled at 12:05 PM local time at the Pierre Elliot Trudeau International Airport. Please follow instructions given by the crew. I wish you a pleasant journey."
I pursed my lips in a smile as a girl, perhaps 12 or 13, sat on my right.
Brushing my hand against Darcy's forearm, I gathered my courage and said, "I owe you an apology."
His palms stopped rubbing his thighs as his eyes opened.
"You have nothing to apologise for."
The plane turned and started moving toward the runway as the crew started showing us how to buckle seatbelts and react to oxygen masks.
Darcy's pursed lips emphasised the severity of his features, and I couldn't help but feel tenderness for the man who guarded his vulnerability so valiantly.
"I was arrogant enough to assume that you could feel for me what I felt for you," he said in his hoarse, near-cough voice. He rubbed his chest, over his tie. "I've learned my lesson."
"No," I argued. "I made so many mistakes—"
He shut his eyes. "If we're counting, I'm sure I'd win."
"You helped to pay for my mother's surgery when she didn't care about being insured in the UK. If my family knew you were the one who saved her—"
"Don't. Please."
"—they would be eternally grateful, as am I." I bit my lip, pondering. "I've wanted to tell you this for a long time. You're a hard man to get a hold of."
"You were not supposed to know."
"I'm glad that I do."
"I don't want your gratitude."
"Yet you have it."
He turned away his face, his jaw and lips hidden in his scarf, and I could not help but feel a surge of clarity and affection. His awkward, near-unsociable behaviour had disguised his admirable traits, and I'd had two years to digest the proposal I'd refused. I had been misguided by prejudices and his pride, but his actions toward my mother, a woman he despised, revealed a man worth more than any I'd met before—or after. I noticed the tense he'd used to describe his feelings, and I had no right to hope that he'd hold a candle for me after everything I did and said. I was a bit taken aback by my affection and worry for his health, but it could not be helped. He hid his real character too well, and now that I knew of it, I could neither dismiss his silence nor his awkwardness.
Playing with the plastic around my overpriced water bottle, I asked, "Do you think we could be friends?"
"I don't think that's a good idea."
His rejection stung, but I could not fault him for his words.
"I understand," I replied quietly, wishing to reach over and squeeze his arm to show how much his help meant to me. But I couldn't.
The plane took off. Darcy sat, palms on his thighs and eyes shut. A bead of sweat had started to cover his forehead, and I wondered if it was caused by fever or fear of flying. The seatbelt lights were switched off, and I took off an earbud to hear the captain.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have now gained an altitude of 35,000 feet or ten and a half kilometres. The weather is nearly windless, but we might brush past a storm just before Alaska. We do not expect anything extreme, but for your own safety, please pay attention to the seatbelt signs. Food will be served in three hours. I wish you a pleasant flight."
Darcy shivered as he struggled to cover himself with his blanket, but he didn't open his eyes. I unfolded my own blanket, laid it on top of him, and held out my pillow.
"Darcy," I whispered.
He blinked at me. Sitting up, he started to peel away my blanket from his, but I squeezed his wrist.
"Please. You have every right to hate me, but I'm not a monster. You're sick. Let me help."
His eyes were unfocused. Sighing, he accepted a second pillow before reclining his seat.
"I have to take penicillin an hour after takeoff," he said. "What time is it?"
"It's quarter after one."
I caught the attention of a flight attendant and asked for water. I would've given mine, but Darcy wouldn't have agreed to share his germs. If it weren't for his illness, I would've asked what caused him to fly economy, or to fly at all in his state, but he shut his eyes and I covered him with another extra blanket that I got from a stewardess. I wrapped arms around my knees, feeling chilly, and listened to music. The distant buzz of flying and flickering touch screens prevented me from sleeping, but I was happy to keep an eye on Darcy. I've flown with a runny, clogged nose. It's painful.
Food was served, and I squeezed Darcy's arm to see if he was up for it, but he swallowed his painkillers and closed his eyes. I felt for him.
The seatbelt signs flickered. A rumble shook the plane. I shut my eyes, focusing on my music, before the plane jerked. A stewardess hit the ceiling, and a man fell headfirst against the corner of the lavatory. People screamed. Oxygen masks opened. I didn't realise I had clutched on to Darcy's hand before he squeezed it, looking at me with sick but alert eyes. I put on my own mask before helping Darcy with his. He coughed into it. The girl next to me was gasping for air, and I helped her, too. It distracted me from the bubbling panic.
Life, suddenly, felt infinitely precious, and I couldn't accept death. I didn't want to. I thought of my silly sisters and my eldest expecting her first child with her husband. I thought of my parents. I regretted the marriage proposal I'd thrown in Darcy's face two years ago, but felt grateful for the experiences I'd had as a photographer, since. It all flashed in my mind, an aimless kaleidoscope of emotions and pictures. I was terrified.
The shouts felt distant but the crying went through my bones. We were no longer nosediving but descending at a speed that wouldn't allow for a safe landing. I could feel it in the barest feeling of floating, and after locking eyes with Darcy, I knew that he shared my thoughts. He wrapped both of his hands around mine, breathing heavily but staring at me, maybe willing for me to stay with him without losing my mind. Without him, I might've been screaming like everyone else.
"Brace for impact."
The voice was alien, like another entity, and I recognised that the captain had spoken other words I hadn't registered. Darcy put his arm on my back, nudging me forward, and I squeezed his thigh. A blast echoed in my ears just as freezing cold knocked the breath out of me. The plane shook, cracking, circling, but I could not see or hear or feel anything but the freezing prickling in my lungs and Darcy's hand in mine. My head bumped against the seat in front of me as the motion stopped.
Silence, unlike anything I'd experienced before, followed.