Escape--An As of Yet Untitled Sequel, a sailor moon fanfic

Escape—An As of Yet Untitled Sequel

By: Karisma

Romance, Alt

Rated: R

Karisma456@hotmail.com

Standard Disclaimers Apply

June 2002

Serena Fields Sandborn thumped her pillow mercilessly, blaming the innocent lump for the sleep that eluded her. She allowed herself one last pound for good measure before flopping her head down on it, groaning lightly as she rolled her head to the left, glaring at the peaceful form next to her. One would think after four years of marriage, one would be more in tune with one's partner's needs.

She stared at Darien's dark head, willing him to wake up from his placid slumber to commiserate with her own insomnia. Giving up on the telepathy, she hissed, "Darien!"

He turned toward her, allowing Serena a view at his darkly handsome face. His absurdly thick lashes rested on his high cheekbones as his smooth skin was free of any expression. But still he did not stir.

She opted to try again. "Darien! You awake?"

He cracked one eye open and Serena saw its blue brilliance even in the dark room. "I am now." His tone was groggy, yet alert. It held a husky timbre that never failed to delight her. "How may I serve you?" He drawled and even though his features weren't in the light, Serena could practically see his brow rise sardonically.

"I want to talk."

"At two in the morning?"

She grew defensive as she crossed her arms under her breasts, shifting so that her back was resting against the dark headboard of their king sized bed. "What's wrong with now?"

Both his eyes open, he peered up at her through heavy lids. "You sure you just want to talk?"

Serena groaned a disgusted sigh that clearly conveyed what she thought of the lewd comment. Darien took that as a direct signal and desisted his advances.

"What's on your mind?"

She shrugged, not sure of what to say next. She wasn't tired, nor was there anything pressing her. There were no secrets to dispel, no confessions to blurt out. She simply could not fall asleep.

"Let me get this straight. You woke me up at this ungodly hour and you don't even have anything profound to discuss?"

She opened her mouth to tell him off, but realized there was nothing in the statement that she could refute as being untrue. So instead, she pursed her lips and nodded once.

"Serena," Darien groaned, turning on his back, obviously preparing to try to go to sleep. "Either go to sleep or seduce me."

"Darien!" She glared down at his face, watching as his eyes slowly opened once again.

"What?" He raised his voice, somewhat exasperated.

"How can you just turn away from me like that?"

"Serena," he said, his tone lacking patience and gentleness. "We have to go to work in four hours. I don't want to play these games with you!"

"Games!" She took umbrage.

Darien turned over, his bare back now to her. He was silent. These actions were his subtle ways of effectively dismissing their entire conversation.

She bit her lip and before she knew it, the words were tumbling over her mouth, each so fast she wasn't sure how they managed to all come in order. "If I was drowning, would you try to save me?"

"What, in God's name, are you talking about?" He apparently thought she was important enough to pay attention to, because he sat up, rubbed his face in frustration, and turned to face her earnest face.

"If I was drowning, would you try to save me?" She repeated slowly, her blue eyes luminous in the dark room.

"Of course I would!" Darien ran five fingers through his dark head and glowered at her.

She sucked in her lower lip. "You're positive?"

"Yes!"

"You swear?"

"Every damn day."

"Darien!"

"What?"

"Nothing." She sighed, giving up the fight. She wasn't even sure what had made her ask the ridiculous question to begin with. "Good night."

"Good morning," Darien amended grumpily, shifting the covers as he prepared to sleep once again.

Serena didn't smile as he imprinted another dent in his pillow. She shifted down to place her head on the softness of the pillow, but did not close her eyes. She stared up at the ceiling, suddenly feeling very alone and very despondent. That was until Darien silently brought his arm over her flat stomach, spooning her into his embrace. She allowed herself a soft smile as his stubbled chin found the smooth hollow of her shoulder. She breathed in deeply, inhaling his masculine scent and reveling in the feeling of being in such close contact with him.

And for the moment, it was enough.

****

"Good morning." She breezed into the kitchen, grabbing a mug and an herbal tea bag.

"What's so good about it?" Brooding over a cup of coffee, rumpled and grumpy, her husband sat with the morning paper, his clean cut glasses contrasting with his disheveled appearance.

Serena rolled her eyes over the rim of her blue mug. "What got into you?"

"Crazy estrogen at two in the morning."

She screwed up her face at him. "Bite me."

"I would have, but I didn't get the chance."

"You can shower now; don't drown."

Darien raised his voice a few octaves, obviously in an asinine imitation of Serena. "If I did, would you save me?"

Serena's cheeks flushed as she glared at him. "Don't take your bad mood out on me, Darien."

He stood up and yanked off his glasses, tossing them on top of his discarded newspaper. "Why the hell shouldn't I, considering you're the cause of it?"

Serena shook her head and moved past him, grabbing her briefcase. "I'm not doing this." She headed toward the door. "I'll see you tonight."

His taunting voice reached her. "You planning on ditching work?"

She shot him a disgusted look. "First of all, your childish provocations will serve only to make a fool out of yourself. Secondly, I have a meeting with the Jacobson's; it'll probably run over."

Darien nodded and turned away from her. Perhaps if he had thrown one last remark over at her, she would have let it go and allowed him to cool down. But that stoic dismissal peeved her more than any snide comment could have. She retraced her steeps to the kitchen counter, throwing her brown briefcase aside.

"All right, let's deal with this."

"There's nothing to say." He calmly took a sip of his coffee, not even bothering to glance over at her. His eyes were trained on the obituaries.

"Right. And I'm Cleopatra." She crossed her arms over her navy blazer.

"That explains the body that won't quit."

"Darien!"

He didn't respond. God! She forgot how pouty he could get! The man could hold a grudge like no other.

She strode over, her low heels clicking smartly on the marble floor. Snatching the newspaper away from him, she forced his eyesight to be waist level with her pantsuit.

"I'd appreciate you looking at me when we're conversing."

"Yes, Mother."

"What the hell is your problem? I'll never wake you up again, all right Darien?" She sat down across from him, her blue eyes angry. "Better yet, I'll never talk to you, how about that?"

Darien leaned across the small, round table. "Just go to work, Serena."

She leaned back in the chair, glaring at him. "Right. And leave you here to wallow in your completely uncalled for self-pity."

"I pity any man who is jarred awake before dawn by a woman who can't even articulate what she wants."

He watched with satisfaction as her eyes widened in surprise and anger. "Oh, I know exactly what I want, Darien."

"Is that right?"

She smiled sweetly, her voice gentle and her eyes venomous as she spat, "Yes. I want you to go to hell." She grabbed her bag and stomped out of the kitchen.

When she entered their home that night, it was with a certain amount of trepidation and caution. It was silly, this was her house, she wasn't a burglar or an equally unwanted guest. She just hoped he had a darn good apologetic speech waiting for her. She wandered through the empty first floor, wondering if he was even home. When she climbed the stairs and saw the dark rooms there as well, she deduced he was still out. Sighing in sudden sadness, she felt the overwhelming urge to make-up with him. Something to do with that saying about not wanting to go to bed angry.

Deciding to wait up for him, she slipped into their bedroom. Heading straight for the bathroom, she quickly changed into pair of pajamas and performed her nightly ritually of brushing her hair and teeth. Padding back into their room, she saw something she had missed before: a large figure underneath the left side of the bed. She smiled, glad he was here. Quietly going to her side of the bed, she saw a red rose on her pillow with a note that had two words on it: I'm sorry. Smiling, she decided to apologize as well. Walking over to the other side of the bed, she gently stirred him awake, not caring if this was how the whole ordeal started to begin with. She'd make it quick.

When he became awake, he looked at her with a tired smile. "Hey," he whispered, his voice husky with sleep. "I'm glad you're home."

"Me, too." She kissed him lightly. "I'm sorry."

He nodded and they stared at each other for a bit. He looked down and saw what he was wearing. Immediately, he groaned aloud. "Oh, no."

"What?" She also looked down the worn pajamas she was wearing.

"When you wear a nightgown or something, then I know I at least have a chance. But when the flannel comes out…" he shook his head. "It's like armor; no way am I getting in there."

She burst out laughing. "It's comfortable," she protested, slapping away his hands as they reached out to tug on the material with disgust.

"It's a granny outfit."

"It is not!" She smiled slyly. "Besides, how do you know you don't have a chance until you try?"

He sat up and kissed her softly, his fingers curving around the nape of her neck while his thumb caressed her cheek. When he pulled back, he raised one dark eyebrow in a questioning look.

She pressed her lips together as if judging the kiss. "Yeah, you must be right. I suddenly have a headache." She moved as if to get up, but he was there first, pulling her back to him so that she fell on the bed next to him. He rolled on top of her and kissed her again, fumbling with the buttons of her night shirt as he did so.

"I may like the granny outfit, after all," he murmured before shifting them so that he was on his back, holding her above him.

She smiled against his lips. "Now, about a certain body that won't quit…"

"Yes, I'm getting reacquainted with it right now." He kissed her neck and her jaw, nipping her ear gently. She shivered. "Now be quiet."

"Can I say one more thing?"

He growled against her neck. "If you must."

"I love you, Darien."

He pulled back to look into her blue eyes, staring up at their open affection and adoration. "I love you, too," he said gruffly, pulling her face down to kiss her fiercely.

----------------------

It was a few hours later when Serena, still basking in afterglow, drowsily tilted her head from its resting place on his chest and kissed him lightly on the lips.

He smiled slightly against her lips. "If you don't stop that, we're never going to get any sleep."

She traced light circles on his bicep. "And that would be bad, why?"

"So I'm ready to admit I was wrong about the flannel."

She laughed quietly, afraid to break the silence their intimacy had woven. They lay still for a few moments, each replete and content not to move. In a sudden burst of motion, Serena rolled off him and curled up on her side, facing him while her cheek rested against her pillow.

Immediately he knew something was on her mind. He remained lying on his back, but rotating his head so that he was facing her while she spoke.

"Darien," she paused, toying with the edge of the soft pillowcase. "What do you think about having children?"

She heard his response before one word left his lips. It was in the stiffening of his body, the way he let a long silent moment come between them before he said anything, as if carefully measuring his words so as not to upset her. It was even in the way his blue eyes changed to a disconcerted metallic silver.

"Do you really think we're ready, Serena?"

"Yes," she insisted, her heart sinking with every passing moment. "I know I am…" She stared at him intently. "But maybe you're not."

"Hell, Serena." He raised one arm to run a hand through his already disheveled hair. Blowing out his breath, he continued, "Kids are a huge responsibility—once we have them, we won't go back to it just being us."

She took umbrage. "You don't think I know that, Darien? I don't have any disillusions about parenthood, but it's a challenge and joy I think I'm ready for."

He turned over on his side to look her in the eye. Lifting his hand, he rested it on her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin. "I kind of like it being the two of us."

She leaned her head back away from his touch, her clear blue eyes filled with shock and confusion. "Are you saying you never want children?"

"No!" It was a quick outburst and he blew out his breath to calm himself down. "No," he started again, this time much more quietly. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all—"

"Because I do want children, Darien. And I think the time is now."

He sighed. "I don't—"

Her voice rose in alarm with every word. "We've already waited four years."

"Yes, but—"

She interrupted him yet again. "And I don't need to remind you about my biological clock ticking."

Darien, quite sick of being cut off every time he had tried to speak, snapped, "So wind it!"

She gasped, glaring at him for a full thirty seconds before yanking on a robe and stomping out of the room.

"Serena…" he called after her, contrite about the harsh words already. But she had left and he could hear the click of the guest room's lock being put in use. He sighed heavily, falling back against the pillows, sleep eluding him for the next few hours.

--------------------------

Serena's next night was spent in the guest bedroom as well. There was no anger in their movements, it was simply a dark sadness that permeated their home, it sunk itself into their walls and refused to exit. Their was no fighting, no harsh words exchanged—in fact, there were practically no words exchanged. It seemed as if there was simply nothing to say anymore.

They were two quiet zombies, no longer living together, but living around each other. He went to work early, she attended meetings and rarely saw him in the office, one of them always came late, usually him. Instead of anticipating each other's movements in order to help or assist each other, they now anticipated the same actions to avoid each other.

Their marriage was going to hell in a hand basket and neither of them could do anything to stop the ride down. One horribly tense Saturday morning, Serena couldn't take it anymore.

"What are we going to do?" She cried, putting down her tea mug to stare at him mournfully.

There was no need to ask what she was talking about. He sighed tiredly and rubbed his forehead. "I don't know, Serena. I just don't know."

She walked over to him and pressed her small hands against either one of his cheeks as he looked up at her from his sitting position. Tears began to fill her eyes as she asked him softly, "What happened to us?"

He had no answers. She had not expected him provide any. Suddenly ashamed of her tears, she turned from him and left the room. She heard the click of the front door closing, signaling that he had left for work. On a Saturday.

She wandered around the house miserably, remembering a time when Darien hadn't dare left to work on the weekend. No, he had been too enthralled in her, his wife. Too caught up in them. She continued her unnecessary tour around the large house, randomly letting her fingertips listlessly glide along pieces of furniture. Memories assailed her. With a sad smile, she realized that they must have made love in every nook and cranny of this house. She laughed as she heard Darien's voice from long ago, four years ago to be exact, enthusiastically suggesting they inaugurate their home by "doing it" in every room.

Her soft chuckles turned to violent sobs at what their love was now. This could not be happening. This simply was not happening. Things like this did not happen to people who loved each other like she and Darien loved each other. Loved. As in past tense? Now what did they have? What was their love now? Empty. Nothing. A apathetic shell of its former glory. She lifted her wet face from its place on her palms, unable to stand the house and the memories it held any longer. She ran from the living room, stumbling on a magazine rack in her haste to reach the bedroom. She didn't feel any pain of her bare skin connecting with the hard wood, instead, she kept on running. She threw clothes into a suitcase, wiping her damp face occasionally; the tears now dropped so fast, she didn't even notice them anymore. They had become a part of her now.

By the time she had two bags packed, strangled whimpers and sobs were escaping her throat. She had to stop. Making herself sit on the bed she had not touched in nearly two weeks, Serena pushed her unkempt hair away from her face, aware of how the loose strands had stuck to her wet cheeks. She sniffed loudly and swallowed, reaching for a tissue on the nightstand next to her. After wiping her face, she could breath easier. She then stared at the wall in front of her, blankly taking in the pristine whiteness of it. In a few moments, the white rectangle blurred into one incredibly haze of colored dots.

It was hours later when she blinked herself out of the stupor and got up to shower and get ready. One look at the clock told her she had passed the entire day sitting there like a fossil. After she got dressed, she awaited Darien's arrival. She sat on the edge of an armchair adjacent to the couch. She sat ramrod straight and anxiously, as if she were a guest in the house. Her eyes were dry, albeit red and sore. She had cried the day away, only stopping when she had stepped out of the shower. Now was the time for a bit of pride and strength.

As if on cue, she heard the key in the lock. Standing up, she turned to face him as he entered their home. Darien shut the door quietly, as if not wanting to disturb any sleeping persons. She almost laughed. Then, he turned around and saw his consideration had been in vain, for the only other occupant was awake and in front of him. His tired blue eyes fell to the two bags near her legs and he immediately knew without her having to say one word.

She knew he knew but she still felt the need to say something. Say anything. After staring into his mercury eyes for who knew how long, she licked her parched lips and parted them. "I'll stay at a hotel for a few days." That was a lie, who knew how long she'd be gone? Who knew if she'd come back? If he even wanted her to come back?

"You don't have to go." His voice was distant and vacant, as if he wasn't really here, talking to her, saying these things. "I can leave." Her heart was strangely torn a bit then. As if all this time she had secretly been hoping he would refuse to let her go. It was such a secret desire that even she had not been aware of its presence. But now the hope was shattered, he knew something was wrong here—and he had no idea what to do about it either.

"No, I'll go. I'm packed and…" she trailed off lamely. He only nodded, staring at the bags at her feet rather than her. "You can use my cell number if there is an emergency." Now she was just stalling her actual exit. Biting down hard on her lower lip, she picked up one bag in each of her hands and made her way to the door. As she was about to cross the threshold, his voice called her back.

"Serena?" She turned around, but did not say a word. He stared at the framed picture of them above the fireplace, not meeting her suddenly damp eyes. "I'm sorry."

She nodded although he could not see the gesture. "Me, too," she whispered achingly, allowing one more tear to slide silently down her soft skin. She turned to leave, but stopped herself. "Darien?" He finally turned to look at her, the dim lighting preventing him from seeing the lone track of her solitary tear. She took a deep breath. "How can a person know when it's the right time to give up on something or someone?"

"I don't know, Serena." He shook his head, slowly turning his head away from her questioning eyes and toward the smiling picture of them on their honeymoon.

"Me, neither." She said it so softly, she thought he had not heard. Taking his immobile posture as a sign that her whispered words had not reached him, she left, leaving the door open behind her.

He had heard her words. Along with the muffled sniffle that followed it. He jumped a bit in his stance when he heard her car door slam shut and the engine start. Then, a few seconds later, he knew she was gone. He felt it.

---------------------------

It was only after a few hopeful weeks of being called back by Darien, that Serena went to rent an apartment. The entire depressing action was symbolic of letting their marriage go. It was an admittance of defeat, calling uncle to the miserable fact that they could no longer make it work any longer.

Rita offered to go gather the rest of her things from the house, sensing Serena's inability to go back With the help of new furniture, the place looked more and more like a home and less like an empty place to subsist. But that was exactly what it was to Serena, a box that she occupied nearly twenty-four hours a day. She had not been able to bring herself to go to work for fear of running into her husband.

Her husband. He was still legally just that. She had also not been able to gather divorce papers and had not gotten notice from him either. There was still a little bit of hope embedded in her whispering that they simply needed time, like all couples. The voice assured her daily that this was a faze, it would pass and he would come and they would work it all out.

A knock on the door let her know that Rita was here. She let her friend in, stepping aside to let the brunette in.

"Serena," she began immediately, wringing her hands in distress. "You have to go back to Darien."

The panic in her voice alarmed Serena right away. Fear seized her heart at the thought of some tragedy falling on Darien. "Why? What happened?"

"Andrew says he's a wreck."

Perverse pleasure at the thought that Darien wasn't faring any better than she was ran through her. Ashamed by the selfish thought, Serena lowered her head, rubbing her temples with both hands. "What exactly did Andrew say?"

Rita stalled, swallowing and licking her lips before answering. "Well, Darien's been an absolute bear at the office and at home when we're there. Which is practically every night, he hates being alone in that house. He doesn't admit it, he's much to proud to do that, but we know."

Serena sighed, suddenly very tired and very sad. "The Parkerson deal is soon. Darien's always a complete jerk when a deadline is soon."

Rita laughed ironically. "Not like this, Sere. Before, when you were there, it was controlled—you had that effect on him. But now it's like it was before you became partner—the employees haven't seen Darien act like this for over four years…neither has Andrew and the rest of the family." Rita took Serena's hands in her own, imploring her with a gentle squeeze to both of them. "Please, Serena. Please."

Serena slowly extracted her hands from Rita's loose hold. Moving away to the small living room sector of the apartment, she sat down, her palms resting on her thighs. Rita followed suit, sitting across from the blonde in a stuffed armchair, anxiously awaiting a response.

"Before I left I asked Darien a question. A question he didn't know the answer to. And neither did I. Maybe we weren't meant to be together, you know?" She raised her eyes to the ceiling, hoping avoiding eye contact with the shrewd woman before her would disguise the tears that were filling up her eyes.

"What was the question?"

Serena laughed, the sound completely lacking healthy humor. "I asked him 'How can a person know when it's the right time to give up on something or someone?'." She stared at her hands, now holding a shredded tissue. "Do you know what I mean, Rita?" She lifted her head to gaze at the woman desperately, not caring anymore whether or not her tears were obvious. "Where is the cutoff point, the moment you finally realize there's too much water under the bridge and the bridge itself is officially being burned? When is enough just… *enough*?"

Rita simply stared at her friend, aware of the pain Serena was not making an effort to mask any longer. There was a slight trace of sympathy in Rita's soft blue eyes when she reached over to touch Serena's clasped hands. "If you don't know the answer yet, you will."

"What?"

"You may doubt your love with Darien, Serena. But no one else does. We've all seen you two together—we all know the certainty of what you're questioning right now. You'll make it—it may take some time, but you'll make it." She then left quietly and quickly, slipping through the door without so much as a sound.

Serena stared at the space Rita just left before falling against the armrest, her tears soaked up in the soft material.

----------------------------

"Jamison!" Darien barked. "Where the hell is the report on the fiscal year outcomes?"

The young, distraught man rushed into his boss' office, his bad knee slightly shaking at the thundering way he had just been called. "S-Sir?"

"I asked for that report yesterday. I wanted it on my desk this morning." Darien glowered as he leaned forward, his hands flat on the wood desk. "Where in God's name is it?"

"I put it—"

"Where is it?"

"It's the blue folder under your right hand," Matthew Jamison said quietly, stepping back as Darien looked down and flipped through the folder.

Darien looked up at the younger man, noticeably subdued. "Right. Well, thank you. That'll be all." When Jamison didn't move in the next fraction of a second, Darien coaxed with a rather feral yell. "Go!"

Jamison went.

The next person that interrupted Darien did not come until two hours later. He found that lately few braved talking to him until absolutely necessary. This visitor breezed in, not bothering to knock. He waited until he had skimmed and signed three more documents before lifting his head up to acknowledge the person's presence. When he did, Darien immediately wished he had ignored her until she went away.

"Hello, Melissa," he said, his voice cold and hard, devoid of any pleasantness. If Jamison had heard the voice he would have wet himself. But Melissa simply bared her overly white and perfect teeth in a parody of a smile.

"Hello, Darling." She sat on a corner of his desk, perching on it so that her skirt rode up a good two inches. He surveyed the less than subtle motion with a disinterested glance. He had not forgotten Melissa's part in nearly taking Serena away from him. Of course, Serena was taken away from him anyway, but he had almost been robbed of four years with— "*So* sorry to hear that you now have two failed marriages under your belt."

Darien's jaw clenched imperceptibly. "What do you want?"

She took umbrage. "Well, now, I just wanted to offer my condolences. And the ever open offer to give it another go. You know what they say, Darien," she sang. "If at first you don't succeed—"

"Get the hell out of my office," he completed with a growl, his attempt at politeness vanishing.

"No, Dear. That's not at all how it goes." She giggled and Darien wondered how he had not noticed before how much it resembled nails on a chalkboard.

"I don't care about your asinine cliché. I care about you making yourself disappear."

She narrowed her green eyes in anger. "Darien—" she began in what seemed to be a warning manner.

"My marriage to Serena is none of your business, Melissa." He leaned forward, his blue eyes shooting ice. "As for you and I, there never was an 'us', not really." He pointed to the door, not bothering to say anything else.

Before she could make one move, Jamison rushed in again, out of breath and obviously harried. "Sir," he gasped, pausing to catch his breath. "Parkerson is on his way here and copy is down."

"What?" Darien snuck a glance down at his watch. "He's three hours early? And what the hell is going on down in copy? We pay them for a reason!" Darien ran out with Jamison, leaving Melissa still cozy on his desk. She gave up anger at being dismissed so readily after a few seconds, trying to see this as an opportunity. Her keen eyes fell on the pad of professional stationary that bore Darien's name, title, and company. Well, half of his company, Melissa amended, once again reminded of his other half in every way.

Not any more, she mentally sang with glee. There was trouble in paradise and if she had anything to do with it, paradise would soon turn to Hell.

Snatching up a few sheets of the letterhead, Melissa tucked it carefully in her purse and left the office, victory so close she could taste it.

---------------------------

Serena sorted through her mail, pausing on one letter that had no return address. Opening it curiously, she immediately recognized it as Darien's personal stationary; she had picked out the gray marble background herself as a present. She unfolded the expensive slip of paper, not knowing what to expect as she read the typed note.

Serena,

I think we both agree this isn't working. Should I draw up the divorce papers or will you take care of it? Call Rita if you have any questions.

With Regards,

Darien

She nearly fainted in burning humiliation at the way he casually dismissed her and all they had shared. Call Rita! As in he could not be bothered with the small trifle of his failing marriage. And 'with regards'! Like they were old friends and he was apologetically blowing her off. But the most peculiar thing that bugged her was how he had started and ended the note. He usually let his notes to her start with the letter S in his messy scrawl, finishing with a simple 'D' to let her know it was from him. At home and at the office he used this technique, always had, it was not overly effusive, yet it was a special thing just between them. And now he used full names. That was the final brush off, she realized, it was the last lie between them that he had just cut with that godawful note of his.

She crumpled up the note and stuck it in a drawer, slamming it shut as she dissolved into angry tears. She'd draw up the papers immediately; at least she'd have that satisfaction—as empty as it was. The small, whispery voice came back, hoping with the same perseverance and tenacity it always had.

That hope once prevented her from collapsing in desolation. But now she could only feel disgusted with its naiveté.

She told the voice to shut up.

---------------------------

Darien yanked the thick files from the bottom drawer of his large desk and slammed it shut with a bang. The noise did little to relieve the tension and inherently bad mood within him. He rubbed his unshaven jaw with annoyance and tried to make sense of all the papers in front of him. Giving up with an angry sight, Darien stared at the phone, debating whether or not to call once again. He had lifted up the phone and dialed up to six digits of her cell number. Once he had even let it ring once before hanging up shortly after. He simply could not do it. If an apology was all there was to it, he would have no problem. He had apologized to Serena before, it had been hard at first, but they had soon made a game of it…

Shaking his head, he got back to the point at hand. He couldn't simply say sorry with flowers or a kiss this time. There was nothing to apologize for, neither of them had been in the wrong. They simply had different desires and opinions. They reached a fork in the road and no matter how much they each wished to go back, that was not an option.

Sighing, he picked up the phone, intent on speaking with her to sort some of this out. They loved each other, that was what mattered. It was all that mattered—the rest they'd figure out later. Right now, he just needed her. And hopefully, somewhere out there, she needed him with as much intensity.

A knock on his door interrupted his movements. Muttering under his breath, he hung up the phone, swearing to himself that he would call just as soon as he got rid of the nuisance on the other side of the door.

"Come in," he said impatiently.

A uniformed man he did not recognize entered and walked over to his desk, holding out a rectangular manila envelope. "Darien Sandborn?" He questioned.

"Yes," he affirmed quickly, reaching out for the folder.

"You've been served." He slapped the orange envelope in his awaiting hand. "Have a nice day." The messenger left speedily, having done his job and not wanting to face the wrath of the man's already short temper.

Darien ripped through the protecting folder, letting the papers spill into his hand. He knew what they were within seconds and emitted a feral growl at the sight of both their names on divorce documents. He was reminded of the call he was about to make and immediately felt glad he had been spared that embarrassment. So she didn't want a reconciliation, she wanted to be rid of him and their marriage as soon as possible. He let the papers flutter down to his desk, staring at the wall in front of him, seemingly lost in space. The only sign that he felt anything was the barely visible tic in his jaw. After a few moments of stoic silence, he let loose one swift motion that showed what he was truly feeling. Like quicksilver, his fist shot across the wall near him with a resounding thump, leaving a telltale dent in the white plaster. He barely registered the pain in his knuckles, he was too busy staring down at the papers where both their signatures were required. Under one blank line was the name Serena Fields. However, no signature was present. Darien quickly ruffled through the other pages that required signatures. All of them were blank. He was suddenly confused. She had sent him the papers, but had not signed them, obviously waiting for him to legalize them first. He picked up a pen, prepared to sign, send them back to her, and have all her apparent dreams of being single again come true. But when it cam time to bring the dark ink in contact with the freshly printed pages, his pen stayed poised in the air, unable to make the commitment. With an enraged growl, he threw the pen across the room, watching as it bounced off the wall and skittered in a crazy dance on the floor before remaining still. The stillness of the room only served to ignite his temper further as he picked up the entire pen holder and lunged it in the same path as the lone pen had charted first. They all jittered around each other, soft metallic clangs resounded in the eerie silence of the office.

Darien, suddenly overwhelmingly exhausted from weeks of sleeping about two restless hours a night, slumped down in his leather chair, his head in his hands as called out one whispered name with such reverence, one thought he might have been invoking God's name. But it was not the name of the Lord he called out.

It was that of Serena's.

--------------------------------

It had been a month since she had sent Darien the papers he had requested. There had been no reply. Serena did not know whether to be joyful that he had not called upon her to sign her name, or sad that she was not even worth the attention he needed to have a separation legalized. She thought that her lack of signatures on the documents would drive him to come see her at least. But she simply was not that important, it seemed.

Crying had grown to be a daily activity for her. She cried for seemingly no reason and the littlest thing would set her off. A memory would arise from nowhere and within seconds she'd be a sobbing, inconsolable mass on the floor or sofa or even a public place. Of course, when with others, she managed to hide it from inquiring eyes until she was safely tucked away in a deserted bathroom stall where she could wail her heart out and no one would mind.

It was only when she was sitting at her desk debating whether or not to give Darien complete control over the company and bow out gracefully that she caught a glimpse of the classified ads in the daily newspaper. She read one quickly, picking up the abbreviations as she went along. Then she read the next one, find it amusing how everyone wanted someone attractive and described themselves with the same adjective. Looking through the paper, it seemed as if everyone in America was suddenly drop dead gorgeous. She also smiled at when people began specifying what their mates should *look* like. So much for love being blind.

Suddenly a crazy idea popped in her head. For the first time in a long time, Serena laughed aloud. The noise sounded foreign and alien to her own ears, she being so used to the apartment's deathly silence continuously. She shook the notion from her mind and continued reading, but it refused to leave her. If for no other reason than to satisfy her nagging brain, she pulled out a scrap piece of paper and wrote her own advertisement.

Pina Coladas, Caught in the rain,

Not into yoga, Got half-a-brain,

Making love at midnight,

In the dunes of the cape.

Sound good? Then I'm the lady.

She giggled to herself, shaking her blonde head as she reread the words on the paper in front of her. Now that her idea was a reality, she debated whether or not to put it in the paper. She had the time and the money; it would be more of a joke to pass time than anything else. It would be great to see who responded—or who responded correctly was more like it. She was looking for a specific quality in the person that replied—a sense of humor actually. And it was not a quality she was looking for in a potential mate, no, it was way too soon for that. She wasn't sure if it would ever be a right time for that kind of relationship ever again. But she could use another friend. It would be nice.

Every time she saw the girls, she saw compassion, which was sweet, but not what she particularly wanted. Not to mention the fact that they all had wonderful relationships and felt awkward discussing them with her anymore now that her own marriage was crumbling…or had crumbled. She wasn't sure which verb tense was appropriate.

She wasn't sure of much these days. But she felt more solid on this ad than she had in anything else for a really long time. Which was why she decided to do it. With one last look at her rough and final draft of her short note, she began searching for information on how to submit your own classified ad.

---------------------------

Darien prided himself on only reading pertinent news in papers. It was an art he had developed over the years, separating the important from the pure rubbish out there. It was strange then when he found himself with only the classifieds and comics and sports pages in the newspaper. Searching fruitlessly for the rest of his newspaper in the plastic bag covered with early morning dew, Darien sighed heavily.

He first read the comics, surprisingly amused by a few. The sports page he didn't even bother with, he caught a game on television occasionally with Andrew, but that was the extent of his manhood in that area. Something Serena had always joked about. She had repeatedly commented on how lucky she was to have a husband who was infatuated with her and not men in uniforms.

His mouth tightened at the thought of Serena. He'd think about her like that all the time, as if she had not left him. As if she were right at home for him and all he had to do was find her and she'd be in his arms, kissing him. It always took him a moment to realize that she wasn't there with him any longer and then the pleasant memory would leave him with a sense of emptiness that he had yet to grow accustomed to.

All he now had left was the Classifieds. Throwing them aside with disgust, Darien sipped from his coffee mug, prepared to simply head off to work and forget reading the damn paper. Or lack there of. Sighing once again, his gaze drifted off to the kitchen wall. With a start, he realized it was Sunday when his eyes came in contact with the nearly blank calendar. Serena had been the one to scrawl in important dates and remind him incessantly. He'd always complain that he was not a child and could remember such things on his own. But they both knew that without her daily reminders, he would forget.

Registering that he now could not go to work, he opened the Classifies, determined to keep it a secret that he had red them to fight off boredom. If Andrew found out, he'd never hear the end of it considering the distaste he had shown for them since he was a teenager.

He had about given up reading the material when he had gotten to the fourth person looking for an attractive, blonde, blue-eyed female who was adventurous and loved sports. But he read the next one anyway, noticing how the format was different from the ones surrounding it.

After he had read it for the tenth time, Darien still couldn't believe it. He laughed genuinely for the first time in what seemed like forever. Then he read it again and laughed again. Whoever this woman was, she had a fantastic sense of humor. Still chuckling at the joke as he got up and rinsed his mug, Darien began formulating a response in his mind before he even realized what he was doing.

He was going to reply to a Classifieds Ad.

Not for romance, that went without saying. But only to appreciate the woman's wit and congratulate her on it. Perhaps let her know that someone out there got her joke and knew out to reply to it. Someone had to do it, might as well be him. satisfied with that line of reasoning, He pulled out a yellow sticky note and quickly scrawled on it.

Pina Coladas, Caught in the rain,

Hate health food, Love champagne,

And the feel of the ocean.

Cut the red tape, Let's escape.

He held the note in front of him and smiled for what seemed the millionth time just that morning. He reread it a few times and then looked over the woman's ad once again. Content with his reply and hopeful of a response, he searched the meager contents of his delivered paper for a way to put his message in tomorrow's one.

------------------------

Serena tore through her paper the next morning, chiding herself for being so hopeful on such a long shot. She ripped through the front news and all the other titles she usually savored first, heading toward the part of the paper she rarely touched. She hadn't had a reason to, she had had Darien. But now…

Shaking her head as if to clear the memory of him, she focused intently on her task at hand. It took some excited skimming but she finally found it. And it was perfect, more perfect than she had ever imagined. They had not only gotten her joke, they had responded with the same style she had originally used. She read it too many times to count, praying that this response was real and not some cruel dream she had conjured up. She even pinched herself. No, this was a reality. Someone had answered her—somewhere out there was a new friend waiting for her.

She laughed giddily as she jotted down her own reply in the blank corners of the thin paper. She couldn't wait to contact him—or rather, wait for him to contact her.

----------------------

Darien found what he was looking for immediately. He had thought about how she would respond all day. And now, twenty-four hours later, he had his answer.

We may never meet at O'Malley's,

But escape we shall.

P.O. Box 1369

He grinned, excited at the prospect of finally writing a full-length letter to this woman, and having her respond. He would finally get to know what she was really like. Foolishly nervous at this prospect, he pushed aside the papers on his desk. He would attend to them later. He took out a loose-leaf piece of paper, wanting to maintain anonymity with his new pen pal. God, how silly and juvenile that sounded! A pen pal.

Shaking his head as he chuckled, he began writing and thirty minutes later, straightened up in his chair, surprised at how easily the words had flowed and how quickly, too. He had now written three pages. He flexed his cramping hand and peered critically at the messy penmanship. Frowning, he switched his computer screen on and immediately began typing. Soon enough, he had over a page freshly printed and in his hand.

Before he lost his momentum, he decided to put it in the right box immediately. Running out of the office, he passed by astonished employees without so much as a second thought. By the time he reached the post office, he was not only eagerly awaiting giving this to her, but also the reply he would receive. And he would get one, he was sure of it. For some inexplicable reason, he knew it was unlike her not to respond to something like this. But he shouldn't know that—he didn't know her at all.

-------------------------

Serena checked her new post office box three times that day before the amused clerk finally announced with much satisfaction that she did, indeed, have mail. Serena nearly chewed her nails off while she waited for the man to hand over her letter. But when she did finally have it in her hands, she couldn't bring herself to open it.

Even when she was safely at home, she placed it on her nearly empty desk, tapping her still intact nails on the wood. After ten minutes of simply staring at the white envelope, she finally got so sick of herself that she ripped it open.

Dear 1369,

I won't comment too heavily on the two sets of double digit numbers you have seemed to pick(or got stuck with). Number thirteen, harbinger of bad luck? Number sixty-nine…need I say more? That actually provides a nice segue into what I must say next. I'm not really looking for a significant other at this point. Nor do I make it a habit of scouring the classifieds (not that there is anything shameful in it)…

She read on, actually laughing aloud at her repliers wittiness and frankness. He told her of everything and nothing about him. He complimented her on her cleverness of sending out such an ad. When she finished the letter, she held it close to her, loving every word of it. Loving how in tune he seemed to be to her. Just what she needed in a friend right now. He caught the joke in what she wrote, he was not looking for an intimate relationship and he simply seemed to understand her.

Grabbing a pen and paper, she wrote furiously for a few minutes, before stopping and booting up the computer she had bought just recently. Typing what she had written so far, she completed the letter in a matter of minutes, the words flowing from her faster than she could type.

When she was done, she printed it before she could read what she had written back to her and chicken out of sending something so personal. She had not started off with the intention of delving into her private feelings, but it had just happened freely.

He had signed it '666', which she assumed was the number of his own P.O. Box. Smiling, she drove to the building, seeing the man there for the fourth time that day. He stared at her in bemusement before simply grinning and shaking his head. She gave him the letter and he nodded. From then on, she knew that she would no longer have to tell him why she was there or where her mail should go.

---------------------

Darien smiled to the man he recognized from anxiously awaiting his letter. The man held up one hand to stop Darien from talking. He left and came back quickly with a plain white envelope in his hand. He grinned from ear to ear, his dark blue eyes lighting up in a way they had not for weeks. He took the letter and thanked the man. Before leaving, he read the name tag tied to the man's uniform. William. He made a mental note of it and stepped outside.

He saved the letter all day, giving work a half-hearted attempt at best. Once in his study, Darien ripped it open and pored over it, pausing to reread parts whenever he wished.

Dear 666,

Tell me you requested the number, otherwise several years of Sunday School has instilled in me that I should fear you and the Rapture your presence signifies. In any case, I'm glad we both agree on the no relationship deeper than friendship considering I just came out of a marriage myself. That's probably why I sent out that ad in the first place. Partially because I was bored, partially because I was feeling facetious, but mostly because I was, embarrassingly enough, just plain lonely.

I do have friends, don't let yourself paint this miserable picture of me rocking in a chair with a million cats and no other human in sight. I assure you that is not the case…I'm allergic to cats. But since my marriage fell apart, it's odd being with those friends. Everything is simply different, if that makes any sense at all. It's like being in a room with so many people and you're listening to them talk, but you're not hearing any of it. Because you feel all alone for the first time in your life. Because this time, your partner isn't there, the reassurance of them being there…isn't. You're all alone in a room with the people that you should feel the most comfortable with, but you aren't comfortable. In fact, you want to be anywhere but there because suddenly, you don't have anything in common with any of them anymore. You're not the normal person, with the normal family, with the dog and the picket fence painted white. You're on your own now and it terrifies you—I'm on my own and it terrifies me.

People also start treating you differently… start walking on eggshells, careful not to say anything about love, marriage, or kids. When you think about it, that eliminates many topics of conversation—especially for women!

I guess it all boils down to the fact that I miss my husband. Perhaps our life together was not meant to be, but it doesn't change the fact that every day when I wake up, for the first few moments, everything seems to be in place. I'm alive, I'm healthy, I'm happy, I think. Then I roll over and see the empty, cold spot in bed next to me that doesn't even have a dent where his head should be lying.

Well, now that I scared you off with a scary, all to deep letter, let's see if you respond, 666. I apologize if I offended you with this personal subject matter, I suppose it was more for me than for you. It felt good to write it out, to know that someone out there is listening…and perhaps is even empathizing? I suppose it is so easy to talk because I can't see you, I can't be embarrassed because I don't know you (although it feels like I do—painfully cliché, but now I know what movies mean when they use that line) and you can't see my face as I tell you all this. But just so that you know, I'm not blushing as I type this, which is saying a lot considering normally my face would resemble a STOP sign, had I been facing you.

Write back if you dare,

1369

Darien leaned back in his chair as he looked up at the ceiling, the letter still guarded in his hand. He would most definitely reply. Rather than scaring him off, she had drawn him nearer with her candid emotions and courage to bare herself. Tearing a piece of paper off a legal pad, he immediately began scribbling.

She had shown the bravery to take the first step in a deep friendship. He would follow suit.

-------------------------------

Serena ran to the post office as a means of exercise and, more importantly, checking her post office box. She went straight the same line she did everyday, smiling at the familiar face.

"Hey, Will! How are you?" She pushed back tendrils of hair that escaped her ponytail and now surrounded her flushed face. She looked healthy and alive, more so than she had in over a month.

"Hello, Serena, I'm fine." The aging man winked at her and pulled out a thin, white envelope. "We got something for you."

Her smile increased by tenfold and she took the letter and thanked him. She turned to leave and then stepped back to his counter. She tilted her head to the side and smiled at the friendly man. "I suppose you can't tell me the name of a P.O. Box owner?"

He smiled apologetically, his brown eyes twinkling in kindness. "Sorry, Serena. You know we keep those boxes for confidentiality."

She sighed, her grin never fading. "I didn't think so. That's okay," she mused as she drummed her fingertips against the counter. "I don't think I want to know anyway." She called over her shoulder as she left, "Have a nice day, Will!"

It was only when she was tucked away under a blanket on her sofa that she allowed herself to open the envelope. It was a treat of sorts, she never got over the thrill that ran through her as she unfolded the typed pages, never knowing what to expect from her newfound friend.

She began the letter, already dreading the moment when she would read the last word and the letter would be finished.

1369,

I still get a kick out of typing those numbers. Sorry.

Reading your letter was like reading an entry out of my biography that I never wrote. Does that make any sense? Let's try again. Your feelings, thoughts, emotions mirror my own. My wife left not too long ago and ever since, I sometimes think I can still feel her in the house, but she's not there. It's awful. I'll hear something at work that I remind myself to tell her because only she could really appreciate it, and then a split second later, I'll realize that I can't tell her because she's no longer there.

Sometimes I swear I can smell her perfume on our sheets even thought they've been washed countless times since she left.

As for how friendships, I know my own think they're helping. From their perspective, I can see how awkward it is and I know they're only trying to comfort me in their blundering way. However, since most of our friends were couples, it is like they feel guilty for their relationships still working and being wonderful when my own collapsed. They stop showing affection around me, stop themselves from using terms of endearment and so on.

It gets to the point where I try to reassure them that it is all right and that I'm fine. But I'm not…

Serena pulled away from the letter long enough to confront two emotions. Gratitude that there was someone in the world that knew exactly what she was facing and sympathy that there was someone in the world that knew exactly what she was facing. She wouldn't wish the gnawing pain inside of her on anyone, but to know that there was a kindred spirit out there that simply *knew* let her have the priceless feeling of knowing she was not alone.

Like you, it boils down to one unequivocal fact: I miss my wife. But knowing that at least someone is with me, makes it okay for the moment.

I know what you mean about being able to open up easily just because I can't see you. I think it is maybe because as humans, we're afraid of judgment. We're constantly afraid of people judging us and thinking of us negatively. You and I, we don't have to deal with that in this relationship—how can we judge each other when we haven't even met? And even if we do judge each other in a bad light, who cares? We don't have to face each other daily like you would some other people you might confide in.

Now that we've both successfully depressed each other, I'll end this letter while I'm dry eyed and hopefully you are, too.

666

P.S. I'm not the Anti-Christ, but lately I'm known to make disappear with my disposition. Just a disclaimer…can't say later that I didn't warn you.

She laughed aloud through her tears. How could this man she didn't even know make her sob in feeling his pain as her own and then cause her to giggle with his wry humor? The only person she had known to do that was…

Well, she wiped her cheeks, there was no point going down that road. It had proved fruitless in the past and the outcome would not change now. She'd end up crying all the harder with nothing to show for her tears expect a few tissues and raw insides. No, she wouldn't cry over Darien or their failed marriage. She wouldn't spoil this beautiful memory and the pure emotions 666 had shown her by wailing over spilt milk.

Hardening her resolve, she pulled the blanket off of her body and walked over to the computer on her desk. Starting it up, she began typing furiously, the letter right next to her.

----------------------------

A month later, Darien whistled as he entered his office, shocking his secretary and all the workers in their cubicles. Many people popped their heads above the white dividers that contained their space to blink rapidly in case their eyes were failing them. Was that really their boss, Darien Sandborn, looking blissfully happy as he worked?

Deciding they were overworked, they sat back down, occasionally peaking up to catch a glimpse of him, making sure that the illusion of a content employer had not disappeared.

Darien was indeed cheerful; he had decided something after one month of corresponding with a woman he had never laid eyes on. He was going to meet her. Even if she protested in her responding letter, he would insist. Because just waiting for a letter every day had proven to be not enough. He wanted to talk to her, hear her voice, discuss things with her whenever he could and get replies right away. He couldn't wait even half a day for her to make him laugh with witty observations or answer his questions.

She was a beautiful woman. He was sure of that. He didn't need to see her in order to know that. She was by far the kindest person he had ever known. Not once, in the rare times they talked about specificities concerning their partners, had she said one word against her husband. 1369 and he never really gave out information about their lives, like what they did, what they looked like, etc. But they knew so much more about each other because of it.

He knew she absolutely loved chocolate but usually on vanilla ice cream and hated most vegetables. She loved most flowers, but adored roses. He knew her favorite book was Jane Eyre and her idea of a great time was playing poker at midnight. In so many ways, she reminded him of Serena. But that was an opinion he rarely let himself delve into, afraid that he was simply replacing 1369 with his lost wife. And he didn't want to spoil what he had with this new woman with such things.

He pulled out her most recent letter to him. He had carried it to work with him. Usually, he kept all her letters in his nightstand by the bed in the guest room he now occupied. He couldn't bring himself to share their bed without Serena. But he had carefully folded the letter into his pocket, foolishly feeling that by having the letter close to him, 1369 was closer him.

…You know what I just don't understand? I don't get some of the expressions out there. Like wherever you go, there you are. What is that? I mean, really, of *course* wherever you'll be, you'll be. It makes absolutely no sense and yet people use that expression as if it's the best thing since sliced bread.

I think no one really knows what it means; they all just assume everyone else does. Then, since no one wants to be thought of as the stupid one, they all pretend they understand the deepness behind such an asinine comment and nod sagely every time it's used. When really, they're thinking is every one here smarter than I am? Do they all understand things I don't? It's quite sad , actually.

Darien smiled as he read, just as he had the first three times he read the letter.

You know why I think clichés are so popular? Well, it's because people realized long ago that there are certain situations when they have absolutely nothing to say. Either because it is an awkward circumstance and they simply don't know how to provide comfort or just because they want to fill the silence, they burst out with some random comment that is supposed to lend wisdom and strength, but only gives out more crap to be shoveled through.

Like when something horrid happens and someone chucks you under the chin and says "Better luck next time" or "Tomorrow is another day". Does anyone really want to hear something like that? And does the person spouting off such garbage really believe they are helping? It's ridiculous.

Can you tell I had this happen to me recently? Yes? And here I thought subtlety was my strong suit…

Darien chuckled at her ramblings, surprised by how much he adored them and the complete lack of annoyance he felt when she ceased to make sense. It was endearing, really. *She* was endearing.

God, he couldn't wait to meet her! Speaking of which, he had to write the letter suggesting they see each other. If he was right, she was dying to meet him as well. And maybe, somewhere in the future, they'd also break the rule about not having an intimate relationship besides friendship.

----------------------------

Serena's eyes nearly popped out of her head when she read 666's latest letter to her. She backtracked and reread it, just in case she had dreamed up the words before her.

…Remember what we said long ago about not being able to judge each other and therefore being able to speak more freely simply because we couldn't see each other as we talked? I've been thinking, whatever judgments we could have passed, we must have done already considering how long we've been corresponding. And so, I propose this:

A meeting.

You still with me? Good. Hear me out; I feel as if I know you already…and I recall you saying something along the same lines about me. Isn't it time that we place faces to the spirits we already feel connected to? All right, that was my hokey moment for the year, forgive me. But my proposal still stands. We should meet.

Serena sighed heavily. The worst part wasn't that he wanted to see her; that she could adamantly say no to if she wished. The worst part was that she wanted to meet him, too. And that she couldn't bring herself to adamantly refuse him because deep down, she simply did not want to.

------------------------------

He had sent his letter in the morning and by early evening, she had responded. Grateful that he had continued his habit of checking the box at least two times a day, Darien slid out the carefully folded sheets of computer paper and opened them.

1369,

Do you really think meeting is a good idea? By this time, we both have expectations of each other and they grow with each passing letter. Because we cannot see each other and we have believed that we never will, we both allowed ourselves to imagine this fantasy friend. Seeing each other face-to-face may dash those fantasies beyond repair. I for one do not want that to happen to you. Wouldn't it be better to keep the idealistic images we have of each other? Haven't we both faced enough disappointment to last a lifetime?

Darien frowned, the rest of the short letter read like that, talking about the pros of staying anonymous, but never providing her own opinion on meeting in person. Smiling, he realized there was a chance she was stalling because she simply did not want to face the fact that she, too, wanted them to get a chance to see each other.

-------------------------

The next afternoon, there was a letter waiting for her. She tore it open right there in the busy post office, not bothering to apologize to the people she brushed against as she read and walked to the exit. Serena read hungrily, not savoring each word in privacy like she had in the past. No, this time she ate the sentences voraciously.

1369,

I never knew how much you had a talent for stalling. While you brilliantly pointed out all the cons of meeting in person, you never once told me your own personal feelings concerning the idea. Since you have never held back when it comes to your view on things, I can only assume this means you want to see me as much as I want to see you…

Serena didn't know whether to laugh or cry on how cleverly he had seen through her attempts to prevaricate. How had this man come to know her so well? That basis alone was the deciding factor. He already knew her inside out, might as well give him a face to add to the picture.

And though she wasn't all that conceited, she had to admit, it wasn't that bad of a face.

------------------------------

He memorized her responding letter.

666,

This will be unusually brief because I only have so much to say. To my growing list of personality traits I shall have to add tenacious. Because you have wore me down (it took *so* much insistence). Since we lack an O'Malley's nearby, a pity considering how fitting it would be, may I suggest another location? I have never been to this new Italian restaurant called Roberto's. My husband and I once passed the construction site and made plans to eat there; as you may guess, the chance never arose. And so, I suggest this locale because it holds no memories of the past, simply promises of the future.

Let me take care of the obvious question of how we will recognize each other, considering I could not really pick you out in a crowd. I will be wearing a white rose in my hair and I expect the same flower on your person.

I can only hope I do not disappoint any expectations you may have of me.

1369

P.S. I'll see you there at eight.

Darien carefully noted the use of a white flower rather than red. Red would have intimated romance, something both of them were tentative about. Smiling at her letter once again, his gaze fell upon the restaurant she had picked. Serena had seen the same place when it was still not open for business. She had insisted they go once it opened, saying how much she loved Italian food and how they never ate enough of it. He had agreed, not having been given much of a choice.

His smile faded at the memory of Serena and their past marital bliss. His mind took him back to the disaster he faced with Melissa. Two failed marriages. Was he just doomed in the matrimony department? No, he and Serena had shared four wonderful years of love, compromise and happiness in their marriage. That counted for something; it counted for a lot.

And as he looked down at the letter in his hand, he couldn't help but wonder if the third time really was the charm.

-----------------------------

Serena played with her hair for over an hour, thinking up styles and discarding them when she put the fresh, white rose in and surveyed the outcome critically. Finally, her time running out, she decided on taking the top half of her hair and clasping it back. She pinned the rose in place and curled the ends of the hair that she let loose around her bare shoulders. After a moment of turning and twisting to check her hair from every possible angle, she picked up the curling iron and carefully twisted the strands of hair that were pulled back, holding it longer so that the curls were tighter.

When at last she was satisfied, Serena picked up her small purse and slipped into her white heels. Inhaling deeply, she stepped out of the apartment and into the hallway, knowing things would be much different the next time she walked through that door.

The well-mannered waiter directed her to a quiet corner to the very left of the posh restaurant. She ordered two glasses of white wine and sipped at hers anxiously, wondering why on earth she had arrived ten minutes early. She had to turn her head conspicuously to look at the other diners and her view of the door was blocked by the wooden back of one of the booths. To top it off, flowers were everywhere, adding to her inability to scope the vicinity for a man wearing or carrying a simple white rose. She gave up when it became eight o'clock. He'd find her if this whole thing was meant to happen.

-------------------------------

Darien arrived right on time, scanning the restaurant for a woman wearing a white flower in her hair. When his short search proved fruitless, he chalked it up to her being a tad bit delayed and asked for a highly visible table for two. He was lead to one that was in the center of the restaurant, but angled to the right. His main criterion of a table was filled—he had a clear view of the door and all those who crossed its threshold. After asking the maitre d' to keep his eyes peeled for a woman with a white rose decorating her hair, Darien ordered a bottle of white wine and settled down, his eyes never leaving the door.

-------------------------

Sitting still proved to be a difficult task as she counted up the seconds. He was officially ten minutes late. Swallowing her anxiety down with her non-existent partner's drink, she asked for both the glasses to be refilled. A buzz would probably take off some of the humiliation of being stood-up, she thought bitterly. Another part of her told herself to shut up, ten minutes late did not mean he wasn't going to show, it meant car trouble or being stopped on his way here by friends he could not refuse to chat with.

Yes, she nodded her head, convincing herself.

She downed another glass of wine.

----------------------------

By twenty past eight some part deep inside Darien knew she was not going to come, but he refused to leave. Leaving would signify facing the fact that she had deserted him. So he resolved to give her until nine o'clock. He poured himself another glass of wine, not being able to contain the sigh that had been welling up inside of him since 8:01.

-------------------------------

All right, if ten minutes late signified care trouble, forty minutes late equaled a hint that he wasn't showing and she needed to get the hell out of there. She stood up and held her head in her hand as the room became a bit hazy. She had stood up much to fast for having consumed four glasses of wine and no food. She made her way to the bathroom, her arm running into every huge potted flower she passed.

Once she was in the ladies room, she leaned against a lotion dispenser, her legs suddenly feeling quite wobbly. She closed her eyes and once she regained her steadiness, opened them. She saw herself, looking tired and confused, but most of all: hurt. Putting her weight forward against the marbled sink counter, she brought herself closer to her reflection. In a swift, surprisingly graceful movement of disgust, she tore the wilting flower from her hair and chucked it in the general direction of the wastebasket. She missed by a mile and giggled at her own tipsy state. It was either inappropriate laughter or completely called-for sobs. She opted for the former; she had cried enough the past month.

For an inexplicable reason, the pain she felt mirrored the anguish she experienced when leaving Darien. It shouldn't have—this was a silly meeting between two pen pals—that had been splitting from the love of her life. It had been like cutting away a part of her that would never grow back. And yet, the same sense of loss and emptiness assailed her once again.

Well, that was it, she decided angrily. No more. She was cutting of all ties with 666 as of *now*. No more letters. It was not just rage at his lack of respect for her, it was self-preservation.

      It simply hurt too damn much to care about someone and have him disappoint you time and time again. By eradicating relations with 666 (God, she felt foolish referring to him like that) she was saving herself from a lot of emotional garbage down the line.

      Suddenly drained and in need of a bed and some Tylenol, she left the opulent bathroom. She paid her bill, ignoring the pitying looks she earned from the older waiter. She was leaving the restaurant when she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw someone she had never expected to see again, sans lawyers and a judge present with them.

     "Darien?" She asked carefully, he seemed to be miles away.

      His gaze, piercing blue even in the dark reached her. His eyes immediately softened, taking in her tousled, curled hair and gentle face. "Serena."

     She looked ahead, the situation suddenly awkward and the sight of him too painful. She didn't ask what he was doing here alone, he might answer and return the question. She couldn't really tell the truth…or make up a plausible lie. He didn't ask her either and it silently became a taboo subject.

      Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the way he looked dejected in the dim light, or maybe it was simply because she wanted to. Whatever the reason, Serena parted her lips and asked him, "Would you like to go for a walk with me?"

      He turned to stare at her, obviously surprised by her casual invitation considering the circumstances. He should have declined, the entire thing was slightly odd, but something in him accepted her offer. Later he would blame it on his stung pride over 1369's rejection, but deep down he would always know it was something more compelling than his ego.

     They walked along the streets, falling into the pattern of being married without either of them realizing it. He placed his jacket on her bare shoulders, aware of her slightly shivering in the night.

      She nestled in it, inhaling his familiar scent, a mixture of soap, aftershave, and Darien. She looked up at him as they walked along in surprisingly comfortable silence. He still looked terribly handsome, she noted as she stared at what parts of his angular face she could make out in the minimal light the streetlamp offered. His jaw was clean-shaven, his attire impeccable. She traced the outline of his straight, lean nose and his cheekbones with her eyes. She was reminded of how he had looked when she stepped off the plane and saw him waiting for her all those years ago. Her love for him almost burst her heart at that moment. She almost blurted out how much she missed him until she remembered how he wanted a divorce and essentially, nothing to do with her. But he was here with her. Unless he felt sorry for his poor, drunk soon-to-be-ex-wife. She shook her head, she wasn't drunk and Darien wouldn't do such a thing.

      "What are you thinking?" He suddenly asked.

      She decided to be honest. "I'm thinking about what a nice night it is…and how I'm glad you're here to share it with me."

      He seemed a bit taken back by her forwardness. They both stopped and turned to face each other.

      "Serena," he breathed, tracing the curve of her cheek reverently.

      But he didn't complete what he was going to say because she stood on her tip-toes and kissed him.

---------------------------------

      They were still kissing passionately when they reached her apartment door. They stood outside for a while, absorbed in each other before Serena dug in her purse, temporarily detaching herself from Darien. They soon returned to each other's arms, leaving the door open as Darien brought Serena up against the wall as they kissed.

       He kissed it shut as an after thought while Serena shrugged off Darien's coat. Her hands detangled themselves from his hair to move down to his waist and pull the blue dress shirt from the waistband of his pants. Her hands met with the smooth skin of his back, warm to her fingers. After a moment, when Darien's lips left her own to kiss her neck and shoulders, she lifted her hands to unbutton his shirt. She couldn't work the buttons fast enough and when she was finally done, she inserted her hands in between the cloth and the skin of his shoulders.

      As she walked forward, leading them in the general direction of the bedroom, she pushed the shirt off his back, letting it drift to the floor soundlessly. When at last they made their stumbling way to the bedroom, not bothering to flick on any lights, Serena stopped the mating of their lips to sit on the foot of the bed. She pulled herself to the top of the bed with her hands. Darien leaned over her, crawling with her to the headboard, their mouths only centimeters apart the entire time.

     She fell against the pillows with her hands curled slightly on either side of her head. He raised himself on top of her, intertwining his own fingers with hers and pressed their hands deeper into the pillows. Their eyes met and locked before their lips did, both sets clouded with passion and a deeper motion the other dared not tried to read. When their lips clashed again, it was Darien who deepened it first, sipping at her lower lip lightly before raking his tongue against her teeth. She gasped against him, her body arching toward his.

      He unclasped their hands to trace the soft skin of her arms, caressing what he knew to be a sensitive portion under her upper arms. Serena's own hands free, he felt them go to his belt and unbuckle it with one fluid motion. He pulled back and stared into her eyes as she unzipped his pants, pushing them down with her bare legs.

     He felt the soft material of her dress against his bare skin, all too aware of her clothed state. Rolling over deftly, he reached his arms around her surprised body to grasp the zipper. The gentle, rasping of it being pulled down was the only sound in the room. Both of them had stopped breathing. He lowered the thin straps of her white dress and slid it off of her, watching with interest as her skin glowed in the darkness of the room.

      He took a moment just to stare at her. He had almost forgotten the thickness of her blonde hair, the smoothness of her skin, the intoxication of her light scent. Almost, but not quite. He lifted his hands from her back to her face, cradling it as strands of her hair fell down to tickle his cheeks. He brought her head down to meet his own.

      Another second later had them both divested of their undergarments. Their joining was quick and hungry, both of them starved for each other as they climaxed. It was a celebrated homecoming, a heady rush that felt familiar, yet different.

      The aftermath left them in a tangle of limbs and linen. Darien brought one sheet up to cover them. He kissed an already sleeping Serena sweetly and chastely, a contrast to the passionate why he had done so before.

      He watched her sleep for a long time, slumber elusive to him. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? He couldn't waste the hours he had been granted with her. He briefly thought of 1369. He didn't feel guilty—this was it. Serena was it; nothing else compared.

      He was in love with his wife.

      He was reminded of 1369's own failing marriage. Her husband was a fool to let such a wonderful, caring woman go. He wouldn't make the same mistake with Serena… he wouldn't let her go. The connection he had made with 1369 was beyond explanation and he would continue to love her always, but what he had built with Serena was tangible, concrete and all consuming. It could not be denied or ignored.

      Easing out of bed so as not to wake her, he quickly pulled on his pants and searched for paper to write on. He'd write a letter to Serena as she was sleeping and hopefully leave it for her to read the following morning. He planned to stay, that went without saying, but the emotion he felt for her now needed to be contained as best as he could with words so she could know how much he loved her.

      He ruffled through her nightstand, coming up short when he recognized something in the dim light the lamp near him provided. Pulling a few papers out of the drawer, he held them closer to the light. Flipping through them, he caught familiar phrases of clear writing.

       It boils down to one unequivocal fact: I miss my wife…I sometimes think I can still feel her in the house, but she's not there… how can we judge each other when we haven't even met?… I can only assume this means you want to see me as much as I want to see you…I feel as if I know you already…

     Familiar because he had had written them. He stared at them blankly before all the pieces flew in chaotically and finally began connecting themselves. He replaced the letters, noticed how worn they were, trying to guess how many times she had read them. He stared at one particular latter with remembrance, fingering certain circles on the page where liquid and dried. She had cried over his letters.

     And suddenly, with a burst of clarity, it all made sense how he could love two women dearly at the same time. It was because they were the same woman.

     1369 was very same girl he had teased when he was twelve, incredibly stupid and didn't know any better. She was the same woman he had tried not to love, but couldn't help but. She was the same woman who had shown him through the course of four years how much he needed her.

      And Serena was the same woman who had touched him deeply with her poignantly honest letters. She was the same woman who had led him to the post office four timed in one day in hopes of receiving another precious letter. She was the same woman who made him laugh with her uncanny wit and dry sarcasm.

      It hit him that if her letters were any indication, Serena missed him as terribly as he did her. He switched off the lamp and slid back into bed, drawing her sleeping form closer to him. She responded instinctively, curling up to her husband as she had done hundreds of times in the past.

       He watched her peaceful face in a new light. This was home. Not the bed, not the apartment, but Serena. Serena was his home. And he had no intention of ever running away.

-----------------------------

      When Serena cracked open one eye, she saw a land of white softness. Blinking once, she heard the rasp of her eyelashes brushing against the pillowcase. Groaning at the light, but annoying headache she was now housing, she rolled over on her back, staring up at the ceiling before closing her eyes once again.

      Then she smelled it—the unmistakable scent of eggs and coffee. She sat up in bed, ignoring the head's protests. Breathing deeply to make sure she wasn't imagining the aroma, she raked her tousled hair out of her face. She looked to the side of her and did a double-take. A head impression was on the pillow next to her. At first, there seemed to be nothing strange about it. but once she noticed her surroundings—the apartment she had leased—the scent of breakfast and the pillow dent were horribly out of place.

      She was supposed to be alone here.

      And then she remembered. She had slept with her husband last night. Any other woman with that exact thought would have thought nothing of it and gotten up to greet him and eat. But not her. No, she fell back against the pillow face first, sandwiching her head in between two white pillows and pressing hard.

      Then someone entered. She felt it rather than hearing anything since the pillows served as a muffler for most noises. But Darien's voice penetrated the layers of down feathers.

     "Serena?" She was quiet. "Serena, I know you're awake." Still she remained still and silent. She heard Darien sigh. "All right, you asked for it."

      She was about to ask what she had asked for when he landed on top of her, tickling her motionless body from under the sheets. Her stifled shrieks came immediately and she quickly retaliated, hitting in the general direction of his head repeatedly with one of her pillows. He missed each clumsy endeavor with ease since her face with still buried in one last pillow. His agile fingers went from her arms to her stomach. Serena felt them go lower still and sat up, slapping his hands.

     "No, Darien. Not the knees, Darien!" She yelped as he paid no heed to her and tickled the backs of her knees, causing tears of laughter to spring to her eyes. "Stop!" She pleaded, still trying to ward off his hands with her own.

     He suddenly obeyed her repeated command, staring at her as she wiped her damp face and glared at him. He was leaning on his knees and the backs of her bare feet, his hands resting flat on his thighs.

      He was wearing his own clothes. A pair of sweatpants she had always borrowed, accompanied by an old college T-shirt. She had taken the outfit so many times he had just given them to her, telling her with a sound kiss that she looked better in them anyway.

      But looking at his still damp hair from an obvious shower and playful cerulean eyes, Serena had to disagree. Darien looked better, hands down.

      They stared at each other for a few minutes, each of them slightly out of breath. Serena maintained eye contact with him as a pillow from her hand came crashing into his face. He was still smiling when it connected with him. She laughed triumphantly, leaving the bed gracefully and quickly evading his grasp as she reached for her.

     She ran to the kitchen, plopping down on a chair as she helped herself to the breakfast he had prepared. He came in shortly after, sitting across from her as they ate in silence.

      Then came the uncomfortable sensation Serena had been dreading from the moment she had remembered what had transpired last night. Only Darien didn't look too uncomfortable, in fact, he looked completely at ease. Well, she mused dryly, Darien never let anyone see him sweat on the few, rare occasions he actually did.

      Deciding to end the charade of pleasantry, Serena placed her fork down on her plate. Sensing she wanted to talk, Darien followed suit, pushing his plate away from him to signify she could commence.

    "Darien, I—" She stopped short when she realized she had no idea what to say.

      "Yes?" He coaxed gently, his face devoid of any mocking smirk or arrogance.

      "What happened last night was—"

      "Fabulous." He grinned and covered her hand with his own.

       "Yes," she agreed without thinking, smiling at the memory. Then she realized that what she said completely contradicting her overall purpose. " I mean, no! Well, yes, it was, but *no*."

      "Forgive me, Darling, but I'm confused." He gave her a sheepish smile, but he still was not ridiculing her.

      He had called her 'darling', she thought tenderly. But she remembered why they had split apart in the first place; that still held true. They were just too different with contrasting desires in life. Not to mention the promise she had made to herself last night in the restroom. Now less than twelve hours later, she was considering throwing it down the drain because of the man who had driven her to make such a resolve in the first place?

      Her headache got worse. She dropped her head in her folded arms on the table.

      He was concerned immediately. "Serena?" He called, worry seeping into his voice.

     "I'm fine." She sighed and lifted her head up, pushing her tangled hair out of her face. "I'm fine." She looked across the table at his anxious face. Why did she want nothing more than to frame that face with her hands and kiss his furrowed brow, give him a hug and tell him she loved him?

      Because she was stupid.

      Instead of acting, she began talking. "I don't know what happened last night, Darien, but just because it *did* happen doesn't mean we can go back to the way things were."

      "I understand."

      She leaned back in her chair, taken back. "You do?" Why was she perversely disappointed that he wasn't arguing with her?

      "Yes." He nodded. "Just because we made love doesn't mean we're meant to be married forever—"

     "Exactly," she agreed. "We still differ on the topic of having children and who knows what else."

      "Right."

      "Right."

      Awkward pause.

      "Is there someone else?" He asked quietly.

      "What?" Her head snapped up from its lowered position. She allowed herself to think about 666. Yes, he had left her there last night, but she knew him from his letters. In the light and clarity of the day, she knew deep down there was a good reason for his lack of appearance—666 wasn't the kind of man to pull such a thing. But despite the connection and attraction she felt with him, it didn't mean she was ready for an intimate relationship. She was still resolving feelings for the man in front of her. She sighed. "Well, I thought there wasn't—but maybe. I'm not sure." She rubbed her face tiredly. "I just don't know."

      He nodded understandingly, not saying one word.

      "What about you?" She asked carefully. "Is there anyone?"

      "No," he shook his head adamantly. "It's always been you, Serena. Only you." He smiled self-deprecatingly and got up from the table. He walked over to where she sat, and leaned down to kiss her cheek, whispering, "Take care." Then he was gone.

     It was only after she had placed all the dishes in the sink that she allowed herself to go back into the bedroom. She sat down where he had slept, lying down after a moment. She inhaled the scent of him that still lingered. Hugging the pillow he had used, she pulled it closer to her body and cried. She cried because she still knew she loved him and part of her always would. She cried because she still wore her wedding band and could not, for the life of her, take it off. And she cried because he had been wearing his as well.

------------------------

     Darien reread all of her letters. She loved him—that much was certain, but then why had she sent him divorce papers? Neither of them had wanted to acquire one. He pulled out a piece of paper, planning on drawing it out of 1369. Then he remembered that Serena didn't know who 666 was. Meaning she thought she had been stood up last night. Groaning at the excuses and apologies he would have to make before he got any information, he booted up his computer and started on the rough drafts.

----------------------

      Serena couldn't help but go to the post office, hoping that something would be there and then chiding herself for hoping.

      "Hey, Will," she greeted with a forced smile.

      "Hello." He noticed her downcast expression despite the attempt she made to look cheerful. "Don't look so glum—there's something here for you."

      Now that she was certain 666 had sent her something, anxiety ran through her. What would he say? What would his excuse for leaving her there be? Of course, if he had shown up, she and Darien probably would not have…

      Stop it! she commanded herself. She couldn't go down that road.

     She opened the envelope slowly and carefully, unfolding the pages with a caution she had not previously exercised. She knew it was because she was stalling. Finally, curiosity took over and with a deep breath, she began to read.

1369,

      No doubt you are very angry with me right now. It is perfectly understandable seeing as how I insisted upon meeting and then didn't come. Let me say in my defense that I did go to Roberto's and I did see you. But I couldn't bring myself to confront you as 666.

      You see, you remind me of my wife in so many ways. Sometimes I can imagine her saying the exact same things you do. And then when I saw you sitting there in that white dress, you looked so much like her. I left soon after.

       Please don't think that I'm trying to replace her with you. That is not my intention at all. But the similarities were there and I was surprised. It was a cowardly thing I did by leaving and I'm thoroughly ashamed of myself.

      What I'm about to share with you is no excuse by any stretch of the imagination, but I hope it can shed light on the reason behind my dastardly actions. I recently got divorce papers from my wife. A man came to my office, handed them to me and told me to have a nice day. I had no idea they actually said that—I always assumed it was only in movies for irony's sake. I just sat there, staring at the papers for nearly an hour. I couldn't believe it had come to this. That she wanted to be done with me, with *us*.

      In any case, I hope our failed meeting does not completely spoil our relationship, for I find myself in need of a close friend more than ever now. I'd hate to think I'd lost such a good companion due to one moment of stupidity. Once again, let me apologize.

      I'm sorry, 1369.

                                                                                                                        666

P.S. I am the only one who feels ridiculous using numbers in place of names? Just a thought.

     Serena closed the letter. She could relate to him on more than one level. She remembered how she felt when she received Darien's note telling her of his desire to separate. She looked at the letter, biting her lip. There was no question about forgiving. Somewhere in her, she had given it to him before he had even asked for it. But should she break her vow to write no longer write to him?

----------------------------

      Darien checked the post office obsessively for the next forty-eight hours, growing more and more terrified as he came up empty. She had not replied to him for two days, this was the longest he had waited for a reply from her. Usually she answered the next day, if not the very same day. It was fitting that the one time his fate and love rested on the answers in one letter, it took its sweet time in coming to him.

      Of course, Serena must have taken up some in deciding whether or not to forgive him and continue correspondence with him.

      On his sixth trip there that day, Will finally handed him a thin envelope with a rueful smile. Darien could have kissed him. He only made it as far as his car before tearing it open. Discarding the shredded white envelope, he eagerly pored over his wife's words.

666,

     Admittedly I was hurt when I finally realized that you weren't coming. But I took it as would any strong, independent woman. I guzzled wine.

     But I think since I can relate to how you were feeling, it is quite easy for me to forgive you. You also mind me of my husband; I suppose it is only natural to look for similarities. Perhaps if you had arrived first and I had seen you sitting there, maybe I would also have been struck by similarities and left. What I'm trying to say in my own roundabout manner is that I forgive you. In fact, let's forget about the whole sordid thing.

      Divorce papers. Lord, one can only know the pain you must have felt if one has gone through the same torture. Amazingly enough, we can add this ordeal to the growing list of painful experiences both of us have dealt with.

      I'll never forget when I got a note from my husband saying he wanted a divorce. He asked me on stationary that I got him as a gift. He had typed (not even handwritten): I think we both agree this isn't working. Should I draw up the divorce papers or will you take care of it? I nearly died—if it is possible to die of a broken heart. I remember thinking that four years were condensed down to those sentences. Those awful sentences. The strange thing was it didn't sound like my husband at all. It simply wasn't like him to leave things like that. That letter didn't sound like it came from the man I married. It was cold, impersonal and detached. My husband was warm and passionate.

      It would have been nicer to end on the note where I remembered him as the kind man I fell in love with rather than to have that note be the last string we had between us. So I understand your pain, I really do. It hurts more than anything; it's like having a part of die so that you're not functional anymore. You just shutdown, hoping that by not living, you won't be able to feel anything anymore. Not the pain, not the dejection, and especially not the feeling of inadequacy that haunts you daily. The feeling that you simply weren't good enough, that maybe if you had done things a bit differently, it would have worked.

       I think it's the regrets you make yourself run through over and over again that are the worst. Because that is not pain that any other person is inflicting on you. It's some masochistic part of you that's rehashing every mistake you made and analyzing it under blinding lights and razor sharp utensils.

      We're our own worst enemies in many ways, I suppose.

                                                                                                                        1369

      Darien cried for her, for the heartbreak she had to face alone, and for the fact that she thought it was him that caused it. He could see it from her perspective. He was the person who had sworn not to hurt her, to protect her from anyone that might do so and she had shattered at his hands, or so she thought.

     He knew who had sent the note as him, it wasn't hard to figure out considering. Melissa had pulled a similar stunt like this when he and Serena had been engaged. Her lies and deceitful meddling nearly cost them happiness twice now. But right now, Melissa wasn't important. Serena was.

      He was at a loss for only the second time in his life. Funny how both the times he felt complete helplessness was where Serena was concerned. The previous time had been when she had left his apartment, entering the freezing rain and leaving his life…or so he thought. But he had gotten her back and they had married. Now, four years later, he stood on the precarious edge of losing her again.

      She wasn't ready for him to barge into her new apartment and declare his alter ego, 666. He had left her confused and uncertain. She needed space and time. Unfortunately for him, both of the things she needed required his patience. One of the things he was the most horrible at showing.

------------------------

      She was both anticipating and dreading the reply to her letter. It was by far the most personal she had ever gotten to 666. She had told no one about the note Darien had sent her, shame preventing her from opening up to anyone about how hurt and rejected she had felt.

     William gave her the letter the next afternoon. After thanking him, she left and waited until she got home before tearing through it. She practically tripped over herself to absorb the words fast enough, sometimes skimming ahead by a few sentences and forcing herself to go back and read carefully.

1369,

      I let out a huge sigh of relief when I found your letter waiting for me after long days of chewing my nails. Your forgiving nature extracts admiration from me, but I cannot say that I am that surprised. It simply seems like a quality that you would have.

      Your spousal story sounds just as heart-wrenching as mine, if not more so. You mentioned how it did not sound like your husband, and that the note was typed. Perhaps it was not sent from your husband at all. Of course, that's just my Perry Mason-watching mind at work, after all, who randomly wants to split a couple up?

      My friend is a therapist and actually gave me a few of his colleagues' cards (If I were Jewish, the words would be: Oy Vey). He suggested talking about my wife as a way to get closure and move on. Well, I'm game if you are, 1369. I can't say that I mind too much; I like talking about her. I've heard of separated couples hating each other with a vengeance, and though I'm not sure how my wife now feels about me, I can honestly say that I'll never feel any animosity toward her. It seems hypocritical to love someone while one is with that person and then hate him/her just a few signed papers later. But there is a thin line between, I suppose…

      The letter went on to talk about his wife in the most loving manner Serena had ever read. It was clear that he was still very much in love with her, and any insists about his moving on were moot. She couldn't imagine why on earth a woman would want to cut all ties with such a wonderful man. He was sweet, funny, charming, and utterly masculine.

      Serena's thoughts fell to his physical appearance. When reading his letters, she had always imagined him to be handsome, but she really didn't know did she? It should not have mattered—it *didn't* matter. But, in an entirely guilty way, she imagined that 666 looked like Darien. At least a little bit. Or a lot. She tried to tell herself that it was only natural, being with one man for so long. Not to mention the fact that when she conjured up a picture of the most attractive man in her mind, Darien's picture always came. Corny as it was, Serena had considered herself lucky. Many women replaced their lover's face with that of a movie star's. She didn't have to—Darien was her ideal and she had him.

     Or rather, she had had him.

--------------------------

      Darien didn't go to work that day. His eyes had fallen upon a shelf on one of the bookshelves reserved for photo albums and he had pulled them all out the previous night. Usually Serena was the one to arrange them and look over them sentimentally. But he had flipped through the pages all night and into the morning, memories flying from the pictures toward him with each photograph.

      Their wedding album had been something she had insisted they do together. He had complained, but it had reminded him of the time they had put together the wedding album for Andrew and Rita. He vividly remembered kissing Serena, watching her run away, obviously shaken up. The next time they had tried to work on the album… Well, he shook his head, smiling at the memory, the fortune cookies had made him do it.

      He could still remember what both of the slips of paper had said: Romance and passion await you. How could he not have kissed her after that? She had turned into a stuttering fool, fumbling about, hastily trying to gather her equilibrium and leave.

      The memories they shared with that album had stayed with both of them as they tried to work on their own together. But every time they set themselves down to work on it, they ended up ordering in Chinese and making love. It had taken them a year to finish it, just in time for their first anniversary. After that, Serena had insisted on putting together albums, he was a distraction and a bad influence it seemed.

      He had started with the earliest pictures of Serena, Andrew, and himself. Serena was always crying and he and Andrew were constantly pointing and laughing. Darien never realized how much they had terrorized the younger girl. Back then, Serena had seemed like a kid sister. She had taken a lot from both of them. He reminded himself to apologize and even ask her how on earth she had survived without therapy. Then he realized, for the zillionth time, that Serena wasn't simply in the next room or downstairs. It was a sobering thought.

       He switched to the album from when they were a bit older. Darien recognized this period of his life immediately. Hormones had kicked in and girls were suddenly more attractive than they ever had before. It was at this time that Serena had switched from being a younger sister to a full-fledged girl with pretty eyes and nice legs that she rarely let people see.

      He had almost kissed her in the kitchen that one summer. She had dodged his advances beautifully; looking flustered and utterly lost without her thick glasses. Looking back, he was glad she hadn't let his juvenile tactics work. Their first kiss in his car on the way back from the airport had been too perfect. For eight years, the blonde, slim girl had been in the back of his mind, driving him crazy. He wondered what she looked like, who else had discovered those eyes and legs, and when she would be back. But most of all, he wondered what it felt like to kiss her.

      When she stepped off the plane, expressively astonished to see him there, he knew that at last he would know the answer to his pressing question. He knew he would kiss her before the day was over. And he had. And it had been more than he had ever anticipated…or wanted.

      Serena hadn't been what he expected. When she breezed out of the airplane and into his home, his work, his life, it had been an intrusion that he had not minded at all. And *that* was what bugged him, his complete enjoyment of her coming back to him. After Melissa, he had sworn himself to a life of bachelorhood. When he was around Serena, that vow seemed to fly out the window. Instead, he began wondering what would have happened if Serena had stayed and he had married her and not Melissa. But eventually, he had married Serena.

      Darien had spent two hours on the thick, silver and white patterned album that captured that glorious event. It started with a large photograph of only them, her back to him as he placed his hands on her hips and she held her bouquet of flowers. The background held a gray stunted pillar with a vase of white flowers resting on top of it. A sheer white drape was knotted to the pillar and it swung around to be wrapped around a larger pillar with a long vine of white roses and greenery diagonally winded around the entire pillar.

       It had been a beautiful, relatively small wedding. And unlike the travesty of one with Melissa, Darien could remember every detail. How she looked coming down the aisle in an elegantly cut dress with a minimal amount of tulle. How she had bit her lip nervously, but smiled like an angel when she made eye contact with him. Even the wink she gave him as he said his vows. It had purposely thrown him off by a beat, causing both of them to smile privately. He remembered the way she smelled, like flowers and vanilla. He remembered the cool feel of the ring she slipped on him and the way her smaller hand slipped into his trustingly as he did the same. He could still hear the clink of her wedding band hitting her engagement ring.

      Years later, he still loved to hold her hand. He could hear the distinct ring of their bands hitting each other. It reminded him of safety, warmth, and a life lacking solitude. He missed all that. By the time he had flipped to the last page of their album, his cheeks were damp and his eyes sore. But the last page made him smile. It was a shot of them behind their cake. Serena had lifted a small piece to feed to him and instead had smashed it in his face. It was a direct parallel of the picture below the wedding one. It was a blast from the past. It was her sixth birthday, where he had pushed her into her cake. Below the picture was a slip of paper. He opened it.

        Darien,

            So you *finally* looked at this album, huh? I check this book weekly, hoping that you've gotten off your lazy butt and browsed through it. I look forward to the day where this piece of paper is no longer here—that way I'll know you've been here. That way I'll know that I have finally had a chance to say: GOTCHA! Revenge is sweet, but loving you is sweeter.

                                                                                                            Your wife always,

                                                                                                                                    Serena

     What the hell had taken him so long to appreciate her for what she really was to him? He had always loved her during their marriage, that he knew without a doubt, but now, with her absence, his love for her grew to such an alarming height that he physically ached. At that moment he knew that losing her was not an option, just like not breathing for the next five minutes was not an option. He needed Serena. He wasn't living in this house without her; he was simply subsisting. The difference had not been clear to him until she had left. But it would stay with him long after she came back.

      He had only left the albums to check for her reply at the post office. He immediately came back home to read it thirstily, longing for any part of her he could have.

666,

    My husband has this laugh. It's this chuckle that kind of starts off light and gets deeper if what you have to say is worth it. Very few people can draw this special laugh out of him. He told me that I'm the only person that could make him laugh all day. I never told him this, but when I heard him say that, I nearly cried. You see, I should have told him once how his laugh makes me feel. It's a wonderful, wonderful sound. It's kind of like drinking a glass of wine, sitting next to a fire, and just being held by someone. You get warmth and security and happiness when you hear it. Actually, it's probably just me that feels this when he laughs.

      He also has this smile. It's odd, really, when you think about it. I once heard that beauty is symmetry. And my husband is a handsome man. But his smile is the most uneven thing you ever saw. It's a crooked smile, more of a slant than anything else. One side of his mouth, the right side, goes up. And at that moment, I don't care what they define beauty as, because that smile is the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen…

------------------------

      Two weeks later Serena opened the most recent letter from 666, her wish finally coming true. He had finally asked.

1369,

     Dare I suggest it again? Shall we meet? I understand if you say no; your reasoning would be entirely justified. But now more than ever, I feel the need to meet you. Seeing you face to face while we talk…

      Well, it would be surreal, yes, but it would also be wonderful. If I promise to show up this time, will you agree? Of course, I assume I'm exempt from that promise if I'm dead or maimed tragically before our set date. (knock on wood)

     Serena smiled and finished the rest of the letter with a joyful smile on her face. She typed up her response within a few minutes and tripped over herself to get to the post office before they closed.

-----------------------

666,

       This Saturday. Same time, same place, same flower. Don't be late or I might impale myself on my butter knife.

                                                                                                                        1369

P.S. I'm assuming that we will finally know each other's names? I can't really call you 666 to your face without cracking up.

-----------------------

     Serena checked her hair for the umpteenth time before finally exiting her car. She felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Here she was, fidgeting with her hair and the white rose in it, all the while anxiously wondering what 666 would be like. Hopefully, the evening would have a bit of a different ending this time, she thought, unaware of the blush that had risen to her cheeks at the unwitting reminder of that night she and Darien had spent together.

      She patted her blonde twist nervously and grabbed her purse, her heels clicking on the dark concrete as she walked brusquely to the double doors of the restaurant. Flashing the same uniformed man a smile, Serena scanned the few faces she saw, not seeing any flash of another white flower. Refusing to lose heart because she knew deep down that he would show up, Serena took a seat and ordered a glass of white wine. The waiter shot her a familiar look and she felt the need to tell him that she would not be alone and drunk again.

      Suppressing the defensive impulse, she turned when she heard the door open yet again. He was right on time if he entered now. Serena spit out her wine in a watery noise that seemed to draw everyone's gaze to her. Fortunately, Darien hadn't seen her or her projectile waterfall mishap. If he discovered her reasons for being her, she'd be mortified. Deciding to keep her presence a secret, Serena looked around for a back table she could sneak to gracefully when the moment was right. She squeaked when she saw his head rotate, obviously trying to find his date in the restaurant. She only had a few seconds before he finished the semi circle his eyes were sweeping and he made direct eye contact with her. Thinking fast, albeit ridiculously, she threw her fork down underneath the table.

     "Oops," she said lamely for the benefit of the elderly couple still gaping at her due to her spit accident earlier. Smiling sheepishly, she ducked under the table on her hands and knees, the long cloth hiding most of her body from view. She saw Darien's long legs walk past her table as the maitre d' led him to another table.

      When she felt it was safe, Serena popped her head up from one edge of the square table. She locked gazes with the same couple, who now made no effort to politely shoot surreptitious glances. Now they simply gawked. Serena held up her fork, still smiling that asinine grin in order to assure them she was still sane. She gave up after a moments, realizing her toothy smile was probably convincing them of quite the opposite.

      Sitting up in the chair again, she smoothed down her hair and clothes before looking around casually in hopes of spotting Darien's whereabouts. She told herself she was simply looking so that she could avoid an embarrassing confrontation and not so that she could have a glimpse of who he was with. Jealousy ate at her. She told herself she was being unreasonable. Wasn't she herself planning to be here with a man for whom she felt more for than just friendship? Why shouldn't Darien be allowed to do the same? But still, it had been, what, two weeks since they had been in bed together last? And he was off meeting another woman?

      Horrified at her blatant hypocrisy, Serena told herself that no matter what happened, she would always hold Darien in her heart. He was her first love and for that reason he would always have a special place within her. A place that no one could touch. Not even her because it simply hurt too much. It was because of that love that she wanted him to be happy, even if he could not be with her. The time was for new beginnings. She was starting something new here with P.O. Box 666 and Darien could very well be meeting the woman he would marry and find bliss in.

      Serena looked once again and found him sitting alone. Perhaps he was meeting with a business associate. Not that it mattered, she scolded herself, turning to focus on 666 and what he would be like. Where was he?

     She had decided that if he didn't show this time, that was it. For real this time. After all, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. She'd salvage what bits of her pride she had left and give up on the entire idea of love through letters. Maybe love in general. The whole thing was stupid, really. When one thought about it hard enough. When the word 'love' was repeated over and over again until it lost all meaning, that is. Tracing the rim of her water glass with one slender finger, she stared at the ring of condensation that was dampening the tablecloth.

     She felt a man occupy the seat across from her, but kept her eyes lowered, wanting to savor the last few moments of not knowing and the thrill of discovering. She trailed her eyes up his suit-clad chest, broad shoulders, strong chin, aristocratic nose. She had always loved Darien's nose. She had traced it often, telling him it was one of royalty. He had bit her finger playfully and then—

     What the hell was she doing, pondering off on Darien? She snapped her eyes up, forcing them to collide with painfully blue-silver ones. No one else had eyes like that. But, it couldn't be.

      Could it?

     "What are you doing here?" Serena gasped, staring at her husband with such obvious shock he suppressed the impulse to chuckle.

       "I can't say hello to my favorite wife?" He helped himself to the wine she had ordered for 666.

      "Soon to be ex," she reminded him quietly, staring down at her folded hands lying in her lap.

      "Ah, yes." He leaned in closer, causing Serena to automatically go further back in her chair, avoiding contact with him. "The divorce you asked for."

     Serena's head shot up. "*I* asked for? Excuse me, *you* requested one, if memory serves."

      "It obviously does not," he replied drolly, "because *you* sent *me* papers."

      Her mouth fell open as she gaped at him in wonder. Her jaw then clenched. "Only after *you* sent *me* that perfectly awful memo suggesting I obtain them!" She hissed, looking around for any men that could be 666.

      His voice brought her to look back at him. "Looking for someone?"

      "No!" She practically shouted. Realizing how strange her outburst must have sounded, she blushed lightly. "Ah, yes, I am. Now if you'll excuse—"

     "I hope you haven't been stood up." His utterly fake well-wishing nearly made her hand fly up and slap him. He had most definitely struck a sore nerve.

      "I'm sure I haven't. Aren't you meeting someone?"

      "Yes, as a matter of fact, I am." He settled down in the chair, as if making himself more comfortable. As if he planned to stay for a while.

      Serena's teeth clenched harder. "Don't you think you ought to wait for her?" She suggested sweetly.

     "Oh, I'll see her when she comes. Then I'll leave. If your special guest arrives first, you just tell me and I'll disappear." He smirked and brought his head close to hers. "You will recognize him, won't you?"

      She nodded tightly, how could she possibly tell him she have never seen the man before in her life? No, she'd simply have to give him a reason to leave. Or wait and hope his date came soon. Deciding on the former, she signaled the waiter over with a subtle look of her eyes. When he came with the full ice pitcher, she casually stuck her heeled foot out a bit, causing the poor man to tumble past her and dump the contents of the glass pitcher on Darien's lap.

      "Oh!" She stood up as she had planned, one horrified hand covering her mouth. Unfortunately, she had not planned on stepping back on the hem of her long dress. Her shoe pulled the dress taut in the back, sending her tumbling backwards in the chair. Her weight, hard and forceful, caused the chair to topple over, taking her surprised body with it.

     The next thing Serena saw was the crystalline facets of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The second image she registered was her husband's lap, a dark stain spread over his black slacks. She blinked as Darien took her hand and helped her up gently.

      Once she was vertically on the floor, she allowed herself to go through with her original plan. She let her gaze drift to the crotch of his pants. "Oh, no!" She said with the correct amount of dismay. "They're ruined."

     He looked down to survey the damage. "No, I'll be fine. They'll be dry soon enough. It was only water."

      She gritted her teeth. "But your date. Don't you want to change?" She was losing all the tact she had planned on using. But all that mattered was getting Darien out of here.

     "No, I'll be all right. But will you be?" He looked amused at her desperate endeavors. She wondered for a brief second if his knowing look was true. Did he really know everything? shaking off the notion as preposterous, she broke eye contact with him, not able to bear his piercing gaze any longer.

     "I'll be back," she murmured, rubbing her forehead and making her way to the ladies' room. She needed to move on to Plan B. Only problem was, there was no Plan B.

      Tucking stray hairs back into her French twist, Serena formulated an idea that was as ridiculous as it was genius.

      Sighing to her reflection and allowing herself a glance at her slim watch, Serena left the posh bathroom. He was twenty minutes late. Telling herself that he could be here this very moment, thinking she stood him up, Serena squared her shoulders, prepared to take on the enemy.

      Darien's lap was nearly dry to her dismay as she at across from him. She noted that he had ordered them both another glass of wine. Refusing to drink from it, she pointedly took a sip of her water, avoiding the lemon swimming around the glass. She waited in silence and stopped herself from tapping her foot in impatience.

      When the waiter finally came, Serena almost let out a sigh a relief. She barely listened as the waiter told Darien an important emergency had come up and he was needed at home immediately. Serena looked on at the man's skills as an actor and joyously reminded herself to tip him generously.

      Darien left, a worried expression on his handsome face. She felt a small pang of guilt for making him go through such turmoil. However, desperate times…

     She kept her eyes peeled for 666; no one with a white flower was in the restaurant. He was now a half an hour late. With all the commotion and havoc Darien wreaked on her, Serena had not gotten to face the distinct possibility that she may have been stood up yet again. Serena refused to believe that. It simply was not in 666's character. But what did she know about him? Nothing, yet everything. She knew enough to love him. She loved him intimately, but also in a way a close friend would. But she also loved Darien, didn't she? Suddenly overcome with a headache, she rested her forehead in her small hands.

      She lifted her head only when she felt Darien's presence next to her.

     "Serena, the call was for you. There's been some accident at your parent's home."

     "What?" There was no call, she had made it up. And then she caught up. He was lying through his teeth every bit she had! Standing up, she acknowledged just how tricky Darien Sandborn was. The only way she could refute such a statement was to admit to her own lie. She'd simply have to act along and leave. Or pretend to leave and wait outside.

      Sighing in defeat internally, Serena placed an overly concerned look on her face, grabbed her wrap and purse and all but ran out of the restaurant. Once outside, she looked around, unsure of what she should do. She settled for simply walking—666 would not show tonight. She kept her gaze down as she walked through the nearly vacant streets.

      When she lifted her head, she was in a deserted park. It was lit up only by variously placed street lamps tracing the paved path through the park. She sat down on the edge of the large fountain, the cold, cemented ledge seeping through her dress. It was not a chilly night and soon enough, her body heat made the seat comfortable.

      She sighed again, shifting so that her back was pressed flat against the ledge. She raised her legs from the damp grass so she was lying next to the fountain. Her hand idly dropped, touching the warm, clear water with a light caress. Loneliness washed over her, leaving her craving for another's presence. And the first name that popped into her head was Darien's. She knew then that Darien wasn't just her first love, he was her only love. And though he may have moved on, she would always be thinking of only him.

     It was hard not to blame herself, she had pushed him away that morning when he had cheerfully prepared a breakfast for them. She had shoved him aside out of loyalty to a mailbox that had deserted her for the second time. Serena laughed bitterly. Alone and miserable and she didn't have the small comfort of blaming someone—anyone—else.

     But, she sniffed as tears began slipping down, it was valid on her part to want children. Just because he didn't want them didn't mean she had to change. Did it? Well, marriage was about compromise. They could have worked something out—talked about it. They shouldn't have, *she* shouldn't have, given up entirely because of one disagreement. It was not right. In fact, it was downright insulting to their love and relationship. They had overcome so much to be together and she had let it all slip away.

     Her finger went up to meet the space between her nose and upper lip. Needing a tissue, she reached for her purse. Picking it up from the grass below her without getting up, she unclasped it. Instead of a soft tissue meeting her fingers, cool paper was there instead. Puzzled, she sniffed and took it out, letting the purse fall down with a dull thud. Opening the carefully folded note, she leaned her head back, letting the light illuminate the handwritten words.

     The penmanship was one she knew.

1369,

      My wife has this…idiosyncrasy I guess is the right word to call it. Whenever she cries, she rubs her nose with her index finger. She's done it since childhood, I know because I've known her that long and because I used to make her cry daily. I perfected it to an art. As we both grew up, she did it less often, but it only grew more and more endearing to me. I don't think she even realizes she does it anymore.

      I love and hate it when she does 'the little finger thing' (as I've so eloquently dubbed it). It's just about the cutest thing ever. And when she's crying now because of something I've done, it makes me lose the argument quicker than anything you've ever seen. The action melts away the fight and the years. Suddenly, she's ten again and sobbing and I want nothing more than to hug her and reassure her that it'll be okay. You can't begin to imagine the debates I've forfeited because of that one-second gesture.

      Or maybe you can, Serena.

                                                                                                            Darien

      Her tears had stopped somewhere along the course of the letter. There wasn't even time for her to put the puzzle together. She was there with all these missing pieces and then she blinked. When she opened her eyes a nanosecond later, the picture was complete.

      Darien was 666. He knew she was 1369. Which meant, he had read every word she had wrote about him and every sweet, adoring sentence 666 had typed had been about her.

      More than she ever thought possible, she wanted to see him.

     "Serena."

     Letting out a strangled cry, Serena jumped and promptly rolled the wrong way into the fountain. She sputtered for a bit, wiping the water from her face as she sat in the shallow pool, her dress billowed all around her in a red cloud. When she finally looked up at the source of the voice, she was not too surprised to see Darien looking quite stunned and amused at the show before him.

     Her gaze dropped to see the white, long-stemmed rose in his left hand. Then, she lifted her eyes to collide with his. She watched as he carefully placed the flower on the ledge where she had once been lying down. Very slowly and very deliberately, he stepped into the pool with her—fully dressed, down to his jacket and shoes.

     Sitting down right next to her, he stared off into the night. His words were soft, but firm. "I would save you each and every time."

     She knew what he meant without having to ask. "Without taking off your watch?"

     "I suppose I deserve that," he smiled weakly. "Yes, without taking off my watch."

    "What about your shirt?"

     "It would stay on."

     "And your shoes?"

     "I didn't take off my shoes!"

     "Because your father shoved you in after me!"

     There was a moment of silence as they glared at each other.

     "I was young and stupid, Serena. It was meant as a joke—I would have never have let you drown."

     She met his intense gaze with her one of her own. Drops of water clung to her eyelashes. She lowered her gaze before she spoke. "I know. I don't know why I made such a big deal out of it. We were just kids."

     He took her hand and stood up, helping her do the same. Water poured out of them and back into the fountain. "Did this whole thing start with that argument about having children?"

     She slipped her hand out of his grasp, reminded of how they still differed on that topic. She turned to him. "Look, Darien. I know you don't think you're ready…that's okay. We'll wait a bit, see if you change your mind—"

     "Serena," he interrupted gently, planting his hands on her shoulders.

     "Hmm?"

     "I'm ready."

     She blinked. "You are?" He nodded. "Oh, well—well what happened?" Her hands fluttered around wildly, trying to grasp what he was saying. "What changed your mind?"

     He smiled softly, tucking a drenched strand of hair behind her ear. "You."

     They stayed like that for a while looking at each other.

     She finally broke the silence when she said, "I shouldn't have left."

     "I shouldn't have let you leave."

     He bent his head to kiss her. She tilted her face up to meet his lips. When they parted, her brow furrowed. Narrowing her eyes up at him, she asked, "How long have you known and how did you find out?"

      Smiling, he lowered his head and kissed her again. "This is for you." He handed her a medium sized box that he had placed next to the white rose.

      "Darien, I'm serious. I want answers." She smiled through her entire demand, diminishing the urgency of the order. Sighing when he remained silent, she lifted the wrapped lid and placed it on the wet ledge next to her. Taking a handful of the shredded paper out, she put it back in with a puzzled look. "Packing material. How…sweet."

      He smiled. "It's what is left of our divorce papers."

     She looked up, joy shining in her blue eyes. "Darien?" She asked, her voice soft and intimate.

      "Hmm?"

      "Answer my questions."

      He laughed and Serena felt warm despite herself. "Come on, let's escape." Grabbing her hand, he exited the fountain and helped her out after him. "Nice dress, by the way."

      She looked down at the sopping mess her floor length satin dress had transformed into. "Thanks. Thought you'd like it." They grinned at each other for a moment. "Where are we escaping off to?"

     "Home."

------------------------------------

666,

      I thought maybe you might check here. I debated with the idea of telling you in person. But I decided here would be a bit more fitting. I see you looked through the photo album, that made my week. It only took you three years, too. I had dibs on four or five. Remind me to give Rita ten dollars.

      Remember when I asked you how a person knows when it's the right time to give up on something or someone? I didn't know the answer and neither did you. Rita said I would know eventually. And until we both discovered the answer ourselves and together, we needed that time apart. Well, I do know the answer now. I think you do, too.

      So I suppose I should just say it. I'm pregnant, Darien. We're going to have a baby! And maybe someday she (or he) will realize the answer to the question we spent all those months pondering over.

      Never. You never give up.

                                                                                                                        1369

Escape (The Pina Colada Song is by Rupert Holmes. Complete lyrics can be found here:

http://home.att.net/~e.zeiser/lyrics/pina_colada_song.htm Thank you for reading and that's it for Mr. and Mrs. Darien Sandborn.