Again, thank you for the reviews! They make my day!

So I'm trying this system where I don't post a chapter until the majority of the next one has been written, except I'm sort of cheating on this one because I only have an outline and one scene of the next chapter written. But my weekend is booked solid, so I wanted to get you this little thing before I go AWOL for a couple days. Besides, YAY, BERT!

I own nothing.

She has been in London for almost a week now. Jane puts on a wonderful brat act while the sun shines through the windows. At nightfall though, she pads to Mary's room and allows Mary to brush her hair. More than that, she allows Mary to ask her questions and, even beyond that, she answers the questions honestly.

It would be fine and dandy except for one thing; on more than one occasion, Mary has felt that same strange urge to confess or explain or something. Explain! Mary Poppins never, ever explains! She shows, demonstrates, leads people to conclusions. But she never explains herself! Even if she did, she's sure she could never find the right words.

Almost as worrying, there have been occasions where she has laughed with Jane. Genuinely laughed with a bright smile before remembering herself. It has been years since Mary has laughed genuinely. To be honest, there's only one person who could ever illicit anything other than a small smile with any sort of frequency.

If Mary were given to sentiment, she'd have to admit that she almost considers Jane a friend. But Mary is not given to sentiment and avoids thinking about friendship as much as possible, since that road will inevitably lead to a park not very far off that her dearest, and only, friend calls his own. One she has yet to visit this time around.

They had been too close to saying something the last time they were alone together. Far too close. He had all but asked her to stay and she was almost ready to beg him to ask her.

"Mary Poppins, "Jane starts.

"Yes?" she replies, dragging the brush through Jane's blonde locks.

"Have you spoken to Bert since your return?"

"And when, pray tell, would I have found the time to sneak off and do that?" Mary snaps.

"It was just a question."

Mary sighs. Practically perfect people do not lose their tempers or get defensive. She draws herself up. "I have not seen him yet. I'm sure he's very busy and wouldn't have time for a proper conversation."

Jane grins. "I think Bert will always have time for you, Mary Poppins," she says in a peculiar tone of voice.

"Jane, explain yourself, if you please." Sometimes the nanny role is completely effortless.

"Just a theory Michael and I once had," Jane answers in the suggestive yet cryptic and teasing tone that seems to be inbred in young women "Ow!" she exclaims when Mary yanks the brush through a tangle. She glances back to see that the unshakable brunette looks completely shaken and decides to push her luck further. "You never did answer my question, Mary Poppins."

"What question?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

"Practically perfect people never allow sentiment to muddle their thinking," Mary replies loftily, hoping that will be the end of that.

"So practically perfect people can't love? That hardly seems practically perfect to me."

And she doesn't know how to respond to that. Mary Poppins, who always has an answer for everything, doesn't have an answer! So she changes the subject to the one thing she knows will make Jane forget all about the question of Mary Poppins loving. "While we're on the subject of love, isn't your father bringing home a few callers from the bank tomorrow?"

Jane sighs in frustration. "Junior associates from the bank. Perfectly acceptable and perfectly boring."

"Now, Jane-"

"I don't see how you can sit there and tell me to be open to love when you're so closed off!" Jane exclaims, getting up. "It's really quite hypocritical of you." She sniffs and storms to her own room.

Mary stares at her. She's been called many things—impudent, tricky, sneaky, even, at one point, a monster—but no one has ever accused her of being hypocritical before.

0ooo0

The next day, Mary goes for a walk before breakfast. Jane and Michael are more than old enough to be getting themselves out of bed at this point and besides, Jane's words from the night before spur her on.

She finds him just as she expects to, hunched over a chalk drawing—a beautiful mountain scene this time. She drops a coin in his nearby hat. "Excuse me," she says quietly, "but that's a lovely drawing. It almost seems as if you've been there before."

"Only in my mind, ma'am," he replies absent-mindedly as he puts the finishing touches on the portrait. Then he turns around and a grin a mile wide overtakes his face. "Why, as I live and breathe, if it ain't Mary Poppins!"

"Hello, Bert," she smiles shyly.

"How long has it been? Nearing on ten, eleven years, isn't it?"

"I suppose, yes, that sounds about right. You haven't aged a day."

"And you look even younger and more beautiful, if such a thing were possible."

Mary laughs to hide the blush. He's right, though, her youthful looks are the one vanity she allows herself—well, after all she never claimed to be perfect, only practically so! "None of your larking about, Bert," she chides gently.

"Well, I'll eat my hat if I'm not right, I will. So, where are the new little ones? Not afraid of old Bert, are they?" He pretends to look under the park bench to lure the surely shy new charges out.

Mary smiles at his silliness. It has been years but he hasn't changed at all. "Actually, Bert, it's just me."

"You're not on a job?" he frowns, looking confused. Mary Poppins is nearly always on a job.

"No, no, I am, but they're not here with me."

"Oh, well, it is a little early for young children to be out of bed. A little chilly too."

"Bert, I've…"

He waits patiently until it's clear she's not going to continue without a little prodding. "You've what?"

"You know my charges this time."

"I do?"

"Jane and Michael Banks."

"Well, I'll be!" he exclaims in surprise. "You've returned to Cherry Tree Lane, have you?"

"Indeed I have."

Then he does a little mental math. "Aren't they getting a little old for your help, Mary? I mean, Jane must be nearing 20 now and Michael not much younger."

"Jane is 18, thank you very much. And they still need me."

"Mary Poppins, if you say they need you, they need you. I just thought you were like lightning, never striking in the same place twice."

"I don't, usually."

"Jane is 18, you say?"

"She is. Turning into a fine young woman, if a bit impetuous."

"So she'd be the right age. You don't think that she's…" he trails off meaningfully.

Mary understands what he's thinking. "I suppose," she thinks aloud slowly. "Anything is possible, but… No. No, I wouldn't ask that of her. I couldn't."

"But it is possible?"

"Anything is possible, Bert. But I won't have what you're thinking be the truth."

He sighs and grins lopsidedly to hide the sadness. "I'm just glad you've returned to London, Mary."

"Bert, I-"

"Yes?"

She loses her nerve. "I would be grateful for your company next Tuesday afternoon for tea. If it's convenient for you."

"I'll do you one better, Mary Poppins. I'll give you my whole day."

"Oh, Bert, it is good to see you again!"

"Don't be a stranger, Mary. Once upon a time, you were far more than that. And you should bring the Banks by some time. Perhaps for a little holiday?"

"We shall see, Bert. All in good time."

Ah, what can Bert and Mary be talking about? Well, that's between me, my story, and one of my best friends who I bounce all my story ideas off of. All in good time, my friends. All in good time.

I'm kind of going along with the idea that Bert is kind of magical too, so he wouldn't age. Mostly because I want Bert and Mary to be in love forever and ever.

I hope this was a decent way to pass a few minutes!

-Juli-