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Coconut Trees
by Anton M.
Chapter 10: Sandwiches
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Elizabeth felt entirely too warm to wake up, but the sound of arguments and retching got too loud to ignore. She gotten used to wind whistling, people conversing and snoring, but retching was such a distinctly disgusting sound that her mind couldn't ignore it. Many people were still sleeping, and it was light enough to see the surroundings in grey but not so light that she could tell who slept where. She observed the oxygen masks sway in the faintest gusts of wind on the ceiling before she gathered the energy to get up.
Her attempts to sit up were hindered by Darcy's arms around her, and Elizabeth, instead of struggling, nestled her head against his neck.
"Darcy?"
He hummed, squeezing his arms around her and pressing his face against her cheek. His reaction, while asleep, was so precious that Elizabeth almost reconsidered getting up, but the increasing volume of the voices by the lavatory could not be ignored.
"Darcy, I think someone's sick."
His groan was low and rumbly, and he squeezed her tightly as he came to. For a fraction of a second, he seemed completely content, recognising Elizabeth in his arms, his nose touching her cheek, but she was sure she'd imagined it when his arms loosened around her a moment later.
"Sorry," he coughed. "Good morning."
"How do you feel?" Elizabeth asked, carefully getting up and stretching. She was stiff, but the cold air that hit her body felt worse than her stiffness.
Darcy's chest rumbled with the breath he took, and Elizabeth's insides twisted at the sound. He did not seem much better.
She leaned closer to his head.
"Wait here," she whispered. "I'll just go check what's happening."
He leaned on his elbow, turning. "What? What's happening?"
"I'll come get you if you're needed, okay?"
Retching could be heard again, and Darcy sat up at the sound. Elizabeth would've preferred to let him sleep, but he might've been needed, and so she took his hand and helped him up before he, too, stretched. His head hit an oxygen mask before he tore it from the ceiling. Elizabeth wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and took one for herself. Slowly, making sure she stepped on nobody on the aisle, Elizabeth and Darcy made their way to the lavatory. It stunk now that the curtain in front was pulled to the side.
"Lydia keeps throwing up every few minutes, and I don't know why," Roger said. Anna sounded annoyed as she spoke Russian.
Elizabeth couldn't see much, but she hesitated. "Can you get refeeding syndrome in a day?"
"Not unless she suffers from anorexia," Darcy answered. "But vomiting a rarely a symptom of it."
They watched as Lydia took a breath before she leaned over to hurl in the bucket. Elizabeth did not envy her for having her head so close to the contents of it.
Darcy leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes. His sigh was full of exhaustion.
"How much did you eat?"
Lydia looked up at Darcy, eyes wide and face pale, but she started retching before she could respond.
"You think she ate something at night?" Roger asked.
"Enough that her body couldn't handle the amount," Darcy said. "How many sandwiches did we have before bed?"
"111 and a half," Roger replied.
"Be ready for a different count."
Charlotte, who'd woken up and witnessed their interaction, helped Roger and Elizabeth as they slid galley containers from the shelves. One of the containers had always been kept for garbage, and it would've been tough to say if it was more full than on the previous night, but together they counted sandwiches as Darcy leaned against the wall by the lavatory.
"Darcy," Elizabeth said, her eyes now adjusted to the dim light. "Go back to sleep. You need it. There's nothing you can do."
He shook his head and shut his eyes, listening, and sure enough, he could detect a man trying to keep his burping quiet. He followed the voice and found George Wickham lying against the side of the plane.
Darcy did not have enough energy or health to show his anger, and so, in a quiet, calm voice, he asked, "How many sandwiches did you have?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," George replied.
"Lydia told us," Darcy lied. "How many?"
George scrambled to get up. "That little bitch –"
"How many?"
He slumped back against the wall of the plane before he burped, refusing to answer.
Elizabeth walked up to Darcy and squeezed his elbow. "Darcy, we only have 78 sandwiches left. How could Lydia have eaten thirty three?"
"She didn't," Darcy replied. "Our friend Wickham helped."
Elizabeth's eyes landed on George, arms crossed under his blanket. His eyes were shut.
"Jesus," Elizabeth whispered, muffling her frustration in Darcy's sleeve. Roger and Charlotte walked up to them and shared their feelings.
"78," Roger whispered. "Fuck, that puts us back almost one and a half days, or four meals for each person. Fucking idiots. What a waste." He took a long, deep breath, groaning. "Should we wake the others?"
"No," Elizabeth said, trying to keep her voice quieter. "It won't change anything and sleeping wastes the fewest calories. Let them sleep. We'll have a meeting when everyone is up. But, we may have to keep an eye on the galley boxes from now on."
"I'll do it," Roger said, blowing air on his face. "Jesus, what a waste."
Roger and Charlotte, both annoyed but accepting her answer, left. Darcy put his hand on Elizabeth's back, tenderly, guiding her back to where they'd been sleeping, and when he sat down, he pulled her into his lap. He took a raspy, exhausted breath.
"If we resort to cannibalism, I say we eat Wickham first."
Elizabeth laughed a little too loudly before she muffled the sound against his shoulder. Darcy's eyes were alight with amusement.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I did not expect you to say that."
He smiled. It was a grim topic, but truly, she felt that they would lose a bit of their humanity if they couldn't laugh at inappropriate topics even in these circumstances.
It was not impossible that they would resort to cannibalism if they had landed in a tundra with no game to hunt, but Elizabeth still held hope that they were close to a forest or an environment that would provide life for animals, if they were not found before additional food was needed.
Elizabeth very much hoped rescue would arrive before these decisions had to be made.
Darcy squeezed her waist as he held her. No doubt he had a headache and a fever, but he eyed her with such warmth and tenderness and a kind of longing that Elizabeth had to look away. Maybe she was imagining the emotions in his eyes, maybe he was just happy to be kept warm. As if to confirm her thoughts, he pulled her against his chest and cupped the back of her neck. His cheek rested against her ear, and she felt his breath on her neck, but he said nothing.
He jerked when she slid her hand on his waist.
"Sorry," Elizabeth said, taking back her hand. She didn't mean to get carried away, to feel so much in his arms that she forgot they were not who they once were, and she tried not to feel hurt by his reaction.
"Don't apologise." He took back her hand and put it against his waist under his coat. "I didn't expect it. I'll keep you warm."
It was a good reminder that they were doing this for warmth because Elizabeth was starting to get carried away with her hopes and emotions.
"How did you sleep?" Darcy whispered.
"Much better than yesterday – I slept through the whole night. What about you?"
"The blizzard was so loud it kept waking me up. But thank you for keeping me warm, I did get some sleep toward the morning."
"There was a blizzard?"
Darcy smiled, clearing his throat. "I'm glad it didn't wake you."
They sat, huddled under the blankets, distracting themselves with idle small-talk as they waited for others to wake up. Elizabeth tried to convince Darcy to go back to sleep as his watch only showed half to eight in the morning, but he refused.
People started to wake up as it got lighter. Elizabeth took out her (tightly wrapped) camera and, surprised that it still had battery life left, took photos. Whenever circumstances allowed for it, Elizabeth had captured moments on camera. She was determined to continue until the batteries died, but so far, wrapping it tightly in her suitcase whenever she was not using it seemed to have worked.
Lydia stopped retching about half an hour after most people had awoken, and Roger invited everyone around the aisle to have a meeting. Wickham lay in his corner under the blanket, slightly away from the others while Lydia curled up by the window behind Mary.
"Bad news," Roger said. "Some of our passengers ate our food last night. We have 78 sandwiches and not the expected 111 and a half."
"What?!"
"Who the fuck did that?" Orri asked, but most people already glanced at Lydia huddling by the window and Wickham, lying by the wall, ignoring their meeting.
"How did we not hear them?" Charlotte asked.
"The blizzard," Kitty said. "It was crazy loud. Did you really sleep through that?"
Around a half of the passengers, including Elizabeth, had slept through it because of how badly they'd slept the previous night, but the other half said the night had been pitch black and incredibly loud. A rustle of a sandwich wrapper would've been child's play to disguise.
"Why'd you do it?" Kitty asked, not taking her eyes off Lydia.
Lydia, feeling the weight of their judgement, hid her face in her knees. A muffled, "I was hungry," escaped, and people groaned in response.
"Yeah no shit," Lei huffed. "Aren't you just so special. We're just having five course meals next to you."
"What a waste, too," Roger repeated. "She puked up most of it."
"How do we punish them?" Fatemeh asked.
"We can't," Darcy half-whispered before he cleared his throat and squeezed Elizabeth. "As far as we know, sending them off on their own would be a death sentence. The most we can do is deprive them of food today."
"We should deprive them of food, period," Orri said.
"I don't think we should," Elizabeth argued. "I see why it's tempting, but we're already so cold and wired up and hungry that this might invite too much conflict. I think one day is enough, at least for Lydia, maybe two or three for Wickham, and then resume to giving them their regular rationed amount."
"It's their own fault!" Charlotte said.
"I don't disagree," Elizabeth said. "But I think not giving them anything will only recreate the problem. One day, we'll wake up to discover that Roger or you or whoever was keeping watch on the galley was threatened with a sharp piece of metal to keep quiet, and just like that – all the food is gone. I think it's safer to not take drastic measures, tempting as that is."
"You've watched too many movies."
"Maybe. Maybe I'm wrong. Should we vote on it?"
"I want what Orri wants," Kitty said. "But I trust you more. I vote we do what Elizabeth suggested."
Anna, understanding enough English to understand the point of discussion, said – pointing at Elizabeth. "Elizabeth."
Lei translated the question to Li Na, and a vote was cast. Elizabeth's suggestion won by a narrow margin, seven votes against six, and Lydia gave Elizabeth a grateful glance when it was decided.
"I'm sorry, I'm just so angry," Charlotte said. "I get it, I get it. It's probably smarter to go with what was decided. I just hate that they barely face consequences for one of the most selfish things you could do in these circumstances."
"I know," Elizabeth agreed. "I know."
Roger let out a sigh so loud and exaggerated that half of the crowd laughed.
"Anyway," he said. "Now that our reserves are significantly lower, should we start getting half a sandwich, twice a day? Once a day?"
"Let me calculate," Charlotte said, closing her eyes. "Twice a day, sixteen people, we'll last almost five days until we run out. Once a day, just below ten days."
"How about we start with twice a day, and revisit this decision each morning?" Mary said.
"I like that," Darcy agreed. "Flexible but reasonable. Should we cast another vote?"
Nine votes against four, Mary's suggestion won.
"It's been two nights now," Fatemeh said. "Do you think they're closer to finding us?"
"They must be," Kitty said. "They could be waiting for the visibility to be better. The weather hasn't been good."
"We don't even know if we're next to a forest or on a cliff or, God, on top of a frozen lake or something."
"I don't understand, though," Lei said. "How can we be having a storm? Didn't the captain say that we would only brush past a storm near Alaska?"
"Climate change?" Kitty asked.
"Not impossible," Charlotte answered. "But it is more likely that the pilot only cared about the weather and clouds at an altitude. You can have different weather conditions on the ground than ten kilometres above it. Or – it may be that we are in a completely different spot than the intended route of the plane. Who knows."
The crowd glanced outside, and although the blizzard had died somewhat, nothing could be seen through the white of the snow. They knew nothing of their environment but that they seemed to be surrounded by a dim, vaguely blueish sky.
Mary walked closer to the lavatory. "The new woman woke up last night. I admit I gave her a full sandwich since she hadn't had anything."
"That's okay, Mary," Roger said. "She survived a full day in worse conditions than what we're in. You made the right call."
Mary visibly relaxed before all eyes landed on the woman, half-lying, half-sitting by the wall. When people realised that her eyes were open and she was observing them, not having said a word, Darcy stepped closer to check up on her. Everyone crowded the chairs around the woman.
"Good morning," Darcy said. "Can you talk?"
The woman blinked at the crowd, lips still blueish, and Darcy helped her sit up.
She nodded.
"I'm…" She cleared her throat. "Dame Catherine de Bourgh."
"And I'm the king of England," Darcy replied, pausing as he looked around. "She may be delirious."
The woman, with her wrinkles, short hair flat against her head and make-up that had probably come off, did not resemble the esteemed actress she claimed to be in any shape or form.
"I am not delirious," she replied with more force in her tone. "I demand that you treat me with the respect that my position demands."
Darcy raised his eyebrows, and Lydia scooted closer, eyes wide, realising who they'd had on the airplane. Everyone squinted and whispered, agreeing and disagreeing about whether she was the actress she claimed she was.
"I would like to check your extremities, if you please."
"For what purpose?"
Darcy coughed into his scarf before replying. "Frostbite."
"No de Bourgh ever lost their toes in a blizzard!"
"I'm glad to hear that but you, unfortunately, may have the honour of being the first. May I remove your socks to check?"
She recoiled in horror. "Who do you think you are to ask such a question?"
"The only doctor available on this flight," Darcy replied, wiping his face. He looked sick, exhausted and more than a little annoyed.
"You have not introduced yourself!"
Darcy took a deep breath, full of rumble, and shut his eyes. "I am Doctor Fitzwilliam Darcy. Now, may I remove your socks?"
Dame Catherine tilted her head on the side, lips pursed, as if considering his offer, and nodded. Darcy breathed a sigh of relief as he, carefully and slowly, begun to unroll her socks.
Most of the passengers had stayed by them, observing their arguments and coming to the conclusion that yes, this may have actually been the beloved actress. The mannerisms that felt endearing and, at times, funny in interviews appeared to be further proof of her upbringing and heritage.
"Are you of the esteemed aristocratic Darcy line of Darcys?"
"I don't know how esteemed my family line is given how much my ancestors had sex with everything that moves, but yes. That is probably correct."
Kitty giggled at his comment, and Elizabeth smiled at her. Roger and Charlotte started handing out sandwiches, and Elizabeth hid theirs in her pocket.
"How dare you suggest that the revered Darcy line is not esteemed! I am confident that a part of my family tree is connected to the beloved Darcy line."
"As I said, there might be a single badger in Pemberley my ancestors didn't have sex with, so it is entirely possible."
Lei and Kitty laughed while Mary admonished Darcy for not choosing his words more carefully around children. Darcy gave her a tight, exhausted smile, beyond caring which words came out of his mouth when he had to deal with argumentative patients while he was sick himself.
"Could you hold your foot very still for me, please?"
Dame Catherine ignored him. "You are related to me, then!"
"British aristocracy is ridiculously inbred. Everyone is related if you go far enough."
Dame Catherine, clearly expecting him to rejoice in the possibility of their connection, attempted to move as she opened her mouth, but Darcy kept his hand on her knee.
"Hold still. Do not bend your foot."
"I don't understand why you are fussing about with my foot! It doesn't hurt! I can barely feel it."
Darcy took a careful look at the Dame's face before he returned his attention to her foot.
"I do not think this news is as good as you expect it to be."
A few people looked away when he removed her socks because the discolouration, dark blackish blue, and the detached skin were undeniable. Darcy observed it in silence before he removed her socks on the other foot, which seemed slightly better.
"My advice to you would be not to attempt to walk," Darcy said as he carefully begun putting her socks on again. "I cannot predict if you've already lost your toes but if you at all care about keeping them, do not bend your feet and do not walk. We will find a way to help you to the lavatory, but that is the extent of the movements your feet should go through."
"You must be joking!"
"I assure you I am not," Darcy replied.
"I am fine! I can walk just fine, let me show you."
She begun to turn on her side, but Darcy took hold of her elbow and made her look at him.
"Dame Catherine, I cannot keep you from doing what you wish but any future doctor who will have to handle your feet will not thank you for your stubbornness. Please."
Dame Catherine and Darcy stared at one another, neither saying a word, until the Dame relaxed and pulled her blankets closer around her shoulders. Whispers, disbelief and admiration surrounded her, and Darcy stepped back, sitting down where Elizabeth made room for him.
"How did you survive being outside for an entire night?" Lydia asked the Dame.
Dame Catherine narrowed her eyes at her, as if to show her displeasure of her character, but answered her nevertheless.
"I do not think you will be surprised to know that the plane split in pieces. I was in another part, a very small part. It is possible that the middle shattered against the sharp mountainside but a tiny fraction of the front remained intact enough for two half-rows of seats. Two others survived but they were too injured to move and died in the cold. I found shelter against the wind on the side of the plane."
"You did not see us?"
"No. It was dark and windy. I thought everyone else had died and did not sleep a wink. It was a night more terrifying than any other I've lived through."
Nobody could argue with her. As injured and full of fear they all were, they had the relative warmth of the plane and each other. She'd been alone.
"What's it like, outside? Where are we?"
"There is a cliff meters away from where you see snow, right here – " She pointed at the wall of snow on the front of the plane. "We are on a mountainside. I am almost certain that there is a forest nearby, where your tail is pointing. There may be a frozen lake on one side but it could also be a field."
"Did you see any distant lights?"
"No," she replied, to the disappointment of many. "I saw nothing. The visibility is terrible, and I may be wrong about the forest."
Multiple people, eager to hear more, asked more questions, but the Dame looked at them as if their mere presence was beneath her, and pursed her lips.
"I am very tired," she said. "I would like to be left alone now."
Nobody dared argue with her, and Darcy and Elizabeth moved away from Dame Catherine and back to the seats they now considered to be theirs. Elizabeth gathered their bottles of water and his pills. Once again, Darcy pulled her in his lap and leaned his head against the headrest. He shut his eyes. Elizabeth rubbed his forearm before he caught her hand in his, holding it against his chest.
"I'm not sure if I find her scary, funny, or worthy of admiration," Elizabeth whispered.
"Perhaps that is how it should be," Darcy replied with the smallest of smiles, squeezing her hand. Her side was flush against his chest, and his breath warmed her face. "I feel like she may have kept herself alive by sheer stubbornness, simply refusing to die."
The morning had not brought as much hope as Elizabeth had been counting on. She had certainly hoped for better weather as it had seemed to be quieting down last night, and they would need to start melting snow for water in at least two days if not the next day. Anna had found a half-empty matchbox on the previous morning, so Elizabeth knew they had something to light a fire with, and it was good to know that they might have a forest nearby, but they seemed no closer to being rescued now than on the previous morning.
Elizabeth shifted a bit in Darcy's lap before she took their sandwich and tore it in half, always leaving the bigger piece for Darcy. He took his piece without paying attention, and both started eating, feeling like the little pathetic airplane sandwich was becoming, quite possibly, the best one in the world.
Darcy paused, looking at his half-eaten sandwich.
"Ham?" he asked.
Elizabeth smiled. "Would you prefer I threw a fit over it?"
"No." He squeezed her closer. "I prefer you well-fed. I'm glad you're eating meat. Thank you."
Elizabeth pursed her lips in a smile, covering his hat-covered ear with her mitten before she kissed his cheek and continued eating her breakfast. His lips parted as he stared at her lips and grazed his fingers over her cheek before he, like her, turned his attention to the best sandwich in the world.
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