Chapter 5

The door of Ben's Delicatessen opened, and Fakir was greeted by the peppery scent of cured meats and the chatter of its Yiddish-speaking patrons. He maneuvered around elderly couples in line for rye bread and meat, past younger folks out for a quick evening meal, making his way to a corner table where the bespectacled Autor sat, newspaper in hand.

The newsprint blocking the journalist's face lowered a fraction as Autor raised an eyebrow at the sight of Fakir's new haircut. "This is unexpected. You're actually well-groomed for once," Autor quipped, shuffling the pages of the newspaper in his hands.

Expecting a biting comeback, Autor lowered his newspaper further when the man sitting across from him made no response except for a wordless grimace. "What's wrong? Did the cat get your tongue?" the journalist asked as he folded up the newspaper and turned his full attention onto Fakir.

When Fakir answered with more silence, Autor sniggered. "Hmm, or should I say duck got your tongue?"

This little jab seemed to have the desired effect and spurred Fakir to cast an annoyed glare at Autor. "Oh, shut up!" Fakir muttered before exhaling a long breath, his brows still locked together.

Deciding he had teased Fakir enough for the time being, Autor leaned back in his chair. "So, what happened?"

"It's none of your business," Fakir shot back.

But Autor knew how Fakir had a hard time focusing on anything else when matters related to Duck were on his mind. Thus, he had no intention of carrying on a one-sided conversation whist the policeman sat and stewed in his own thoughts in silence.

"Fakir, I have made a career out of minding other people's business. At the moment, that includes yours," Autor rejoined primly, his arms crossed across his chest.

Fakir gave Autor a hard stare as he tried to decide whether to punch the nosy newshound or disclose his personal problems to him. Deciding the former would require far more energy than he could spare, Fakir relented.

"It was Duck's birthday yesterday. She was supposed to go to the zoo with her friends, but they cancelled last minute, so I went with her instead."

"Ah, so you went on a date with her?"

"It wasn't a date!" Fakir insisted stubbornly, to which Autor rolled his eyes. Moving on, Fakir continued, "In any case, I…I'd gotten her a present, but she didn't take a shine to it."

"What did you get her?" Autor arched an eyebrow warily. "I hope it wasn't anything…salacious?"

"For the love of—! No, Autor!" Fakir yelled, his face coloring when nearby patrons cast curious glances his way. Lowering his voice, Fakir said quickly, "It was a pendant. A red carnelian pendant."

But Autor's brow only arched higher. "You gave her a red carnelian stone?" the journalist emphasized.

The incredulous tone in Autor's voice made Fakir's stomach sink. "Um, yes… what about it?"

"Well," Autor cleared his throat and leaned over the table, "you may be surprised to know this, but I actually know a thing or two about gemstones. A few years ago, I spoke with a woman who claimed to be versed in the ancient knowledge of stones and their powers."

"Wait—you, of all people—believe in that hocus-pocus?" Fakir asked, it now being his turn to cast a disbelieving look at his tablemate.

"Of course not!" Autor retorted quickly. Pushing up his glasses, the journalist explained, "This was two years ago, during the height of the King Tut craze. I was assigned to interview a woman who was a self-purported 'priestess of the All-Goddess, Isis'. I don't know how the bureau chief heard about this woman, but given how Egypt-mad the readership seemed to be at the time, he thought interviewing her would be a newsworthy endeavor.*

"In any case," Autor waved it off, "that was how I ended up at this woman's house where she peppered me with information about ancient Egyptian religion and rituals. One of the things she showed me was a box of stones and amulets, and I remember one of the stones she talked at length about was a red carnelian."

By now, Fakir—in spite of his reservations about the topic—found himself leaning forward to hear to what Autor had to say. "And?" Fakir asked, his sunken stomach twisting inward the longer Autor drew out his story. "What did she say about it?"

Autor paused, and Fakir wondered if he was imagining things, but there was a coquettish look on the usually prudish journalist's face.

Quickly glancing around them, Autor whispered, "She said carnelian, red ones in particular, represented passion and desire. They were worn as amulets to, er—" Here Autor paused. "…boost male potency and virility."

Watching Fakir's reaction, Autor saw all of the color drain from the detective's face. Burying his face in his hands, Fakir uttered a long groan into his palms.

The jewelry store owner never mentioned that! Fakir fumed, too mortified to look up. No wonder Duck refuses to wear the pendant! God, she must think I'm a pervert, or some sort of deviant!

Across from Fakir, Autor watched the dark-haired man with a mix of pity and concern. "Fakir?" the journalist ventured, but his tablemate only answered with another pained groan.

As Fakir sat hunched over the table, a waitress—who was the co-proprietor of the deli and Autor's aunt—approached them and said affectionately to Autor, "How's everything, bubbeleh? Are you and your friend doing all right?"

"Um, yes?" the corner of Autor's lips twitched as his eyes darting from Fakir to his relative. "Can you give us a moment, please, Aunt Judith?"

Seeing Fakir's despondent state, Aunt Judith bent down and whispered to Autor, "Is your friend feeling all right, dear? Should I get him some soup? Bubbeh's matzah ball soup can cure anything, you know."

Autor exhaled a soft, exasperated sigh. As gently as he could, he said to his exceedingly congenial aunt, "I don't think this is something soup can fix, Aunt Judith…" Repeating his request earlier, Autor said earnestly, "Please, could you give us a few minutes?"

Aunt Judith pouted but nodded obligingly. "I'll leave you boys to it, then," she gave Autor a light pat on the back. "Just call if you need anything, bubbeleh!"

Once Aunt Judith had retreated out of earshot, Autor turned his attention back to the despairing detective. "Don't look so morose, Fakir," the journalist cajoled. "That is just one of a number of meanings people have attached to these bits of stones and baubles, and quite an esoteric meaning at that. Duck probably has no idea about it."

Seeing Fakir still doubled over in his chair, Autor decided a change in topic was needed to distract the detective from his misery. He coughed loudly, which succeeded in getting Fakir to look up from between his fingers.

"I called you here for a reason, Fakir," Autor said emphatically. "Ricky came back last week, and I finally got a chance to speak to him about the taxi dancer."

The journalist's strategy was effective, as Fakir ran his hands through his newly shorn hair, his eyes coming to rest on Autor once again.

"What did he tell you?" Fakir asked half-heartedly.

"I didn't ask him about it directly, so to speak," Autor leaned back into his chair again, smirking with a sly glint in his eyes. "I had a feeling he wasn't going to tell me anything if I'd just asked him about it out of the blue. Being jilted is a rather awkward topic to ask someone under normal circumstances, and I wasn't particularly well-acquainted with Ricky. But when I heard he and a couple other fellas at the bureau were planning to visit a local club, I decided a manufactured coincidence was in order."

It took Fakir a moment for him to piece together what Autor was getting at, but once it dawned on him, the detective drew his brows together. "You went to a speakeasy? I can't imagine someone straitlaced like you would drink."

"I don't. I have sworn never to touch alcohol ever again," Autor added darkly. His eyes drifted momentarily away from Fakir down to the table before he looked back up with a thin, wry smile. "However, as much as I abhor the ills that surround alcohol, I cannot deny that it is exceptionally effective at loosening the tongues of men. And if Ricky was intent on being inebriated anyway, why not use it to my advantage? It's a bit underhanded, I admit, but I was not putting his person in danger, and the information he had was worth the attempt.

"I made sure to arrive at the club before the boys did, and ordered a simple glass of punch. Sweetened cocktails are so common nowadays that no one, save for myself and the bartender, would've been any the wiser, and the latter was easily hushed up with a good tip. From there, it was a simple matter of waiting for my quarry to appear and approaching them when they each had gotten at least one round of drinks in them. At that point they were naturally jovial, and proceeded to invite me to join them. After Ricky had tossed back two more gins and tonics, he was more than willing to talk about the taxi dancer who had jilted him."

"And?" Fakir stared expectantly at Autor to get to the point. "Did you get a name out of him?"

"Two names," Autor held up two fingers. "One was the name of the girl. She goes by Annie Grant, but I wouldn't be surprised if that isn't her real name. I didn't dare probe too deep, so have no description of what she looks like. Hopefully it will not be difficult to find her after I also managed to extract from him the name of the dance hall where she works."

Autor reached into an inner coat pocket and took out a folded sheet of lined notebook paper. "It's called Hal's Ballroom.* I looked it up in the directory and got a number that you can call," the bespectacled man said, pushing the folded paper cross the table to Fakir.

Autor continued, "The business advertises itself as a venue and dance academy, but that's what a lot of taxi dance halls call themselves. I would call them first to make sure this Annie person is real. Pretend you've been referred there for a dance lesson and ask for an 'instructor' by the name of Annie Grant. We don't know what kind of connections Annie might have, and it would not be in our favor if she knew we're looking for her."

"Agreed," Fakir nodded slowly. Glancing at the numbers jotted down on the note, he then turned his gaze back to Autor. "Anything else you want to discuss?"

Autor shook his head. Taking that as a sign to conclude their meeting, Fakir tucked the note into his pocket and pushed back his chair. Before turning away from the table, the detective locked eyes once more with Autor.

"Autor, you…" Fakir paused, his pride once again stopping him from openly acknowledging the journalist's aid. Instead, he asked, "…You went to an awful lot of trouble for this. Why?"

Autor looked at Fakir askance for a moment. Then, after a pause, a familiar grin appeared on the newsman's face. "You want to know what's in it for me? Well, call it an 'investment'."

"An investment?" Fakir echoed dubiously.

"Journalism is like any other business: you have to work for your leads," Autor shrugged. "If this taxi dancer and the threat she supposedly overheard turns out to be of substance, and the suspect can be identified, I will have firsthand front-page material on my hands."

Doffing his hat, Fakir huffed. "Of course. Nevertheless…" The detective mutely nodded his head before turning away.

Behind him, with a smile still on his face, Autor nodded knowingly in turn as he watched the detective exit the deli.

The sun had set outside the 53rd precinct office, but inside, the lamp on Fakir's desk continued to burn brightly. After dialing the number Autor had given him, Fakir followed the journalist's advice and inquired about lessons with an instructor named Annie Grant. To Fakir's relief, the ballroom manager gave him not only the address for the ballroom but also confirmed that a girl by that name worked there. However, she only danced there three out of five weekdays, which meant Fakir would have to find time in his schedule for a chance to speak with her.

With his calendar in front of him and a pen tucked under his chin, Fakir skimmed the dates and weighed his options. This Friday is no good; I have to meet with the DA, and there's no telling how long that will take…

Fakir flipped a page to the following week and found a gap in his schedule on Wednesday. I need to get the final medical examiner's report for the Boiardo case, but that shouldn't take too long… With his pen hovering above the page, the detective's hand jerked when the phone next to him suddenly rang.

Half expecting it to be another call from Autor, Fakir snatched up the receiver and barked, "Who's calling?"

But the annoyance on his face turned into a look of surprise when the telephone operator answered, "Mrs. Rachel Strauss is on the line for you, sir. Are you available to speak with her?"

"Rachel? Uh, yes, put her through."

Fakir waited, and after a crackle as the lines are switched, Rachel's melodic voice greeted the detective.

"Good evening, Fakir. I called you at home but you didn't answer, so I thought you might still be at work. Are you staying late again?"

"Um, yeah," Fakir mumbled, his hand rubbing his neck.

Despite his words, Fakir knew he was using work as an excuse. Even with Autor's reassurance, Fakir couldn't escape the feeling he had committed a terrible faux pas in giving Duck the carnelian pendant. Until he could come up with a way to broach the topic with Duck, Fakir preferred to stay cooped up in the office than risk running into her on her way home.

Rachel, of course, knew none of this. She entreated, "I know your work is very important, but you need to remember to rest and take care of yourself. Working so late all the time is terrible for your health!"

"I can take care of myself just fine, Rachel!" Though Fakir knew Rachel meant well, in his flustered and unhappy mood, he snapped back, "What are you calling me about, anyway? I don't have time to chitchat right now."

"Oh, Fakir," the singer sighed heavily from the other side. "Very well, I'm calling you because I have something to ask you. Are you free on September 27th?"

Fakir frowned. With the calendar in front of him, he flipped to the day Rachel had requested and answered, "I'm off that day. Why?"

There was a slight rustle of papers from Rachel's end and Fakir imagined she was also standing close to a calendar, flipping through the pages. "Your birthday is coming up, but I have a full week of rehearsals the week of October 4th. I'll be free the week before, and we can have an early birthday celebration on the 27th if you're available."*

Hearing this, Fakir nearly groaned aloud. With his anxiety from Duck's birthday still unresolved, the absolute last thing he wanted to think about was his own birthday! "Rachel, I don't have time for this! We'll do something next year, all right?"

"Fakir, that's exactly what you said last year!" Rachel said sternly, and from her tone Fakir knew his cousin was not going to budge on this. "You had just said you have the day off on the 27th. I'm serious about what I said earlier, that you need to take better care of yourself. Relaxing and celebrating your own birthday with family is a part of that. If having a formal dinner is too much trouble, I can bring a cake and we can have a casual little celebration over afternoon tea instead. Oh! And you should invite Duck as well! Cake is best enjoyed with others, and it would be lovely to do some catching up with the two of you!"

More obliquely, the singer added, "I have some very interesting news to share as well, but I will save the details for when we meet up in person. I can be at your place by three on the 27th. Will that work?"

By now Fakir was sitting with his face in his hand. Too mentally and emotionally exhausted to argue, Fakir let out the groan he'd been holding back and answered pithily, "Fine… three is fine."

Rachel chuckled softly from the other end of the line, clearly delighted in her victory. "Grand! I will leave you to your work now. Don't stay too late; I will see you in a few weeks, then. Goodnight, Fakir!"

"Goodbye…" Fakir replied weakly before hanging up the receiver, his head still in his hand as he wondered how on earth he had just been coerced into going along with Rachel's birthday plans.

Guess I'll have to talk to Duck, then, the detective thought as he picked up the pen and penciled in "Rachel visiting" into his agenda. Tapping the pen nervously on his desk, the detective grimaced. But there is still the matter of the pendant…

Here, Fakir recalled the somber expression on Duck's face. Having dissected that moment hundreds of time in his head, Fakir realized it was a look of discomfort, that for a split second, she seemed almost pained by the sight of the pendant. Knowing this, anyone else would have let the matter drop altogether, or quickly apologized for any offense made. But Fakir could do neither. The idea that he might've unintentionally upset Duck prickled ceaselessly at Fakir's conscience; yet, he could not muster the courage to ask her outright what about the pendant had upset her so.

I'm such an idiot…Fakir admonished himself as he tossed the pen into a drawer. Outside the precinct's windows, the black veil of night fell across the city, drowning the detective ever deeper into his troubled thoughts.

By the time Duck had scaled the last step to stand at the floor she shared with Fakir, night had fallen outside their building. Under the dim hallway light, Duck cast a glance at her neighbor's door before reaching for her keys.

I haven't seen Fakir since Monday morning, when he left in such a hurry, Duck thought as she entered her apartment, dark shadows engulfing the room from her doorway. She switched on her electric lamp, headed for the kitchen, and began searching through her pantry for the ingredients to make a sandwich for dinner. Even then, she continued to think of Fakir.

I hope everything worked out okay and he wasn't too late for work. He seemed really stressed out that day…

As the evening quietly ticked by, and the dishes were washed and dried, Duck made her way to her bedroom. Reaching for her mother's picture, Duck's hand paused when she caught sight of the scuffed up little jewelry box that sat on the lace doily on top of her cabinet.

After a moment of hesitation, Duck's hand drifted away from Elsa's photo and towards the jewelry box. Taking a seat on her bed, she gingerly snapped open the box and watched as the smooth red stone shimmered under the amber glow of her table lamp.

Duck's brow furrowed as she traced a finger around the stone's cool, polished surface. This unexpected gift had genuinely surprised Duck when Fakir had presented it to her at the zoo. But that feeling of surprise had quickly given way to apprehension.

Gingerly taking the necklace out of its box, Duck cupped the pendant in her hands, holding it tenderly like a delicate baby bird. The stone is so pretty. It must've been expensive! Why would Fakir give me something lavish like this just for my birthday?

The unease in her chest swelled as Duck looked at the black-and-white photo of a younger Duck and her mother. Her gaze lingered on the pendant around Elsa's neck.

Her mother's necklace was given to her by Duck's father, Loeguire—a man whom Duck had never met. It had been an engagement present, a sign of his enduring love. But that love had become inexorably knotted with betrayal and grief when Loeguire had abandoned Elsa and their unborn child.

Duck closed her fingers around the pendant, her eyebrows creasing further. What is Fakir trying to say with this necklace? That I am a really important friend? Or could it be that he is in fact…?

Duck swallowed nervously as she recalled the moment she cracked opened the jewelry box at the zoo. She had been captivated by its simple but elegant beauty. Surely, a gift as precious as this was only meant for someone Fakir cared deeply for. The thought dredged up an uninvited question in Duck's mind.

The red-haired girl imagined her mother receiving the garnet pendant many years ago. Wearing a wide brim hat and stylish silk dress, the young Elsa accepting the pendant from her future husband could not have known that her love was fated to end in tragedy.

But in the present, Duck knew. A cold hand gripped Duck's heart as she worried if she too would suffer the same fate as her mother, and her relationship with Fakir would be doomed to end in tragedy.

No! That's ridiculous! I'm thinking too much! Duck told herself sternly as she stared down at the polished pendant nestled in its case.

Yet the lingering trepidation refused to relinquish its grasp around her heart. That day, Fakir had stood there next to her, watching expectantly. Duck had only managed a few words of polite thanks before snapping the box closed, too flustered to articulate anything more.

Thankfully, a distraction in the form of Zurab allowed Duck to turn her focus away from the pendant and the questions it posed for much of that day. But once the boy had left, the little jewelry box hovered like a specter in the back of Duck's mind. Though she wanted to thank Fakir properly, she simply couldn't find the right words to do so.

I'm such a coward, Duck thought with a sigh.

Duck opened her fingers and found the stone in her palm warm to the touch. As she lay the necklace back atop of the bed spread, she felt her cheeks beginning to warm as well, as if they were heating up with the pendant.

Since their visit to the zoo, except for that short exchange the morning he had been late for work, Duck had not seen or spoken to Fakir. With each passing day, as Fakir failed to materialize in the morning by her door or in the evening in front of her work place, Duck was becoming more and more acutely aware of his absence.

The question she had once asked herself at the pointe shoe shop resurfaced in Duck's mind. Curling her knees under her chin, Duck gazed upon the crimson stone next to her with half-lidded eyes, losing herself in a daydream.

She imagined herself and Fakir dancing at either end of a wide-open stage while an invisible orchestra played somewhere beyond the stage lights. She wore a white flowing dress made of delicate tulle, while he was clad in a dark leotard, the color of midnight.

Initially, they turned sharply away from one another in mutual contempt, their hands and feet making sweeping arcs to the rapid beat of the music as they sought to assert themselves to the other.

But as the music's dramatic tempo slowed to a gentle andante, the distance between them diminished, until they were dancing next to one another, eyes briefly making contact, then turning away again before their arms could touch.

Then, as the music softened to a pianissimo, Fakir stopped. His eyes gentle and sincere, he cradled his heart with both hands in a gesture of love, before circling them in the air and extending his right hand towards her in invitation.

The red-haired girl saw herself turning away from him en pointe. But after some distance, her footsteps stilled, and she turned back to meet his gaze.

The man she saw before her was stubborn and stern, but also kind and caring. He had almost literally gone to the ends of the Earth for her and had promised to stay by her side, all without expecting anything in return.

As Duck looked upon the pendant, a warmth stirred in her heart, at last thawing the icy grasp of apprehension that had held her back.

In Duck's daydream, her dancer persona cupped her heart before extending her hands to Fakir's danseur. Turning her satin-clad feet forward, the ballerina returned to her partner's side and with a shy smile, allowed him to close his fingers around her extended hand.

That shy smile from her daydream self was now mirrored on her own face as she held the pendant in her hands. Whatever feeling Fakir is trying to convey through this gift, be it love or friendship…I will accept it, because it's from him. And I…

Here, the blush on Duck's face grew hotter, but her smile grew wider in turn as she looped the chain around her hand and draped the pendant over her head, where it to came to rest below her collar bones, adjacent to her heart.

When Saturday morning came, Fakir woke to find himself no closer to having a plan for how to broach the subject of the pendant to Duck.

It shouldn't be this hard, the detective groused as he stood in his kitchen sipping on a cup of coffee. You are a grown man. What are you afraid of? That she'll say she hated it? Or that she'll reject you along with the pendant?

This last question haunted Fakir as he looked down at his reflection in the cup. The thought that Duck's rejection extended beyond the pendant was a bitter pill that Fakir could not bring himself to swallow.

Wouldn't it be better to just let things be? Why strive to clarify something when the answer could only make the pain worse? Fakir had no answers to any of these questions.

His contemplation was cut short when a light knock drew his attention to the door. Wondering who it could be, Fakir set the cup down and went to answer the door. His eyes opened wide when Fakir beheld a sheepish Duck standing in front of him.

"Er… sorry to bother you, Fakir, but do you have a pair of plyers and a wire cutter I can borrow?" the red-haired girl asked, pursing her lips awkwardly.

Fakir gulped. His earlier contemplations were still swirling about in his head, and it took him a second before he answered, "Um… yes, I do." Taking another second to think about Duck's question, a confused Fakir asked, "Why do you need a wire cutter?"

"Oh!" Duck let out a short, embarrassed laugh. "That's kind of an odd question to ask, isn't it? Sorry, I should've explained first! You see, yesterday Lillie and Pique surprised me with a Marquette quick oats radio kit."*

The shop girl smiled fondly as she recalled how her friends had proudly presented her with the kit box, swathed in garish floral-print wrapping paper. "Pique and Lillie had remembered that I said I liked operas, and they had the idea to get me a radio kit so I could listen to operas on the air. They couldn't give it to me until this Thursday because it took almost three weeks for the kit to arrive after they mailed the coupons in."

Here Duck grew diffident again, scratching the back of her head. "I read the instructions and looked at the diagrams, but even with the pictures, it's a bit confusing…there's a lot of wires and it requires some tools that I don't have, so…"

Studying the shop girl, Fakir finished the thought Duck had left unspoken. "Do you want some help?"

"Um…" Duck gave Fakir a weak smile as she shuffled her heels. "If it's not too much trouble…?"

So much for trying to avoid her, Fakir thought as he breathed a quiet sigh. As frustrated as Fakir was with his own inability to ask a simple question, he was not about to abandon Duck when she had come to him for help.

Turning around, he said gruffly to mask his own nervousness, "Don't feel embarrassed about asking for help, idiot." Walking back into his kitchen to retrieve his toolbox, Fakir added, "We're neighbors, after all."

Behind him, Duck pouted. "I know… it's just…" She darted a shy glance at him.

Luckily for her, Fakir did not notice, and with toolbox in hand, he walked out of his apartment and followed Duck into her unit.

Out of habit, Fakir reached to close the front door behind him. But before the door shut, Fakir remembered this was not his own home he was walking into, but the home of an unmarried, unchaperoned young woman.

Suddenly feeling just as sheepish as Duck was a moment earlier, he left the door partly ajar, lest anyone walking by would get the wrong idea when they heard his voice coming from her apartment.

On top of her dining table, Duck had laid out the various components from the kit, as well as a spool of wires, and an empty quick oats container. Reading through the instructional pamphlet, Fakir had to reread it one more time to try to make sense of the directions, and even then, it was not entirely apparent to him what he was supposed to do. But with Duck watching him keenly, Fakir squared his shoulders and decided to give it his best shot.

"So, we need to coil this copper wire around this cylinder…" Fakir's brows creased together as he looked back at the pamphlet and picked up the cylindrical quick oats container, "but first, we need to punch some holes through the side."

"How do we do that? The cardboard is pretty tough."

"Well, we can use a knife, but that seems unsafe…" Fakir grimaced. "Maybe some scissors instead?"

Bit by bit, tools were gathered, and with the two of them working together, the pieces of the radio began to come together into something that resembled the apparatus depicted in the diagrams.

"Alright, now we need to fit the crystal detector here," Fakir turned away from the diagram he was examining.

"It's this piece, right?" Duck picked up the small, black crystal and handed it out to Fakir. But before he could reach his hand out, the tiny crystal slipped out from between Duck's fingers and with a soft "clink", disappeared somewhere on the floor.

"Oh no!" The red-haired girl cried as she dropped to the ground and began reaching around for the missing detector.

"Did it roll under the table?" Fakir wondered as he too got on his knees and began scanning the floorboards.

"I'm not sure…" Duck frowned as she lowered her head and peeked under her dining table. But other than a coating of dust, there was nothing there.

As Duck straightened her back, the carnelian pendant slid out from under her blouse and came to hang beneath her collar.

The glimmer of the red pendant startled Fakir. He blinked, speechless for a moment, before he blurted out, "You're wearing it?"

"Huh?" Duck followed Fakir's gaze and looked down at the pendant. "Oh," Holding the red stone in one hand, she smiled faintly, "You mean this?"

Sitting on the floor across from Duck, Fakir felt at once relieved and exceedingly foolish. Looking away from her, he said, "I didn't see you wear it at first, so I thought you didn't like it…" Glancing tentatively at her, he added, "I thought maybe it wasn't to your taste. After all, it pales in comparison to your mother's pendant…"

Here Fakir's courage faltered once more. He averted his gaze again as Duck watched him, first with surprise, then in contemplation.

"Fakir…" Duck began, drawing Fakir's eyes back to her. "I'd told you I lost Ma's pendant, but the truth is…"

Sitting with her hands in her lap, Duck pursed her lips. Steeling her nerves, she finally said, "…I gave the pendant away, to Mytho."

Fakir couldn't believe what he was hearing. His brows knitted together in bewilderment. "What? Why? I mean, yes, he was your mother's former pupil… but why give the pendant to him when it meant so much to you?"

Duck had anticipated his reaction and responded calmly, "When we were on the train to Chicago, Mytho told me a story about my parents that I didn't know about."

Her eyes on her interlaced hands, Duck recalled the dark train carriage she shared with Mytho, and the tragic tale he imparted to her that lonely night. "The story was about my Pa. I had never met Pa and was told he had died before I was born. The pendant was originally an engagement gift from him to Ma, and I always thought Ma treasured it because she still loved and thought of Pa…"

Duck bit her lip as that familiar sorrow welled up in her chest. "Mytho told me how Ma had been devastated when she found out the boat Pa had been on had sank into the river, and was presumed dead. But, Pa hadn't died. Ma only found out the truth years later, after my grandpa had passed away. She found a letter that Pa had written to her that my grandpa had kept hidden from her.

"In it, Pa admitted to faking his own death. He had done so to escape the massive debts he had accrued before meeting Ma, and he apologized in the letter for running away, as he felt he had no other choice. Ma…she was absolutely devastated. She had spent years paying off his debts, thinking he was dead, yet it turned out she had been used, and her love had been betrayed…"

Duck's solemn blue eyes drifted upward and caught Fakir's gaze. Seeing the stunned expression on her neighbor's face, Duck gave him a small, sad smile. "Even though Ma was terribly upset with Pa, she still kept the pendant he gave her. To her, the pendant was a symbol of Pa's betrayal, but also a reminder of the love they had shared and the happier times they had spent together. As much as it pained Ma to keep it, she didn't want to give up those memories that were so precious to her."

Her expression pensive, Duck continued, "At the time, Mytho was considering giving up everything he had to take down Don Corvo. He was willing to throw away his heart and give up his own life for that goal. But I didn't want Mytho to give up his feelings of love, whether it was for Ma, for Rue, or for you, Fakir. That's why I gave the pendant to him: to remind him of his own love and the love others felt for him—just as Ma had kept it as a symbol of the love she once had for Pa."

There was no response from Fakir for a long moment, but Duck could see there was a quiet seething anger behind his eyes. At last, he said with disgust, "I can't believe your father, he…" Fakir's hands balled into fists, "he's a bloody coward!"

"I know…" Duck unclenched her hands and placed her palms on the cool wooden floor. "But…I'm a coward too."

Taken aback, Fakir leaned towards her, saying, "What are you talking about? You were willing to testify against the Corvos when no one else dared to. Duck…" Here Fakir faltered for a moment before he found his voice again, and when he spoke his words were soft and earnest, "…You are one of the bravest people I've ever met."

At those words, Duck blinked with surprise. She smiled, bashfully now, and said, "Thank you, Fakir. But when you first gave me this pendant, to be honest, I…I was scared." Duck's hand closed around the carnelian pendant at her throat. "I didn't know what the pendant meant. Ma's pendant was a sign of love from Pa…"

Duck swallowed, the doubt in her heart resurfacing once again. Should I tell Fakir all this? How would he react?

She paused. No, it wouldn't do to keep pushing this into the background. After all, I've already decided… Duck closed her eyes momentarily, and then pressed on.

"I…I wasn't sure if that was also what you were trying to say. But given what happened to Ma and Pa, I couldn't stop thinking, 'what if the same thing happens to me?'"

Duck's blue eyes darted toward Fakir, who was watching her with wide-eyed surprise.

The detective had no idea Duck was aware of his feelings. He had not set out to confess his feelings to Duck when he gave her the pendant. Yet, much like how Autor demonstrated that an object can be interpreted in various ways, Fakir had never considered the possibility that Duck might have read his gesture as romantic in nature.

The added revelation of her parents' ill-fated love and the truth behind Elsa's pendant made the choice of gift seem all the more inappropriate. Panic erupted in Fakir's mind.

"I-I never meant to—! I'm sorry, I-I'll leave, right now!" Fakir began, and was on his knees to stand up when Duck grasped his hand.

"Wait, Fakir!"

Startled by her touch, Fakir looked back at Duck, the pounding of his rapidly beating heart almost drowning out her voice. Gently, she pulled him back towards her until he was sitting across from her on the floor again.

"I was scared at first, but then I remembered something very important," Her hand still holding his, Duck held Fakir's emerald gaze and smiled. "You are you, Fakir. You've always kept your word, and have protected me despite overwhelming odds."

She paused to take a deep breath and continued, "When I was at the zoo, I felt really happy and content when I was with you. I wished, then, that every day could be like that. That's why I've decided to wear this pendant."

Though her cheeks—like Fakir's—were now flushed, Duck squeezed his hand and her smile deepened. Softly, she said, "Presents help convey feelings from the person giving the gift to the person receiving the gift. I…I don't want to presume to know what your feelings towards me are, Fakir, but no matter what they are…I will accept them."

Not for the first time that day, Fakir was left at a loss for words. But the feeling of Duck's hand on his gave Fakir the courage to slowly but steadily shift his fingers, until they were intertwined with Duck's.

"Duck, I…" Fakir looked away even as his held Duck's hand tightly. "There are so many things I want to say to you, but nothing's coming together right in my head…" he admitted as Duck waited patiently for him to continue. "I…I know I'm probably not making a lot of sense right now, I just…I know I want to stay with you, and protect you, forever and ever, if you would let me…"

But as petrified as Fakir was by the thought of how foolish he must look to her right now, Duck clearly did not seem to mind. She beamed reassuringly at him, and with her other hand on the pendant, said, "That's okay. I was at a bit of a loss for a long time too, but I think I've finally figured it out, and…"

Around them, the morning rays of light reflected off the tiny flakes of dust floating in the air, glimmering like fragments of starlight. As the sunlight touched Duck's auburn tresses, her hair and body seemed to glow as she leaned in towards Fakir. Their faces almost touching, Duck whispered, "…I think I love you, Fakir…"

Fakir looked at the girl sitting across from him as her gentle words shook his world to its core. The countless hours spent worrying and pining all vanished in an instant at those words. He wanted nothing more than to answer her declaration with his own outpouring of emotions, but the affection and tenderness in her cerulean eyes took his breath away.

Instead, he reached up with his free hand, taking care to move gingerly, reverently—lest he disturb the sublime tranquility of this moment in time—and cupped Duck's cheek. His touch sent a quiet shudder through Duck, but she did not flinch or look away as the heat of her skin radiated into Fakir's hand.

Though there were a million and one things he wanted to express to her, Fakir knew there was only one thing that needed to be said. Taking one last long look at her, so as to inscribe this moment into his memory forever, Fakir closed his eyes and at last, found the courage to speak the truth he had been known in his heart for many months.

"…And I, you," his lips whispered, before he tenderly kissed her.

Having never been kissed before, Duck inhaled sharply when she felt Fakir's lips brush against hers. But his incredibly delicate touch quickly eased her nervousness, and Duck quivered as a pleasant tangling sensation traveled down her spine and through her fingers and toes.

But before either of them could linger on this special moment, a loud "BANG" in the hallway behind them made both Duck and Fakir jump nearly three feet in the air.

"Henry!" the voice of the old lady living across the hall screeched after having slammed her door shut. "Will you hurry up, dear? We'll be late for bingo!"

"I'm coming, Meredith, just let me tie my shoes," Henry's obsequious voice answered.

Both Fakir and Duck sat with their eyes glued to the door until the old couple shuffled by, their voices continuing to echo from down the staircase.

Once their voices had finally faded away, an awkward silence descended on the apartment. Duck turned to look timidly at Fakir, who was clutching his chest as if he had nearly gotten a heart attack.

Noticing her gaze, Fakir glanced back at Duck while the two of them remembered what they had been doing shortly before their hoary neighbors ruined the moment. Turning their eyes away from one another in silent embarrassment, they simply sat next to one another, eyes turned back to the floor.

Finally, Fakir cleared his throat. "Um… what do you say we find that diode and finish the radio?" he asked softly. Pushing himself up, Fakir got back on his feet, then turned and held his hand out to Duck.

"Yeah…" Duck smiled shyly before taking Fakir's hand and allowing him to pull her up.

Returning to their task, they searched around the dining room once more when a glint between a large crack in the floorboard caught Fakir's eyes. "I found it!" the detective said triumphantly and picked up the wayward crystal.

After carefully connecting the diode into the rest of the circuit, they then secured the antenna and grounded the radio to the pipe under Duck's kitchen sink. Once the last two wires were twisted into place, Duck eagerly picked up one of the ear pieces and placed it in her ear.

"Hear anything?" Fakir asked as Duck's brows knitted together in concentration.

After a few seconds, to Fakir's disappointment, Duck shook her head. "I can only hear a hissing noise. I think we'll have to tune it to pick up anything." So speaking, she turned to the crude dial they had made and began ever so slightly turning it to the right, then to the left.

Fakir picked up the other ear piece and together they waited and listened, hoping to hear music or a voice crack through the noise. But despite fiddling with the dial and the wiring, there was only static coming from the earpieces, until at last Duck sighed in defeat.

"I was really hoping this could work," Duck moped, taking a seat with her head in her hands as she looked ruefully at the crude radio set. "Did we do something wrong?"

Fakir studied the diagram again, but after double-checking everything, nothing appeared to be amiss.

Putting the pamphlet back on the table, Fakir pulled out the chair across from Duck and took a seat. "It might be that this building is in a bad spot and the radio can't pick up the signals. The way someone explained it to me was that radio is a type of sound; if you're in the wrong place and the sound is blocked off, you won't be able to hear it. There probably isn't a way to fix this…at least, not with what we have."

"I see…" The corner of Duck's lips twitched, and it was apparent the explanation did little to assuage her disappointment.

As Fakir saw her downcast, an idea came to him, and he said quickly, "The radio may not have worked out, but you can come listen to my Victrola instead. With radios you have to listen to whatever other people decide to broadcast, but with a phonograph you can listen to whatever music you like."

Duck gasped, and her head perked up. "Really? Are you sure, though? I mean…" The shop girl looked down at the table. Staring at nothing in particular, she said sheepishly, "…I don't want to bother you during your time off."

Watching her coy expression, Fakir's heart skipped a beat and he added, "No, it's fine! I don't mind—I, uh..." The words on the tip of his tongue made Fakir blush, and he couldn't brush off the feeling that he was about to sound like a sap. But their mutual confession had given him a source of newfound courage, and he said quietly, "…being with you is never a bother."

Seeing Fakir flustered, Duck couldn't help but let out a small giggle. "Thank you, Fakir…" Watching her companion, who was blushing even redder now, Duck smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "…I'd really like that."

Watching her smile, the bubble of joy that had been growing in his chest expanded until his lips too, were pushed up into a smile. The sun streaming in through the window seemed even brighter, and the birds' chirping sounded sweeter than they had been just hours earlier. Though he couldn't explain why this was so, the usually stoic detective knew he would not trade this feeling for the world.

Autor once said that I turned into a fool when I'm around Duck. Maybe he was right, Fakir thought as he rose to help Duck take down the uncooperative radio set. But I would rather be a fool with her, than a wise man without her.

A/N

Confession scenes are so hard to write, but it's finally done! Now I can write all the fun, lovey-dovey stuff that comes after! XD

*As Autor pointed out, the discovery and wide-spread publicity of King Tutankhamun's tomb in 1923 led to a wave of Egyptomania in the US and Europe, with a renewed interest in Egyptian art, history, and design in popular culture. As for carnelian, there are many different meanings associated with the stone, ranging from creativity, to luck, to protection, etc. In ancient Egyptian culture, carnelians, due to their colors, were closely associated with the sun. According to some of the crystal energy websites I perused, carnelians were supposedly associated with fertility, and you guessed it, red carnelian symbolized male reproductive energy. Funny how Edel never mentioned that one to poor Fakir…

*October 4th, 2002 was the airdate for the first Fakir-centric episode of the Princess Tutu anime, "The Warrior's Fountain". Granted that while Fakir was not very likeable during that episode, his character development really took off in the subsequent storyline. As a nod to that episode, I've made October 4th Fakir's birthday in this story.

*Hal's Ballroom is a nod to HAL Film Makers, the animation studio that created Princess Tutu. Sadly, the studio closed in 2009. Regarding taxi dance halls, in the early 1920's, many dance schools converted into taxi dance halls (i.e. dance halls that operated on a ticket-a-dance basis), as the latter proved to be highly popular during a time when traditional dance schools were struggling to attract students. In traditional dance schools, students were not allowed to choose a female instructor to practice with. In taxi dance halls, however, "instructors" were free to dance with anyone, so long as that person had purchased tickets for that particular dance hall. Some dance schools adopted the ticket-a-dance system to stay in business, and still offered instruction to their clients on dancing (though the amount of actual teaching probably varied wildly, depending on the proprietors and the clientele). But many taxi dance halls did not provide any instructions, and as anyone who could pay to dance was welcome, they also became notorious for attracting riffraff and hoodlums who effectively paid to spend time with female company.

*Do-it-yourself crystal radio kits were very popular in the 1920's. They were a far cheaper alternative for the average American family than buying a commercial radio set, as it could be made with everyday household items and required no electrical input for power (the power came from the radio signals the kit picked up). A common type of early DIY crystal radio was the quick oats radio set—so called because quick oats brands at the time would offer DIY kits in exchange for coupons and/or a small amount of cash, and the radios themselves could be constructed from emptied quick oats cans. I had done a Google search and looked at some of the instructions for making crystal radios. Maybe it's because I've forgotten everything on electromagnetism from college physics class, but it wasn't entirely straightforward how to put one of these together, so I can only imagine how confusing it must have been for Duck and Fakir.

Thanks to Tomoyo Ichijouji for proofreading!