Chapter 16

Posted on: 2014-01-20

"What happened?" Jane said.

Elizabeth continued to stare at the floor in silence for a few moments. Then she cleared her throat, looked up at Jane and began to talk. Her tone was calm and dispassionate, the tone of a war correspondent conditioned to convey unspeakable horrors with ordinary words that could never quite capture the agony and hopelessness of lives upended by violence. Her words were precise and deliberate, rich with vivid details of every insult and accusation and confession. Her face, cloaked with the detachment so necessary for survival in the field, betrayed no emotion. Elizabeth was, in short, prepared for battle, the only weapon at her disposal her unflappable poise under fire. That poise allowed her to identify the potentially fatal injuries, stop the bleeding, stabilize the crisis and declare victory until the next explosion. It was the only way Elizabeth could fathom surviving, but in her heart, she knew that far away from the battlefield, when the scars began to fade, the underlying wounds would fester, spreading chaos like an insidious infection. Perhaps it was impossible to live this way indefinitely, one triage at a time, disconnected and disjointed, always one moment of clarity away from succumbing to those whispered thoughts in her head. But until a better alternative came along, this was the only plan she had. So she buried every thought that was a distraction and every emotion that was overpowering and proceeded to narrate the entirety of her encounter with William Darcy.

When Elizabeth ceased to speak, Jane stared at her in stunned silence. Finally, she said, "Wow."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yeah."

"This really happened?"

"I may be delusional at times, but I certainly don't possess the imagination to conjure up something quite so bizarre."

"Well, not entirely bizarre," said Jane. "I am not the least bit surprised that Will has feelings for you."

"Why? Because I'm so exceptional?" Elizabeth smiled.

Jane smiled in return. "Clearly. We also had several clues along the way. Remember all those times you complained about him staring at you...- did it really not occur to you that he might have been staring out of something other than disdain?"

"Honestly, no. That idea never crossed my mind."

"And that's why I kept my opinions to myself. No one could have forced you to see what you were so determined to ignore."

"And determined I was," said Elizabeth.

"I can't even begin to imagine your shock at Will's confessions."

"You have no idea. I've never been so blindsided in my entire life. And I spent years dodging IEDs in the backstreets of Baghdad."

"Poor Will. He was so unprepared to face you."

"You make it sound like I'm a tornado, Jane."

Jane laughed. "Sorry. You know what I mean. He was not in possession of all the facts."

"Neither was I, but I suppose my deficiency was of my own doing." Elizabeth paused. "You blame me for rejecting him?"

"Blame you?" said Jane with mild distress in her voice. "Absolutely not."

"But you blame me for having spoken so warmly about George?"

Jane shook her head. "You were given defective facts. I don't see how that's your fault."

"I'm a journalist, Jane. I'm supposed to verify my facts. You asked me to check his story with Anne and Richard, remember? And I refused. I didn't want the facts. I only wanted the version of the facts that suited me."

Jane was silent for a moment. "It's really shocking. This guy is like some sort of comic book villain. I don't suppose it's possible that Will is mistaken somehow?"

"I highly doubt it, Jane."

"Yeah, you're right."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "I really can't stand the thought of a world where George Wickham goes unpunished for all his crimes."

"You want retribution?"

"No, I want justice."

"Imagine how Will feels."

"You don't need to remind me. But there will be justice, Jane. Mark my words. One way or another, I'm going to get George off the streets."

Jane looked skeptical. "Can you do that?"

"Not without evidence. And Will's letter makes it clear that those in possession of incriminating evidence would rather not make it public. But what do you think are the odds that George stopped blackmailing high value targets after Gia? No, he's still at it. I'd be willing to bet a lot of money on that. I just have to find a way to beat him at his own game."

"That sounds ominous. You'll be careful, right?"

"Yeah. Don't worry. I need to tread lightly, though. Everything Will told me was meant to be in the strictest confidence. Can you imagine if I pursued this and somehow the part about Gia became public? I think I would die."

Jane sighed. "Will's poor sister. What a horrible experience to endure at such a young age. And after losing both her parents, no less."

Elizabeth hung her head. "And to think I used that guy's name as a weapon against Will. I will never be able to forgive myself for that."

"You always valiantly defended those you thought could not defend themselves."

"That is a very generous spin on reality."

"You defended me, didn't you? When I wasn't there to speak on my own behalf."

"Yes, well, it appears you did not need my indignation or defense. You seem to have everything under control."

"I do," said Jane. "But I appreciate your concern, especially considering...- well, I know things haven't exactly been seamless between us."

Elizabeth smiled at Jane's choice of words. "Always the diplomat. So, how do you feel about Will's involvement in this whole debacle with Charles?"

"He meant well and gave his friend good advice. The repercussions of that advice were not under his control, so I can hardly blame him for that. No, let's assign the blame where it belongs...- to Charles."

"You can be a cool customer when you want, you know that?"

Jane just smiled and after a brief pause, said, "So."

"So."

"Now that you've had a day or two to reflect on everything, how do you feel?"

"Awful."

"What do you intend to do about it?"

"Wallow in my misery while projecting a sense of control."

"Liz..."

"What? You have a better alternative?"

"You could talk to Dr. Matthews."

"So she can tell me I'm an idiot who doesn't deserve to call myself a journalist? No, thank you."

"It could help. You've never really given her a chance, you know."

"I would contest that assertion, but at this point, I don't even know if I can trust my own recollection of recent events," said Elizabeth. "My life has been a colossal exercise in cognitive dissonance, Jane."

"Your recognition of that fact would suggest that the problems you face - or think you face - are not insurmountable."

"Must you be so reasonable about this?"

"I tried to shield you from the truth once. I won't make that mistake again."

Elizabeth looked at Jane for a moment. "So... about that mistake."

"I walked right into that one, huh?"

"We can't avoid this conversation forever."

"No. I guess not."

"I am ready to talk about it rationally."

"You weren't irrational before, Liz."

"Maybe. But I was extremely angry."

Jane took in a deep breath. "And now?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I don't know. I feel exhausted. It's all a lie. Everything I am. Everything I wish to be. All those truths I so fervently believe. I can't summon the energy to be angry anymore, Jane."

"I see. How can I help?"

"Tell me why."

"Why?"

"Why you never told me about Dylan."

"I tried, Liz. Several times over the years. I just never found the right time. I was so afraid."

"Of what?"

"Hurting you. Upsetting you. Losing you. All of the above." Jane paused. "Telling you was out of the question at first. You were in and out of surgery and physical therapy, and the mere mention of Dylan sent you into a deep abyss of anger and depression. That last year you were in DC...- I think you were actually going crazy."

"You try living with mom and dad and see if it doesn't drive you crazy," said Elizabeth with a small smile.

Encouraged by Elizabeth's tone, Jane continued, "Then you moved up here, and I finally had my chance. I convinced you to see Dr. Matthews, and I thought that with some signs of stability, I would finally tell you everything. But no real stability emerged. You reached a point of detente or something. One day, you decided that you were done. No more tears. No more trauma. You were going to move forward. Everything was under control."

"And you think it wasn't?"

"Liz, your nightmares never stopped. They would go away for a month or two, but would always come back with a vengeance. You refused to see Dr. Matthews consistently. You went to work and lived your life like things were fine, but I know - and I think you know - that things were far from fine. And it wasn't just about Dylan. You never quite hit your stride with work either. You just seemed stuck."

"I was stuck," said Elizabeth. "I am stuck."

"Look, all of this just sounds like poor excuses, I know. You are right to ask me how I made this huge decision for you. Especially when you started expressing doubts about whether it would have worked between you and Dylan. I heard your questions and doubts and thought they were a coping mechanism - flawed maybe, but necessary. You were back to your rational, practical self, at least on the surface. You don't believe in fairy tales. You dismissed the notion that there was a happy ending in store for you, especially as far as love was concerned. And you seemed to prefer it that way. It was almost like - without the constant yearning - all was well in your world again."

Elizabeth just nodded in response.

"My motivations were not entirely altruistic, Liz. I didn't want to upset you. But mostly I didn't want to lose you. The longer I waited, the harder it became to tell you the truth. I feared you would blame me for colluding with Dylan and for keeping you in the dark for so long. In a way, I was stuck as well. I would like to believe I only acted in your best interest, but the appalling truth is that I acted in mine." Jane paused. "I deserve to lose you. I have thought of nothing else these past few weeks. I'm a horrible, selfish sister. You have every right to spurn me forever." With that, Jane hung her head and stared at the floor.

"Oh Jane."

"I'm sorry, Liz," said Jane, tears flowing down her face. "I'm so sorry I failed you."

"I failed myself," said Elizabeth.

"But I...-"

Elizabeth interrupted her. "I forgive you, Jane."

"Really?" Jane looked up at her.

"I forgave you almost immediately."

"Are you sure?"

Elizabeth nodded. "You hurt me, Jane. You broke my trust. I know it was unintentional, but it really shook my confidence in... well, pretty much everything. If you can lie to me, then how can I trust anything anymore." She paused. "You know sometimes I wonder if I'm destined to be alone. I manage to lose everyone who matters to me. First Dylan. And who knows about Anne and Richard now that things are so complicated with Will. And you...- I don't know if I can handle losing you. I need you, Jane. Without you by my side, I'm only half a person. I need your love and your wisdom and your kindness. You are living proof that those better angels of our nature do exist. Without you, everything is gray. It took everything I had to stay angry at you for this long."

"And yet, you managed it somehow," said Jane with a small smile.

Elizabeth squeezed Jane's hand. "I'm sorry I didn't speak to you for weeks."

"I deserved it."

"No. I wanted to punish you. It wasn't what they call a proportional response."

"And what is the virtue of a proportional response*, to quote your favorite fictional President?"

Elizabeth laughed. "My favorite President, period."

"I'm really sorry, Liz."

"I know." Elizabeth stared at Jane for a long moment. "I don't want to be angry anymore. I want us to go back to the way we were. Can we do that?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Jane reached over and hugged her sister tight, holding her close almost as though she would never let go again. The tears now flowed with reckless abandon, leaving behind salty cheeks and unburdened hearts and an unspoken understanding that even in the darkest hour, dawn was never more than a phone call away. And so, unshackled from the necessity of further words, they sat arm in arm, crying, laughing, communicating like sisters do with a secret language of gestures and glances until Jane finally pulled away. She sat there quietly, looking at Elizabeth intently, a small bemused smile on her face.

"What?" said Elizabeth. "Why are staring at me so creepily?"

"You have no idea how relieved I am."

"You were never in any serious risk of losing me. You know that, right?"

"I prepared myself for the worst," said Jane. "I had to. To protect myself. You have to understand, it terrifies me to imagine my world without you. I already came so close to living in that world once...- and it changed me."

Elizabeth looked at Jane's tear-stained face. "It changed all of us."

"You can handle it, though. You can handle everything."

"Not everything." Elizabeth paused. "Promise me something?"

"Anything."

"You won't ever try to protect me from the truth again."

"Never."

"Even when I don't want to hear it."

"Ok."

"Especially when I don't want to hear it."

Jane smiled. "I can do that."

They sat together in silence for a few minutes, then Elizabeth said, "You've known all along, haven't you?"

"Known what?"

"That I'm broken."

"What makes you say that?"

"I willingly believed slanderous lies about Will without any verification or corroboration. Something is very wrong with me."

"You've been through a lot, Liz."

"Yes, well, that can't be an excuse anymore."

"You're not broken. You're just in need of a jump start."

"Well, you can thank Will Darcy. I think I just got my jump start."

Elizabeth walked home slowly, hypnotized by her thoughts, her pace sluggish enough to disqualify her as a New Yorker. It had been a long day, a long month, really. In these few moments of calm, away from the bustle of her newsroom, with no junior reporters arguing about the proper usage of the subjunctive tense, she allowed her mind to wander, and it inevitably settled on the one person she had been avoiding assiduously since her return from Sun Valley. She saw his dark eyes brimming with anguish and anger and accusation, and she felt herself sink under the weight of her guilt. It was impossible for her to face him, even in her thoughts. She had no consolation to offer him, no justification for her determined hatred of his very existence. Those answers surely existed in the depths of her soul, where all the other secrets were buried, but to uncover one would require uncovering them all, and she was not prepared for that avalanche. It had to happen. She knew it had to happen. And it would. Someday. When she could manage an entire afternoon without wanting to be swallowed by the black hole of her conscience. But not today. No, today, she looked into his disappointed eyes and promised him that she would try again tomorrow.

When Elizabeth walked into the apartment, she saw Anne and Jane on the couch, glasses of wine in their hands. If she had any doubt as to the topic of their conference, the concern in their eyes when they looked up at her was all the confirmation she needed. Elizabeth put down her bag and sighed. "Not today, guys."

"That's some hello," said Anne.

"I know an ambush when I see one," said Elizabeth. "I've had some experience with those, you know."

"You haven't even heard what we have to say," said Anne.

"I don't need to. And I'm not even saying you're wrong. I just...- look, I've had a tough day at work. I can't deal with this right now."

"What's wrong?" said Jane.

Elizabeth sighed as she walked over to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She returned to the living room and sat down on the armchair. "I spent all day sorting through evidence that suggests that innocent civilians were killed in a chemical weapon attack in Syria. And then I had to moderate a debate between my staff about why the world draws a line at chemical weapons when over 100,000 civilians have already been killed in this civil war. Shouldn't the loss of life by any means be sufficient cause for outrage? This selective morality should embarrass us all as a civilization." She paused. "I'm exhausted."

There was silence in the room for a moment, then Anne said, "There's never going to be a good time, Liz. Especially if you're waiting for peace in the Middle East."

Elizabeth smiled. "We might all be dead before that happens."

"I didn't want to be insensitive, but yes," said Anne.

"Ok," said Elizabeth. "Let's talk."

Anne exchanged a quick glance with Jane. "We want you to see Dr. Matthews."

"I know."

"You've had a month to wallow," said Anne. "We think it's time for something slightly more proactive."

"Yeah," said Elizabeth.

"Why are you not protesting?"

"Because I agree with you."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I've been busy, and I've really had no time for frivolous pursuits."

"You think tending to your mental health is a frivolous pursuit?"

"I think paying someone to listen to my feelings is a frivolous pursuit."

"You don't really believe that."

Elizabeth sighed. "No."

"We know it's scary," said Jane. "And uncomfortable. But you have to go see her. Or someone else, if you don't like her."

"No, she's fine," said Elizabeth. "I just haven't been ready to talk."

"You're never going to be ready," said Jane.

"Your facade of self assurance is not fooling anyone, Liz," said Anne. "Those 'keep calm and carry on' posters really made an impression on you, huh?"

Elizabeth laughed. "It's a noble way to live."

"Not if the calm is an illusion," said Anne.

Elizabeth stared at her wine glass for a moment, looked at Anne and Jane's strained faces and suddenly felt exceedingly selfish. The consequences of her life and her mistakes were not limited to her alone. When was she going to learn that lesson? "Fine."

"You'll go?" said Jane.

Elizabeth nodded. "I'll call her office tomorrow."

Jane smiled. "Excellent." She stood up and with a significant glance at Anne, said, "I'll be in my room."

When Jane was gone, Anne looked at Elizabeth. "You've been avoiding me."

"I haven't," said Elizabeth. "I told you, it's been very busy."

"Don't lie to me, Liz. You know it's pointless."

Elizabeth did not bother to argue further. "I'm sorry."

"What have I done to offend you?"

"Nothing. I was just giving you and Richard some space. I know I've put you in a difficult position. But Will is your cousin. Your loyalty must lie with him."

"Liz," said Anne, with exasperation in her voice. "Give us some credit, ok? We're capable of some nuance. Yes, Darce is our cousin, and we love him. We're sorry he was hurt. But you know what? That doesn't mean we magically stopped loving you. It may shock you to hear this, but my love for you is not contingent on your relationship status. I'm not your mother."

Elizabeth smiled. "Can you imagine what she would say if she ever found out I rejected Will?"

Anne shook her head. "No, but I'm sure it wouldn't be pretty."

"I'm sorry I've been such an absolute terror of a friend."

"I had a feeling you would be trouble the moment I met you."

"It's all so complicated."

"I like complicated. And I have patience for a lot, Liz, but not this. If you pull away from me, I won't forgive you. Ever."

"That sounds like a threat."

"It is. Rest assured, I know how to hold a grudge. I am my mother's daughter, after all."

Elizabeth could not resist a giggle. "I really thought I was doing you a favor. I thought you might need some time with Will. I didn't want to intrude."

"He's not here," said Anne.

"Really? Still in Asia?"

Anne nodded. "He deals with things his own way."

"And what way is that?"

"I shouldn't divulge that. That would require breaking his confidence."

"Of course. Sorry I asked."

Anne sighed. "Look. I'm not going to pretend it isn't tough being in the middle of this. But that's life. These things happen. It'll all be fine eventually. We're adults or at least pretend to be, right? I just need you to stop being so strange. I'll tell you if and when you cross a line, but don't punish Richard and me for being related to him. We don't deserve such treatment."

"You're right." Elizabeth bit her lip. "I was mostly just avoiding Will."

"I know. I'm not an idiot."

"He shouldn't have to leave New York on my account."

"That's up to him, isn't it?"

"It's not fair."

"Now you want to be fair to him?" said Anne, her tone sharp. "Seriously, get over yourself."

"But I...-"

"No. I mean it. Like I said, he will deal with this his way and come back to New York when he's ready. Don't worry about him. He doesn't need your pity or your concern. In fact, he doesn't need to hear from you at all. Just focus on yourself, ok? Let us worry about Darce and what he needs."

"Right. Of course," said Elizabeth. "I should not have presumed I was qualified to know what's best for Will."

"You're not," said Anne. "I'm sorry I'm being harsh, but come on, Liz. You hardly know the guy, your violent dislike notwithstanding."

"Yeah." Elizabeth stared at the floor before venturing a glance at Anne. "Why do you want to be my friend again?"

"You're assuming it's a choice."

"Isn't it?"

Anne shook her head. "You're my sister, Liz. Maybe not by birth, but by fate. Trying to rid myself of you would be like severing a limb." Anne paused and smiled. "Painful. Counter-productive."

"You always have such a way with words." Elizabeth smiled. "I'm sorry that your fate didn't deliver you a better sister."

"Now you're just fishing for compliments."

Elizabeth laughed. "I love you, Anne. Thanks for everything."

"You'd do the same for me." Anne paused. "Just give Dr. Matthews a chance, ok? That's all the thanks I want. Can you do that?"

"Yes, I think I can."

The next morning, on her way to work, Elizabeth called Dr. Matthews' office and made an appointment. "Please tell Dr. Matthews I'm ready to talk."

* President Bartlet quote from Season 1 of The West Wing.

Chapter 17, Part 1

Posted on: 2014-01-30

"Now there's a sight for sore eyes."

Elizabeth looked up and smiled. With his tall frame and broad shoulders and imposing presence, Alex Carter had the unmistakable air of a professional security officer, but it was his disarming smile that really commanded attention. It was a serene smile, maybe even a joyous smile, the kind of smile that often struck Elizabeth as somewhat incongruous with the horrors he witnessed on a daily basis. But he never ceased to smile, and at this point, she barely remembered how jarring it had been to witness his smile that first time she'd met him on the road from Baghdad to Basra. He had been one of the private military contractors assigned to protect the convoy she'd been traveling with that sweltering summer day early after the invasion. Over the next four years, she had run into him time and again, and they had formed the kind of unlikely friendship that is born out of circumstance, but cemented by experiences that can never be shared with others. And now, years later, she still felt comforted by his presence. There was no need to explain the chaos that was her life. He already knew.

She stood up and gave him a hug. "Carter. It's good to see you."

"You too, Liz." Carter slid into the booth. "I see you already ordered me a beer."

"Still drinking Heineken, I hope?"

Carter nodded. "Why mess with what works?"

"When did you get back from Afghanistan?"

"Six months ago. I would have called, but it's been busy."

"I know. You have a new job."

Carter looked up at her. "How do you know?"

"I saw you outside The Tatiana."

Carter raised his eyebrows. "You stalking me?"

Elizabeth smiled. "No. Call it providence. So tell me about the new gig."

"Not much to tell. I'm running security detail for the club."

"You like it so far?"

"Can't complain. Pay is good, and I'm not being shot at constantly."

"Such a low bar," said Elizabeth. "So does that mean you're done with the military contract work?"

"Yeah. I'm done with war zones, Liz."

"That's understandable."

Carter was silent for a moment, then said, "So what were you doing in Brighton Beach, anyway?"

"Following a lead." Elizabeth took another gulp of her beer. "Speaking of which, I need your help."

"What's up?"

"You know the high stakes poker game that takes place in the back room of The Tatiana every Friday night?"

"How do you know about that?"

"I have my ways." Elizabeth smiled. "Is there a way for you to keep tabs on how much someone spends at those games?"

Carter thought for a moment. "Yeah. I think so. Why?"

"There's a regular who comes by the club for the game. Name is George Wickham. Blue eyes, dirty blond hair, really smarmy smile."

Carter nodded. "Yeah, I know him."

"I need you to keep an eye on him. Anything you can tell me about who he hangs out with and how much he spends would be enormously helpful."

"Is this for some story? I thought you were still writing about the Middle East?"

"I am. It's not for a story. It's personal."

"Meaning?"

"I hate George Wickham with everything I have, and I'm looking for revenge."

Carter's eyes darkened as he considered her words. "Did he hurt you, Liz?"

"You could say that."

"You want me to take care of him?" His tone was calm and casual as though he were offering her tea.

Elizabeth shivered as she briefly considered the offer. Tempting as it was, she knew it was not the kind of justice she had in mind. She reached out and squeezed Carter's hand. "You have any idea how sweet and incredibly scary you are at the same time? I don't need you to take care of him. He didn't hurt me directly, Carter. But he's not a good guy, and he's hurt many others. I'm trying to set things right. But I need to do it my way."

"Ok. Fair enough. But if you change your mind, you just let me know."

"I will." Elizabeth smiled. "I have to remember not to get on your bad side."

Carter laughed. "No chance of that happening, Liz."

"So you'll help me, then?"

"Of course." He paused. "The guy sounds dangerous. Are you being careful?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I'm mostly investigating him from afar, maybe a few tails here and there. Don't worry. He doesn't know what's coming his way."

"Sounds like justice is coming his way."

"I hope so." She paused. "He's a weasel who preys on vulnerable people and blackmails them for a living. And he ruins lives in the process. I won't let him get away with it. Thankfully, it turns out he has a gambling habit, so it shouldn't be too hard to spot when he's hit his next victim. That's where you come in."

"I have you covered, Liz."

"Thanks." She sighed. "I've been doing a lot of background research on the guy, and I want to take a shower every time I find out new facts. Trying to keep close tabs on him, but there's only so far I can get without investing in 24-hour surveillance or something slightly more creative."

"I know a guy who can help with the 24-hour surveillance or wiretaps or both."

Elizabeth laughed. "Of course you do. But I'm trying to keep it all above board for now. And I really don't have the money for anything too elaborate, anyway."

"If money is the issue, I could help."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Thanks. That's so generous of you. But I couldn't accept that. You're already doing more than should be reasonably expected of you. I know I'm asking for a lot. And I want to pay you for your help. I'm just a little tight right now, but we could work something out...-"

Carter cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Seriously, that's offensive."

"No, it's not. Look, I don't want to take advantage of our friendship. If someone found out, you could lose your job. It's risky. It's only fair you get compensated."

"I'm going to ignore the fact you made that offer," said Carter, his voice calm. "But if you ask me again, I'm going to be very angry."

"But Carter...-"

"No. The discussion is over. You saved my life, Liz. I owe you. This is the least I can do."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Not this again. You don't owe me. What did you expect me to do? Leave you on the side of the road to bleed to death?"

"You know, most people run away from a blast, not toward it. What you did that day was remarkable."

Elizabeth blushed and awkwardly cleared her throat. "Well, it would have been a shame to let my amateur EMT training go to waste."

"You're terrible at accepting compliments."

"So I've been told," said Elizabeth. "I guess we're at an impasse."

"No, you've lost. You just haven't accepted it yet."

Elizabeth smiled. "Fine. Have it your way. But let the record show I'm not thrilled about this."

It was Carter's turn to roll his eyes. "You have yet to learn how to lose an argument."

"I try not to lose them too often, so am terribly out of practice."

"Well, now's as good a time as any to start practicing."

Elizabeth was silent for a moment. "Thanks a lot, Carter."

"Anytime. So, how you doing?"

Elizabeth sighed. "I don't know. I thought I was ok, but not so sure anymore."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Ok."

"That's it?"

"You'll talk when you're ready."

Elizabeth smiled. "Why doesn't anyone else understand that?"

"They don't have any frame of reference for what you've been through. Normal rules of time don't apply."

"Yeah."

"Just follow your instincts, Liz. You'll be ok."

"My instincts have not been serving me well lately."

Carter shrugged. "Temporary setback. I'm sure of it."

"You don't even know what I'm talking about, Carter."

"I don't need to. I know you. I have faith in you. Whatever it is you're struggling with... I know it won't defeat you. You're made of stronger stuff than that. And if you ever need me, you know where to find me."

"Thanks." Elizabeth fought the tears that threatened to spill over. "You sure know how to make a girl feel special."

Carter beamed. "Helps when the girl is already special. Don't be so hard on yourself, Liz. You'll land on your feet. Always have." He was silent for a moment, then said, "So, what happens when you find out that Wickham hit his next target?"

"I don't know. I'm going to worry about that when I get there."

"Maybe you'll find a way to get him off the streets before then."

"One can always dream."

Chapter 17, Part 2

Posted on: 2014-02-05

Elizabeth tapped her feet incessantly, matching the rhythm of the antique grandfather clock, her courage rising and falling with every breath. She could not rid herself of that nervous tick she only seemed to develop while waiting for Dr. Matthews, so she surveyed the waiting room to distract herself. It was a warm space with comfortable leather couches, sturdy wooden tables and soft lighting, the sort of space that could have been inviting under different circumstances. There was a neat pile of somewhat dated, entirely appropriate, health focused magazines on one of the tables, and Elizabeth wondered when Dr. Matthews had determined that the more popular, celebrity gossip magazines were hazardous to one's mental health. She smiled at the thought as she shook her head and picked up an issue of Yoga Journal, hoping it would contain the secrets to eternal zen. If only it were that easy to vanquish all her demons and pretend that the past was nothing but a stranger with a familiar face. A stranger who could haunt her no more, who could taunt her no more, who could just fade away in a sea of blurred faces. She sighed. If only. Sometimes there was nothing more dangerous than living in a hypothetical existence. The time for fantasy had passed, and she knew she had to do this the hard way. She owed that much to everyone who cared about her, to everyone she had wronged. But most of all, she owed that much to herself.

Dr. Matthews opened the door and poked her head out. "Elizabeth, please come in."

Elizabeth walked into the office and took a seat on the couch. "How are you, Dr. Matthews?"

"I'm fine, Elizabeth. Sorry to keep you waiting. I had to take a call. It was sort of an emergency."

"Everything ok?"

"It's all under control." Dr. Matthews sat down in the armchair across from her. "You're a difficult woman to reach."

"In more ways than one, apparently."

Dr. Matthews looked at her for a moment. "What brings you here today?"

"It has been brought to my attention that I am a fool."

"Ok."

Elizabeth smiled. "What? I don't even get a polite protest?"

"You always use humor as a delaying tactic?"

"As much as possible. Pretty effective, don't you think?"

"Depends on what the objective is, I suppose."

Elizabeth sighed. "I came here today because I need help."

It was Dr. Matthews' turn to smile. "Then you came to the right place."

"I hope so. I don't really have a plan B."

"I find it hard to believe I'm your plan A."

"Nothing gets by you, does it?"

"I sort of pride myself on that."

Elizabeth laughed nervously. "That's why they pay you the big bucks."

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes?"

"You want to tell me what's wrong?"

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "So I met this guy." She paused and looked at Dr. Matthews. "Not like that. Well, not exactly."

"Ok. What happened with this guy?"

"What I tell you stays in this room, right?"

"Correct."

"Unless I threaten to harm myself or someone else?"

"Elizabeth, are you considering harming yourself or someone else?"

"No..."

"Then I suggest you stop delaying and tell me what's bothering you."

"How much time do we have?"

"I can clear my calendar. We have as much time as you need."

"Ok," said Elizabeth. "Do you know the CEO of Pemberley Media, Will Darcy?"

"Not personally, but I am aware of his existence."

"That's the guy."

"The one you met recently?"

"Not that recently. It's been about eight months or so. Perhaps I should start at the beginning?"

"That would be enormously helpful."

"Ok." Elizabeth related the circumstances of her acquaintance with Darcy in all its sordid glory. When she was done, she looked up at Dr. Matthews. "I think that's the gist of it."

"That's quite a story."

"I would say so, yeah."

"Have you seen him since the incident in Sun Valley?"

"No. I sort of sequestered myself. It appears that he had a similar idea as he's left New York. Indefinitely."

"Does that bother you?"

"He did nothing wrong. I should be the one leaving. I don't have anything close to his resources, of course."

"And if you did?"

"I would disappear to the end of the earth where I could do no more harm."

"And that's your assessment of your current situation? That you inflict harm?"

"Is there another reasonable assessment of my situation?"

Dr. Matthews was silent as she took some notes. "Tell me your theory about what happened with Will."

"I don't know what happened."

"You don't know or you don't want to know?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you tell me your theory?"

"I'd like to hear yours first, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth looked at Dr. Matthews. "I...-"

"Don't think, Elizabeth. Just tell me."

"I wanted to hate him from the beginning."

"Why?"

"He was arrogant, self assured, dismissive of others."

"You passionately hate every arrogant CEO you come across?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Only the ones I have to see on a reasonably frequent basis."

"That's not enough of a reason."

"Well, that's all I got."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"How about the truth? When did you decide to hate him?"

"I told you, almost the moment I met him."

"Why?"

"Because he was arrogant."

"Why?"

"Dr. Matthews..."

"No, don't reason with me. Tell me why."

"He was full of himself."

Dr. Matthews shook her head. "Why, Elizabeth?"

"Because he controls the media, ok?" Elizabeth's voice rose as she spoke. Her pulse was racing, and the words began pouring out. "He personifies everything I hate about what has become of a profession I used to worship. Every decision he makes, every story he buries, every day he exists makes it incrementally more difficult for me to do my job. For countless others like me to do their jobs. I hate him because the daily drama of the Kardashian clan is more newsworthy than almost everything of consequence happening in this world."

"And that's his fault?"

"If not his, then whose?"

There was silence in the room as Elizabeth's words hung over them like thick smog. Finally, Dr. Matthews said, "You used the present tense."

"Did I?"

"Do you still hate Will?"

"No."

"You used the present tense."

"Yes, you mentioned that already. Are you the grammar police now?"

"Elizabeth, this can only work if you tell me the truth, even when it's embarrassing to you."

"I don't want to hate him."

"But you do?"

"No. I hate the idea of him. Not the actual person. I don't know the person. But I know the CEO."

"It's easy to hate a CEO, Elizabeth. But you realize we're talking about an actual person, right? Not an idea, but a real, breathing human being. One who has feelings for you."

Elizabeth stared at the carpet. "I know. Why do you think I'm here?"

"Tell me your feelings about Will, the person."

"I really couldn't tell you. I don't know him. I never tried to know him." Elizabeth paused. "I feel incredibly guilty and ashamed. I feel regret about all the things I said to him and about him. I feel anger at myself for the lies I believed. I feel sorry for having caused him pain. Dr. Matthews, when I start to think about him, my pulse goes through the roof and I feel like I'm drowning. That's how I feel about Will. He reminds me of the person I have become, a person I don't recognize, a person I hate."

"Hate is not a productive solution."

"What is?"

"Reform."

"And how do you suggest I accomplish that?"

"Let's start with your hatred of Will Darcy, the CEO."

"Ok."

"Tell me more about that."

"I don't know if there's more to tell."

"When George Wickham told you his story, why did you believe him?"

"It was confirmation of everything I already knew to be true."

"How do you feel about that as a journalist?"

"Not great, I assure you." Elizabeth smiled. "You're getting at something. Why don't you just tell me?"

"You believed George Wickham for the same reason you hated Will. Because you're angry. Why are you so angry?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I don't know. The world is a disappointing place."

"Sometimes. It can also be a hopeful place. Why are you so focused on the disappointments?"

"What else do I have to focus on?"

"You want to change the way the world consumes news. I get that. But there are a myriad of reasons why we are in our current predicament. Do you really believe Will Darcy is solely responsible for the demise of journalism?"

Elizabeth looked at Dr. Matthews for a long moment before responding. "No."

"Then why all the anger?"

"It was convenient, I suppose."

"It was, indeed. And you think that's fair?"

"No."

"Ok," said Dr. Matthews. "Tell me why you never went back to the field. It's obvious to anyone who has known you for a day that your heart would never lead you to a desk job."

"I'm not in a rush to die."

"So you're afraid of death?"

"I'm not afraid of death, Dr. Matthews," said Elizabeth. "I'm afraid of irrelevance."

"I don't follow."

"Don't you see?" said Elizabeth. "What's the point in going to the field and reporting stories no one wants to read? Why risk my life for something that doesn't matter?"

"It matters to you."

"Is that enough?"

"Why not?" Dr. Matthews paused. "You're attached to an outcome over which you have no control. No one has the power to control outcomes, not even CEOs like Will Darcy. Are you familiar with the serenity prayer?" Elizabeth indicated no, so Dr. Matthews said, "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference."

"Oh yeah. I know it. But I thought that was just an AA thing."

Dr. Matthews raised her eyebrows. "Is the source of wisdom relevant to its usefulness, in your opinion?"

"No."

"Then I suggest you memorize that prayer and repeat it daily."

"You're saying I can't change the world?" said Elizabeth with a wry smile.

"No. I'm saying you can't let yourself be so emotionally invested in whether you're changing the world. Elizabeth, you don't need to stop being passionate or working incredibly hard toward your goals. But you can't let disappointment or failure overwhelm you. The last six years are evidence of what happens when you allow anger to poison your soul."

"It's not just about Will," said Elizabeth softly.

"No."

"What's wrong with me?"

"I'm not fond of attaching labels to individual circumstances. But you clearly have PTSD."

"I was injured by a bomb in the middle of a war zone. Am I not allowed to be affected by that?"

"Of course you are."

"I didn't resort to drugs or alcohol like a lot of others I knew in Iraq. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Elizabeth, the diagnosis was not meant to be an indictment."

"It sure feels like one."

"Why?"

"Because you're suggesting I'm not strong enough."

"I'm not."

"Then what are you suggesting?"

"That you went through an unimaginable trauma that left scars. There's nothing wrong with you, Elizabeth, nothing that we can't treat."

Elizabeth sighed. "Are you saying this debacle with Will was preventable?"

"Maybe," said Dr. Matthews. "What I'm saying is that you don't have to be angry. Not at the world for disappointing you, not at Will for being the CEO of a large media conglomerate, not at Dylan for leaving you."

Elizabeth looked up at Dr. Matthews sharply. "I'm not angry at Dylan."

Dr. Matthews tilted her head. "Aren't you?"

Elizabeth contemplated her response for a moment. "I'm not angry at Dylan. I'm angry at myself."

"Why?"

"It should have been me," said Elizabeth, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. "He didn't deserve to die. He didn't even want to go out that day. He'd heard rumblings about threats in our area. And I laughed at him, told him we were living in Baghdad. There would always be another threat. I didn't want to let my life be dictated by fear. And so we went."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Easy for you to say. When I woke up in Landstuhl, they told me he bled out on his way to the hospital. His death was entirely avoidable. Do you know I have EMT training? I could have helped him. Someone tied a tourniquet on my leg that saved my life. No one did that for him. So he died, and here I am."

"He didn't deserve to die, but neither did you."

"He wouldn't have let PTSD paralyze him. He would have been back in the field, doing what he loved."

"No one is preventing you from doing the same."

Elizabeth was silent for a moment. "This might be the right time to tell you that he was going to ask me to marry him."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I found out a couple of months ago."

"How?"

"Jane knew."

"And she didn't tell you?"

"No."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? Because she didn't tell me or because all of this happened in the first place?"

"Both."

"It's ok. Jane was just trying to help me. She meant well."

"That's very generous of you."

"I tried the anger route first," said Elizabeth with a smile. "Apparently forgiveness is a better choice."

"So how do you feel about it?"

"About what? The fact that Dylan wanted to marry me?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. Happy, I suppose. That he felt that way about me. But honestly, I don't know if I would have said yes. Is that terrible?"

"No."

"Well, it feels terrible. I loved him. I really did. But maybe not enough, you know? Or maybe marriage is just not for me," said Elizabeth. "It really doesn't matter anymore, but I keep thinking through all the permutations...- and it's impossible to not conclude that his life would have been better off without me."

"Is that what he would have told me?"

"No. He was stubborn that way," said Elizabeth with a small smile. "He would have told you it was worth every second."

"And you disagree?"

Elizabeth nodded. "He loved me in a way I clearly didn't deserve. It puzzled me then as it puzzles me now. Wasn't there someone uncomplicated for him to fall in love with? Someone who didn't need convincing to marry him?"

"Love is not really a choice."

"It should be."

Dr. Matthews sighed and took off her glasses. "You have to forgive yourself, Elizabeth. You have to allow yourself to rise above all that loss and guilt and anger. You have to give yourself permission to be happy again. Can you do that?"

"I don't know, Dr. Matthews. It all sounds so difficult."

"Would you be here if it were easy?"

"I guess not," said Elizabeth. "Now that you've enumerated my various deficiencies, how do you plan on fixing me?"

"I would like you to come in twice a week."

"Ok."

"And go to a PTSD support group."

Elizabeth frowned. "Is that really necessary?"

"Yes."

"I don't suppose that's negotiable?"

"No."

"Fine. Will you tell me what I'm supposed to do with my life?"

"It doesn't work like that."

"How does it work?"

"I'll help you resolve your issues so that you can determine what to do with your life."

"That's not the most foolproof plan I've ever heard."

"I guess it better work then as it's the only one we have."

"You have a lot of faith in me. Unwarranted... if history is any guide."

"You'll do better this time."

"How do you know?"

"I don't. But I've been doing this a long time, Elizabeth. Call it an instinct."

"I hope you're right. I want to be myself again. I want to make Dylan proud. He wouldn't even recognize me anymore." Elizabeth hung her head. "You think I can still be a journalist?"

"I don't see why not."

"Because I let myself believe unverified lies."

"The mistakes we make don't have to define us. It's how we respond to those mistakes that matters in the end."

"And you approve of my response, I take it?"

"You're here, aren't you?"

"I certainly am," said Elizabeth. After a brief pause, she said, "How will I ever face Will again? How can I ever seek his forgiveness?"

"Apologizing seems like a fashionable choice."

Elizabeth smiled. "You're developing quite a sense of humor."

"I try," said Dr. Matthews. "You should be proud of yourself, Elizabeth."

"Why?"

"For confronting your issues. I know it isn't easy for you to ask for help."

Elizabeth laughed. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Dr. Matthews smiled in response. "It may not seem like it right now, but just remember one thing."

"What's that?"

"This too shall pass."

Chapter 18, Part 1

Posted on: 2014-02-21

For the next three months, Elizabeth immersed herself fully, without reservations, in the long and arduous process of self discovery, a process that was every bit as unpleasant as she had imagined. There were a number of stumbling blocks along the way, moments when the excruciating pain threatened to torpedo the entire endeavor, when it didn't seem humanly possible to continue without losing her sanity, when the only rational option seemed to be complete and immediate surrender. But perhaps to the surprise of everyone but Dr. Matthews, Elizabeth did not surrender; she persevered, as stubborn in her process of recovery as she was in every other aspect of her life. Dr. Matthews had been right. This time was different. Her humanity was on the line. Or at least her credentials as a journalist. But really, in Elizabeth's mind, the distinction was almost an arbitrary one. She could not continue to exist in this world believing cheap lies from every smooth con artist simply because she was too angry to think clearly and too stubborn to acknowledge she needed help. Her mind was like a maze filled with traps that quarantined areas deemed unsafe for casual consumption, a perfectly reasonable way to live, or so she had believed for years. But now, with all such illusions shattered, she applied her infamous focus and attention to the question of her mental state. And the results never ceased to amaze.

The real revelation was the ease with which deeply buried thoughts cascaded out of her subconsciousness in front of a group of random strangers. She had not planned on sharing much in the support group meetings, her attendance a mere capitulation to Dr. Matthews' demands, her silence a form of protest, her only reward stale cookies and bad coffee. So she spent many a meeting listening to intensely disturbing tales of lost jobs and broken marriages and sleepless nights filled with thoughts of ending it all. Everyone had a story to tell that was incredibly personal and unique but all too familiar at the same time. And the more she listened, the more Elizabeth could feel the walls crumbling around her, brick by brick, until she was completely exposed, baring it all for everyone to see. So she began to speak. Anything less just seemed indecent. She spoke of those early days after the bombing, days filled with constant pain and futile tears, days when that extra dose of morphine seemed like her only refuge. She spoke of her family's hushed voices and averted eyes and stricken faces and the guilt she felt at having subjected them to the hellish chaos that was her life. She spoke of the long road to recovery when every anguished step felt like damning punishment rather than the miracle her doctors assured her it was. And then, once she was healed on the outside, with nothing to remind her of her trials but the ugly scars she carried around like souvenirs, she spoke of feeling utterly and completely alone. No one else could understand why she was not back to normal. How many years would it take, they demanded to know with their eyes? When would it be enough? But there would never be enough time. A part of her had died, and she didn't even want it back. She wanted to suffer. It was, after all, what she deserved. It should have been her that day. Why was that so difficult to understand?

Speaking out loud the words that had plagued her for years set Elizabeth on a path of clarity, and for the first time since Baghdad, she could see the debris all around her, the ruins of everything she had once held dear. She had lost it all; the honesty in her relationships, the direction in her career, the passion for the truth. Drunk with self-pity and blinded by the fog of war, she had allowed herself to lose all perspective, all the while believing herself a rational pragmatist. Dylan would have been ashamed of her. Unmoored and adrift for years, convinced she was acting out of self-preservation, Elizabeth had become a bitter, angry vessel of irrational hate and vitriol, blaming the media for focusing on profits over substance and the world for not caring enough about the things that mattered. And while she still believed in the truth of her convictions, she could see she had lost her soul, becoming a shell of the person she wished to be and the journalist she knew she could be. Perhaps the bomb had really killed her after all. Isn't that what she wanted? To not face the world anymore. To not face herself anymore. But now she faced it all. Every ugly truth and unkind thought and unflattering revelation. And all those years of anger and guilt and sorrow morphed into a potent disappointment in herself and her actions, or more accurately, her inaction. Jane had correctly diagnosed her as stuck, but with the momentum of newfound wisdom behind her and the encouraging words of Dr. Matthews in her head, Elizabeth charted a course towards the promised land. An Elizabeth Bennet un-stuck and unfazed and finally unafraid.

The road to the promised land was paved with contrition and humility, and Elizabeth was not too proud to beg for forgiveness. And while her family and friends chose to be magnanimous, she knew she did not deserve such leniency after years of harsh thoughts and poisoned words and destructive actions. Deserving or not, she seemed to have their love and forgiveness all the same, not a small miracle in her eyes, but such was her almost divine luck. Or maybe not quite so divine for she was denied the forgiveness of the one person who had sparked it all: William Darcy. He did not appear in New York or if he did, she was left unaware. It was a big city, after all, and the man deserved his privacy. In an act of almost superhuman willpower, she did not ask Anne or Richard any questions about Darcy's whereabouts, respecting their stated desire for neutrality. She toyed with the idea of contacting him directly and even started writing an email a thousand times, but stopped every time with Anne's words ringing in her head. Don't worry about him. He doesn't need your pity or your concern. In fact, he doesn't need to hear from you at all. She had to respect his wishes. He did not wish to see her. He was making that abundantly clear. It would be nothing short of absurd for her to force herself on him after her atrocious abuse of his character and actions and motivations. But without his forgiveness, she could never be truly absolved of her crimes, and maybe that was to be her punishment. So there was some justice in this world, after all.

She read his letter almost daily despite knowing it by heart and found something new every time. The way his almost perfect cursive seemed to tremble in some of the difficult passages about his sister, his anger still raw, palpable. The way his righteous indignation at her false accusations dissolved into sadness by the end as he bid her farewell. The way he spoke about her, even in his angry moments, with so much warmth and fondness. He wanted her to think well of him, desperately and passionately, regardless of what had happened between them. She was uncertain as to what she had done to inspire such affection - or love, as Anne had called it - but as Dr. Matthews often reminded her, love was seldom a choice. And Darcy had chosen poorly, much like Dylan before him. There was nothing to be done about it but wait for an opportunity to express her gratitude at having her eyes opened and to seek forgiveness for each and every unfair word. His face haunted her everywhere, on the street corner as she hailed a cab, in the line at Starbucks, in the deli where she had lunch. He always seemed tired, withdrawn, weary, forever frozen in time on that porch in Sun Valley where she had seen him last. She wanted him to be angry or indignant or dismissive, but he just seemed sad, which was definitely a whole lot worse. I'm sorry, Will. It was torture, perhaps of the self-inflicted variety, for he was undoubtedly off on a brilliant island vacation with some blonde model instead of pining for her in perpetuity. But it was the penance she owed him; so, vain or not, she allowed herself to be tortured slowly, deliberately, again and again and again.

And somewhere along the way, just as Dr. Matthews had promised, Elizabeth figured out what she was supposed to do with her life.

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: December 2, 2013 11:21 PM
To: Ed Gardiner [ed.gardiner@qed.com]
Subject: So

Hey Ed - any chance that job offer still stands?

From: Ed Gardiner [ed.gardiner@qed.com]
Date: December 3, 2013 9:35 AM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: So

I thought your official position was that QED is a quixotic endeavour destined for failure and insignificance?

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: December 3, 2013 6:12 AM
To: Ed Gardiner [ed.gardiner@qed.com]
Subject: Re: So

Did I really say that?

From: Ed Gardiner [ed.gardiner@qed.com]
Date: December 3, 2013 1:20 PM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: So

I'm afraid so. Email is forever, Liz.

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: December 3, 2013 7:01 AM
To: Ed Gardiner [ed.gardiner@qed.com]
Subject: Re: So

Well, I'd like to revise my position, then.

From: Ed Gardiner [ed.gardiner@qed.com]
Date: December 3, 2013 2:06 PM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: So

So QED is NOT a quixotic endeavour?

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: December 3, 2013 7:30 AM
To: Ed Gardiner [ed.gardiner@qed.com]
Subject: Re: So

Oh, it probably is. But I don't care. It'd be an honor to serve by your side and go down fighting. If you'd still have me, that is.

From: Ed Gardiner [ed.gardiner@qed.com]
Date: December 3, 2013 2:32 PM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: So

Easy with the war metaphors. We're going for a less hyperbolic tone at QED.

From: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Date: December 3, 2013 7:38 AM
To: Ed Gardiner [ed.gardiner@qed.com]
Subject: Re: So

So... is that a yes?

From: Ed Gardiner [ed.gardiner@qed.com]
Date: December 3, 2013 4:09 PM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: Re: So

Was there ever any doubt?

Elizabeth walked into the living room and watched her sister read. Jane seemed so serene, so tranquil that Elizabeth lost all her courage for a moment. Jane was finally in her preferred state of unabated optimism. Things with Charles could not be adequately described without resorting to all kinds of flowery adjectives that left even Caroline somewhat nauseated. Jane had tried - valiantly - to keep her expectations in check and emotions contained, but mere weeks after reuniting, it seemed as though he had never left. Work had never been better as Longbourn Cafe had recently received a well-deserved and glowing review from the New York Times. And perhaps most important of all, the sisters had never been closer, Elizabeth's bumpy journey to redemption aided by Jane's constant, comforting presence. Her sister's life was perfect, and Elizabeth realized she desperately wanted to be the harbinger of anything but more sorrow. Yet it seemed that even the good news in her life came cloaked in some heartache. Sensing her presence, Jane looked up and flashed her brilliant smile. Elizabeth felt her heart race as she cleared her throat. It was time to add some imperfections to the status quo, a task for which Elizabeth felt uniquely qualified.

"Jane?"

"Yes, darling?"

"I need to talk to you."

Jane closed her book. "That sounds serious."

"It is," said Elizabeth as she sat down. "In a manner of speaking. I, ahh...- I got a new job."

"Oh really?" said Jane. "That's good news, isn't it? I know you weren't totally happy at the Times."

"Yeah, it's good news. At least, I think so."

Jane's smile instantly evaporated. "I...- oh, I see."

"I was afraid of that reaction."

"No, I don't mean it that way," said Jane. After a pause, she said, "What's the job?"

"I'm going to work for an old friend. He started a magazine."

"The friend have a name?"

Elizabeth smiled. "Ed. Ed Gardiner. I met him in Iraq."

Jane furrowed her eyebrows. "And where is he now?"

"Israel. Well, Tel Aviv, to be exact."

"And the magazine?"

"It's called QED. It's a monthly magazine focused on the Middle East."

"QED. Like in math?"

"Yes, quod erat demonstrandum, the conclusion of a proof." Elizabeth's eyes gleamed. "QED aspires to be more than just an inventory of the latest conflicts. It tries to provide context and facts and differing points of view. And not just in a cursory sense. And hopefully, that means the arguments are cogent and didactic and persuasive such that the conclusions are proven rather than asserted. Most of every month's issue covers just one topic in extraordinary depth. With the rest highlighting other key stories of the month. I don't know if anyone is covering the Middle East in quite this fashion. In English, anyway."

"It sounds perfect."

"Doesn't it? It's the kind of reporting I've always wanted to do."

"Do you know what your role will be?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "It's a start-up, so who knows. Ed offered me a deputy managing editor title, which sounds a lot more impressive than it is, I'm sure. It's a lean team. I expect I'll spend plenty of time on mundane tasks."

"And will you...-" Jane's voice faltered. "Will you be going out to the field to do the actual reporting?"

"I think so. Like I said, it's a lean team. The editor title was just to entice me to come. And anyway, you know I couldn't care less about the title. It's the story that interests me. So yes, I expect I'll be doing some reporting. As well as coordinating others' efforts. It's all pretty fluid."

"Right." Jane took in a deep breath. "When do you leave?"

"As soon as humanly possible. So a few weeks, maybe a month."

"I see," said Jane. "Does Dr. Matthews know?"

Elizabeth nodded. "She's the only one I've told except you."

"And what did she say?"

"She was supportive. I mean, she can't tell me if it's right for me. But it feels right, you know? I can feel it in my bones. And anyway, it's not like I'm severing all ties with her. I'll check in with her frequently...- wonders of modern technology." Elizabeth paused. "Jane, it's time for me to move on with my life. And I can't imagine doing anything else. It's an opportunity of a lifetime."

"I know." Jane's voice was small, strained.

"I can't go without your support, Jane. I hate to see you like this."

Jane was silent for a moment. "I'm really happy for you, Liz."

"Are you?"

Jane smiled. "Of course. It was only a matter of time. I always knew this day would come. You could not be a caged bird forever."

"Then you're more prescient than I am. I've been sitting on this job offer for months. I didn't know if I could do it again. If I had it in me anymore."

"I never lost faith in you. I knew you'd find your way eventually. And sadly for me, that always meant you would leave me someday."

"I'm not leaving you, Jane."

"But you are," said Jane. "And it's quite all right. You were meant to do this. Bear witness to and report the truth. My selfish impulse is to keep you here forever. Safe maybe, but miserable. Your happiness is elsewhere, Liz. I've known that for years. And I've prepared myself for this. It can't be any other way."

Elizabeth said nothing for a moment. Jane was right, of course. There was no other way, never had been. That truth was frightening and exhilarating and all kinds of wonderful. "I'll only be one flight away."

"I know."

"And we'll talk all the time."

"Yeah."

"Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want you to think you're losing me."

"I know I'm not. I guess I'll just have to learn to share you again."

"It means a lot to me to know I have your blessing. But I worry about you. You'll be ok, won't you?"

"Yeah."

"Even though no other roommate will ever be able to fill the void I'm leaving behind?"

Jane smiled. "Clearly, you're a tough act to follow."

"But I know Charles will try his best."

"It won't be the same without you."

"Poor Charles. Always measured against the impossible standards of the absent sister."

"He'll manage."

"Manage? I bet he replaces me in no time."

"He could never replace you, Liz. No one can."

Elizabeth looked at Jane and squeezed her hand. "You always know just the thing to say. I wish I could take you with me. Honestly, I'm not sure how I'm going to survive without you."

"You're going to be fine. More than fine. You don't just survive, Liz. You triumph. And I'm so incredibly proud of you. I'll miss you dreadfully. And worry and fret about you constantly. But knowing that you're happy, that you're doing what you love...- that is a gift worth suffering for."

"Somehow being in my life always entails a great deal of suffering. Have you ever noticed that?"

"Of course. How'd you think mom developed her poor nerves?"

Elizabeth laughed. "I obviously have no compassion."

"None whatsoever," said Jane solemnly. "But if you do, even a tiny bit, promise me one thing?"

"Yes?"

"You won't take any unnecessary risks."

"I won't. I promise." Elizabeth paused. "Such an innocuous promise to extract. Even for you, Jane. Should have asked for more while I'm feeling vulnerable."

"I'm just getting started, Liz. I have a whole month to extract all kinds of other promises."

Elizabeth smiled. "Charles has no idea what he's getting into, does he?"

Jane smiled in return. "Not in the slightest."

Chapter 18, Part 2

Posted on: 2014-03-03

"I can't believe you're leaving us tomorrow, Liz," said Caroline. "New York won't be the same without you."

Elizabeth smiled fondly at Caroline. She was almost shocked to admit to herself just how much she was going to miss Caroline's unapologetic sentimentality and earnest loyalty. Over Elizabeth's vigorous objections, Caroline had insisted on a farewell gathering at their favorite wine bar in the Village. Elizabeth had highlighted her antipathy toward teary goodbyes and maudlin speeches, but Caroline could be firm when she thought she was right. Which happened fairly often, if Anne's annoyed grumbles were accurate. And so, within a matter of hours, Caroline managed a feat that had eluded Jane and Anne for days. She elicited from the guest of honor a reluctant promise to attend her own farewell bash. Apparently, Caroline understood instinctively what mothers around the world already know - that a little bit of guilt can work miracles. The party was not for Elizabeth; it was for the friends she was leaving behind. Recast in that light, it really was not that objectionable anymore. And Elizabeth could not help but acquiesce to Caroline's loving persistence. Manipulating techniques notwithstanding, she couldn't take the chance that Caroline was right. Maybe it was cruel to leave without a proper goodbye.

"Stop being so nice to me. You're making me uncomfortable," said Elizabeth.

"Isn't that why you have Anne here?" said Caroline with a sweet smile. "To even out my congeniality with her sarcasm?"

Anne took another sip of her drink and said, "Keep talking like that, Caroline, and I may even grow to like you one day."

Richard laughed. "Oh, the horror."

Caroline shot Richard a quick look before turning to Elizabeth. "So, are you ready?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I think so."

"You excited?"

Elizabeth nodded. "And nervous."

"I didn't know you got nervous," said Caroline.

"Don't let the superhuman exterior fool you," said Anne. "It's a cheap trick. Turns out she's just as fallible as the rest of us."

Elizabeth smiled. "Some may argue even more."

"Well, I think that's absurd," said Caroline. "You're the bravest person I know. And I can't wait to hear all about your adventures." Caroline raised her glass. "To new beginnings."

"New beginnings," said Elizabeth, her voice almost a whisper, the sound of clinking glass overwhelming her for a second. She looked over to the couch where her sisters were sitting with Charles. "You'll keep an eye on Jane and Lydia for me, won't you? And that unreliable brother of yours?"

Caroline nodded. "Of course. I wouldn't worry about Charles, though. I think he learned his lesson. As far as Jane's concerned, he will never be unreliable again."

"I sure hope so," said Elizabeth. "Make sure Jane doesn't worry about me too much, ok?"

"It's only natural for her to worry, Liz. But mostly, I think she'll just miss you. She became accustomed to seeing you on a daily basis. And now you'll be halfway around the world."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Why does everyone make it sound like I'm moving to Mars?"

"You'll have to forgive Caroline," said Richard. "She practically thinks Brooklyn is Mars."

Caroline glared at him. "Actually, Mars sounds much more inviting to me right about now."

"It would, wouldn't it?" said Richard.

"Really, Richard?" said Caroline. "You want to do this now?"

"You won't answer my calls," said Richard. He looked at Anne and Elizabeth. "We had a fight."

"About Brooklyn, apparently," said Anne.

"You want to tell them?" said Caroline. When Richard did not speak, she said, "He bid on a brownstone in Park Slope."

"Oh?" Elizabeth could not keep the confusion off her face.

"Without telling me," said Caroline.

"Oh."

"Yeah," said Caroline. "I mean, can you believe it?"

Richard shifted on his feet. "It sounds bad when you put it like that."

Caroline crossed her arms. "Oh, there's a version of this that makes sense in your head?"

"I wasn't trying to deceive you."

"Just a happy accident, then?"

"No. It sort of just happened."

"Oh Richard." Anne shook her head. "You know it's bad when I'm on Caroline's side."

"It's not like I was out looking for real estate. But a friend of mine told me about this place and I went to see it. I shouldn't have, but I did. And I fell in love with it. I know how you feel about Brooklyn, Caroline. So I didn't tell you."

"And then you bid on it," said Caroline.

"Yes. Well, I'm not going to get it, I'm pretty sure. There's a bidding war."

"That's not the point. Don't you see?" Caroline looked at Richard for a second, her eyes beginning to swim in tears. "Excuse me. I'm going to get some air." With that and a curt nod at Anne and Elizabeth, Caroline walked away.

Anne turned to Richard. "So, how did this brilliant plan of yours go haywire?"

"She overheard me talking to the broker," said Richard with a sigh.

"Serves you right."

"I know."

"You're an idiot," said Elizabeth.

"I know."

"If you want to move to Brooklyn, why don't you just talk to her?" said Elizabeth.

"You don't understand. She is never going to leave the city."

"Please, she'd follow you to Timbuktu, Richard," said Anne. "Did it occur to you that she's angry because you made this huge decision without consulting her and not because you may want to move to Brooklyn?"

Richard looked at her. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Well, you told me you were going to marry her," said Anne. "So it seems I'm stuck with her for life. And in this instance, she happens to be in the right."

Elizabeth smiled. "Wow. Miracles do happen."

Richard thought for a moment. "I better go talk to her."

"You do that," said Anne. When he was gone, she looked at Elizabeth. "I cannot believe you're leaving me alone with these lunatics."

"What is it about love that drives people insane?"

"I don't have a clue." Anne paused. "So, this is really happening, huh?"

"I guess so. I head down to see my parents for a few days. And then I'm off. Why, are you surprised? Did you expect I would fail at this the way I have at so many other things?"

"No." said Anne firmly. "It's just...- time really flew by, you know?"

"I know."

"You're going to be great."

Elizabeth looked at Anne in amazement. "How did you know I needed to hear that?"

Anne smiled. "I can read you like a book. You seem...- apprehensive."

"It's not the job. I know how to handle that. I guess, I wasn't expecting to feel so ambivalent about leaving. It's all so bittersweet. I'm really going to miss you guys. And New York. When I came here, I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this...- " Elizabeth looked around the bar. "... totally incredible community. Most people are lucky if they have one loving family. I have two. It's so humbling, Anne. I'm not sure what I did to deserve you. But I'm going to try really hard to make you proud."

"We're already proud of you, Liz."

"That's because you have terrible judgment."

"Clearly. Look at who I choose to spend my time with...- before you know it, I'm going to be redecorating my apartment with Caroline."

Elizabeth laughed. "There are worse outcomes in life."

"I can't think of any."

"You're all talk. You've been really nice to her. Don't think I haven't noticed."

"Lower your voice. I have a reputation to maintain," said Anne with a grin. "But if you must know, she's not all bad. And she makes Richard happy. Deliriously happy. And that's all you can really ask for, right?"

"How enlightened of you."

"Yes, well, if you repeat what I said, I'll deny it categorically."

"I'd expect nothing else. Want to hear something weird?"

"Obviously."

"Ever since Sun Valley, I feel guilty around Caroline."

"Why?"

"Because of Will," said Elizabeth, already feeling ridiculous. "I know how she felt about him. I know it was ages ago. And she's madly in love with Richard. But I can't shake the feeling that she must blame me for seducing him or something."

Anne rolled her eyes. "Please. If your behavior toward Darce was seduction, we can safely say you are in no danger of losing your single status anytime soon. Now as to why that behavior attracted Darce in the first place, well, I'm in no position to opine on that. That's between him and his therapist."

Elizabeth laughed. "You underestimate my charms."

"Seriously. You have to tell me your secret one day. I'm not getting any younger."

"So you think I'm crazy, right? She doesn't hate me?"

"I can't believe I'm about to say this, but you're not giving Caroline enough credit. First of all, I really do think she has no feelings for Darce anymore. And I think - I know - she realizes it was always just an incredibly superficial infatuation. And second of all, she knows you weren't seeking his attention. It's not your fault he fell in love with you."

There it was again. He fell in love with you. Those words never failed to make her wince. Elizabeth bit her lip. "Sounds like you've had this conversation before."

Anne shook her head. "Not me. Richard. Men can be incredibly sensitive. And insecure. I think sometimes he needs reassurance that she really loves him."

"That's absurd."

"I know. Not that I expect you to understand, but Darce can be a tough act to follow. He's really loyal and caring and can be charming and funny when he chooses. And it doesn't hurt that he's incredibly rich and powerful, in a dashing, master of the universe kind of way."

"No, I understand," said Elizabeth, her voice soft. And she did. It was a newfound understanding; tenuous, perhaps, but unavoidable. An understanding that even though she did not know him at all, Darcy must possess some good qualities in order to deserve the love and loyalty of so many whose opinions she valued. And whatever those qualities were, she was never going to discover them herself. It seemed so tragic, the way they had left things. So bitter and rancorous and unresolved. Or, at least, not resolved in a way that was remotely satisfactory. Noticing Anne's curious eyes fixed on her, Elizabeth pushed her hair off her face and spoke in a steadier tone. "But Richard shouldn't worry. She's crazy about him."

"Yes, well, by that logic, you shouldn't worry, either."

"Yeah, you're right," said Elizabeth. "Explain to me again how I'm supposed to manage without you?"

"I don't know, Liz. I expect you'll wander aimlessly in the streets of Tel Aviv, wallowing in unimaginable sorrow and despair."

Elizabeth smiled. "I guess you'll have to come visit to talk some sense into me."

"Naturally. Did you really think a few thousand miles would deter me?"

"No. I know nothing can deter you."

"Good. Now, shall we go join the party?"

Elizabeth linked arms with Anne and nodded. "Gladly."

"Dad?" Elizabeth peered into the study and saw her father in his usual spot, in an armchair by the fireplace, engrossed in a book.

Mr. Bennet looked up and frowned, clearly irritated at the interruption. "Yes?"

"I, ah...- well, my cab's here soon..."

"Oh." Mr. Bennet put the book on his lap. "In that case, why don't you come in and talk to your father."

Elizabeth smiled as she entered the room in which a thousand different cherished memories had been created. It was the room she would most associate with home, with childhood. In her younger days, she remembered often finding her mother in the room, knitting quietly while her father read. Over time, it became her father's refuge in a house overrun with teenage girls, a refuge that only Elizabeth dared trespass given her uncontested position as the favorite daughter. Mr. Bennet suffered her intrusions with equanimity and a solemn smile, and it was only when she left home that she realized how much she missed those unremarkable afternoons spent in companionable silence.

"What are you reading?"

"Civilization and Its Discontents," said Mr. Bennet with a smile.

"A crowd favorite, if there ever was one."

"When you get older, you find yourself seeking comfort in familiar places."

"You're not that old."

"Maybe. You girls are really aging me rapidly, though."

Elizabeth laughed. "Now you sound like mom."

"And how is your mother?"

"Ok, I guess."

"The ringing in my ears would suggest otherwise."

"You know how...- animated she can be while making what she considers to be an important point."

"Oh I know. And what point has she been making all morning?"

"She doesn't want me to go."

"That's not terribly surprising."

"No, but she has a lot of interesting incentives to offer."

"Such as?"

"She offered to never bother me about getting married again. I have to say, that one is really tempting."

"Still insufficient, though, I presume?"

"Yes. I really want to do this, dad."

"We know, Liz. It isn't exactly a secret. You've wanted to do this since you were eight."

"I tried to change. I gave it a real go. You can ask Jane."

"I don't need to ask Jane. I know you tried. You didn't have to. Not for us."

"I know it's hard on you guys. I'm not trying to be difficult."

Mr. Bennet smiled. "No. That comes effortlessly to you."

"Dad...-"

"Your mom doesn't always express herself well. It's easy to ignore her and to think she's constantly hysterical and silly. Believe me, I know a thing or two about that." Mr. Bennet paused. "But she just wants the best for you. All of you. You girls...- you are her entire life."

"I know."

Mr. Bennet shook his head. "I don't think you do. She isn't complicated. She wants you all to be married because she thinks it'll make you happy. There really isn't anything more to it. She has many faults, but not loving her daughters enough isn't one of them." He sighed. "Seeing you lying in a hospital bed broke her heart. It nearly killed her. And I've never seen her so calm. For the first time in her life, her hysterics would have been entirely justified, but it's like she knew she had to be strong. For all of us."

Elizabeth looked at her father, surprised at the earnestness in his voice, which was not tinged with even a hint of his usual sardonic wit. It was, perhaps, just a momentary lapse, but it allowed Elizabeth to see the foundations of a love that had sustained a marriage over a lifetime. And isn't this what marriage is, she thought. Lives bound together by a sacred covenant, all the throes of passion inevitably intertwined with the indifference and boredom that sometimes leads to contempt. And then, from time to time, in an unguarded moment, all the love comes rushing back, a cosmic reminder of the way things used to be. It was fitting that the suffering of one of their daughters had brought the Bennets to this moment of clarity. It was, after all, one of the few things that united them.

"She was great," said Elizabeth, a small smile on her face. "Whenever I opened my eyes, she would be sitting right next to me, reading the newspaper out loud."

"She wanted to make sure you didn't miss the latest news. She knows how much you love it."

"It was not my finest hour. And I...- I appreciate what you both did for me."

"That's what parents are for, Liz."

"And this is how I repay you, huh?" Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

"I'm afraid you're missing the point, love."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Your mother knows how much this means to you. And she's so proud of you. She's kept every story you've ever written, you know? All the way back to high school. She hopes you'll find your passion elsewhere, but she's not a fool. You've been a singularly determined child since the day you were born. Once it's clear you've made up your mind, nothing short of an apocalypse can alter your path. She's made peace with that. Doesn't mean she'll stop trying to influence you, though. Call it a parent's prerogative."

"And what about you?" Elizabeth managed to say after a moment spent wrestling with her tears. "You going to try to influence me too?"

"No." Mr. Bennet shook his head. "I like to save my efforts for when I have a winning hand."

"Smart man."

"Bet you could use a guy like me in the field. To analyze all the military strategies."

"There's no winning hand in war, dad," said Elizabeth. "Just a whole lot of death. And it turns out, there's nothing noble about dying. We all want it to mean something. It's just so terrible otherwise. But it doesn't...- that's the truly frightening part. That's why I have to write my stories. Maybe - just maybe - all the names of the dead won't be forgotten forever. So that eons from now, when someone tries to figure out what happened on this pale blue dot of ours, we can say that we were here. This is our record. For better or worse."

Mr. Bennet was silent for a moment. "And this is why I won't try to persuade you to stay. I couldn't rob the world of you, Liz. Much as I'd like to."

That declaration brought Elizabeth to her feet. She walked over to her father and gave him a big hug. "I love you, dad."

Mr. Bennet just grunted in response and cleared his throat. "Take care of yourself."

"Of course."

"And call your mother."

"I will. I promise."

A second later, Mrs. Bennet walked into the room to inform them that the cab had arrived. As Elizabeth walked to the door with her parents, her mother said, "So, I hear there are a lot of attractive young men in Tel Aviv."

Elizabeth laughed. "I thought I was getting a reprieve from all the marriage talk?"

"That offer expired hours ago."

"You're one tough negotiator, you know?"

Mrs. Bennet shrugged. "What can I say... these are desperate times."

Elizabeth hugged her mother tight. "I love you, mom. And I appreciate everything you've done for me. You know that, right?"

Mrs. Bennet held her daughter and gave her husband a confused look, which he pretended to not see. Finally, she whispered, "I love you, too. Be safe, Liz."

Elizabeth smiled and gave her parents a kiss each before gathering her bags and heading out the door. Once in the cab, she looked back to see them standing in the doorway, her father's arms firmly wrapped around her mother's shoulder. As the cab sped away and the image of her parents shrank before vanishing from view altogether, Elizabeth reveled in the knowledge that for once, she was not the favorite of one or the perennial disappointment to another. She was just a child, their child, unsteady and unsure, finding her place in the world. And strangely enough, it was that unconditional love, that comfort of home, that gave her the last bit of courage she wasn't even aware she needed. It matters not how strait the gate / How charged with punishments the scroll / I am the master of my fate / I am the captain of my soul.* To try and fail and start all over again. That was the essence of her humanity. And she had never felt quite so human before.

* Excerpt from Invictus by William Ernest Henley.

Chapter 19

Posted on: 2014-03-29

Like all great love affairs, Elizabeth's adoration of Tel Aviv began innocently enough with a flirtation. A lazy afternoon spent people watching at one of those ubiquitous coffee kiosks on iconic tree-lined Rothschild Boulevard, and she was intrigued. A sunset walk on the promenade on her way home to Jaffa, and she was enticed. An authentic shakshuka breakfast followed by an intense political discussion at the literary cafe Tolaat Sfarim, and she was in love. In fact, it was difficult to not fall in love with a place so dynamic, so magnetic, so thoroughly seductive. Maybe it was the sun-drenched Mediterranean beaches or the gorgeous Bauhaus architecture or the seemingly neverending parties, but Tel Aviv was an optimistic place, stoic in the face of unpredictable terror, determined to live every day like it may be the last. It was a philosophy that Elizabeth could embrace, so in a way, it was a natural fit. And now, nearly eight months into a relationship with the city, Elizabeth was prepared to declare it the beginning of a romance of a lifetime. And unlike other romances in her life, this one was uncomplicated, undemanding and generally unconditional. In other words, it was perfect.

It certainly didn't hurt that the city seemed to reciprocate her affection. Every day, it felt as though the gentle breeze emanating from the sea was calling her name, beckoning her closer, daring her to discover another nook, another mood, another truth. And there was always something new to discover. A jewel of a restaurant, a gallery opening, a flea market or an impeccably preserved remnant of the past. That was what had always attracted Elizabeth to this part of the world. A sense of history, a sense of identity, a sense of belonging to a tradition that sometimes seemed older than time itself. Even the relatively young Tel Aviv was not immune, sitting as it did on one of the oldest trade routes on the Mediterranean. The past was ever-present and inescapable, and it was a predicament toward which Elizabeth was wholly sympathetic. But Tel Aviv had a way of seamlessly blending the old and the new, the modern and the archaic, the devout and the secular - more so than any other city in Israel and perhaps all of the Middle East. It was a delicate dance, executed with endless grace and inimitable flair. And Elizabeth thought it was fantastic.

But much as she appreciated the indomitable spirit of this young city, it was those quiet moments early in the morning, somewhere between dawn and daylight, that Elizabeth cherished the most. There were no impossibly chic mothers with their smiling toddlers in strollers or hipster artists playing drums with impressive abandon on a bucket. It was as though the empty streets belonged to her and her alone. And she utilized those stolen bits of solitude to organize her thoughts for the day ahead. On this particular Monday morning, as she slowly trudged along to work, Elizabeth's mind lingered on the draft of a story she had been editing late into the night. It was not exactly good and not entirely bad, existing, instead, in the maddening purgatory of mediocrity. Elizabeth believed that the last draft was meant to be the best draft and on rare occasions, the perfect draft. The concept of accepting anything less seemed so alien. She was aware that her almost maniacal focus on continual improvement was a topic of great fascination among the staff, but those subdued whispers did not bother her. She had a job to do. Stories to tell and young, aspiring storytellers to train, and it was a privilege to do it all at QED. One day, they, too, would understand.

QED. Seeing those letters in bold red on the glass door to the company's office space still made Elizabeth's pulse quicken. Behind that door was everything she had never dared to dream. It all felt tenuous somehow as though an organization driven solely by passion and courage could not possibly survive in the reality of an imperfect world. But Elizabeth was not in search of guarantees anymore. One issue at a time. That is all she asked for. Anything more just seemed like an indulgence. Another moment spent in silent contemplation and then Elizabeth was prepared to face the day. She walked in the door and toward her office. QED was housed in a small, efficient space armed with a handful of offices and conference rooms and a large central bullpen for the staff. It was a functional space, unadorned and without any artifice, but brimming with the warmth of a hundred aspirations. Elizabeth turned on the lights as she did most mornings, and the office yawned at having been roused from a brief nap. Once the Keurig had provided her with a cup of coffee of questionable quality, she sat down to check her emails.

From: Alex Carter [alex.carter@gmail.com]
Date: August 11, 2014 05:21 AM
To: Elizabeth Bennet [ebennet27@yahoo.com]
Subject: ...

All quiet on the western front.

Elizabeth frowned. It had been months, and George Wickham was still a free man. That result was unacceptable, but it was not due to a lack of effort. In her absence from New York, Carter had assumed responsibility for the surveillance operation, but to no avail. So far. Wickham's day would come, she was sure of it, but until then, she would have to abuse Carter's kindness. She had suggested trying to get some help a few times, but after several terse, irritated emails from Carter, she had resigned herself to his generosity. It was an uncomfortable position. Relying on others was not a skill she had ever mastered, but at least it no longer felt like defeat.

"I thought I'd beat you here today."

Elizabeth looked up and smiled. "Morning, Ayla."

Half Israeli and half British, Ayla Jacob was QED's managing editor, Ed Gardiner's long-time protege and a true aficionado of the nomadic lifestyle. Stillness did not suit her. A product of parents in the foreign service, she had lived in a dozen countries by the age of 18. No country or continent could claim her for long, her fidelity easily secured by a newer, more promising story. She acquired languages almost as easily as she did men, but only the former stayed with her for anything close to a lifetime. She looked like she belonged on the cover of a punk rock magazine, her classically beautiful features accented by her short, fiery red hair, piercing green eyes and numerous tattoos that were meant to be discrete, but always seemed to peak out at the most inopportune moments. Her flamboyant appearance - bound to give the impression of youthful indiscretion or studied unseriousness - was, in fact, her greatest weapon as a reporter. She was constantly underestimated, so much so that when she flashed her disarming smile and began shooting sharp questions in rapid succession, her subjects were too disoriented to do anything but tell the whole truth. And soon enough, all the secrets came tumbling out. Elizabeth was convinced Ayla was secretly a spy for some government agency. And she knew better than to ever test that theory. Having Ayla on her side seemed like a much wiser plan.

"Do you sleep here or something?" Ayla's tone was halfway between annoyed and impressed.

"I would if you'd ever let me order a couch for my office," said Elizabeth.

Ayla shook her head. "If we ever have any extra cash, there are a hundred things I'd do with it before allowing you to waste it on something that'll only make your love life more sad."

"You know, for a boss, you're awfully interested in my love life."

"Don't flatter yourself, Liz. I'm only interested in making sure you're not working yourself to death. You're no good to me dead."

"Your concern is really heartwarming."

Ayla decided to pursue the subject no more. "So I take it you're still working on Farah's piece?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"It's not dreadful."

Ayla laughed. "Just what we're aiming for."

Elizabeth sighed. "I don't know. I just feel like it's still missing the psychology of the PKK. We may need her back in Istanbul for a day or two. But let me talk to her first and see if she has anything more buried in her notes."

Ayla thought for a moment, then nodded. "Ok, fine. We don't have much time before going to print, though, so let's make a decision soon."

"Yeah. I'm on it. I'll have a proposal by the end of the day."

"Ok." Ayla started to walk out of Elizabeth's office, then paused and turned around. "I have to step out this morning, but I'll see you at 11."

Elizabeth's attention had already drifted. "What?"

"Meeting with Ed. At 11. Don't tell me you forgot."

Elizabeth frowned. "Oh yeah...- right. Any idea what it's about?"

"No. He's been very cryptic."

"Typical," Elizabeth grumbled. "It better be something good. I have my hands full today."

"You have your hands full every day."

"That's why you pay me...- oh wait, you don't actually pay me much."

"A minute ago, you wanted to sleep here. I can't win with you."

Elizabeth smiled. "Would I be as good satisfied?"

"I'm fairly sure I'm never going to find out."

"So you didn't like the story?" Farah's face registered her distress.

Elizabeth searched for her most compassionate tone. "I didn't say that."

"But you said it lacks soul."

"No, I said it needed more soul."

"And there's a difference?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes. You know there is. Farah, you've done a tremendous job outlining the conflict, but I still don't feel like I understand the PKK. Who is Ocalan, really? Not just the revolutionary, but the man. What motivates him? Nationhood? Glory? Pride? Justice? I understand him from the Turkish perspective...- that's the easy part. But I need you to examine him from the Kurdish perspective. A man without a nation always has a lot to say about identity. And his identity is generally inextricably linked to his language. I need you to explore both."

"Ok...- I think I understand."

Elizabeth looked up to see Ayla standing outside her office. "Ok, why don't you get started and I'll come by in a bit to brainstorm more ideas?" Elizabeth paused. "Don't be afraid to say things that are unpleasant. Or controversial. Remember, this is the Middle East we're talking about. If all sides aren't equally unhappy with us, frankly we're just not doing our jobs."

Farah nodded. "Thanks, Liz."

Once Farah was gone, Elizabeth stood up and walked out of her office. "Shall we?"

"You were good with her," said Ayla.

"You sound surprised."

"No. Just making an observation."

"A little bit of guidance. That's all she needs. Wish I'd gotten some when I first started."

"I did try to mentor you, you know."

"Yeah. And look how I turned out."

"You were too busy taking yourself seriously to listen."

"We were in the middle of a war zone."

"And we still are," said Ayla as they entered Ed's office. "It's just not as obvious."

Ed Gardiner did not like meetings. He loathed them, in fact, so it was no wonder that he scowled the moment Ayla and Elizabeth walked into his office, momentarily forgetting that he had invited them himself. Nothing good ever came out of corporate types sitting around a table conjuring useless bullet points and pointless tasks. Once the purpose of this meeting came roaring back into his consciousness, his scowl only deepened into a full blown glare. But it had to be done, so he motioned Elizabeth and Ayla to the empty chairs as he grabbed his stress ball and began pacing furiously. Widely regarded as one of the premier authorities on the Middle East, Ed Gardiner managed to exude an effortless sense of control tempered occasionally by bouts of utter chaos. He often masked his basic decency with the belligerence of a drunk uncle at a wedding, convinced that a little intimidation would prove to be vital in a business fraught with daily challenges. His wife Madelyn thought his boorish act fooled no one, his generosity of spirit virtually impossible to disguise. But in this one instance, he dared to defy Madelyn's better judgement and actually found pleasure in playing the part of the ogre he sometimes wished was not an illusion. Thirty years spent following mankind at its most depraved and being an ogre began to seem like the only sane choice.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, Ayla finally cleared her throat. "Ed?"

"Yes?"

"You asked to see us?"

Ed stopped pacing and after another long silence, sat down on his chair. "Yes. We have a bit of a situation."

That sounded ominous enough, so Ayla said, "Ok...?"

"I've been approached by a large corporation...- I've been asked to consider a deal."

Ayla and Elizabeth exchanged suspicious glances as Ayla said, "What kind of deal?"

Ed shrugged. "Unclear. Could take a lot of different forms, I guess. Acquisition. Equity investment. Some sort of JV. I don't know."

"You said no, I hope?" said Elizabeth.

"No."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrow. "You didn't say yes, did you?"

"No."

"Ed...- what are you trying to say exactly?"

"I called you both in here to discuss this...- uhh, development," said Ed with a sigh. "And I'd appreciate an open mind."

"I have an open mind," said Elizabeth. "And I think this is about the worst idea I've heard all day."

Ed looked at her, his face impassive. Even though he was accustomed to her recalcitrant ways, he was still amused by how little she tried to mask her views for the sake of politeness or deference. Her uncompromising honesty could be infuriating or endearing, depending on his mood, but he seldom found it anything but invaluable. She could be trusted to speak the truth - her perception of the truth - no matter the cost. She was the voice of his conscience, vociferously asserting the feasibility of his impossible ideals. She was rarely pragmatic, but he did not need pragmatism. The constraints of reality surrounded him every day, and it was a luxury to remember what it was like to not know that those constraints had to exist. Elizabeth was not naive; she eventually succumbed to the voice of reason after an exhausting, emotional fight. And Ed knew that he needed her to fight. Sometimes it felt like the soul of QED depended on it.

"You haven't even heard the idea," said Ed.

"I don't need to," said Elizabeth. "Ayla, back me up here."

"Well...-"

"No, don't even bother finishing that thought," said Elizabeth. "Are you both crazy? QED is nothing without its independence. We've chosen to do this the hard way. No ads. No sponsored content. Just good old-fashioned subscriptions. And you want to compromise all that for what? A bit of money?"

"We're not exactly flush in cash," said Ed. "And if subscriptions don't pick up, we may have to let one of the staff go."

"Don't you think I know that?" said Elizabeth. "I haven't slept in weeks so that the next issue is flawless. And the one after that. We'll get there, Ed. I know we will. Every new media experiment takes a little time. Look at what Andrew Sullivan has accomplished. And he doesn't even have an angel investor."

"He has a different business model," said Ed. "And we can't rely on an angel investor forever."

"Maybe if we met with him... or her. I don't know, maybe we could buy ourselves some time?"

Ed shook his head. "You don't get it. There is no angel investor. No one's going to bail us out."

"What do you mean?" Elizabeth frowned. "I saw the funds in our account. We have an investor."

"No," said Ed, his voice rising to a shout. "It was me, ok? You understand?"

That was enough to silence Elizabeth. Finally, Ayla said, "You're joking, right?"

"No. I...- I inherited some money from my aunt," said Ed. "And I put it all in QED."

Elizabeth and Ayla were almost too stunned to speak as the implications of Ed's words became clear. "You put it all in QED, and now there isn't much left," said Elizabeth softly. "Ed, you shouldn't have done that. What does Madelyn think? She must be furious."

"Nah," said Ed with an impatient wave of his hand. "She knows it's money well spent."

"Oh, Ed...- I wish you'd told us," said Elizabeth.

"Well, I'm telling you now."

"It doesn't do much good now," said Elizabeth.

"It wouldn't have done any good then, either. I wanted to do this. And I don't want to discuss it any further." Ed rubbed his temples, a sign that his patience was rapidly evaporating. "So...- back to what we were discussing. Ayla?"

"I think we have to take a meeting with this company," said Ayla.

"Ok. Liz?"

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. "Yeah."

"Yeah what?"

"Yeah, we should take the meeting."

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" said Ed.

Elizabeth ignored his tone and said, "We should keep an open mind, Ed, but you know it's going to be a tough sell, right?"

"Yes, I know. You think I don't feel the same way? But we need to be around long enough to make the least bit of difference. We'll take a meeting and hear them out. That's all I'm envisioning at this point."

"Ok." Elizabeth paused. "So what company are we talking about, anyway?"

"Pemberley."

"Pemberley Media?" Elizabeth could not keep the surprise from her voice.

"Yes."

"The Darcy empire?"

"Yes."

"You can't possibly be serious."

"I think we just established that I am."

"But it's...- it's this large maze of a corporation with unlimited resources and not a hint of a mission."

"So far I'm not hearing an objection."

"There's no way those guys will allow us to maintain our editorial integrity."

"You know that how exactly?"

"C'mon, Ed. It's Pemberley. What else do you expect?"

"I expect Pemberley to make its case. And I expect you and Ayla to evaluate it without emotion. Is that too much to ask?"

Elizabeth could not argue that point. She bit her lips and said, "No."

"Ayla?"

"You have our support, Ed," said Ayla.

Hearing the hesitation in her voice, Ed said, "But?"

"I'd like to hear Liz's objections against a deal with Pemberley."

Both sets of eyes fixed on her, Elizabeth squirmed for a moment. Pemberley. That name evoked a thousand feelings that had nothing to do with QED and everything to do with one elusive CEO. She saw him on the news now and then, answering a poor reporter's questions with the same haughty dismissiveness she had personally witnessed innumerable times before. But she could hardly blame him. The press was always more interested in unsubstantiated rumors about his personal life than anything of actual importance. Sometimes she found herself feeling exhausted on his behalf. To be the subject of constant speculation and inane gossip seemed like one of the most odious aspects of celebrity. He seemed to manage it with dignity, however, always floating across red carpets and press events with a smile on his face that never quite reached his eyes. She was shocked when she realized she knew the difference. She had seen him smile when he meant it, and she was just beginning to understand how rare of an occasion it was. But that was it, wasn't it? She had seen him in a way that very few ever did. To the world, he was the aloof, calculating, impossible to decipher scion of a media empire. To her, he would always be the man she had come close to knowing. And one who she would probably never understand.

"Liz?" said Ayla. "You ok?"

Elizabeth's thoughts returned to the matter at hand. Pushing aside all personal emotion, she said, "Pemberley is excellent at maximizing profits, but I have never been particularly impressed by its news product. I could be wrong, of course, but my bias is to expect that any deal with a corporation of that size and character will mean sacrificing a lot of our principles."

Ed studied her for a moment. "I understand your concern."

Elizabeth held his gaze. "And I understand your predicament."

"Do you?"

"Yes." Elizabeth nodded. "And I don't blame you for wanting to meet with them."

"How good of you."

"You wanted my opinion, didn't you?" Elizabeth smiled.

"I suppose so. Don't ask me why," said Ed. After a pause, he added, "Well...- now that we have that settled...- get out of my office. Both of you." As Ayla and Elizabeth stood up, he said, "We're meeting with the head of the Middle East news division on Wednesday."

Ayla shook her head. "You already scheduled the meeting? Why'd you even bother asking our opinion?"

Ed had already started reading his emails, so answered without looking up. "Because I like to give the illusion that this is a team."

"Works every time." Ayla smiled.

Elizabeth said, "Ed?"

"What are you still doing here?" The scowl back on his face, Ed looked up.

"We're just meeting the regional news guy?"

"Yes, what do you want? Some sort of welcoming committee?"

"No, quite the opposite, I assure you."

"Ok. Can I have some peace now?"

As Elizabeth returned to her office, it occurred to her that should the process with Pemberley progress beyond an initial meeting, she may have to see Darcy again, speak to him even. After all this time, that thought felt so strange. What could they possibly have to say to each other? It was like they were old friends who shared nothing but painful memories, friends bound by feigned indifference in the face of uncomfortable familiarity. Her concerns about a deal with Pemberley were strictly professional, but she could not help but wonder what such an arrangement might mean for her. She could not work for him, of that much she was certain. But leaving QED seemed like the worst kind of punishment for a mistake she had made a long time ago. Or maybe it was just the right kind of punishment. Here she was living the exact life she had always wanted. And it never ceased to feel just a little too good to be true. Later that day, still feeling unsettled, Elizabeth tried to extricate herself from the meeting, citing the incredible amount of work that had to be done before the next issue was ready for print. But Ayla refused to comply with her request. For better or worse, her opinions were deemed annoying, but necessary and her presence was not optional.

To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.