The next two weeks flew by, as Elizabeth found her rhythm. Her days were filled with meetings, conference calls, and working lunches. Her evenings were filled with updates from her boys and late night workouts.

William found her ability to adapt quickly a great relief. He had insisted that she be at his side constantly, believing that like learning a language, total emersion was the only way for her to learn this job. And, without really realizing it, he began to depend on her. If he needed anything, she was there with it in hand almost before he asked. If he had a problem, she would invariably have the solution. So quickly had they adapted to one another, it was as if they had always been a team. His stress level was decreasing daily. His step had a bit more spring and a bit less drag.

For Elizabeth, things were more tense. She was fine with the work load, that was never a problem. But her evening briefings with the boys were distressing. All was quiet on the Russian front. Yushenkov was laying low, and that worried her. He always had his finger in some pie, and she had been able to track him through one source or another. But this quiet was unsettling. She had the boys step it up, put out a few more feelers. She touched base with Villanova over secure lines, gave the official brief, and received the official ass chewing for not having more to report. It was always that way, though. The brass was never happy with the way things progressed. They wanted instant answers, instant results. Any agent worth his or her mettle knew that these things took time, patience and finesse. So, she sucked up Villanova’s ire and took out her own frustrations in late night workouts at the local gym.

She made it a point to go five times a week. She had to keep herself in top physical condition, to be ready for anything. And the endorphin release went a long way to easing her tense mind. When the boys could they would tag along, each one working out to the point of collapse. They would challenge each other to the pain, seeing how far each could push their endurance. They needed that physical exertion to keep them sharp, focused. And Elizabeth would keep up with them as best she could. Then she would fall to the floor and watch them tease and mock each other for another hour, laughing at them, relishing their humor and camaraderie.

Theirs was a symbiotic relationship. They were steel when she needed strength, guardian angels when she needed comfort, and the wrath of God when she needed protection. She was their Joan of Arc, and they followed her blindly into battle, because they knew she would not send them anywhere she was not willing to go herself. Gunnery Sergeant, or Gunny, Manuel Ramirez was her right hand, and the ranking NCO of the crew. He had been with Elizabeth from the beginning of the Yushenkov case eight years ago. It had taken a full two years to even out the rest of the team. They had gone through several guys, until they found a team that clicked. Sergeant John Moses and Sergeant Chris Jackson made the final cut. Each man was dedicated to the mission, each had earned his stripes. And each had almost fallen apart when she had gone missing three years ago.

It was an unbelievable mess, back then. She had sent them home, and she had said she was coming. And they had lost her. Manny had felt it the most. He should have known her better, known she would try to take Yushenkov on herself, that she couldn’t let go. And he swore, when she came back and this insanity started up again, that he would not let her make the same mistake twice. He was going to move heaven and earth to make sure she was safe this time. Or die trying.

It wasn’t until the third week that she was with Mr. Darcy that they started having time for actual lunch breaks. They were finally making headway, and the occasional noon breather was a nice diversion from the hectic pace of the contract negotiations. Elizabeth would take these times to go to the tenth floor gym and do a little speed bag practice. She liked this particular exercise because it was good for her hand-eye coordination. It was on Tuesday of that week that she found herself able to make it to the gym. She had started bringing her little black bag, feeling the need to be better armed than usual, and carried some extra work out clothes in it. So, dressing down in a pair of gray sweats and baggy t-shirt, she stepped into the gym. Rolling her neck and shoulders, stretching her arms to limber up, she made her way toward the speed bag, only to be arrested by the clanging of steel on steel. Her roving eye landed on two figures in white engaged in a heated fencing match. One moved like Richard, making the other... Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth was well aware of Richard's capabilities with the epee, and she was equally impressed with Darcy's. She watched their movements with studied interest, picking up on the strengths and weaknesses of each man, as was her habit. Several minutes of heated exchange ensued, until Richard grudgingly acknowledge a hit and they removed their masks.

"Well done, Will. You got me again. Damn you."

"You're improving all the time, Richard. It wasn't as easy as usual, wiping the floor with you."

Will patted Richard on the back warmly. Seeing the match was over, Elizabeth silently turned to leave the area, only to be brought up short by Richard's greeting.

"Lizzy, the slave driver finally give you a lunch break?"

She chuckled lowly as she approached the men.

"Care to give it a go? I'm all worn out, you just might beat me this time."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes in response.

"You fence, Ms. Bennet?" William’s interest was piqued.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy."

"Come on, Lizzy, let's go a round." All she could do was shake her head at Richard's audacity. He knew damn well he had never and would never beat her.

"Are you so in love with the bitter taste of defeat, that you need me to give you another shovel-full, Richard?"

"I think that was a challenge, Rich.” William laughed heartily at their exchange, and offered Elizabeth the use of his epee. She declined and begged that they would wait one minute while she prepared herself. Jogging swiftly back to the changing room, Elizabeth dug around in her black bag, found just the thing she needed, tucked it into the back of her sweatpants, and returned to her waiting opponent. Her smile was one of smug confidence as she took up her position on the mat and informed Richard to be prepared to be mightily spanked.

"What do you intend to beat me with, your devastating good looks?"

“En garde, Richard."

Her sly smile and lack of any apparent weapon was very unnerving. He never knew what to expect from her, and was beginning to wonder why he had opened his big mouth in the first place, when she assumed a tessen-jitsu pose and removed an iron fan from behind her back. With a snap of her wrist she opened the tessen, a beautiful antique Japanese war fan she had acquired some years ago and had rewrapped in a heavy silk of the most stunning azure. William was all astonishment. He had heard of the ancient art of tessen-jitsu, a form of self defense developed by samurai during the Edo Period of Japan. His amazement only increased while watching her fluid movements become a wondrous dance, avoiding and deflecting each of Richard's thrusts. Her seamless style made Richard look like a plodding oaf, and he was beginning to feel like he looked. A man's ego could only sustain so much damage. He handed William his epee, threw his hands up in disgust, declared her the perpetrator of his emasculation and stomped off toward the showers, muttering under his breath. Her low chuckle and laughing eyes followed his retreat, even as her footsteps moved her from the mat.

"You said you know how to fence, Ms. Bennet. That was nothing like it at all."

"I do, Mr. Darcy. If you would like me to give you lessons on the finer points of the sport, I'd be more than happy." Her deadpan expression was belied by the slight lift of her brow. He was becoming a student of the subtleties of her expressions. Generally speaking, she was unflappable. Her expression was one of constant composed coolness when he was around. Yet out of nowhere, at the most random of times, she let fly the most sarcastic remarks. It was at these times that he found himself studying her the most. Her slight brow lift usually meant a challenge, a slight tug at the corner of her mouth, a jest. And always the swirling mystery of her silver eyes. Now he had challenged her, and she was picking up the gauntlet. He wanted to see something of the real her, have some sort of real contact with her. Have her look at him and him only, for just a moment.

Elizabeth was in rare form. Competition always fired her blood, and it was a hard emotion for her to control. And here Mr. Darcy was, asking for it. After three weeks of being under his constantly watchful eye, she had a chance to give him a little of his own back. She was only human, after all.

William handed her Richard’s epee and they took their places on the mat. He could tell already by her grip and stance she knew what she was doing. But his height and weight advantage was substantial, so he started slow, to let her get her bearings against him. He learned a valuable lesson that day. Never give Elizabeth Bennet an opening, for she will take it with relish. He found the need to steady his footing within the first five seconds. She came at him like a hell-cat, her form perfect, her strokes fast and furious. In a flash of movement she was body to body with him, face flushed from the exercise, small curls escaping her deadly chignon to fall about her face, chest heaving with her labored breath. And Darcy met her quicksilver gaze with the black intensity of his own.

She gave him a wicked smile. “Is that you’re A game, Will Darcy?”

The primal mixture of lust and competitiveness seared his veins. “No, that was just the warm up… Lizzy.”

Back and forth they went, beat for beat, blow for blow, until Elizabeth made a smooth flick with her wrist and all but disarmed him. Had he been any less experienced he would have lost his epee. He quickly changed his stance and recovered.

Again she taunted him. “Adaptable. I like that in an opponent.”

“I’m fairly sure that move was illegal.”

“So am I.”

“So, I’m fencing with a cheat?”

“No, William. While you were taught how to win, I was taught never to lose.”

Again they engaged, each more committed than before, their form becoming less exact, their main goal to best the other. Once more they found themselves face to face. William looked down into her eyes, surprised at the complete change in her countenance. For the first time he thought he saw something real there. The snap of fire in her eyes, the curve of her mouth as she took pleasure in their match… beautiful. He lost himself a moment, his gaze lingering on her lips, which were parted and full, trying to catch her breath. He found himself pulled forward, caught up completely in the heady rush of emotions tearing at him. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to feel for anyone.

Elizabeth was relishing this match. It was rare to find someone who could keep up with her. And as she looked up at him, she allowed herself for the first time to see him as a person, and not a mission. He was beautiful, she had known this from his photographs, and had taken every precaution against his physical charm before she had even met him. But now, looking up into his black eyes and strong face, his dark curls falling over his brow she felt something inside her shift and crack. And as the woman inside of her saw his gaze move to her lips, knowing full well what the man in him was asking for, she fought a war within herself. She had never allowed herself to feel before, not really. And the temptation of him was great. But the agent was screaming at her to stop. To remember… Yushenkov. So, sadly, her lips formed the silent word.

No. William saw her lips wrap around that hateful word. And his gaze traveled back up her face just in time to see the iron curtain snap back in place behind her eyes. He, too, pulled back emotionally, realizing he had almost stepped over a boundary he wasn’t sure he was ready to cross. But, for one blissful moment he had really seen her. And he tucked that away to examine later.

From the doors of the dressing area, Richard had caught the end of the match. He was not sure what to think about the obvious attraction between the two. His mind furiously churned over the pros and cons of a more intimate relationship between them. It could be a good thing, Elizabeth would have a more constant access to William. But it could go horribly wrong, as well. If William got too close, it would devastate him to lose her when this was all over. If Elizabeth got too close, she might be distracted and lose focus. He decided his best bet was to discuss it with Villanova. And, with that decision in mind, he went back to his office to do just that.