They sat in the cockpit of the great ship, dented coffee mugs clutched between their cold hands. Lingering snowflakes dusted Penelope's furry hat. She looked very fetching in it, her large blue eyes more pronounced without the bouncy blonde curls in view.

A rescue in the snow ridden hills of north west England and Penelope had been in the vicinity. She took the opportunity to catch up with them, abandoning her trek in the rugged hills. When Virgil had heard this, his stomach plunged.

Even more so when his father suggested he let Penelope have coffee on his ship and then take her home, as without the Pink Rolls Royce, her travelling would be difficult.

Which is how the current scene had come to pass.

The last meeting between them remained unspoken of. And with that being the case, neither had anything more to discuss. The cockpit was swathed in silence.

And it was awful.

Virgil cleared his throat experimentally and immediately found himself pinned by Penelope's striking gaze.

"Uh...is the coffee ok?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes. Thank you." Precise, to the point. Very polite, but he wouldn't have expected anything less.

A little curt, perhaps, if he was honest. Virgil sat back in his pilot's chair, trying to think of something more to say, rather than suffer the painful tension that lingered. Penelope kept her eyes on him, cool and very calm as she sipped the coffee.

"I think it tastes terrible if I'm honest," Virgil said. "A bit watery, but we've never been able to master getting the perfect flavour in our coffee machine."

A flickered smile caught Virgil's eye and he placed his mug down.

"Don't feel you have to drink it to be polite. It's horrible." Penelope moved the mug back from her lips, smiling a little as she handed the mug to Virgil for him to dispose of.

"Thank goodness Virgil," she said with a laugh.

"Yeah, it's bad isn't it?" he agreed. Penelope shook her head, leaning closer to him.

"For saying something. The silence is not us. It never has been." Virgil glanced at her, an attempt at a smile.

"I didn't think we had anything to talk about...I mean, I didn't think we should start with...well, what happened..."

"Virgil, I think we have far more interesting things we could discuss."

"Uh..."

"Well, I happened to be at the opening of the 'Modern take on the ancient' art exhibition in New York last month..."

"Oh wow, it looked incredible," Virgil enthused. "I tried to get some downtime to go, but it was a bit hectic at base. The piece by Kane looked marvellous."

"It was very striking," Penelope agreed. "His use of colour was certainly offensive to the more traditionalists among the guests."

"I can imagine. I always thought his paintings were like a slap in the face. I really like his work, I wish I'd a chance to catch it on display." Both trailed off and smiled at each other.

"That wasn't so difficult now, was it?" Virgil looked down at the floor, nodding.

"I...um...I missed you," he said, keeping his eyes fixed downwards. Penelope laughed softly, reaching out to cup his stubbly chin in her gloved hands, easing his head up. His eyes were so soft in his embarrassment and having, shockingly for a Tracy, let a real expression of feeling slip out.

"I missed you too," she returned, leaning towards him and pressing her lips against his softly.

It lasted a mere second, but Virgil felt his heart jump within his chest. She caressed his cheek momentarily, gazing deep into his eyes before she let her hand drop and got to her feet.

"Well, perhaps I should return home by more traditional means Virgil," she said, as she made her way to the cockpit exit.

Virgil's mouth was dry as he watched her casually walk away from him.

She must have known he really didn't mind taking her home.

His moment to act was slowly sliding away from him.

He reacted in the only way he could think of.

Reaching out, Virgil took hold of her arm. She turned to face him and he pulled her to him, kissing her in a manner he hoped to be romantic, unexpected, the way all the handsome heroes of Tin Tin's chick flicks bagged their women at the end of the film.

He was wrong.

Penelope pushed him back, fixing a glare on him, which left him sheepish and slightly alarmed.

"My coat is cashmere Virgil Tracy, a Valentino exclusive design, and I now have mud all over it!"

"Oh God, Penny, I'm sorry...maybe you could...I dunno, take it off so I can continue what I started there?" Penelope looked at him, eyes wide and her mouth agape at his suggestion.

"It is freezing on this ship!" she cried.

"We could do something to warm us..."

"Don't you even say it!" She took a seat next to him and sighed, wiping at her coat, disgruntled.

"I know somewhere much warmer. Take me home Virgil."

****

They lay pressed as close together as possible, removing all spaces between their bodies, fitting together so perfectly. His hand wound in the hair at the back of her head, strands of silky blonde curled around his fingers. His other hand resting in the small of her back as she lay her head beside his, lips so close they touched, her hand resting against the side of his neck, fingers stroking softly.

"Do you love me?" He felt rather than heard the words, whispered against his own lips. He said nothing for a long time.

"I don't know."

"Then you need to go and work this out for yourself," she whispered, moving back a little so she could look at him properly. His velvet eyes told of his conflicting emotions. She kissed him, very softly, slowly.

"Leaving now is going to be so hard Penelope," he confessed, letting her hair loose from his fingers.

"I know, I know." She moved her hand up to stroke the thick, dark hair at the back of his head. He kissed her, once, twice before she moved back, letting air fill the void that suddenly appeared between them.

"You are so beautiful...no one has ever made me feel like this, or even said 'I love you'..." Penelope reached out to place her fingers over his lips.

Such beautiful sentiments should not be shared as one is leaving. Penelope was already struggling to maintain dry eyes and Virgil's declarations of his true feelings for her would most certainly cause tears.

****

Parker stood at the grand entrance to the country manor, easing the large door open and motioning for Virgil to make his way into the blurry day.

Rain hanging in the air, atmospheric mist descending over the Hampshire plains.

A miserable day to match such miserable circumstances.

"You make her 'appy," Parker spoke as Virgil hesitated on the final step.

A sweeping symphony filled his thoughts, agonising minor chords flowing effortlessly, the highest strings held in a heartbreaking note before being joined by the cellos, filling out the chords, prolonging the last moment he had spent with her.

A mere distraction to the reality of his own heart-break.

He'd often found thinking in music much easier on the emotions.

Like when he embarked on a rescue with Scott...'Les Toreadors'. Upbeat, driven, hailing them as heroes...

Anyway, getting back to the present. Standing on the last step. Shoulders hunched. Hands in pockets. Moist drizzle settling on his cheeks.

He stepped off the final step, walking through the crunchy gravel back towards his ship.

Don't look back. Don't even glance at her bedroom window where she might be looking out.

Parker closed the door with a clatter behind him.

****

Penelope considered herself to be an upstanding member of the high society. She could remain together, in control, completely calm when disaster struck.

For one, it was never very polite to have black mascara tears streaking ones face.

However, she took the mug (a more traditional cup and saucer would not provide the comfort required), her fingers sliding around the warm porcelain, inhaling the consoling scent of Earl Grey tea.

Parker was so much more than just a butler.

He didn't mind the blurred eye make-up, the reddened eyes, the sniffled thanks for his kind gesture.

"He makes me so happy Parker," she sighed.

Parker just smiled knowingly.

****

His belated return post rescue meant a short debrief with his father and a bowlful of his Grandma's tomato soup. He intended, after satisfying his hunger, to lock himself away with Chopin for company until he could bring himself to act somewhat normally in front of his family.

His father was hunched over his desk, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he studied the most recent shares in Tracy Enterprises.

It did not look like much fun.

"Can I help?" Virgil asked, feeling that even the dull monotony of dealing with the business would be better than moping.

"Actually, could you play me something Virgil?" his father asked as he rubbed his temples. "This paperwork is just,,," He trailed off as Virgil nodded, taking up the position as his father's human i-pod.

"Any requests?" he asked softly.

"Anything you play will be perfect," Jeff smiled warmly. Virgil looked at the black and white keys, blurring before his eyes.

A shuddered breath before that first chord.

"Ah. Claire de Lune," Jeff sighed and with his head buried in his paperwork, he did not see the telling melancholy written across Virgil's face.