Each to Each [Jane - casual]

[THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO]

Nearly a year and a half had passed since the Count of Monte Cristo's move to New York, and in that time, he had not taken a proper vacation. Monte Cristo was not the sort of man to often take holidays, but whenever his work became less enjoyable and more of a chore, he knew to break away from his life for a spell, else he would spoil the love he had for his job. Lately he had begun to feel that way; he had to stifle a groan when he paged through his day planner, and his meetings dragged on seemingly for eternity. Now was as good a time as any to get away.

He had begun by browsing lists of cruises and comparing ski lodges, but in the end, his business sense won out and he simply ventured to the beach instead. It was closer to home, in case some emergency should come up, and if he wished, he could even bring his work along and... he was defeating the purpose of his own trip. Nevertheless, he drove out alone with a cooler, an umbrella, and an assortment of other beach items.

Once there, he found a spot quite far from the clusters of people and spread a towel over the sand. The morning was quite cool, for summertime. After setting his shirt aside, he stretched out on the towel and closed his eyes. He could still hear a group of college-age boys playing some game loudly not too far away, but otherwise the scene was peaceful, and as he drifted further into his thoughts, he barely noticed the noise at all.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane had never been to the beach before. She had seen the ocean plenty of times, mostly with traveling but had never spent time on the beach, just enjoying it. Having a fair bit of freetime, Jane decided, on a whim, to finally spend time by the ocean. It wasn't much of a whim though...she was painfully underprepared and had to postpone her mini-vacation so that she could buy everything she needed. A swimsuit, beach towel, sunscreen, sun hat, sunglasses (actually purchased by the stylist Lady de Bourgh insisted she hired), sandals, oversized umbrella, beach chair, and a 'chic' cooling bag. Why it was all necessary Jane didn't know but she dutifully listened to the list given to her from the stylist who seemed to know everything.

Jane arrived to the beach along with a wave of others, the little spot she picked out was soon over run. Jane couldn't stop it though, she had ventured into the ocean, letting the waves splash over her. She waded in until the water brushed against her shoulders with the swells, her braided hair dampening on the ends. It felt nice but the moment she was out of the water, the sand began to stick to her skin and the salt crusted onto her. Feeling grimy, Jane headed for the showers and was pleasantly surprised. She had expected a spigot and a curtain and instead found a veritable shower, closed off from all of the others. She turned the knobs and rinsed off quickly, safely hidden away from prying eyes by the whimsical star fish shower curtain. Content with her cleanliness, Jane ventured out of the shower and back to her spot. It had been over run by a group of pre-teens who were kicking sand over everything.

Pardoning her way through the chaos, Jane hurriedly gathered her things and awkwardly trekked to the outskirts where a band of college boys frisbee and a man sat off by himself. All the other inhabitable areas were saturated with beach goers and Jane was forced to reluctantly approach the man.

"Excuse me, sir? Would you mind if I sat up just there?" Jane pointed at a spot maybe seven feet away from him. It was by no means close to him but Jane didn't want to encroach.

[THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO]

Although he had not been able to get as far away for his "vacation" as he might have liked, Monte Cristo found the beach quite therapeutic. Aside from the slight noise of the college boys down the way, there was little to break his solitude. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift off. This beach was nothing like that near his home, where he kept his yacht docked. His home was quiet enough, though the study was perhaps the quietest, for there he could settle in and catch up on all the day's financial news, the rise and fall of stocks, the correspondence of his clients-

His eyes fluttered open. He was thinking about work again. Was he never able to escape it? True, it was better that he think about work than some other things, like the mess he had left among his neighbors after the task of exacting his revenge was concluded. One dead, one destitute, one insane -- but he was no longer that man. He had left it all behind him when he moved to New York.

At some point, his eyes had closed again, because when the young woman's voice reached his ears, he had to raise his eyelids and then turn his head slightly to look at her. She was asking to make camp several feet away. "Not at all," he told her with a smile. "Make yourself comfortable."

Meanwhile, it seemed the college boys had noticed the commotion, and stopped their game to check out the new arrival. One of them looked the brunette up and down and then came a few steps closer. "Hey baby, can I join?" he asked with a grin, half joking, as he tucked the frisbee under his arm.

Monte Cristo looked from the woman to the young man. He would intercede if necessary, but otherwise, he would let the two of them work it out. This was not his business, after all, and he knew he would do well to stop meddling in the affairs of others. Then again, it was rather rude of this boy to address a young woman so presumptuously....

[JANE EYRE]

Jane smiled and murmured her thanks to the man and went about setting up her camp. The towel was spread out, the umbrella open and stuck into the sand. She was organizing the rest of her belongings while fishing out her sunscreen when one of the nearby college boys decided to address her. Jane didn't react at first, naturally assumming that he was talking to someone else. It took a moment for it to sink in that she was the only female in the vicinity. Jane looked over her shoulder, her large sunglasses hiding her suspicious gaze. "I beg your pardon?" She asked incredulously.

"Asked if I could join you, gorgeous," the boy said, obviously not being at all serious.

Jane looked up at him then over at his sniggering friends. "You'll have to forgive me if I decline..." She didn't know to deter someone from teasing her. It was apparant that the boy's aim was to do just that. His friends were his audience and he was putting on a show at Jane's expense. It wasn't a new experience but it wasn't one she wanted to get used to either. Jane hadn't had to endure such treatment for a while and she had, it seemed, forgotten how to deal with it.

"C'mon babe," The boy walked over to her towel and knelt beside it, encroaching on Jane's personal space. "Don't be such a prude,"

[THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO]

At first, Monte Cristo had little intention of getting involved, but when the boy began to sit next to the young woman, he thought it was past time to be rid of the guy. The young woman was being polite, but seemed unsure how to respond, and Monte Cristo was quite certain it would take more than a polite decline to discourage this young man. Monte Cristo had been young himself once, after all, and though he did not think he had been as rude as this boy was, he had certainly known their type. It seemed very little changed as generations passed. That was most certainly a shame.

"Excuse me," the count said, and the young man turned his head slowly, as though annoyed by the interruption. "The young lady has already told you nicely, but it seems you didn't quite understand. Your presence is unwelcome here. You and your friends may return to your game of frisbee." As he spoke, he fixed the boy with a glare that could not be misunderstood even if his words were.

[JANE EYRE]

The boy glared back at the man but left without argument. Jane gave a sigh of relief and turned to the man, thanking him heartily. She was clueless when it came to handling those sorts of confrontations. Usually she just let the other person do whatever it was they wanted to do. It was easier on her; Jane wasn't the confrontational type and would rather be uncomfortable for a while than to get into a row. That usually ended with her being measurably unhappy but not quite as unhappy as she could be if she ever got into a fight.

"I'm afraid I'm just no good at handling situations like that," Jane said, a tad sheepish. It wasn't so much a matter of being embarassed as it was that Jane was simply not used to people looking out for her like that. She had never really been the damsel in distress before, not that she was now, but she had never really quite figured out how to live as a strong, independent woman either. True, Jane often was able to talk her way out of situations (with a wicked, wicked tongue according to her educators) but that didn't always work. She wasn't particularly witty, just blunt, and more often than not, that was enough to put off her antagonist.

Not today it seemed.

[THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO]

Monte Cristo gave the young woman a smile as she thanked him for his assistance. He was generally glad to help when he could. While he did not make a habit of meddling in the affairs of others, certain matters allowed for exceptions, and this had been one of them. The young man's manners or lack thereof had irritated even the Count. He had grown accustomed to such situations, however, especially over the year and a half he had been residing in New York. On occasion he was struck by how different things and people were here compared to his hometown.

The young woman stated that she was not as used to being approached in such a fashion, to which Monte Cristo nodded. It had been quite rude of the young man to address a lady so. "I'm certain I was one of those young men once," he joked lightly, with a smile. "You gave it a valiant effort, in any case. I would make a comment about 'kids these days,' but then I'd feel my age." He chuckled.

His gaze drifted toward the shore for a moment, watching the frisbee game, which was now back in progress. "What brings you to the beach today?" he asked, glancing over at her. Polite conversation seemed to be in order, at least for the moment.

[JANE EYRE]

Jane gave a small, hesitant smile. "Kids these days are older than me it seems," Jane was certain that the boy who antagonized her was at least three years older than her. This man's comment made her feel even younger and more childish than she truly was.

Jane settled herself under her umbrella, tucking her legs beneath her. She took a moment to get everything in order before answered the man's question. "I had a bit of spare time and I had never been to the beach. And yourself, if you don't mind my asking," Jane used her sunglasses to push back her hair. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her bony knees.

This man was quite kind, far different than what Jane was used to finding in others. Unfortunately, in the city, people had a horrible habit of being quite forgetful of their manners. This man was an exception. Jane was more than happy to be seated on the beach next to him.

"Forgive my manners, my name's Jane. Jane Eyre," Jane uncurled from her comfortable position and held out her hand for the man. "It's a pleasure to run into an amicable person,"

[THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO]

When commenting, Monte Cristo had hardly meant to make the young woman feel uncomfortable. Though he could not be called an old man, the count was considerably older than both the woman and her would-be "suitor," and that had given him cause to comment on the behavior of the youth. So he gave the woman a smile as she commented on her own age, being younger than the frisbee boys, it seemed.

He gave her a smile that included a glance of slight amusement, not at her, but at meeting someone who had not been to the beach. As a former sailor, he did not encounter such people often. He nodded in response. "Then I'm glad you've had a chance to visit. I find beaches quite inspiring." He glanced out toward the water, watching it move, almost dancing along the strip of sand before it. "I had a day off and have not spent time at a beach in far too long. Today presented a suitable opportunity to correct that oversight."

She introduced herself as Jane, her arm extended in greeting. Monte Cristo reached forward to shake her hand. Introducing himself always presented a problem. He seldom knew when to use his real identity and when to lie. So often was he bombarded by investment requests and paparazzi in the city that he did not always give out his title and last name (for, given the manner in which he used it, it could be considered a last name) in public. But Miss Eyre hardly seemed the type to display such annoying behavior, and he saw no other reason to mislead her. His title would suffice.

"Count Monte Cristo." She might recognize the name from the papers; he would not know until he saw her reaction. "And your manners are well above the norm, Miss Eyre, as you witnessed firsthand just moments ago." Glancing at the frisbee match, he gave a soft chuckle, then turned to face her again. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle."

[JANE EYRE]

"Then I'm glad you've had a chance to visit. I find beaches quite inspiring."

Jane nodded fervently. The ocean was something of beauty. Of course, traveling from England to New York, she had seen the ocean (how could she not having had to travel across it?) but she had never stopped to appreciate it. Back in England, she had always been so busy in her landlocked life to worry about taking time and money to travel to the coast. Of course she had been to ponds and lakes (Thornfield had its own) but nothing compared to this.

The breeze, the roar, the salty, slightly foul scent, the sand, the people, the feel of the sun on her bare legs...

The beach, Jane decided was quite lovely.

"Next time I decide to come down I'm going to bring some pastels and make a day of it." Jane smiled. "And I think I'll pack a picnic."

"It's my pleasure, monsieur." Jane added on after his polite greeting.

[THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO]

The talk of the beach reminded Monte Cristo of the many horizons he had seen over the years, in the Orient and the Mediterranean and of course his native France. Those were the most emotional memories of all, the ones he saw in his mind's eye of the life - or perhaps lives - he had led in Marseilles. They were past now, though, those lives being mostly behind him, and he was glad to be looking back at them, not facing them again.

His new acquaintance mentioned bringing pastels and a picnic to the beach, which Monte Cristo took to mean she would settle in and make a work of art, render the vision of the shore on paper. He nodded and looked out at the water. "That would be a pleasant visit indeed. I would love to see what sort of art you make of it."

They exchanged greetings, and Jane referred to him as "monsieur" after he had used "mademoiselle," which brought a bright smile to Monte Cristo's face. She was quite perceptive, then, one of a very few these days, it seemed.

"Granted, this hardly compares to some of the beaches I've seen," the count continued, "those of the Caribbean, or the Pacific, and the Mediterranean, and especially over a colorful sunset. Those would be even more worthy of your pastels. I hope you'll have a chance to see them sometime."

[JANE EYRE]

"Granted, this hardly compares to some of the beaches I've seen those of the Caribbean, or the Pacific, and the Mediterranean, and especially over a colorful sunset. Those would be even more worthy of your pastels. I hope you'll have a chance to see them sometime."

Jane smiled a little and nodded. "That would be lovely but I'm afraid I'm not one for traveling really. The first time I ever saw the ocean was when I was flying over it on the way here. The closest I had gotten before that was a lake." Jane said with a quiet laugh. In fact, Jane was shocked that she had traveled outside of England. It was a drastic maneuver but it was one she felt had to be taken. Whenever someone asked her why she moved to New York, Jane always gave a neutral, vague answer. She needed a change of scenery, she wanted to be a part of the American educational system, she wanted to break out in the art world and New York was the place to do it. They weren't completely lies, but they were far from the truth.

After all, running away from a bizarre engagement wasn't usually an appropriate conversation topic.

Jane opened her picnic basket, packed with things that Jane had deemed worthy of a day on the beach, a large thermos of strawberry-basil lemonade included. Jane poured herself a sizable portion and turned to Monte Cristo. "Would you like any? I seem to have made more than strictly necessary."

[THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO]

No one would ever accuse the Count of Monte Cristo of being humble. He had been everywhere, as it seemed, had seen much, and never shied away from saying so. He had the means to do as he wished. There had been a time when, growing up poor as he had, he had only dreamed of leaving his little town in south France, had only dreamed of being wealthy. Then again, he had never dreamed of having money; all he had ever wanted was to spend his life on the sea and with the love of his life. He had gotten neither, but now he had so much more that it did not matter most of the time.

With this in the back of his mind, he nodded as Jane told him she was not one for traveling. He had known people who could have said the same; he was not one of those people. "Then we make an odd pair, because I have trouble not traveling. I find remaining in one place quite unsettling. Growing up, I wanted nothing more than to be a sailor." He chuckled at the memories.

She offered him the contents of a thermos while setting out the picnic she had brought. Monte Cristo had not brought much, and certainly not enough to call a picnic. She had been more thoughtful than he, it seemed. "I would like some, if it isn't any trouble."

"What brought you here to New York?" he asked, unwittingly falling into the very trap Jane had just been mulling over. It was a dangerous question to ask, as it could easily be turned on Monte Cristo, and he had no answer that could satisfy anyone's curiosity. Running from the scandals of his past? Looking for a new start after having killed, blackmailed, and bribed? Like Jane, he would simply answer with whatever came to mind first, which was not the best way to start an acquaintanceship; then again, most of the time, those people Monte Cristo spoke to on occasions like these never heard from him again.

[JANE EYRE]

"Then we make an odd pair, because I have trouble not traveling. I find remaining in one place quite unsettling. Growing up, I wanted nothing more than to be a sailor."

Jane smiled a little, relating a bit. When she was very young, she used to sneak world encyclopedia's and look at the pictures in it. It was how she got through day to day with her Aunt Reed. Imagining going to all those places was all that kept her going half of the time. When she was 6 she was obsessed with the Middle East, wanting to go to exotic lands and taste exotic foods and wear one of those shimmery face coverings. At age 8 it was the luxurious rain forests of the Amazon. But after she went to Lowood, Jane focused on just surviving until she could be her own, independent person.

"I can't remember what I wanted to be when I was growing up. I don't think I had much choice. I've been a teacher since I was 15." Jane shrugged and pulled a spare glass from her basket. Since she was in the habit of breaking things quite often from sheer clumsiness, she always carried a spare. She poured a helping of her lemonade into it and handed it over to him. Jane took a second to think about it. If she could have been anything in the world, would she have been anything different? Jane didn't know. She was nearly twenty and had already been doing one thing for half a decade.

What was she besides a teacher?

"What brought you here to New York?"

Jane looked into her glass, trying to formulate a proper answer without being too personal. What was she supposed to say? I fell in love with my boss and we got engaged only for me to find out, at the alter nonetheless, that he was already married and that his wife was clinically insane. He kept her in the attic? Like that was a good way to head off a conversation.

"Running from an unfortunate relationship." Jane answered simply. "What about you? Why has the sailor dropped anchor in New York?"

[THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO]

For a moment or longer, Monte Cristo felt he and Jane were beginning to bond, and not in the superficial way he was used to. Something about her small smile told him she understood what he meant more than she could say at the moment, for they were still only strangers, regardless of any drink they shared or conversation they enjoyed.

He was surprised to learn that she had been teaching for some time. Based solely on her looks, he judged her as somewhere in her twenties, if not younger. "You've chosen an honorable profession," he told her respectfully. He personally lacked the patience - or, perhaps, just the will - to instruct others.

Why has the sailor dropped anchor in New York? It was an appropriate metaphor, one that made Monte Cristo smile broadly. Yet it remained a question, seeking answer, and he took a sip of the lemonade as he composed his answer. Having been unjustly forced to spend some fourteen years in prison by my peers, I sought revenge against those who wronged me. Of those men, one lost his life, not by my hand, but close enough. Another lost his fortune, and another, his sanity. Repenting, I left my home and traveled around the world, seeking peace within myself, and began a new life here, hoping it would bear no connection to the old.

What he said out loud, with a tilted, sad smile, was, "Running from an unfortunate past." But the sadness left his demeanor quickly, and he settled back onto the towel. It was quite obvious that neither of them had told the whole of their story, but that would do for now. With a chuckle, he commented, "I wonder what it is about this city that made us both seek refuge here."

His gaze drifting out to sea for a moment, he took another sip of the lemonade. "This is a wonderful drink. Did you make it yourself?"