Someone asked in a review, where I get my ideas from. Would you believe that I honestly don't have a clue? Passages from the books, or scenes from the movies spark something in my head and out pops an idea. Often when I'm just about to fall asleep. Very annoying.

Slightly different from what I've written before. I hope its not too mushy near the end.

"My sister, Anne, will stay with the child." Mary Musgrove said to Captain Wentworth as he asked her how her son was. "She is far the best person to see to him. A mother you see Captain Wentworth, can not stand the emotion that a sick room requires. I would be terribly useless to Walter, and Anne was so kind to suggest it."

He nodded and heard her words, but not pay them much heed. He was relieved that Anne would not be there tonight, and wondered whether she had offered her services to avoid seeing him. It thought that must be the case. She did not want to see him and was going to do everything in her power to postpone a meeting.

He was curious to see her though, to see if she was as he remembered. To see if she still affected him in the way she once did, eight years ago.

From the conversation at the dinner table he was able to attain that Charles and Mary Musgrove lived in Uppercross cottage, a few minutes walk from the Great House, past the small graveyard that abutted the House and held many of its past masters.

He stood from the table at the end of the meal, when everyone was still milling around and announced his intent to go for some air. He found himself being offered escorts and guides, but waved them all away as kindly as he could. He would be back shortly.

Once he was outside, and out of sight of the windows, he quickened his pace and hurried down the small pathway that had been mentioned to him. It had been mentioned in regards to the mornings shooting, but he felt there was no harm in traversing down it tonight.

The cottage was easy to make out, the light from the candles burning in the down stairs was the only light for miles around; barring the Great House itself. He did a quick circle of the house, checking out all of the windows and there where no more lights, suggesting the Anne was somewhere downstairs.

He circled again, this time more slowly and closer to the cottage. As close as he must get to have a cleat view through the windows. The first two showed servants about their nightly chores, readying the cottage for the return of the master and mistress.

He came about to the front room windows, and there she was.

A boy he assumed to be little Walter Musgrove lay fast asleep on one of the sofa's and Anne was at that moment folding several blankets and depositing them on the floor. He frowned at her actions before she held up a pillow, fluffing it up before placing it on the floor beside the blankets. She meant to spend the night by the child's side.

He scoffed then at Mary Musgrove's early words. Anne stayed because she cared for the child, and he suspected that had Mary had stayed as well, Anne would still be the one caring for the boy.

She looked older, though that was to be expected. The windows did not allow him a clear enough vision of her, so he could not say how much she had changed. She looked thinner though, and smaller, if that where possible. More fragile than he had seen her previous.

Though no one had heard him, for he had not spoken it aloud, he took back what he thought earlier; she had not backed out of their meeting just because she wanted too, and not just to avoid him. She had been thinking only of her nephew when he had been injured, and not about him. He had always thought she would make a good mother.

He wondered then if thoughts of him had even penetrated her thought process. If she had even thought about him at all since he had returned to the neighbourhood, and in the eight years previous.

As a light breeze rustled the bushes to his right and stirred him from his musings. He decided he had better go, no knowing how long he had been out there, and having accomplished his mission of seeing her before she saw him.

The rustle came again and he turned towards it.

Even in the dark, he could clearly see the pan heading straight for his head, and turned right at the last moment (being unable to get out of the way fully) for it to catch him on the back of his head. He hit the ground with a thump and a groan, as the figure with the pan stood above him, waiting to clonk him upon the head again if he moved.

He remain still. Only moving his head so that it rested on the cool ground, a headache already forming as a person stood above him, ranting at him for peering into windows and accusing him of being a thief.

Anne was putting another log on the fire when she heard the commotion outside the windows. Assuring herself that Walter was fine and would remain so for several minutes, she gathered up her shawl and headed towards the back door.

Once she was outside she headed round the side of the house and came across the formidable housekeeper employed by her sister, standing over a man, a heavy cooking pan poised ready in her hand.

"Oh Miss Anne," the frantic housekeeper said to her as soon as she saw her. "This man was sulking in the bushes around the house. Can you fetch Thomas or Peter tae deal with him?"

Anne nodded to her, about to turn and fetch the men that the housekeeper had mentioned, when something about the jacket that the man wore, caught her attention. Instead of walking off, she took a couple of steps closer, ignoring the words of warning from the older woman, and knelt down beside him.

"Captain Wentworth," she said.

"Captain Wentworth?" the housekeeper gasped. She had heard his name mentioned by some of the Great House staff who had been down to borrow some of her masters game birds, and they had spoken with such excited apprehension of the visit of this navel Captain that she wished, not for the first time, that she worked there rather than at the cottage.

"Can you stand Captain?" Anne asked him, having no time to feel shocked at his sudden appearance. She knew he was to be dining at the Great House, but what was he doing down here.

"I can manage Miss Elliot, thank you," he said, standing and promptly staggering sideways into the wall.

"Pardon me Captain, but I do not think you can." she said, peering at him. From what she could see in the dark, his face was pale and his breathing shallow. "I should feel much better if you would step into the kitchen for a few moments so that I could take a look," and with that she reached out and wrapped her fingers round his arm, gently giving him a tug.

"I should return to the Great House," he said, half heartedly making efforts to pull away. If he where completely honest with him self though, he should like a seat, and maybe for the ground to stop spinning.

"They will not miss you for a few more minutes," she said to him, holding the door open and guiding him with her hand on his back. He had little choice but to move; she had always been able to make him do anything just by a simple, gentle touch. "Please Captain, I would like to make sure you have not split the skin open, and I can not do that in the dark."

He nodded his acceptance, groaning as the increased movement added to the pounding in his head. He allowed her to lead him onwards, into the house and the kitchen. He sat heavily on a sat, his head bent forward resting on his knees.

Anne spoke with the housekeeper, assuring the poor woman that Captain Wentworth was not going to have her arrested for attacking him and perhaps she should go for a lie down. The other woman agreed and with a fitful glance at the Captain, who was attempting to keep his stomach contents in their rightful place, left the two of them alone.

Anne gathered a bowl from one of the cupboards, filled it with cold water from the barrel by the back door and placed it on the table. She took up a cloth then, and immersed it in the water. She stood before him, "May I?" she asked.

He waved his consent with one hand, the other covering his eyes in an attempt to block out the dim light from the candles. It was not strong, but it pained him and pain was something he could do without at the moment.

Taking a deep breath she laid her hands upon his head, her fingers parting his hair; searching his scalp for the bumps she knew must reside there after such a hit.

He let out a sigh as her fingers came in contact with his skin. They cooled and soothed and she searched to make sure he had not broken the skin. His breathing evened out and he lost himself to the sensation of her fingers raking through his hair.

She pressed down on a particularly sensitive area and he winced. "Sorry," she said.

"It is a little sore," he replied.

"You where hit across the head with a cooking pan," she reminded him, and he fell silent for the rest of the examination. He could feel himself leaning forward ever so slightly; she had the same intoxicating smell he remembered. A mix of lavender and mint, calming yet refreshing. "You have managed to escape your encounter with the housekeeper with only a lump to show for it. This should help with the swelling."

She removed the cloth from the bowl, squeezed out the excess water and placed it gently on the back of his head, over the swollen area. He winced again, it was cold. She held it in place.

"May I enquire why you where sulking about in the bushes?" she asked

He pouted though she could not see it, "I was not sulking."

"Hiding then."

"I was doing neither. I just," he sighed, "I wanted to see you," he admitted.

Anne sat stunned for a second, unsure of how to take his admission. "There is such a thing as a front door, you could have called."

"Would I have been welcomed?" he asked, lifting his head. He placed a hand atop of hers to hold the makeshift cold compress to his scalp as he tilted his head back and searched her eyes.

"I would have been apprehensive," she admitted, looking briefly away, "But you would have been welcomed. Most warmly." She bit her bottom lip then and turned away, thinking she had said too much.

"Anne," he said, catching her arm as she withdrew it. He loosened his hand just enough so that he could trail it slowly down to her hand. Turning it palm up, he traced a finger down the palm of her hand; she shivered. "Anne."

"Frederick,"

"I…,"

"Anne!" came Mary's frantic shouts as she entered the cottage, "Anne. You shall never guess Anne. Captain Wentworth is missing. He went out for some fresh air and has not returned. Charles and Mr Musgrove have been to look for him, but they can not find…him."

Mary's triad trailed off as she arrived at the kitchen, the only place her sister might still be for she was not in the front room with Walter, and found Captain Wentworth with her sister. Upon seeing him holding a cloth to his head, her eyes bulged.

"Captain Wentworth, whatever has happened?"

"The Captain had a small dispute with a tree," Anne told her, reaching out for the wad of cloth that Frederick was using to try and keep the swelling down. He handed it to her and she dipped it once more in the bowl of cold water, ringing it of the excess before handing it back to him.

"Your sister as been generously tending to me, in addition to her other charge," he told Mary, glancing sideways at Anne. A tree, he wanted to ask, do I look like the type of man to lose a fight with a tree? He caught the small smile that was threatening to emerge on her face and thought better of it. It would be embarrassing should the real incident come to light, and she was one of the few who knew it.

"My sister is an Elliot, sir. We are very good at caring for others," Mary told him. He fought the urge to role his eyes. "It is our nature."

"Mary," Anne said, interrupting her sister, "Perhaps you should go and inform Charles that Captain Wentworth will require the carriage to get him back to Kellynch. I should not feel comfortable with you riding back Captain." She said, turning to him.

"Oh yes. I shall go and fetch Charles directly." Mary said, rushing out of the room, "I shall see to it all Captain Wentworth, do not worry." They heard the front door of the cottage pulled shut and Mary's cries, as she continued up the pathway to the Great House.

"A tree?" he couldn't help but ask.

"What would you have had me say? That you where attacked by a group of ten masked men, and that you where able to incapacitate six of them before being knocked on the head." She had to cover her mouth there, not wanting him to see her laughter. "Or that it was the housekeeper?"

He blushed, his head lowered. "She will not tell anyone, will she?" he asked.

Anne shook her head. "I do not think so. But perhaps an apology and a small gift, might help her forget what happened."

He nodded, noting that the action caused less pain this time round. "Shall I see you tomorrow?" he asked quietly.

"I shall be here," she told him, and she smiled. He could not help but smile back. There was the Anne he knew eight years previous, and not the worn, tired creature he had been through the windows earlier on this evening.

Taking her hand once again in his, he turned it palm up again and bestowed a kiss upon her palm. "Anne, I,"

"Captain Wentworth, Charles has the coach ready out front," Mary said, wondering into the kitchen again. "And is ready to escort you back to Kellynch."

Frederick sighed, though it could be construed as more of a growl and he glowered at Anne when he heard her quiet chuckle.

"I shall sit a few more moments, if I may Mrs Musgrove, till I a certain I shall be steady on my feet. Might I implore you to fetch your husband inside so that I may speak with him, as I do not think I shall be able to make it to the shoot in the morning," he asked, hoping to be rid of her for a minute or so.

"Oh, of course Captain Wentworth," and she was off again, calling for her husband.

"She will not be gone for long," Anne said to him.

"Long enough," he told her as he got to his feet, a little wobbly at first, but he soon had his bearings. It was with standing next to her that he was reminded of how small she was, and how he had often been tempted to lift her up more to his height.

"Will you receive my call tomorrow?" he asked.

"I shall."

"If I suggest a walk, would you walk with me?"

"I would."

"Can you find it in your heart to forgive all the hurtful words I have said to you?"

"I can."

"Do you,"

She raised a finger to his lips and silenced him. "I do."

He had travelled to Uppercross with a heavy heart, believing that he was going to have to face the woman he had once, and still loved, and find her unfeeling and indifferent to him. All of that was forgotten now, and he felt only joy and happiness. They where reunited once more, though there was still a lot to discuss.

He bent and dipped his head, intent on granting her a kiss, but the front door of the cottage banged as it opened and he was forced to take a step or two back and hope that neither of the Musgrove's noticed their matching pink cheeks

When Mary returned with Charles there was much commotion and many questions. Anne deflected most of them easily enough by stating that Frederick needed to return to Kellynch as soon as possible, for he needed to lie down. The mornings shoot was postponed till another day, but the Captain made plans to return to the cottage to call upon them later on in the day.

He could not stop himself from glancing at her often, delighted that a glow had returned to her complexion and he was the one to put it there. She caught his glances more often than not, and returned them. Enjoying the private communication that they shared.

He left Uppercross cottage with a bow, a thank you, and assured in the fact that his love was returned.

Who could ask for more from a simple dinner with his new neighbours?

*

First aid advice and a quicker resolution, what more could you want?

Or is that a loaded question?