It took MJ about half an hour to get to Heath's room, because, unlike Heath, Meredith did want her PA to go down and get her something to drink. Room service wasn't good enough for her, she wanted MJ to go down to the Starbucks in person and make sure they used decaf in her tall, iced caramel macchiato.

MJ didn't bother to tell her that, since everyone in the Starbucks spoke mainly Japanese, she had no idea if they understood her or not, though they were all very kind and extremely courteous. She didn't even know if that drink came in decaf.

At any rate, she finally found herself knocking on the door of Heath's suite, though she'd been worried for a few, harrowing moments that Meredith was going to want her to stay and keep her company. Meredith had gotten a text from a friend, though, and had waved her away with a murmured thanks for the drink, and MJ had escaped into the quiet and luxurious hallway of their hotel.

Heath opened his door almost immediately, hair wet on his head, dressed in fresh clothes. He must have showered, then.

Ms. Jovi-wan-kenobi!" he sang out with a grin, opening the door wide. "Lovely to see you, come in, come in!"

MJ burst out laughing as she stepped over the threshold. Honestly, the way Heath was making her laugh, she kept forgetting herself and showing her huge smile, her gigantic teeth. She held up her hand and covered her mouth.

He handed her an enormous iced coffee with a flourish.

"Your beverage, as promised," he went on, playing the part of a Jeeves-like butler with aplomb.

"Oh, this is delicious," MJ murmured, taking her drink down by half in one long swallow. "Thank you.

"And what are you doing, by the way?" she continued, sitting down on the sofa.

"Just trying to entertain you," Heath told her, finally breaking character and taking a drink from his own drink. "You don't laugh enough, you know? You always look so serious, off in your own little world, and you have a beautiful smile, like I said on the plane the other day." He nodded for emphasis.

"Oh, did you?" MJ answered vaguely. She looked out the huge windows to cover her embarrassment.

"Wow, your suite is even nicer than Meredith's," she announced, trying to change the subject. She gestured toward the sweeping vista of the trendy Roppongi district of downtown Tokyo. "This must look amazing at night."

"It does," Heath agreed. "Why, what can you see out your window?"

"The parking lot," MJ told him.

"Are you serious?" Heath asked, shocked.

"Of course I'm 'serious'," MJ answered, doing a fair imitation of his Harrow accent as she responded, eliciting a smile from him. "I don't rate this kind of view. This must cost a fortune."

"That's kind of sickening," Heath countered, sucking on his straw again. "To get back to your original statement, I am the headliner for this tour, so it would make sense that my suite's nicer, right?" He considered. "And I guess that's kind of sickening as well, isn't it?"

They laughed together, drinking their drinks, rehydrating from their day spent outdoors.

"How's your coffee?" Heath asked. "Do you like it? Would you have preferred something else?"

"Oh, no, I'll drink anything, no worries," MJ reassured him.

"I know you'll drink anything," Heath repeated, shaking his head. "That's not the point. I wanted to get you something you'd like, I wanted to know what you'd prefer, you plonker."

MJ stopped drinking to stare at Heath. "Hold on! Doesn't 'plonker' mean, um, penis?" She half whispered the last word, embarrassed to be saying it in front of Heath Spencer. She could feel herself blushing.

Heath looked back at MJ, beginning to blush himself. "Well, yeah, I suppose it can, but--but--erm--in this case I only meant--that is to say--it was meant as derogatory, a mild pejorative--" he stopped talking as he saw the effect of his words. "No no! I didn't mean that! Oh shit!" he muttered under his breath. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "I only meant--" he began again, looking around the room for inspiration. "It means, like, a fool," was what he finally came up with, smiling.

"A fool?" MJ repeated.

"Fuck," Heath enunciated.

MJ finally pulled out her phone and held it up so Heath could see it. "Let's let Wicktionary clear this up, shall we?" she said, hiding her smile with difficulty.

She pulled up the page and read in a loud, clear voice: "Noun. plonker (plural plonkers) (Britain, slang, mildly pejorative) A fool."

"Quite right, exactly as I said," Heath spoke up, nodding smugly.

MJ continued, after giving him a look, eyes narrowed. "(Britain, slang) A penis."

Heath sat back, momentarily silenced. He took a drink, just for something to do, it seemed.

MJ continued reading, her voice getting louder as she finished the sentence: "(Britain, slang, dated) A man who sanctions sexual relationships between his girlfriend and his male friends.

"Oh my god, Heath!" MJ said, looking over at him, eyes huge.

"MJ, it does not say that," Heath shouted at the same time. He grabbed for the phone as MJ held it out of the way.

A chase ensued that ranged all over the suite. Finally, laughing and shrieking, MJ threw her phone at Heath, surprising herself by nearly hitting him in the face. He ducked out of the way and plucked it out of the air, looking surprised.

He flopped down on the sofa, gasping for breath, and patted the spot next to him. After looking warily at him for a moment, MJ joined him, and they looked at her phone together.

"Honest, MJ, I had no idea that word had, erm, those--"

"Connotations?" she supplied.

"Yeah," he said, smiling and nodding. "I'm so sorry."

She shrugged and nudged his shoulder. "You're a guy, and everyone knows that guys tend to use those kinds of words, both pejoratively and jokingly. I mean, sociologically speaking, in America, anyway. I assume the same is true in the UK?" She was silent for a moment.

"What, was that a serious question?" Heath asked. "Good lord, you've got to be the most intellectual person in the entire fucking universe, MJ." His voice held awe. He sat up so he could look at her. "You're saying that blokes tend to use words for male genitalia more often? Like wanker, knob, bellend, pork sword, those sorts of words?"

And MJ, who was taking another drink of her coffee, nearly snarfed it when she heard him.

"Oh my god, Heath, are those real words?" she asked as she shook her head in disbelief.

He grinned. "Yeah, and there are loads more," he declared. "You don't have those in America?"

MJ shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe we do, and I just haven't heard them, you know? I've led a very sheltered life."

Heath flopped back down on the sofa next to her. "I'm beginning to see that," he said. "I'm still thirsty," he declared. "I think we need more to drink, but let's switch to iced tea, shall we? What would you like?" He picked up his phone and looked at MJ expectantly.

"I don't care I like anyth--" MJ began, but she stopped at the look on Heath's face. "I like Earl Grey, black," she told him with a smile.

He nodded approvingly and gave their order and room number, speaking slowly for the benefit of the ESL speaker on the other end of the line.

"You want to play some music?" Heath asked.

"What? No," MJ answered.

"I saw you looking at my guitar," he elaborated. "I was going to ask anyway, honest. I thought it would be fun."

MJ shook her head again. "I don't really play in front of people," she said.

"I'm not people, I'm just me," Heath said cajolingly.

He sat on the bed facing her. "I'll let you play the Seagull," he said with an encouraging smile.

MJ sat up. "Really?" she asked before she could help herself.

"Sure," he said casually, knowing she was hooked. "Or the Gibson, whatever," he added.

MJ's eyes flicked up to his, her brown eyes huge, his blue eyes knowing. Heath recognized a fellow guitar aficionado when he saw one, and he'd seen the calluses on MJ's fingers. MJ would've sold her soul to play such beautiful instruments.

"What do I have to do?" MJ asked.

"I asked if you wanted to play some music, not march off to war," Heath laughed, rising from the bed. He grasped the beautiful Seagull acoustic from its stand and handed it to MJ, who grasped it reverently. He then took the Gibson for himself, and sat back down on the bed.

"What do you want to play?" he asked. "Do you know any of my stuff? I only ask because I don't know much else right now, you know? I've been prepping for the tour," he said apologetically.

MJ had played a couple of chords to make sure it was in tune, and a shiver went up her spine at the richness and depth of the sounds that the instrument in her hands produced. She closed her eyes in anticipation and contentment.

Heath saw and smiled.

MJ played the introduction to "Piccadilly," one of Heath's most popular songs. It was also one of his most beautiful, MJ thought. Heath joined in, and began singing. MJ added in the embellishments she always played when she played along at home, and Heath looked at her in pleased recognition and surprise.

She looked down at her hands for most of the first verse, afraid to look up. She couldn't believe she was here, doing this playing a Seagull with Heath Spencer. While he played and sang.

When the second verse began, she took a deep breath and looked up, managing to make eye contact with Heath and keep playing at the same time. He was smiling at her, amazing blue eyes wide as they flicked back and forth from her eyes to her fingers. His smile got even wider and he nodded approval at her while continuing to sing. He even changed the lyrics, from "eyes of vivid blue," to "eyes of gorgeous brown;"

Could that possibly have been intended for her?

Surely not?

During a short break in the lyrics Heath spoke.

"MJ, you're amazing!"

He gestured toward her hands. "You're absolutely incredible." He nodded for emphasis.

And the look in his eyes somehow gave MJ the confidence to join in when he began singing the next verse, her voice harmonizing effortlessly with his.

His eyes, which had been closed as he sang, flew open when he heard her voice, and his chin lifted so he could watch her.

He smiled again and shook his head in disbelief.

She even managed to smile back.

They finished the song together, fingers flying, and MJ threw in a couple of flourishes on the Seagull at the end, waving the neck to and fro as she moved up and down the frets.

"Yeah!" Heath declared when they finished. "Damn!" He carefully set his guitar aside and put his hands together, giving MJ a long round of applause.

MJ could feel the blotchy red beginning to creep up her neck.

Heath finally stopped, realizing he was making her uncomfortable. "Okay, okay, what next?"

"You choose this time," MJ suggested.

Heath nodded, and played the intro of another of his songs, a more complicated, bluesy tune called "Mark Me," knowing that MJ would know it immediately and be able to keep it up.

They played and sang for the next four hours, not stopping until Heath got texted because he was late for a dinner appointment.

It was the most fun MJ had since she started her new job.

It seemed to her that Heath had a lot of fun, too.