Work Text:
*
“I touched his arm!” Lizzie blurts into her phone as soon as Charlotte answers.
There’s a moment of quiet at the other end. Lizzie paces around the kitchen of the house, heels clacking on the tile as she rounds the island for the fifth time.
“Lizzie, it’s midnight,” Charlotte says finally.
Rubbing her forehead, Lizzie lets out a huge exhale. “I can’t sleep.”
Charlotte takes a deep breath. “Okay then.” Lizzie listens to the rustle of blankets, the click of a light. “You touched his arm.”
“I touched his arm. I touched his arm,” she all but wails, sitting in a heap of skirts and hair on a barstool at the island. The granite countertop is cool and smooth under her elbows.
“Whose arm?”
“Darcy’s,” Lizzie mumbles.
“Ha,” Charlotte snorts through the phone. “Oh man.”
“Stop it,” Lizzie growls.
“You’re in it now. New year, new Lizzie, new Darcy?”
“This is not what besties do in these situations,” Lizzie grumbles.
Charlotte laughs, her voice still husky with sleep. “How did he look?”
At that, Lizzie stops, biting her bottom lip hard. She had expected to see him at some point, even if he was in Los Angeles according to Twitter – and she’s still totally fine with the stalking moment, a lot of help it did her – but she wasn’t – she wasn’t ready for it to be forced on her like it was, the sudden press of his thigh against hers and the flush curling up her throat. And what the hell was Gigi up to anyway?
But she thinks of him, of the softness of his mouth, the ruffle of his hair; no suspenders this time, just a long tie, and oh, why did he have to look at her like that?
“He looked the same,” she says at last, stomach churning.
“Are you going to see him again?” Charlotte asks. Good, analytical, thoughtful Charlotte.
“It is his company.”
“I mean, do you want to see him again?”
San Francisco is lovely at night, Lizzie thinks as she stares out the kitchen window. The hills (very unforgiving, the Darcys were right about that, good god her calves are killing her) roll out around her, speckled with houses, apartments, businesses. Somewhere out there, William Darcy is sleeping, and Pemberley Digital rolls along.
“Lizzie!”
“I’m sorry I woke you,” Lizzie says at last, voice quiet. “I’ll call you later, Charlotte.”
Charlotte sighs and murmurs a goodnight. There’s getting the dish, and then there’s having to wake up for work in the morning. Adulthood is a strange, unsettled land to them all.
Lizzie sits up in the kitchen of her borrowed home for some time afterwards, kicking her heels and making a cup of tea that she then lets cool. Her fingers tingle from the touch of his shirt, the warmth of his skin through the cotton, she thinks; or, she could be imagining it.
She has a wild imagination, obviously.
*
There are unresolved issues within herself, between them both. She can’t forgive the heartbreak brought upon Jane by Darcy, but Jane’s new strength and resoluteness is a positive byproduct of it all. She can’t shake off the bristle of the insults against her mother and her sister – but there is truth to it all that she can’t ignore, and that she mentions herself in the vlogs.
“You’re pissed that someone else said something,” Charlotte said to her once, while they were driving home for Thanksgiving. Lizzie had brushed it off then, but now – now she wonders if that isn’t true. There is love in her mockery and admonishment of her mother and Lydia; there was only shame when it rolled off of Darcy’s tongue.
Still, the Wickham misunderstanding is behind them – behind her, at least. And knowing Gigi watches the videos, and still treats her with warmth and friendliness, perhaps the Darcys have put it behind them as well.
There’s nothing to prepare her for the toil of her stomach as she rises morning after morning and walks to Pemberley Digital, steeling herself for another sighting, another moment, another trap laid by his socially-strange sister; but days pass, and there is nothing of him. Lizzie wonders if he’s avoiding her floor; but mostly, in between meetings and editing sessions and write-ups of her notes from the day’s work, she thinks upon his fine eyes, and tries not to smack her forehead into her desk when she does.
*
A week later, she sets up her camera in the small conference room Gigi’s let her use for her vlog tapings, her phone buzzing in her skirt pocket. Jane has texted at least twice a day since the Darcy video posted, sweet inquiries of Lizzie’s welfare, and one mention of how nice he looked when he was looking at her in the one moment –
(and oh shit, that freeze-frame hasn’t left her mind; editing it had been a bitch, because it was still there, the way he looked at her when he’d first said he loved her, there just a week ago, and how, how is she supposed to respond to just a look anymore?)
Charlotte has been nothing if not effusive, crowing over the viewer statistics and the comments. It all leaves Lizzie a little light-headed; but if she left Jane and Bing’s relationship up for the internet, turnabout is fair play.
(If she was talking to Lydia, she’s sure Lydia would be hysterical and texting all sorts of inappropriate advice. But she’s not. So there’s nothing from Vegas. Lizzie’s stomach turns every time she thinks about it.)
Lizzie smooths her hands over her simple black skirt, and leans in to press record.
“Well, hey – everyone,” she says, a little bashfully, as she sits back down on the bench. “Last time, I told you more about Gigi, and working here at Pemberley, but according to number one bestie Charlotte Lu, all you folk seem to want more of is poor William Darcy.”
She pauses, and clears her throat. “The vlog before last, that was entrapment, just so you know. I doubt he’d volunteer to come on down and see me. And sadly, dear viewers, we seem to keep missing each other.”
Her hands go to her hair, loose at her shoulder today; she tucks it behind her ears. “So, that’s that. I’m Lizzie Bennet, and I have nothing new to report on William Darcy. However – “
And then, the knock on the door. Her palms start to sweat immediately.
“Come on in,” she calls, turning her head to the door. She’s used to this, after nearly two weeks. Gigi likes to make cameos – “keeping it fresh, Lizzie!”, she said, in a way that panged too close to the Lydia-shaped hole in Lizzie’s world.
But no, it’s William Darcy who steps into the conference room. She wets her lips, keeping his gaze. His hands go to his suit jacket. A whorl of dark curled hair falls across his brow.
“I’m sorry, Lizzie,” he says, and oh, just the way he says her name – “I did not realize – “
“No, no!” she exclaims, rising. “It’s okay. Would you – I mean, I’ll be done in a moment, but would you – “
She stops, nearly swallowing her tongue. Words are her friend, she reminds herself, even as she feels strange with his eyes on hers. She likes words. “The viewers have been asking about you, I guess. And if you’d like – to sit in for a moment –“
“I would very much enjoy that,” he says immediately, a small smile curving his mouth. She wonders how she could have gotten so much of this man all wrong, or at least put the puzzle of him together in such a misshapen way. An agoraphobic lobster, she remembers Fitz saying, and she believes it; but it isn’t unattractive.
He sits as she does, his thigh pressed against hers once more. She keeps her hands in her lap, smiling a little too wide to be natural. Nervousness is not a good look for her, Lydia and Charlotte have said that multiple times. She looks into the camera and takes a deep slow breath.
“Okay – well – everyone, welcome back William Darcy, head of Pemberley Digital,” she says, feeling easier with the camera as their safe space.
Darcy lifts a hand and waves. “Hello, internet,” he intones, and she can’t help but relax a little bit.
“I’ve been talking a little bit about the company, and Gigi – she’s a big hit,” she tells him, fingers twining nervously together.
He looks at her then, mouth softening at the corners. “Yes. Of course, she would be. She has quite the personality.”
“Yes,” she says, shaking her head a little. “I – well, she’s so fond of you.”
He swallows silently; her eyes follow the line and shift of the muscles in his throat. “And I of her.”
Lizzie drops her eyes for a beat, thinking of the letter folded up between worn pages in her field notes from Collins and Collins, kept with her at all times. There is such a swelling of affection for him and his care for those he loves in her chest in that moment, she isn’t sure she can look at him again.
“In fact – Lizzie, I came to ask – well – “
She looks up then, and – good god, is William Darcy nervous? He hasn’t looked like this in front of her since professing his love, and –
Oh.
“Should I turn off the camera?” she asks softly.
Shaking his head, he reaches over to take one of her sweaty-palmed warm hands in his. He is quite broad all over, she thinks absently. “No. I came down here to see if you would like to join Gigi and Fitz and I for dinner this evening. You said you’d like to make friends, and I know – I know we are already acquainted -“
“Wait,” she says, mind on pause. “Did you – have you – are you watching my videos still?”
He nods. Her hand rests easily between both of his.
“Oh. Okay,” she says, the flush crawling up her neck. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
Smiling slightly, he bows his head just for a moment. “I should like to be your friend at last, Lizzie Bennet. Perhaps we can begin with a family dinner?”
Slowly, her fingers curl against his warm, slightly damp palm. “I’d like that. Thanks,” she says quietly.
He squeezes her hand once before he sets it back down on her knee. “We’ll wait for you in the lobby. Whenever you’re finished up, just meet us downstairs,” he says. Then, he nods to the camera and gives a stiff little wave before rising and exiting. His eyes linger on her as he shuts the door behind him.
Blinking, Lizzie turns back to the camera. “Okay. Well. So, there’s Darcy. He’s good. I’m good. Independent study is good. I have to go to dinner, now,” she says with a smile she can’t quite control. “So. Yeah. See you guys next time.”
She shuts off the camera and packs up in record time. Her hand is still warm from his.
*
After a very pleasant dinner at the Darcy loft, where she admires the art on the walls and finally, finally learns more of the past he is always so reticent of, and feels strangely sentimental for it all, Darcy offers to drive her home. Gigi all but pushes them into the car, grinning and waving, with Fitz right behind her with a broad smile on his face. Lizzie can’t help but feel a little set-up; but Darcy just flushes a little, right around the collar of his button-down shirt, and says nothing.
The ride is pleasantly quiet; she doesn’t know how to ask about anyone without triggering a fight, and she’s sure he feels the same. It’s been such a lovely evening, with his sister and his home softening the edges of his stoicism, that she feels she understands him more than she ever thought she had before. She doesn’t want to ruin it all by raising the curtain on their tangled past. It’s not like they can forget; the internet has it for posterity.
Once he pulls up to the curb outside her borrowed empty house, he puts the car in park and turns off the engine. They sit there in the quiet for a moment, watching each other. She can feel her palms start to sweat again.
“Thank you,” she says softly. “Dinner was wonderful.”
“Thank you, for coming,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair. It’s utterly causal and bizarre to her eyes; she wants to muss it more with her own fingers. “I thought – I thought it might help to make things less awkward all across the board.”
“Well – okay,” she says, bemused.
He stares at her, eyes dark and unnerving. Her fingers shift at the buckle of her seat belt. “I – Lizzie – “
“Okay,” she breathes, because she’s dense but she’s not in denial anymore.
Her buckle clicks open and she’s across the middle divider in a moment, her mouth soft against his. His hands go to her waist immediately, wide and spanning part of her ribcage. She feels stubble against her cheeks, the rasp of his breath in his throat. Her eyes are open, watching his pupils blow into blackness, his eyelashes flutter, his cheeks redden. Then there is the parting of his lips against hers and she feels the wet slide of his tongue against her bottom lip. Shutting her eyes, she breathes into his mouth and arches close across the divider, her hands twisting in that perfect tie of his. Outside it’s all sea breezes and stars, not a cloud in the night sky, just the yellow lights of the city.
And then, her phone rings in her purse. It’s her Jane ringtone, and at this hour –
“Shit,” she breathes, even as he pulls back. “I – “
“Please, go ahead,” he says, all prim and proper even with lipstick on his mouth and a dazed heavy look in his gaze.
Lizzie settles back and digs through her purse, her fingers trembling. She answers the call and keeps Darcy’s gaze. “Hi.”
“Bad time?” Jane says, voice suspiciously thick.
“No – no – “
“Lizzie, I just wondered whether you’d seen Lydia’s latest video. It’s – oh Lizzie, it’s not good.”
Lizzie sighs, touching her fingers to her hair. “No, I haven’t. Illegal bad?”
“No, just – I’m really worried.”
“Okay. Okay. I’m about to go into the house. Can I watch it, and call you back?”
At Jane’s assent, Lizzie hangs up the phone and slips it back into her purse. She takes a deep breath, and turns to Darcy with a faint smile. “Apparently, Lydia’s made a video that has Jane worried.”
Darcy’s mouth twists at the corners, but he just takes Lizzie’s hand between his own. “I understand,” he says quietly.
“Thank you,” she says again, hesitating only a moment before she leans into press a kiss to his cheek. “I – “
“I’ll come by your desk tomorrow, and check in,” he says, his thumb tracing over her knuckles.
“Okay.” She nods, and curls her fingers against his for a moment. He goes as far as to unbuckle himself and get out of the car to open her door for her, which is a little overwhelming; but she just says thank you and good night, and doesn’t watch him drive away.
She imagines he watches her walk to her door, though. She doesn’t hear the car start until the key is in the lock. The breeze lifts her hair from her neck, and she sighs a little to herself.
“Enough,” she says softly, and walks in the house.
*