A/N: I wrote this story immediately after the infamous episode 60, and it was completely canon-balled in episode 61, but I still like it, so consider it a sort of one-shot AU. I've been writing LBD fanfiction over on Tumblr for the past few weeks, but figured I should probably start archiving it at a non-blog locale, so expect to see more from me over the next few days. :)

Well Played

Taking a steadying breath, Darcy steeled himself for the task at hand and knocked on Lizzie's office door with his customary one-knuckled double-tap. He heard movement within and after a moment, Lizzie opened the door. Her initially pleasant expression changed immediately and dramatically once she recognized her visitor. Darcy marveled at how her cool blue eyes could hold so much fire.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"I-I…" he faltered and took a moment to regain his composure. "I saw your videos," he confessed. Her eyes widened in dismay and she appeared slightly flushed. "Don't worry—I'm not offended," he quickly reassured her, "I just—George Wickham lied to you—that story he told you, it's not true. I want to set the record straight, for you… and for your viewers."

She paused to consider him like a chess player sizing up her opponent. "You… want to make a video?" she asked. It was not an invitation.

"If you'll let me."

For a few terrifying seconds, Darcy was certain she would refuse. Her anger at him had clearly not abated since their last meeting a few days ago (he inwardly cringed at the memory). But then, something in her expression shifted—

"In the interest of journalistic fairness," she conceded, "I should probably let you tell your side of the story."

"You mean, the truth?" he challenged impulsively.

"Hmm…" was her noncommittal reply as she turned back into her office and busied herself with setting up the camera. Darcy took a few steps into the room, closing the door after him. This must be what wild animals felt like being led onto the stage of the Coliseum, he mused wryly. The look Lizzie gave him as she turned on the camera and sat down in front of it was manifestly uninviting, but Darcy took his seat next to her anyway.

Stick to the plan, he reminded himself.

"Well," he began, "now that I'm familiar with the—uh—format of your videos, I wanted to make sure I was dressed for the occasion." He adjusted his bow tie ostentatiously and looked over at Lizzie to judge whether she understood his intended meaning.

Of course she understood—she was Lizzie Bennet. She now regarded him with astonishment and (dare he say it?) some amusement. Then her eyes took on the steely glint of the one-upswoman he knew her to be.

"Then perhaps you'd be interested in wearing the full ensemble?" she challenged, opening a desk drawer and drawing out a familiar brown hat.

"Certainly," he said, accepting the challenge and the proffered hat, which he promptly placed on his head. She was definitely holding back a smile now—progress was being made—but he wasn't finished yet. He pulled two folded sheets of paper out from inside his sweater and, unfolding them, handed one to Lizzie. The confusion on her face was evident as she took the paper and began to read, then her eyes widened as she comprehended what was written on it.

"This—this is a script," she said, her voice faint with disbelief.

Darcy nodded.

"Y-you want to reenact the story."

He nodded again.

As she stared at him, Lizzie caught some of the skin of her left arm between the fingers of her right hand and pinched hard, evidently convinced she must be dreaming. But when it became clear that there was no dream from which to wake, her expression suddenly transformed. She smiled, her eyes filled with conspiratorial glee (and perhaps anticipation of impending schadenfreude? he thought pessimistically), as she rummaged around the drawer for the pair of swimming goggles that had become associated with George Wickham.

Now, fully attired for their costume theater, Darcy and Lizzie commenced with the reading of the script.

"George," Darcy began, "my father promised to pay for your education, and I intend to fulfill that promise."

"I don't want to go to college," Lizzie read, lowering her voice for her George impersonation. "Just give me the money you would have spent on tuition…" she faltered, transitioning back to her normal voice, "…in cash?Did he seriously say this?"

"More or less," Darcy answered. "I don't have your gift for remembering people's words exactly, so I can't say for certain."

Lizzie blushed, then looked tense and confused.

Darcy continued with the script. "I don't think this is a good idea. You have the opportunity to receive a quality education, and I think you should take advantage of it."

"I'm not cut out for school. That money would be a lot more useful to me if I could spend it the way I want."

"Fine. I won't tell you what to do with your own money, but I still think this is a bad idea."

"Wait—you gave him the money?" Lizzie asked incredulously, breaking out of character again.

"I thought you liked him," Darcy teased, though he could not completely banish the resentment from his voice.

Lizzie mouthed silently for a few moments, clearly at a loss. "Yes—well—the jury's still out! I still haven't decided if I believe you!" She looked back down at the script. "It says, 'three years later.'"

"Yes, I was figuring you could put that up as a caption on the screen."

"So demanding," she chided, but she wasn't really annoyed.

"I know. I place extraordinary demands on you and your editing abilities. But back to the script—three years later…"

"I've changed my mind," Lizzie read in character. "I want to go to school."

"What happened to the money I gave you?"

"It's gone. I've spent it all."

"And you expect me to give you twice the amount of money my father promised to you? I have been generous with you—more generous than I should have been in hindsight—but I will not pay twice for an education you obviously don't deserve."

Lizzie was silent for some time after the conclusion of the reenactment, her eyes scanning and rescanning the piece of paper she held in her hands. At length, she spoke: "If this is true, then it seems I have misjudged George Wickham…" she raised her eyes to meet his, "…and you."

Darcy could not feel the full impact of his triumph when Lizzie sat before him looking so pained and confused. He could not think of anything to say that would make this any easier for her, but he did remember that he had one more thing to do here. He pulled an envelope from inside his sweater and offered it to her.

"I want you to read this. It will… explain some things."

She took the envelope. "Okay," she said softly, "I'll read it." She placed the envelope on her desk while removing the goggles from her head and dropping them back into the drawer. Darcy dutifully took off the hat and handed it back to her. As she took the hat, Lizzie looked up at him, and unexpectedly stifled a laugh.

"Your hair—" she explained, and Darcy realized that the hat must have made a mess of things on his head. Lizzie's hand was halfway along the trajectory of rectifying the situation before she realized what she was doing, and froze, her hand suspended awkwardly in midair. Then she dropped her hand and her gaze decidedly into her lap.

Darcy ran his fingers through his own hair, sweeping it back into its usual style, unable to keep himself from imagining what it would have felt like if she had done it instead. He was suddenly acutely aware of her nearness to him, and it was only with a great effort that he forced himself to stand. Lizzie stood too, having composed herself, and looked him in the eye.

"I'm leaving today," he told her. "I've been away from my business long enough. And anyway, I did what I came here to do…" even if that was a failure.

There was something different about the way she looked at him now. He didn't think—wouldn't dare to believe—that she regretted rejecting him, but he thought she might at least feel sorry about how that infamous conversation had played out.

"Well," she said nervously, "goodbye."

"Goodbye, Lizzie," he replied. "I hope to see you again." And with that, he left.

—

It was Monday morning and Darcy sat in his office, surprised to find he had nothing much to do. After his rejection, he'd channeled copious amounts of nervous energy into various work projects. Fitz, who had observed all this, generally left him alone. Fitz didn't know much about Darcy's conversation with Lizzie beyond the fact that it hadn't gone well, and had left Darcy to deal with the rejection as he saw fit. Darcy was grateful for that. But the result of all this was that he was pretty well caught up on work at the moment. He could probably find something to work on if he really tried, but to be honest, he was exhausted.

On Saturday, Lizzie contacted Darcy by e-mail, saying that, after reading his letter, she believed him, and asking if she could make the existence of his letter known in her next video. She wouldn't reveal the contents of the letter—the painful and maddening story of how George Wickham had treated his sister Gigi—but she wanted to imply that she had stronger reasons for believing Darcy's side of the story than what was revealed in their costume theater. Darcy responded, agreeing that this would be the best course of action.

Now, he thought perhaps that video might be up, so he navigated to YouTube on his computer. As he suspected, he found a new episode of the Lizzie Bennet Diaries. He hit play to find Lizzie looking nervously into the camera.

"Have you ever come to the realization that pretty much every opinion you've held about someone the entire time you've known them is… just completely wrong? I've spent a lot of time on this blog talking about William Darcy, so you might feel like you know him pretty well, but the thing is, I've realized that I don't know him at all.

"So the other day, Darcy came to visit me again. He wanted to explain some things to me and to you, the viewers, so… well, I'll just let him explain.

"My name is Lizzie Bennet, and this is the real Darcy."

After the familiar musical intro, the video cut to the scene they'd acted out between himself and Lizzie acting as Wickham. She left in much of their out-of-character banter, as well as the moment when he'd given her his letter, but left out the moment when she'd almost touched his hair. He was glad of that, because that moment in particular had seemed so intimate, so beautiful to him, that he didn't want to share it with anyone else (though he suspected her decision to cut that bit had more to do with her embarrassment than any romantic wish to keep it private).

"So… Darcy has a sense of humor," Lizzie said to the camera after the scene ended, her eyes wide in mock-surprise. "Who knew!" Darcy laughed aloud at this. "But seriously, though. I have to admit that I misjudged him in just about every possible way. I read that letter he gave me and… well I can't really talk about what it said because it's kind of personal, but suffice to say that it convinced me that he was telling the truth about George Wickham, who, as it turns out, is… really, really not a good guy.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I still think Darcy shouldn't have broken up Bing and Jane, and I'm not entirely over being mad at him about that, but I can see that he may have had his reasons, wrong though they may be. I just wish Jane hadn't gotten caught in the middle of all this. She deserves better. But I don't think Darcy broke them up just out of spite or because he's a horrible soulless monster." (Here she made exaggerated zombie motions.)

The next cut revealed Lizzie holding a plate full of pie in one hand and a fork in the other. "But anyway, someone in the office had a birthday yesterday, and he doesn't like cake, so Charlotte got him pie, and as you can see," she held up her plate, "there's still some left over. I guess this is appropriate because now, dear viewers, I will eat my humble pie." She took a bite. "Mmmm, rhubarb."

Darcy laughed quietly to himself as the music played to end the video. He opened his e-mail and started a message to Fitz with the subject line "Re: my game." He copy-pasted a link to the video and asked, "Would you say it has improved? —D"

Fitz's reply came within minutes: "Definitely improved. Well played, sir. Well played."