A/N: This is a first attempt at fanfic, born out of a conversation on tumblr about Darcy reading Dizzie fanfiction. Because secretly, I bet he does. Obviously, I own nothing, much as I wish I did! I can't even take credit for Mr. Bearcy - this fandom comes up with the best things though. 7 episodes to go! :(

William Darcy considered himself to be many things. Passionate, driven, ambitious, successful – these were all words he had heard being used to describe him. He was proud, yes, and perhaps a touch arrogant at times, but he was also generous and fiercely protective towards the ones he loved. He could write a list as long as his arm of words to describe himself, but never in his life would William Darcy have considered himself a masochist. That is, until he met Lizzie Bennet.

He had already watched every one of her videos at least a dozen times, memorising her voice, analysing each subtle shift in her expression, internalising every insult and telling himself it was motivation to change for the better. He was on a mission to know everything there was to know about this woman he could not stop loving, even now that she was miles away and never going to speak to him again. It was with this painful certainty that he found himself stationed in front of his laptop one Sunday night, reverently typing her name in to a Google search. Scrolling past the results he had already clicked a hundred times, something at the foot of the page made him pause. Hovering over the link, he thought back to something Gigi had said back at New Year. "She has quite the dedicated fanbase, William. Some of them even write fanfiction! There's a lot about you, actually. Both of you." Why hadn't he looked into this before? He clicked decisively, and arrived at a page cataloguing countless stories listing him as a main character. Darcy and Lizzie. Together. He sighed, rising from his seat to reach for the bottle of scotch he kept on the shelf for moments such as this. Pouring himself a glass, he decided to dive right in.

His eyes started watering right around the third story. He reached for Mr. Bearcy, his childhood teddy bear, and buried his face in the soft woollen belly. There were only so many times he could make himself envision that life with her - the mutual love, a welcome proposal, marriage, children, a future - before he broke down. Admittedly, the alcohol wasn't exactly helping stem the flow of tears, but it was filling the hole she had left when she hurried out of Pemberley Digital and out of his life. Or, he would make it.

It didn't take him long to come across the smut. Reading of his fantasised sexual prowess did briefly put a watery smile on his face, before he was once again hit with the realisation that no matter how good he may be, he would never share those skills with her. The tears fell harder, and Mr. Bearcy struggled to absorb them all.

After almost two hours, he could take no more. As absurd as some of these situations were, his fictional counterpart seemed to have one constant that Real Darcy would always lack: Lizzie. If he attended a function, she was there in a beautiful dress with eyes only for him. If he rode in a limousine, she rode on his lap. If he was solving crimes committed by his real-life ex-best friend, she was the one who had called him in. Darcy wondered how Lizzie's fans could be so full of naïve certainty that they should be together. Sure, he thought so, but Lizzie was their primary source of information and Lizzie was not interested. He let his mind wander back to the time when he thought she might be, when he thought it would be a good idea to ask her on a date. What if she had said yes? The story began to play out in his head. They would go to the theatre, he would be a gentleman and she would be perfect as usual. They would kiss and the world would stand still. She would love him back, move in with him, marry him, and he would never have to feel this constant ache in his chest that had once been hope. I should write this down, his scotch-addled brain decided as he fumbled for his laptop once more.

He had come full circle. Lying on top of the bed sheets, Mr. Bearcy by his side, he was once again watching her face as she spoke animatedly to the camera. Specifically, he was watching her reactions towards himself in the few videos they were in together. He thought he could pinpoint the moment when her smile – her beautiful, radiant smile – stopped looking forced and uncomfortable in his presence. If he could take that moment and preserve it to watch over and over again, he might be able to cope better with his Lizzie's-smile-free reality. Wait, could he? He had never made a .gif before, he had never needed to, but of course he knew the process. He took another swallow of his drink, opened Photoshop and got to work.

William groaned, pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets as he rolled over in bed. It's too damn bright in here, he thought. And what the hell is that noise? Searching for the source of the high pitched bleating, he looked over to see his phone lit up on his bedside table. Reaching over to pick it up, he accidentally nudged the track pad of his laptop and immediately saw Lizzie Bennet smiling at him from the screen. Oh god, I fell asleep looking at her again, didn't I? Ugh. Stabbing the answer call button, he lifted the phone to his ear and grunted a greeting.

"William, where are you? It's 10.30, why aren't you in the office? I've been trying to get a hold of you since 9am!"

"Gigi?" his mind was still a little fluffy from the scotch and sobbing from the night before.

"Yes, big brother, it's me. Now where are you?"

"I read it."

"What?"

"Fanfiction. Lizzie and I. I found some online last night and I read it."

"Oh. And?"

"And what, Gigi? I read a hundred versions of a life I'll never lead. I got jealous of my fictional self. Did you know we were supposed to have four children?"

"William-"

"That's not all. I wrote one. And I fell asleep with her face on the laptop beside me."

William could almost hear his sister rolling her eyes through the phone.

"Again? Seriously William. Have you called her?"

"No, Gigi, haven't called her," he sighs. This is not a new conversation.

"Why not? You'll never get an answer from her unless you try!"

"Gigi. I've told you before, it's too hard. She has much more important things to deal with without having to ward off my advances a third time, and I cannot take her rejection again. It's over."

He listens as she breathes deeply, trying not to yell at him while she's on the phone in a public place. He knows his sister, she can be vicious when she lets herself.

"I'm assuming you haven't watched her video from today yet."

Not a question, a statement. Gigi knows something.

"Not yet. Why, is there something I should know?"

"Just… watch it."

Chemistry? Heat? Tension? That was what Charlotte had said, and Lizzie hadn't denied it. Had she felt it too? William Darcy is a force of nature, you don't just call him. Why not? He wanted to grab the screen and shake it. He wanted to shake himself. Why were they both so stubborn? At least she was right about one thing – his feelings had changed. That is, if you could call getting to know her true nature and loving her even more for it a change. He really should call her. Text her? Perhaps send an email? Shaking his head, he picked up his phone and dialled. His secretary answered on the second ring.

"Mrs Reynolds? Cancel my appointments for the rest of the week and get me on the next flight out. I'm going back to Netherfield."