A/N: Thought you might enjoy a little interim fic.
Of course it had been Bing's idea. A December weekend, two weeks out from Christmas, and Darcy did not think that there would be snow, until there was.
Harry and Nina were wintering in Europe. Darcy hated people who made seasons into verbs. Summering in Paris, wintering in Naples, she thought, in mocking extrapolation, and felt the relevant twinge of what might have once been Gemma's envy.
Netherfield house was Bing's for the taking, therefore, and they drove north in the crystal cold.
"What are you doing for Christmas?"
Bing was spending Christmas with the Bennetts, Darcy knew. She pressed her thumb against the crook of her forefinger, which was, in turn, curved around the steering wheel. Her gloves were leather; cold leather was stiff. "Staying with George and Fitz."
"Oh," Bing said. "Oh, OK."
"Eli said it was fine." Why was she explaining herself?
Bing flashed her a quick look. "I wasn't criticizing. Do you think he might want to join you?"
"He's always with his family." Darcy went back to clenching her fingers. "I don't want to—I mean, it just seemed best. We talked about it." She wasn't sure why, six months in, she still felt the need to justify things to Bing. Like Bing was questioning how real any of Darcy's love could ever be, like Darcy was supposed to say that she and Eli talked every single day, and it was real. Dammit, it was.
But whether real was the same as enough—whether Darcy was the same as enough—remained a nagging question, which nagged all the more whenever she had to be Darcy in a sea of Bennetts.
Bing had made her choice, as easily and joyously as Bing did anything. If Bing was bothered by the Bennett parents and the Bennett brothers and the Bennett house, she did nothing to show it.
Darcy, however, had visited Meryton…maybe twice, in six months? Eli preferred coming to see her.
Oh, why could such things not be unquestioned?
Of course, not that Bing was truly questioning.
Even while Eli's ring was snug around her finger, even while Eli's letters were folded up in her coat pocket—doubt, for Darcy, was foundational.
"Meryton," Bing murmured. "Merry-ton. Oh, wow. This is great."
Darcy quirked an eyebrow in acknowledgment of the pun.
The land was softer under snow. Darcy had not come here in winter before. Now, she hungrily filled in the gaps of time. Had the Bennetts played here, as boys? Had they trudged through the jagged cornstalk edges of these frosted fields?
"Isn't it beautiful?" Bing breathed. "Oh, I should paint this. But I don't know if I could. If I'm brave enough."
"To paint a landscape?" Darcy took the corner a little sharply. Slush frothed under the tires. "I thought they'd be the easiest."
"No," Bing replied, dreaminess threading in the edges of her voice. "No, not at all. If you don't know what you're doing, they end up very dead."
"We're here," Darcy said. The Bennetts' driveway was shoveled. Sort of. James' truck was missing a tire, laden with an inch of snow, and propped on a ramp. Or something.
Bing's fingers flew over her phone. "They're coming out to meet us."
It had been twenty-four hours since Darcy had heard Eli's voice, but a month since she'd seen him. Work had been busy for both of them, so he hadn't been able to travel between Poughkeepsie and the city as often since Thanksgiving.
Darcy nudged the car door open. It was foolish, that she let this reign over her so completely. She had lived for years—well, survived at least—and now she couldn't bear to go another moment without him. Sometimes it brought a smile to her lips. Sometimes it weighed on her.
She rarely got to choose.
James came out first. Bing dashed towards him, practically squeaking with delight. They were in each other's arms, Bing's booted feet kicking off the ground in a powder of snow.
"Are you just going to stand there all day?"
Darcy spun around. Eli had come up behind her—he hadn't been in the house after all. She took in the flush of cold across his high cheekbones, the dark curls tangling beneath his stocking cap.
"Are you going to wait so long to kiss me?" she demanded, quite archly for someone who'd been pining for weeks.
His gloved hands settled at her hips and he tugged her forward. His lips were cold at first, but the glow of warmth returned to them as they captured hers. Darcy slipped off her gloves. She wanted her hands in his hair, dammit, she wanted—
"Coming in or what?" James demanded teasingly, clapping Eli on the shoulder. There were hugs exchanged all around, and Darcy's hand settled into Eli's.
"We made lunch," he said. "It's going to be terrible."
.
It was, though she would never admit it. Not the food, exactly—but Darcy feared she'd never be comfortable, crowded around the Bennett table while the younger boys argued and Mrs. Bennett's eyes seemed perpetually frosty when they fixed on her.
"Darcy, you haven't finished your tea," was the only thing Mrs. Bennett said to her, and Darcy choked it down. Eli's hand tightened on her knee, comforting her.
"It's delicious."
"Hmm. Have you ever had Lipton before?"
"Mom," Eli murmured.
Darcy's mouth went dry, but Bing carried the conversation away.
.
Cody and Levi had scrounged up three sleds.
Darcy had been skiing. Darcy knew how to skate. But sledding—well, surely it would be quite similar.
Except it wasn't.
"Are you scared?" Eli's eyes sparked up at her. He was sitting, knees drawn-up, on one of the ridiculous battered things. Darcy tucked her hands in her pockets. "I've been skiing in the Alps. This is nothing."
"Prove it."
Below them, Bing's hair was waving like a flag as she shrieked her way downhill.
"I won't fit."
"You're tiny, and we're engaged. We can make do." He winked at her and she obliged, tucking herself between his knees. One arm wrapped around her middle. Next to her ear, he said, "Surely, you've been on sleigh rides."
"Of course."
"No sledding in Connecticut?"
"I was…bookish."
"I love you." He nuzzled the back of her neck. His nose was cold, and Darcy let out an almost-squeak and slapped his shin.
"I thought we were sledding."
"We are," he said, laughing against her hair, and pushed off.
.
Sprawled at the bottom of the hill, the snow crunching under her shoulders like the tinkle of soap-bubble glass, she was happy.
"Can we stay here?"
And anyone else would have said something about freezing to death.
Eli just laced his fingers through hers and held tight.
.
Breath hung in the air like fog.
"I need—like, a physical need—for hot chocolate," Bing said. "What do you think people drank before it was invented? Chocolate doesn't even come from cold climates. Oh, now I'm upset, just thinking about it."
"Come inside," James chuckled. His ears were as red as her scarf. Bing was wearing his hat.
Darcy and Eli stayed outside a moment. There was snow all over his plaid jacket; he looked like a lumberjack, maybe. Darcy smiled up at him, but then the smile twisted and fell away.
"Am I—am I supposed to be here for Christmas?"
There were snowflakes catching on his eyelashes as he leaned down to catch a kiss. He tugged at her lower lip a little before he pulled away, then echoed the kiss with a gentle stroke of his thumb along the line of her mouth. "Why do you always think it has to be you?"
"What?"
"You always wonder if you're not doing enough. What about me? Don't you think that I'm kicking myself too, wondering if I should leave this dump and join you in the city?"
Oh. "But…they're your family."
"Christmas sucks. Dad drinks. Mom just…sits. I usually end up punching someone." He flexed his hand demonstratively. "But I figured…one more year. I'll sit it through. Try to leave them with a good memory if I can manage it. But—you don't need to be there. We don't need to, I don't know. Take this guilt on. Not yet."
"I hope there's never any guilt to take on, for you."
"Then do this for me. Stop worrying."
She sighed. "I'm very bad at that. I think you picked the wrong girl."
"Anyone who says that," Eli said, very gravely, "Has to be thrown into a snowdrift. I'm sorry; I don't make the rules."
Darcy glared at him. "I'll kill—" He had swept her up in his arms before she could finish, and was headed towards the most imposing drift.
"You'll what?" (Sweetly.)
"I'll stop worrying, you bastard," she said, through gritted teeth.
"That's my girl," he said, stooping to kiss her. Then he yelped, and Darcy was the one laughing.
(A handful of snow down his back did wonders for her worries.)