The Most Important Part of My Life

by NotAContrivance

Ultimately, the way Charlotte and Ricky Collins happen is a lot like one of his speeches: meandering and indirect, and so maddening she just wants to scream at him to get to the point already, full of lots of words that don't seem to mean half as much as what they don't say. And it's her duty to simplify, to divine his meaning and condense it. LBD-verse, post-97 and post-series.

1. How Charlotte Lu Spent her 25th Birthday

So, I've been more or less writing this since episode 98, kind of about what I wished Charlotte did and what she was feeling while Lizzie and Darcy were having their talk and presumably going out? And then I went back at it with a fury because the endings for Charlotte and Ricky really did not satisfy me or in my opinion make much sense (I did want to avoid mentioning that at all in the fic, but I kind of had to. Spoilers for all the episodes, by the way), and it's been kind of off and on for the past month until I decided this weekend that I absolutely had to finish it. So it's probably a little all over the place, and it's long (I blame Ricky, who makes everything longer), and I'm not sure if anyone's going to read this or what anyone will make of it, but I kind of felt I owed it to Charlotte.

Because basically all throughout the show, I kind of gave Charlotte a lot of crap, mostly because her life is the most like my own, and I feel better when I compare my life to hers because my life is unequivocally better than hers. Sad but true. And I feel a bit bad for that. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that Charlotte deserved to have someone really tell her story because Charlotte is not in a whole lot of fics and mostly not in a serious way... and most of the time when she's in a story, it's her in relation to her friendship with Lizzie or her perspective on Lizzie/Darcy... and not much in the way of Charlotte's own life. So she's kind of a secondary character in her own life, which is the way she likes it and also really sad.

And then the other part of that is that I kind of wanted to get at some of the realistic aspects of careers and real life that the show kind of glosses over or pretends don't exist because, well, it can't have all been so easy for Charlotte work-wise, not to mention having a friend like Lizzie. Which, like, the story's not entirely about that, and what it's actually about is something I'm dancing around and not mentioning at all, but having a friend who sparkles and who is funny and pretty and the life of the party and everything just seems to come so easily for, when you bust your ass for everything and don't have a lot... well, it's frustrating, and no matter how much you love them, you can't help but be a little bit envious. And, well, in conclusion, I wanted to give Charlotte some kind of happy ending, or at least show that she's on her way towards one, because her being her own boss isn't exactly enough for me (I mean, let's be honest, do you think being head of Collins and Collins is really what Charlotte wants in life? I'm not wholly convinced).

Anyway, in summation, this is post-Episode 98 of LBD, spoilers for all the episodes. It focuses on Charlotte and Ricky and feelings because they're so overlooked it makes me sad. Sorry it's kind of a mess. I own nothing, neither LBD or Pride and Prejudice proper or anything else you see referenced. Review if you want, and I will greatly appreciate it. Hope you like it!

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Charlotte Lu smiled as she took the Chinese food from the deliveryman, handing him the money in exchange. Darcy had arrived a minute or so before the food. Though Charlotte was dying to peek in or eavesdrop on the conversation currently going on in the den, she restrained herself. Lizzie would tell her all about it later, and if she was still filming (and why wouldn't she be, unless she wanted to prevent Darcy and herself from making a sextape of their very own?), there would be footage for her to edit later. Still, Charlotte's smile fell a little as she made her way to the Bennet kitchen and opened the take-out bag. She set one of the fortune cookies on the table and went to the counter to get a plate.

She had wanted to spend her birthday with Lizzie, as she always did, but Charlotte didn't resent Darcy for stealing her away. After the year Lizzie had and all the confusing feelings she'd been dealing with on her own for the past couple of months, she deserved it, and Charlotte wasn't going to begrudge her this second chance just because it was their birthday. Lizzie had put her happiness and their friendship before so much in her own life, the same way she always did, and Charlotte couldn't think of anyone who deserved her happy ending more.

Charlotte was, perhaps, more certain than anyone that Darcy was going to make Lizzie very happy. Probably more certain than either halves of the soon-to-be couple were right now, she mused with a wry expression. She took an egg roll out and debated leaving Lizzie the soup, but she decided soon enough that there wasn't really any point. Presumably even Darcy was not so clueless that this conversation wouldn't end in him taking Lizzie out to dinner or ordering something for her. So Charlotte suppressed a sigh and grabbed a Post-It and a pen from the refrigerator door.

Lizzie,

Went home. Figured you two could use the privacy. :) I left you a fortune cookie and an egg roll because I figured your friend would take you out some place nicer (in case he hasn't suggested it yet, this is me telling you to feed my friend, Darcy). You can and will tell me all about it later.

Love,

Char xoxo

Charlotte surveyed the note with some satisfaction before replacing the pen. She debated where to put the note for a moment but ultimately chose to set it on the table next to the lonely-looking egg roll on its big, white glossy plate. If the talk with Darcy went poorly, which was more of a possibility than Charlotte really wanted to consider, especially given how abysmally the man expressed himself verbally, then Lizzie would be very sad and lonely indeed. But Charlotte doubted it. The man was still very much besotted, and if Lizzie was anything more than indifferent, their getting together was inevitable.

As much as Charlotte wanted to listen at the door, she managed to avoid doing so and continued on her way out of the house, Chinese in hand. As she drove to her parents' apartment, she tried not to imagine what was going on in the den. It was only when Charlotte was home, sitting on the couch eating honey walnut shrimp and watching the costume drama she'd intended to watch with Lizzie, that she allowed herself to be a little disappointed. Maria was away at school, and her parents were gone for the weekend, and Charlotte couldn't help but feel a bit... forgotten. Lizzie's family was like her own, in their way, but even they were too busy for her.

She hadn't wanted to spend her birthday like this. Alone and sitting on her parents' couch eating only passably decent Chinese while watching a movie that wasn't even to her tastes.

It reminded her a bit too much of her life now. Every day she came home to her studio apartment hours later than she wanted to, too exhausted to do much more than kick off her shoes, halfway undress as she ate dinner from whatever chain restaurant she decided to stop at, and watch public television. All she did was work, and when she wasn't working, she was dreaming about gourds and Catherine de Bourgh's criticism and Mr. Collins' typical oversoliticitousness. Sometimes, in her lower moments, when she looked at her life and realized how pathetic it was, she thought that Lizzie had been right. She worked for hours and hours despite the benefits, and she was still living in a studio apartment in a neighborhood that was just all right despite all the money she was making. She was getting plenty of money and experience and growth potential, but Charlotte couldn't help but wonder if it was it worth it.

She didn't feel like she was growing all of the time. She felt like she was in some kind of arrested development, becoming an adult overnight. She'd thought this was what she wanted... a serious life with a real job and an apartment all her own hours from home. She was on her way to becoming another yuppie who worked for a tech start-up. Only twenty-five and in upper management already. Charlotte should've been on top of the world, living the dream.

Even if most of her job was still bitchwork or managing pompous personalities and coddling egos. Even if her job was ridiculous, and she wasn't a real partner because her name wasn't on the damned company, and her boss-slash-partner was a joke, and their company... made corporate instructional videos on how to make lightbulbs (oh, sorry, illumination globes in Collins-speak), among other things. Oh, and she hadn't been on a date in years and had no social life to speak of.

She sank back into the couch and hung her head, hit by an uncharacteristic fit of profound dissatisfaction. This was one of those moments when she secretly admitted to herself that Lizzie was right. Charlotte made it work as best as she could, but the work was still beneath her, even if she had loans to pay. She wasn't sure she was learning anything, or if that contract even was something she could get out of. She still wasn't working on her own stuff, and she barely even had time to help Lizzie out with the Diaries anymore (the Diaries hadn't felt well and properly hers for quite some time now). And sometimes she looked at her life and wondered if there was ever a light at the end of the tunnel, or if she'd just be being Collins' back-up for the rest of her life. It certainly seemed interminable.

Sometimes Charlotte wished she could afford to be as idealistic as Lizzie. Everything always ended up working out in the end for her. But things like that didn't happen for girls like her, and Charlotte knew why. She was too logical, too hardworking, too willing to settle and put up with a little unpleasantness. She didn't have big, creative, colorful ideas like Lizzie did. She wasn't fun or flirty in that completely unknowing and self-deprecating way Lizzie was, the arch way that made just about every man she met captivated. She didn't say no or stop putting up with crap, either.

And, more than any of that, Charlotte was too afraid, too scared to go after what she wanted or to take the necessary steps to have that kind of life. Charlotte Lu, twenty-five, independent, successful career woman, and still too terrified to really live. Maybe she just didn't want it enough.

Charlotte sighed, pausing the movie, and got up to get some wine from the kitchen. She'd meant to bring it over with the movie and was now glad she'd forgotten it. She wondered idly while filling a wine-glass more than halfway if there was any ice cream in the fridge. She was, after all, throwing herself a pity-party, right? Charlotte picked up the glass and downed about half of it in one long, well-needed sip, and headed back into the living room, wineglass in one hand, bottle in the other.

She flopped down onto the couch indelicately, the wine swirling in her glass menacingly, wishing she could bring herself to care. Here's hoping twenty-five is better than twenty-four, she thought, holding up the glass in a mock-toast to, well, no one. She didn't have much time for wishes because, if she did, she was afraid they'd overwhelm her. She wanted more than her eyes could eat, or however the expression went when you wanted more than you could ever possibly have.

She wanted not to be jealous of Lizzie, not to resent her happiness just a little bit despite the love. She wanted not to have to live vicariously through her best friend. She wanted to do more than work, to have a life. She wanted to be the boss. She wanted to be the heroine of her own story, rather than the best friend or a minor character who serves as a plot device for getting the heroine where she needs to be.

Mostly, though, as of late, she just wanted not to be quite so alone.

Hence why she'd turned up on Lizzie's doorstep in the rain bearing movies, and why she used Lizzie's life, videos, and recent lack of spirits (yes, that was the best way to put it. Mopeyness, guilt-ridden behavior, and pining all might've suited) to distract her from her own sadness and the empty feeling that wouldn't go away. That hollow feeling in her stomach like she wasn't doing anything worthwhile at all or going anywhere. Misery did love company.

Charlotte hardly noticed she'd polished off her first glass of wine until she was pouring the second one, already feeling flushed. The movie isn't really that good, not her usual thing, but the wine and walnuts make it a bit better. There isn't enough shrimp, of course, because there's never enough shrimp, but it tastes fishy and rubbery today. Feeling a bit guilty, Charlotte tweeted Lizzie, amusing herself in this way for a few minutes before Darcy came back from the bathroom or whatever it was that enabled Lizzie to tweet back.

And it should surprise no one at all that her phone rang well into her fourth glass of wine. Charlotte suppressed a sigh and leaned across the table to pick up her phone. It was Mr. Collins, of course. Who else would it be? It wasn't as if men were banging down her door. Charlotte rolled her eyes, staring at the picture of his wide-eyed, almost mad grin for a moment and debating whether or not to answer it. She wasn't sure she was in the mood to deal with him and another one of his stupid questions. But, as always, staring into those puppy eyes of his made her cave and click to accept the call. She supposed it could be important, after all.

"Miss Lu!" the bright, cheery voice of her business partner chirped, loud as ever. Charlotte tried not to cringe; even on her birthday, she was Miss Lu! At least it meant that he respected her and took her seriously, even if he more often than not foisted menial, intensely time-consuming (and, quite frankly, beneath her) tasks on her. She wondered how he could be so damn chipper all the time and so unaware of his own ridiculousness. Ricky's lack of self-awareness has long boggled her mind, though, and she hardly expected to understand now.

"What is it now, Collins?" she demanded a bit more harshly than usual. Her frustration and weariness showed through in the way she dragged it out. She was normally more respectful, but a quick glance at the clock told her it was half-past eight at night. Not exactly office hours, even for a workaholic like Mr. Collins. Her voice came out hoarse. I'm off the clock, she just about said. The words, however, got stuck in her throat midway, so she just swallowed them down hard.

Ricky faltered, and when he did speak again, it was considerably less buoyant, a bit subdued, deflated almost. She almost felt bad, but he was calling her on her birthday about work. And, sadly, apparently she had nothing better to do than pick up unthinkingly, because God knows the man could scarcely tie his own shoes without her help. The alcohol was apparently making her cranky rather than relaxed. "I, erm..." He paused long enough for Charlotte to roll her eyes in wonder. Ricky Collins silent or struggling with words was enough to stupefy anyone who knew him. He almost sounded nervous, but she couldn't tell if it was actually that or just the familiar strain of nervous puppy I-just-want-you-to-like-me in his voice. "I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday, Miss Lu."

And then she really did feel bad, because his voice was kind of quiet and more serious. He almost sounded a little disappointed. She blinked. She had not expected this. A tweet or something like that, perhaps, if he even remembered, but hardly a phone call. Her throat felt very dry all of a sudden. "I..." She didn't know what to say to him for the first time in a long while. She always knows what to say to him. "Thank you," she managed eventually, unable to conceal her surprise. She isn't quite smiling, but it's close enough. It was nice that someone remembered, even if that person was Collins, and he would undoubtedly give some long rambling speech that would be more about himself than her virtues. At least he was predictable like that.

"You're welcome," he replied politely. She could almost see him rocking back and forth onto his toes. Ricky was a ball of nervous energy at best, and it only got worse when she wasn't around to moderate. "I hope you and Miss Bennet are enjoying your joint celebration, perhaps at that local bar, Carter's?" he added a moment later, after clearing his throat. There's something ridiculously hopeful in his tone, and she hates it irrationally, because of course he's really asking about Lizzie. Like the way he hung around her wasn't totally obvious, and it wasn't similarly obvious that he wasn't completely out of his league and depth with her.

Charlotte let out a rather bitter, undignified snort. It was so easy for them to ditch each other, easier than it would've been in the past. She and Lizzie both do a great job of pretending, but their friendship isn't really the same as it once was. They talk and see each other less, and they keep things from each other, and nothing's like the way they used to do it. So they're less close. She still loves Lizzie like a sister; she can't not, but sisterly affection waxes and wanes. Charlotte tried not to roll her eyes or to say, as she was dying to, "Do you really think I would answer my phone if I was at Carter's?"

Even four glasses of wine, apparently, were not enough to make her neglect the persistent calls of one Mr. Richard Collins. Yes, she knows how pathetic that is, but the truth remains that she probably wouldn't have answered her phone if she was with Lizzie. It isn't like she has many close friends besides Lizzie, her sisters, and Maria. And apparently Ricky... sometimes. Maybe. Although she wasn't really sure they'd ever had a real conversation about anything.

"Something like that," Charlotte muttered, wondering if she slurred her words at all and caring less and less as the seconds stretched by. Every conversation with Ricky felt like a small eternity. "We're not celebrating together," she said shortly. She heard his startled sucked-in breath, feels the question ready to roll off his tongue, and she shut her eyes, resting a hand against her forehead. She's going to be very hungover tomorrow, because the headache has already started.

Or maybe it's just a Collins-induced headache; she doesn't know yet. "She's probably got her tongue halfway down Darcy's throat right about now, if they haven't gotten a room already," she found herself all but snapping. She sounded so bitter and uncharitable it made her wince.

But, as happy as she is for Lizzie, and she really is... a part of her is also somewhat annoyed and mad at Darcy because he's stolen this day from her, from them. March 17th has always been Lizzie and Charlotte's special day, theirs and theirs alone. If Lizzie and Darcy last (and how can they not?), it'll be their big day, not hers and Lizzie's. They'll do things to celebrate their anniversary, and Charlotte will forever have to make other plans or awkwardly tag along or be squeezed in before whatever Darcy has planned. It's a depressing thought. When they'd both been single, there was a nice constancy in that, in knowing that neither of them would ever be that friend who forgot all about her girlfriends whenever she was in a relationship. But now, well, now she's not quite so sure.

She knew neither of them were really that kind of people, certainly not the kind to jump into things, but Charlotte also knew that she'd be all over someone if she had any options at all. But, no, her birthday was to be spent spent talking to Ricky Collins, who was either calling because he wanted something or to inquire about Lizzie or maybe, just maybe, on the off-chance that he pitied her. Charlotte sighed, running a hand over her brow.

Collins made some sound like he was choking on his saliva. She'd probably offended his delicate sensibilities, not that she cares. He stammered out some response, and she felt bad that she'd probably just crushed any hope he had left of wooing Lizzie—because, well, who could compete with a guy like Darcy? But Collins surprised her yet again. "I'm sorry to hear that." He knew they always celebrated together, as he should, having been to countless joint birthday parties. "Well, it must be nice to be home, then," he said pleasantly, trying to salvage it.

Charlotte looked around the cramped apartment devoid of family or many decorations and suppressed a snort. She might as well be back in her own apartment. She was equally alone there. "You can stop with the pleasantries, Ricky. It's my birthday. I'm alone," she said bluntly, massaging one of her temples. Collins was silent on the other end, speechless, which was rare indeed. Charlotte never called him by his first name, and she didn't even realize she'd slipped up until after she said it. She was always very careful to avoid that and adhere to his rules, maintaining the professional distance that might've been lacking otherwise. It was always Mister Collins, never Ricky or Rick or Richard or Collins.

She sighed, looking back at the movie, which still didn't hold her interest. She actually found herself wishing she was watching Game of Gourds, which at least made her laugh. Charlotte had begun to feel a bit better, a little bit more charitable. There was, after all, a reason why she couldn't say no to him. She said nothing for a long moment and then closed her eyes, giving in. "What do you want? What do you need me to do?" she asked wearily. If she wasn't going to enjoy herself, she might as well at least be productive. She needed a distraction, and Lizzie rather understandably hadn't sent her the footage yet.

He hadn't needed her much recently. She hadn't seen Collins in person in a few weeks, not since a big meeting with investors. They'd communicated mostly via phone calls and emails. Recent developments had meant they'd both had more free time than usual, and they didn't spend it together because that wasn't what they did. For her, that meant coming back home, and for him that meant... going to Winnipeg to see his fiancée.

Mr. Collins was silent for a long moment. When he did speak again, his voice was softer, quieter. "I don't just call you for work, do I?" he asked in a strange tone of voice, as if he didn't even believe it. Charlotte opened her mouth to say something and promptly shut it. It wasn't really like he was asking her or expecting an answer. "I thought... I mean, we're colleagues, right?" He sounded almost disappointed. She could almost picture him tilting his head to the side, looking adorably confused. She smiled faintly at the mental picture, picking up a strand of hair and examining the ends for split-ends.

Ricky continued babbling, getting more and more animated. It was an acquired taste, just like Ricky himself, but you could get used to it. "What kind of partner would I be, Miss Lu, if I didn't call to wish you a happy birthday? I would be remiss if I let this special day go by without paying you the courtesy of a mere phone call. I wouldn't want you to think that I've... forgotten you... or that I don't thi-appreciate you at all," he continued. She heard something like concern in his voice, thickening and choking him up a bit. To her own embarrassment, she felt the corners of her eyes prickling.

She could say one thing about Mr. Collins; he was effusive and enthusiastic about anything he felt strongly about. It was his best quality.

"You do so much for the company, our employees, and our investors..." His voice got a little lower. It was different than when he got excited, and his voice went up half an octave and cracked. Then he was silent for a moment, probably catching his breath, before adding, "And me." Charlotte gasped a little, hoping he didn't hear it, but it was certainly true. She and Ricky hadn't... exactly gotten close, that wasn't the way she would put it, but they worked very well together, and they trusted each other, and sometimes she thought they were really friends. Mr. Collins cleared his throat, sounding a little uncomfortable, like he was too caught up in it. "How could I not want to celebrate your existence?"

He said it a little incredulously, like he couldn't see it any other way, and she regretted the stray, mean things she often thought about him. Lizzie didn't get it at all, not really, because Collins' attentions to her were different, but Mr. Collins was a good man, and he meant well. Charlotte knew how to see through the act he put on better than most, but it wasn't that hard to see that his persona was overcompensating. Charlotte opened her mouth to say something, but she didn't know how to say what that had meant to her, hearing that from him.

Her parents had called, as had her sister, and her friends had written on her Facebook wall, but none of that had happened in the rare moment she had needed that reassurance, to know she wasn't forgotten. And it meant more that Mr. Collins, who was on vacation and undoubtedly with his fiancée now, had taken time out of his evening to call her. "That's, um..." She was getting humiliatingly choked up, and it was so very unlike her. She struggled to swallow over the lump in her throat. "Very sweet of you, R-Mr. Collins." She forced herself to use the proper name, to try and draw the peculiar distance between them that Mr. Collins insisted upon, but it didn't quite work. "It's..." She moved the phone away from her mouth, forcing herself to exhale calmly. "Very good to hear from you," she said a bit breathlessly.

Strangely, she found sometimes that she missed the sound of his endless chattering and the four-syllable words. She missed his strange insistence upon calling her Miss Lu and the little courtesies he paid her, like how he never failed to open a door for her, or how he made her (awful) tea every afternoon when she started to get sleepy. She missed the intensity of focus and that vaguely crazy look he got sometimes when he was caught up in talking about something he was passionate about. She missed the way he burst into a room or peppered a door with knocks to signal he was about to come in.

And all this missing Mr. Collins was clearly the wine going to her head. Or maybe she missed her office and the employees and didn't really know what to do with herself in all of this new downtime she had on her hands. Yes, that had to be it. That made sense.

"Well, Miss Lu, it hasn't escaped my notice that we haven't chatted in quite some time," he replied in that self-assured voice she was accustomed to. She closed her eyes briefly, thinking a little too long about the way he said the letter s in Miss like a z. He was right; they hadn't had a non-work-related conversation since they'd both been back at the offices, probably not since the internet-free retreat. He paused just a moment before continuing on, perhaps a bit too breezily, "We should catch up on the goings-on in each other's lives over lunch sometime. I understand quite a lot has been happening with some of our mutual acquaintances." Charlotte pursed her lips, wondering, not for the first time, just how often (and closely) Mr. Collins watched Lizzie's videos.

"That sounds nice," Charlotte agreed softly, trying not to overthink it. She realized a moment later that she was absently gnawing at her bottom lip and shook her head, as if to shake free her distraction. As if it were really that easy. An awkward silence fell over them both then, which was unusual as Mr. Collins rarely stopped speaking, and more often than not, she found herself finishing his sentences. Sometimes she found it disturbing that she understood so well how his mind worked, truly. She cleared her throat, hoping to God she didn't sound drunk and pathetic when she was talking to her boss on the phone. "Um, I should let you get going. I'm sure you probably have better things to do than talk to your business partner on St. Patrick's Day."

She gave him the out wishing he wouldn't agree with her, but she never expected that to actually happen. He went off on some tangent about how busy he was that she only half paid attention to, as she was busy awaiting his adieus at any moment. He did not, however, say goodbye, as she'd anticipated. "What else would I possibly be doing on my business partner's birthday?" he asked disbelievingly, like even the thought of doing something else was insulting. Charlotte could personally think of a lot of other things he could be doing. She wondered briefly what his fiancée thought about that (admittedly sometimes even she was not sure the other woman actually existed). Charlotte was ready and willing to point out plenty of obvious answers, but, as usual, Collins did not let her get much of a word in edgewise.

"If you were here, why, I would-" he began insistently before trailing off abruptly, as if he'd realized he'd said too much. Charlotte blinked, trying to process and hopefully complete what he'd just attempted to say. It sounded like he'd been about to hint that he would be with her if they were both in Hunsford. Ricky coughed a bit too loudly; it almost sounded put-on. "I would... give you your present, of course," he said just a bit too late for Charlotte not to wonder. She couldn't say that she wasn't a bit disappointed that he hadn't said something else. She hadn't much expected a present either, but Mr. Collins could be very generous when he wanted to be.

"Of course," Charlotte remarked dimly, wondering what he'd gotten her. She was staring unseeingly at her television screen, unmoved by all the bright, complex costumes. She tore her gaze away from the television to glance around the room before her eyes landed on the probably-lukewarm honey walnut shrimp. It no longer seemed quite so appetizing.

"I..." His voice softened again, so like the little boy she remembered, the one who'd played kickball with her to their hearts' content. "No one deserves to spend their birthday alone," he said in a tone that was almost hushed, imbued with more meaning than intended. It hit her then why he was calling, or, why he was really calling at any rate. He felt like he owed it to her. She'd taken him out for his birthday, back in the late summer or early fall when she and Lizzie still weren't speaking. He was the only friend she'd had then aside from her sister.

To this very moment, she didn't know why she'd asked him, why she'd taken him out to dinner in Palo Alto and then drinks. She'd just meant to buy him a drink or two, to bond with her boss or partner or whatever he was to her. She knew how to make the best of a... less-than-desirable situation, after all. Ricky got a bit less voluble with alcohol, easier to put up with as he finally relaxed. But that wasn't it because she hadn't known that then. Maybe it had been because she had nothing better to do or wanted a distraction.

More likely it had been because, even after all these years, she still remembered his birthday. She remembered a lot about Ricky Collins.

He'd been different that day, quiet and more than a little disappointed, in his own Ricky way, and it occurred to her that he probably didn't have anyone here to celebrate with him. She'd asked him if it was his birthday when she popped into his office at lunch, pretending like she didn't already know, and his astonishment and the way the joy had bubbled up in him, had made the question more than worth it. And then, next thing she knew, she was inviting him to come out with her later on, insisting that he should celebrate properly.

That was why he was calling, of course; he was just repaying the favor. Her eyes felt heavy and wet, and she blinked rapidly. The thought and consideration was nice, but the fact remained that she was still alone, sitting on her parents' couch, watching a movie she didn't even like and talking to her business partner on the phone. Everyone she knew had someone, and she didn't. "Thanks for thinking of me, I guess," Charlotte mumbled, tilting her head back lest some of the moisture leak out of her eyes. She sniffed a bit more loudly than she intended and tried not to sigh.

Collins suddenly had a loud and prolonged coughing fit, the kind he had when he was profoundly uncomfortable. At one point she had thought they were contrived to get him out of unpleasant situations, but she now understood it was a nervous habit. She probably knew too much about Collins for her own good. She went back over what she'd said and realized why. Charlotte was about to apologize, but she thought of a better tactic. "I'll let you get back to your fiancée," she said in a voice as breezy as she could manage. She attempted a laugh, pressing at the damp spots underneath her eyes almost violently. "I'm sure Jamie wonders what you're doing talking to me on a Sunday night."

Mr. Collins cleared his throat almost violently. He was quick to contradict her. "While your concern for my domestic felicity is truly touching, Miss Lu, I'm afraid I cannot agree with your suggestion," he said with all of his typical pomposity. He also said it in that voice that made him impossible to argue with. Charlotte mused that him taking this position was actually a bit strange for two reasons.

The first was that, when Ricky introduced her as his business partner or his right hand or his closest colleague or his second-in-command or his indispensable collaborator in their enterprise, whichever poetic turn of phrase he was inspired to use this time, well... it tended to confuse a lot of their business associates. As in it had made more than one potential investor, client, and peer assume that their partnership was that of a closer kind... i.e. that she was the other Collins, rather than Ricky's father and first investor.

Even Ricky's father, when he'd met her, had made a similar mistake. To be fair, his son had introduced Charlotte as "the woman who is to be sharing the most important part of my life," and he had said that he "couldn't be happier about it," so such a conclusion was rather natural. Ricky's father had smiled, said how happy he was to meet her, assumed she was his son's fiancée, and then attempted to welcome her to the family. Ricky had blushed almost as profusely as he had when his mother had made a similar mistake (albeit with a much more effusive and enthusiastic welcoming that made it clear where Ricky got that particular trait from).

It wasn't a wholly irrational assumption, given Collins' tendency to go on about how she was the "perfect partner" and so on, the amount of time they spent together, and her own tendency to finish his sentences and "manage him." It also seemed weird for a partner to not be named in the company title, she supposed. It seemed strange to Charlotte and Lizzie, at the very least. So for all these reasons and mistakes, Mr. Collins now attempted to be distant to her in public.

The second reason was, of course, Catherine de Bourgh and one of her numerous opinions. She had a lot of ideas about how business partners and women ought to comport themselves both in and out of the workplace. She never liked Charlotte and her ideas, and, more importantly, the fact that she now had a much greater sway over Mr. Collins than Catherine herself. Catherine de Bourgh particularly liked to urge him to spend as much time with his fiancée as possible or, more specifically, to not spend a lot of time with Charlotte outside of the office or even in it. The awful woman generally attempted to undermine Charlotte whenever possible; she liked to encourage Mr. Collins to delegate more work to Charlotte than was her fair share, to not listen to her counsel or suggestions, and to never let her have free time or meaningful authority.

Her exact words went along the lines of, "Richard, it won't do to be seen as being "chummy" with junior management. One wouldn't want there to be even the appearance of impropriety or favoritism in the workplace." She bristled at the designation; junior management, really, when she was his business partner? Since Catherine enjoyed pontificating on all aspects of business maintenance and employee relations, Charlotte had heard varying strains of this same point; "Richard, you really should work to maintain a proper distance between you and your subordinates. The distinction of rank must be preserved in the workplace! Learn to delegate, man! After all, you wouldn't want your underlings to forget their place and overstep their bounds." On occasions such as these, Charlotte looked away and discreetly rolled her eyes.

Mr. Collins seemed to ascribe to this advice, but it had surprised Charlotte when he'd insisted quite firmly that Charlotte was his partner in this, regardless of whether or not her name was on the company. He'd said that she was "indispensable to his enterprise." When Charlotte had asked him about it later, he'd somewhat sheepishly explained that he tended to go on about her virtues (perhaps because he could sense, as Charlotte herself did, that Catherine de Bourgh didn't exactly like her) and skills rather a lot, so it was probably in response to that. Something about this explanation didn't sit quite right with her since Mr. Collins went on and on about everything.

Strangely enough, he'd been blushing when he said it, and after a few more moments of intense scrutiny, he looked away and explained Catherine's rather pointed looks and reminders. Apparently one of her countless husbands had cheated on her with his secretary, work colleague, or business partner.

It also explained some of the more insulting things Catherine had said to her face. Things like, "You should dress better, Miss Lu. I realize that you're not trying to attract any of the men at your work's attention, as is proper, of course, but, well... it's rather sad that you care so little about professional dress. Dress for success, that's what I always say! It's almost like you're so sure of your position that you're, well... phoning it in." Charlotte had gritted her teeth but had avoided going on the familiar tangent she recited in her head at least twice a week about how people at tech start-ups tended to dress more casually in the workplace environment, and that Catherine of course insulted all of her professional clothes either in style or in (correctly) being "cheap-looking." Holding her tongue was key to her employment at Collins and Collins, so it was probably a good thing Lizzie had refused, as there was no way she would've put up with any of this.

There had also been the additional, even more offensive gem of: "Well, you know what they'll say, don't you, Miss Lu? You're so young, uneducated, and unqualified... and, yet, in such a high position." Charlotte had stared at the woman expectantly, who had rolled her eyes as if she expected Charlotte to guess the way in which she was insulting her before adding, "Why, Charlotte, they'll say you slept your way to the top!" She'd let out an airy laugh, and Charlotte had laughed hysterically like it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard to prove a point. Catherine also intimated various shades of this comment by occasionally insinuating things like "there's nothing you wouldn't do for this job" or "you know what you want and go after it" or "you're a very calculating woman" or even "Richard finds you quite useful, doesn't he?"

Anyway, Charlotte had stared at him incredulously but done her best to hold in her laughter. She didn't know if she should be flattered or insulted that Catherine thought she was pretty or tempting enough (but not serious about her job, apparently) for that sort of thing. The thought of Ricky doing anything untoward, much less coming onto her or something of that sort, when he had a fiancée and still called Charlotte "Miss Lu" after knowing her for the better part of seventeen years... was unfathomable, ridiculous, impossible. Laughing about it was really all she could do.

"I'm speaking with you, Miss Lu, and there's no one I'd rather be talking to right now," he assured her forcefully. That was the thing about Ricky; he was always so earnest and sincere. She smiled a little. That was Ricky's gift: flattery, making you feel important, even if you weren't. But he had this way of getting you caught up in his momentum, of making you buy into all of his visions. "Since I can't be there to honor you in person, I must rectify the situation in what little ways I can by being there for you in spirit," he continued.

Her thoughts towards her business partner were trending a bit too admiring for her own good, so Charlotte took another swig of the wine, this time straight from the bottle. Her eyes were still a bit more teary than she would've liked. She drank a bit too much and some of the wine leaked out onto her chin, and she made a disgruntled noise before wiping the wine away with the back of her hand. "Miss Lu?" Mr. Collins asked almost tremulously, "Are you still there?" Charlotte nodded, feeling her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her face was hot, and if she looked in a mirror, her cheeks and entire face would probably be equally flushed. She realized a bit too late that he couldn't see her.

"I'm here, Mr. Collins," she said dryly, hoping she wasn't slurring any of her words. She was starting to feel the alcohol, and the warm, sleepy feeling was starting to stretch under her skin. Aren't I always here, she thought. Charlotte let out a little sigh, curling back into the couch, stretching out along the length of it. Her parents' couch was longer and more comfortable than her own. She could hear the sound of his breathing over the line, a bit heavier than usual. As her fingers circled the stem of the wine bottle, she idly reflected on how unusual it was that he wasn't saying anything for once.

It was unlike her, but she found herself daydreaming. She was often distracted at work, not paying full attention when he was speaking, but she never indulged herself there. There she was all business, thinking of their company and what had to be done, trying to translate Ricky's thoughts into a concrete, executable policy.

For the first time nearly since it happened, she thought about kissing Collins under the mistletoe just before coming back home for Christmas. It had been at the ridiculous company Christmas party he'd insisted on, a very festive affair with holly, poinsettias, and mistletoe everywhere, and everyone had been feeling a bit too jolly. There had been a bit too much holiday spirit going around, in her opinion. It had been predictably awkward, very awkward, and she literally hadn't seen him for three weeks afterwards, even though she'd gone back to work early. Charlotte knew Ricky was avoiding her, and she let him for a while, enjoying the break, before it became annoying.

She never told Lizzie about it, though she had plenty of time to. She knew how Lizzie would react, that she would be full of questions—questions Charlotte didn't exactly want to answer. She didn't want Lizzie or anybody else to make it into something more than it was. It was easy to just write it off as one of those things.

Collins certainly never brought it up, nor did any of the other employees. Most of them had been smashed, even drunker than she'd been, and they were too scared of her or Mr. Collins to dare mention it. Or perhaps they refrained out of respect. They'd somehow wound up in a relatively isolated little corner, talking about work or Catherine or Christmas plans. They'd taken their breathers, enjoying each others' company and their drunken good humor (she was enjoying the silence as the party raged around them), and then one of them had looked up and frozen at the sight. Then the other one looked up at it, and they both went quiet and still.

The panic set in on Ricky's face first. His eyes had gone wide, his jaw dropped, and his face contorted like he was quite horrified with the idea. She really couldn't stand to see that look on his face. She'd thought putting her arms around his neck and dragging him down to her was a good idea at the time. Something in her had kind of snapped. She'd been the one to do it because doing what he wouldn't was practically in her job description. She'd pulled him down with such force that he almost fell into her, almost lost his balance. It made her blush to think of it now, to think of the want she felt then. But there is no other word for it.

A small part of her, loosened up by the alcohol, admitted to herself that she hadn't just done it out of obligation or tradition or pressure. That same part of her whispered that she'd wondered what it would be like to kiss Ricky since the first night she'd stayed late at the office. She'd been down in the editing suite, working on something related to Game of Gourds, and he'd come in. He bent down, peering over her shoulder at the shots, murmuring things, and she'd made the mistake of looking at him. Something about the soft glow of the screen on his face, along his cheek, the way his eyes lit up, just... brought the whole moment into focus.

An even smaller, shyer part of her murmured that she'd wanted to kiss Ricky for a long time, maybe since high school or maybe even before. But a stupid childhood crush was no reason to go around kissing your boss or, for that matter, to do anything.

The memory is fuzzy, but she remembers enough. It wasn't a great kiss by any means. Ricky had been stiff at first, his body mostly frozen in surprise. He'd been talking, and she'd interrupted him, shut him up, so his lips were pursed strangely. He hadn't thought she would dare, apparently; he wasn't the only one surprised she had. He'd tasted like fruit punch, a bit of alcohol, and cinnamon, because he loved pumpkin pie and apple cider and all kinds of autumn foods.

His beard was softer than it looked but still scraped against her face and mouth. She remembered reading somewhere (or had it been in some sort of sociological documentary?) that beards were a sign of virility. Ricky was the only man she knew who had one, but she and everyone else knew that the only reason he grew a beard was so that he would seem his age, as opposed to looking like a high schooler in a fancy suit.

Charlotte was out of practice with this, so she didn't really know what to do but keep her lips on his. His lips were a little chapped. Ricky hadn't responded much, but she'd felt his lips press against hers, gently, the pressure so slight that she thought she'd imagined it at first. She'd considered it a victory. Aside from his mouth, Ricky wasn't touching her at all, though she wished he would at the time. She'd wanted to slide her fingers into his hair, curling the ends around her fingers, and she'd wanted to shift into him and bring him closer so that their bodies were in closer contact, the professional distance between them finally evaporating. She wanted a lot of things, but that didn't mean she did them.

It had felt like a long time, but in reality it was only about thirty seconds, no tongue, and not really a big deal. Or so she told herself at the time. He hadn't looked at her for the rest of the evening, practically jumped away afterwards if it was ever just the two of them, and he left early, practically tripping over his feet to get away from her.

His voice, however, snapped her back to the moment. Apparently he'd been saying her name a lot, but the litany had sounded like buzzing to her ears. "Miss Lu? Are you all right?" he asked insistently. She felt a pang of guilt; she could hear the worry in his voice. She shook her head as if to free it from the cobwebs of the memory she liked to pretend she'd half-forgotten. She was not quite all right, but she didn't know how to put the strangeness she was feeling into words.

Instead of saying this, however, she cleared her throat. "Sorry, Mr. Collins. I was in another world," she replied apologetically. It wasn't like her to daydream or look back with sentimentality, so she supposed she had been in another world. Another world or universe, perhaps, where she wasn't just Miss Lu, erstwhile childhood friend and dependable business partner, to him. His Girl Friday, and just that. Hm, maybe she should lay off the wine, she thought, glancing over at the less-than-half-empty bottle at her side. "What is it you were saying?" Each of her words feels precise, and that's a good feeling.

She needs the clarity of thought, lest she let her guard down and risk saying too much. Collins cleared his throat, and she could practically feel the pomposity bleeding back into his tone. He could even be serious about perfectly ridiculous things, which was a relief, really, to know that something hadn't changed. "I know I may be a bit... verbose... but is talking to me really so bad that you want to avoid it at all costs?" he asked a bit hesitantly, his voice a little softer and less buoyant than usual. She heard the strain of rejection in his voice. It reminded her of when he'd been bullied on the playground, how sad and pathetic he looked, how bad she felt for him.

Charlotte let out a deep sigh; it felt like it came from deep down inside of her. She ran a hand over her face, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. "No, Ricky, it's not you. It's me," she said, wincing as she said it. She reached behind her and tugged the ponytail holder out of her hair with more force than necessarily. She could hear Ricky's breathing over the line and sensed he was about to ask a question. Charlotte shook her hair out, leaning against the couch. Continuing to talk to him would be a bad idea. "I can't... do this tonight. I've been drinking, and I'm going to say something I'll regret if we keep going on like this." She shut her eyes; had she really said that out loud? She hadn't exactly meant to.

"Not that it isn't nice to talk with you, obviously," she amended, wondering when she'd found it nice to talk with Mr. Collins, "but I'm... tired." God, the alcohol was making her go all soft. This was why she didn't drink often. She reached out for the bottle and set it on the table somewhat clumsily before easing onto her back. The couch was softer than she remembered. She let out a large yawn partly for dramatics and partly because she was exhausted.

She should've known, of course, that Mr. Collins wouldn't let her get away with that excuse. Had there ever been a conversation he hadn't attempted to prolong? "You are an eminently sensible and calculating woman, Miss Lu," he assured her. She closed her eyes; "calculating" would never be a compliment. She was calculating; she knew that, but hearing anyone say that made her feel a bit like a smarter Catherine de Bourgh or a kinder Caroline Lee. "What could you possibly say that you would regret?" He said it with such an adorable mixture of confidence and confusion and trust, as if he couldn't believe her making a misstep.

Charlotte rubbed one of her temples. There was a lot she could say that she would regret, like all of those things she only half-allowed herself to think sometimes. It was really best that she stop talking to him as soon as possible. "You don't want to know," she said a bit shortly. Truthfully, Charlotte didn't even want to know. Anything could come out of her mouth now.

Mr. Collins cleared his throat loudly and dramatically. "Well, actually, Miss Lu, now that you've piqued my curiosity, I would like to know very much," he insisted eagerly. He was a curious man, rather like herself and Lizzie, but she could count the number of true personal questions he'd asked her in the seven months of their partnership on one hand. Charlotte squeezed her eyes closed, distractedly running a hand through her hair. A loud sound echoed in the background, nearly making her jump a little.

It was the movie she'd long ago lost interest in and forgotten she was watching. Charlotte grunted, reaching up and pulling down the throw from the back of the couch. She draped the blanket over herself, blinking sleepily. "And I said I'm not doing this tonight, Mister Collins." She said it with a bit more bite than usual, but it came out sounding a bit strange and slow. Really, she just wanted to sleep and shut her mouth before something stupid leaked out and made things awkward, even though she was unlikely to see Ricky any time in the near future.

She could practically hear Ricky frowning in confusion, and he was quiet over the line for so long that she almost thought he'd hung up. The sound of his breathing, not quite slow and not relaxed, over the line convinced her otherwise. "Have I done something to anger you, Miss Lu?" he asked after some time, his voice quiet and bewildered. She heard him swallow hard and continue effusively, thickly, "If I have, you have my most hearty apologies. I certainly never meant to offend or upset you, and I regret anything I have said or done to cause you injury. It was not at all my intent."

His completely unnecessary and far too kind apology just made the constricting feeling in her chest get tighter. It was a little hard to breathe. She wanted to tell him not to apologize, that he hadn't done anything wrong at all, that she was just in a bad or weird mood, that she was being stupid, but the words got kind of stuck in her throat. "I didn't mean to get so personal with my questions, Miss Lu. I respect your boundaries, and I don't know what came over me. I'm sure you must find me very nosy indeed," he continued obliviously, sounding a bit sorrowful, withdrawing.

She blinked. Ricky actually realizing that she was upset, much less pinpointing what he thought was the source of her irritation; she didn't know whether or not to believe it. Him apologizing for not noticing social cues was, in and of itself, rather strange. She supposed he'd learned after that time he'd walked in on her changing in her office. He hadn't knocked, as per usual, and had just barged in, already chattering a mile a minute. She'd been changing into nicer clothes for one of their business dinners with Catherine, reaching around her back to frantically zip up the dress.

He'd frozen when he'd seen her and stared at her back for a few too many moments before she'd turned, smoothly flipping her hair over to the side of her neck. Then, glancing at him over her shoulder, she asked him to zip her up in a voice an octave or two lower than usual. She was rewarded for her trouble by his reluctance to approach her and the way he averted his gaze, and then his fingers fluttering against her spine, fingertips occasionally brushing against her bare skin as he struggled with the zipper. After he'd zipped her up, his fingers following the zipper upward, he straightened and smoothed the dress more than perhaps necessary. He'd complimented her appearance when she turned around, a singular experience, and she'd been reminded of when he'd said something similar at Prom. It had made her feel the same way then too.

That, of course, was neither the first nor the last time he'd walked in on her. If he were another man, perhaps, she might think it intentional, but she knew it was just carelessness. That and Mr. Collins wasn't exactly a sexual being. Or, at least, she couldn't afford to think of him as one.

The first time was when Maria had been interning, back in the late summer. Maria had been talking her ear off about Doctor Who all morning and all lunch, and she'd been so absentminded that she'd whirled around and spilled her bubble tea all over her big sister's blouse. Maria had apologized frantically, of course, but Charlotte had a lifetime of experience preparing for every eventuality, so she reassured her sister by telling her she had a change in her office. She'd gone to the bathroom and taken off her shirt, rinsing it as best as she could under the water. She should've put the new shirt on, but she didn't want to risk getting it wet as well.

And, then, of course, while she was in the middle of doing this, in just her bra, Ricky knocked and walked in. She turned and saw him and froze immediately in mortification, but she didn't turn away. When he saw her standing there at the sink in her bra and shirt, his jaw dropped a little, and he swallowed hard. He attempted to say something but soon found he couldn't, and he then immediately turned back around and left the room. Charlotte had put her shirt on, rung the old blouse out, and tried to forget it happened. Neither of them could look at each other without blushing for like, two weeks.

The most recent time had happened during the company retreat and had been more or less inevitable. They were camped out at their company for a week and a half with no internet access, in tents, like some sort of extended slumber party with a constant barrage of company events planned to eat up most of their free moments. She'd been changing into pajamas in her office right before their big campfire, which was, of course, fake (as if she trusted Mr. Collins not to have some sort of accident around the fire? Maybe if they all had asbestos-lined pajamas, but she didn't want to chance it), though they were cooking marshmallows over the burners in the kitchen or cans of Sterno one of the interns had bought.

She'd been pulling up her pajama pants as he walked in, so he hadn't seen much, but she was wearing a relatively low-cut camisole, having yet to put on the matching pajama top. He'd stammered out an apology and that he hadn't thought she would be in there. He'd needed something from her office, and she'd handed it to him. He may also have been looking at her chest a little too long for her to be comfortable, but it was also kind of flattering. He too was wearing pajamas, though his were light-blue with a childish cartoon pattern. She'd put the overshirt on, buttoning it up most of the way, offering him a forgiving smile, and then they'd both made their way to the campfire, and the 'smores and company love put everyone in a rosy mood.

As she was remembering, Collins was talking, backpedaling, "Obviously your personal thoughts and private life are none of my business, and you don't want me poking around in your head. It's not my place, and I assure you it won't happen again." She opened her mouth to say something, to make him stop, because, well, truthfully she didn't mind him asking her a personal question every now and then. Him promising never to pry, to confine himself to just being a business associate, well, it left her feeling not-so-good. He paused then, in a heavy way that cut off her attempts at speech. "I... value you. As an employee... and as a friend."

The alcohol has apparently loosened her tongue a great deal more than she thought because she asked, without even a second thought, before she could stop herself, "Are we friends?" Was Collins really her friend? They talked several times a day, even when they didn't see each other, more often than her and Lizzie. But they rarely talked about anything that wasn't in some way work-related. He asked questions about her family, her sister, Lizzie and her family, of course, Lizzie's videos. She asked about his mom and dad, sometimes about the company before she arrived. She never really asked about his fiancée beyond a few shallow inquiries; he didn't seem to like to talk about her. Mr. Collins said something about it like, "I like to keep my personal life out of the office."

They ate meals together occasionally, fairly often, but usually they were meetings over brunch or business lunches or company get-togethers. And, yes, they had previously spent quite a lot of time together at the office, but that was because they both seemed to live there and apparently have no lives outside of the office. When they hung out outside of the office, they were rarely, if ever, alone, and always surrounded by people they worked with or were networking with or Catherine. Did all of that make them real friends or were they just coworkers who spent a lot of time together?

Maybe she was thinking of Lizzie and Darcy. How they hadn't even been friends, but now they're (presumably) together. Lizzie, troll that she was, had sent Charlotte footage up until Darcy's arrival some time ago. As ugly as it made Charlotte feel to think of it, she couldn't deny that she was a little bit envious. Lizzie finally had someone in her life now, so did Jane, and all of them were off starting new traditions. Even Mr. Collins supposedly had someone. And Charlotte, well, she was just alone. She stifled a sigh.

He was silent a bit too long, and she deflated a little, taking that for an answer. But she wasn't even really surprised, just disappointed, because she has always thought this was just business to him. She told herself she was okay with that. She tricked herself into believing sometimes that it was just business and nothing more for her too but, well... she's been part of something, and she's built something at Collins and Collins. Suddenly she was nothing but grateful for the opportunity to be such an important part of something, even if that something is the mediocre web video start-up of a childhood friend.

She wasn't like Lizzie. She wasn't a princess or a heroine or anything special, and she wasn't ever going to get a kind of chick-flick big romantic gesture happy ending. That was her lot in life, and she knew that. She didn't have big dreams or big expectations, none of that, and she'd been lucky to have an opportunity like this fall into her lap. Sure, it's not rocket science or anything world-changing, nothing big, but it's, well, it's as much hers as Ricky's (and he knows that too). That was really all that mattered. Charlotte feels like crying all over again because it occurs to her all at once that she really should be thanking him. And instead she's been awful, and he probably still thinks she's mad at him even though she's not.

Ordinarily this range of intense emotions would terrify her and make her realize that she wasn't quite herself, but the alcohol had put her out of it and... maybe she shouldn't use the alcohol as an excuse. Maybe this was all just her giving herself a chance to feel the things she usually didn't let herself feel, to get caught up in those tangled emotions she didn't usually bother to sort out. Maybe she was just being a little self-indulgent on her birthday because she was alone, and it had been a long, long, life-changing year.

He exhaled heavily, his breath rattling a little. When he did speak, it was quiet, almost shy, really, and without any of his extra flourishes. "I think... you're my only friend, Miss Lu." She drew in a sharp breath. He sounded so small when he said it, like he was just as alone as she was right now. She could feel the raw honesty of his words hit her right square in the chest. Maybe he really was. Maybe there was a reason he was talking to her rather than the fiancée who took him away from his work, who wasn't the most important part of his life or even someone he wanted to share that with. Maybe that woman didn't even exist. Or maybe not.

Her immediate instinct was to comfort him, to dispute his uncharacteristically pessimistic words, regardless of their truth. Truthfully, she doesn't know him well enough to fully contradict him. She didn't know him in college, barely knew him in middle and high school, though they occasionally ran in the same circles. All she had to evaluate was the past seven months and some old, half-forgotten childhood memories. She didn't dwell on the touched feeling in her chest, on how she was breathing considerably shallower now. "Oh, Mister Collins, that's not true. You've got Jamie and your father and Catherine and Maria and Liz-" He interrupted her litany of names abruptly, which was unlike him. His manners were usually so deferential.

His voice was low and throaty and raw when he finally spoke. It's unlike him, but everything about this is unlike him, unlike either of them. As she was staring up at her parent's ceiling, with its puckered, popcorn-like texture, watching light flicker across it, it felt like she was in some dream state, floating. "Please," he said, dragging out the word with an almost plaintive tremor, "Don't call me that."

There's an urgency to the request, an urgency that made her sit up with an abruptness that made her head spin. She frowned, holding her head, opening her mouth to argue with him already. He had always been so insistent that he preferred to be addressed as Mister Collins and nothing else, annoyed when anyone called him by his childhood nickname. It had already slipped out a few times this evening, and he hadn't even corrected her, much less said anything about it. But Collins' voice cut in once more before she could articulate any of this familiar refrain. "Say my name."

She blinked, not knowing why he wanted this. It throws her, all the comforting familiarity and old routines being sapped from their interactions. But she was not one to question Ricky out loud and not one to not do what he said in any case, so she obliged him. "Ricky." It sounded strange coming from her lips, even though it was hardly the first time she'd said his name tonight. It came out almost as a question; she still doesn't know what he wants from her, just that she can't say no to him. The call had been curiously low on business content.

It struck her just then that maybe he wants her to call him by his first name because that's what friends do.

The name has never really suited him, at least, not in Charlotte's opinion. It is too casual, too childish, too wholly ridiculous. One cannot take a Ricky seriously. Lizzie would say that's precisely why it suits him, and she would rightly point out that it was difficult for either of them to think of him as anything but Ricky. Rick is too hard, too slick. Dick is... harsh, poetically ironic if you asked Lizzie. Rich is too posh. Richie is worse than Ricky, for the same reason. Richard, maybe, but it seems formal and wrong somehow, ill-fitting. She tried so hard to think of him as Mr. Collins, the remote, distant, unmovable object, her boss, an entirely nonsexual, nonhuman being, because that was easier. But, at the end of the day, it's a lie because Ricky is flesh-and-bone and old memories and the boy-next-door, eager and enthusiastic and energetic.

He exhaled, almost sighed, like that was somehow better, like he was relieved. She didn't really get it, but she half-shrugged and leaned back on her hands and then elbows before easing back down into her former position. Charlotte adjusted the blanket over her lap, shifting the phone at her ear. "Thank you," he said. If she strained her ears just enough, she could imagine that she'd heard the wet sound of him licking parched lips. Her own lips are probably stained merlot and taste like wine. "Do you think we're friends?" a clearly nervous Ricky asked a moment later.

She has no words for the first moment she spends thinking on it. Charlotte shrugged again, trying to play it off as no big deal. Damn, she does that a lot with him, doesn't she? Admitting he was her friend, though, more than just her colleague and boss, that was hardly a big deal, right? "If you think we are..." she began diplomatically, trailing off short of finishing when she realized how badly it sounded. He made a sound on the other end, something soft like a sigh but more than that, like he was disappointed... and something inside of her just broke. "Yes," she said unhesitatingly, "Yes, I would say we're friends, Ricky."

She knows almost immediately it was the right thing to say. Ricky let out a little chuckle over the line, a kind of nervous but flattered sound, and she found herself smiling like an idiot. As usual with Collins, there were so many things she wanted to say to him... things she couldn't, for various reasons, things she shouldn't for myriad reasons, and things she wouldn't, just because. "Good, that's, um... good," Collins managed after a spell. Charlotte marveled at how brief and inarticulate it was. Ricky must've noticed too because he cleared his throat hard and continued, in his business pitchman voice, "To know that we're in agreement, of course, about the nature of our working relationship. I know we both like to cultivate close bonds with those we work and consult with on a regular basis."

Charlotte frowned faintly, going over his words in her head. Was he implying they had a bond, and, if so, what did that mean? They were friends, apparently, which was good but didn't fully satisfy her, not that Ricky existed to satisfy her in any way, of course. She grimaced, covering her face with her hand (okay, facepalming), never more glad that he couldn't actually see her at this very moment, reclined on her couch, hand over her face, hair flung out behind her messily, her mouth red-purple, everything about her undignified. She muttered some noise of assent before screwing up her courage enough to say, "I'm glad to hear that." She dropped the sir she would've added at the end, not sure whether or not he wanted her to keep calling him by his first name.

He was silent, strangely so, and she realized that she now had the opportunity she wanted to say some of the things she'd bottled up. And there were some things she really actually did need to say to him. She sat up a little bit, propping her head and neck up against one of the arms of the sofas. "I'm sorry about earlier. I... I was never mad at you, Ricky. I just... I'm in a strange mood tonight, and you caught me at kind of a weird time-" she attempted to explain, rubbing first her forehead and then the back of her neck. None of the words feel right or adequate; she owes him so much more than this.

He scrambled to apologize yet again, and she wished he would stop. This was going to be hard enough to get out as it was without him interrupting her all the time. "Oh, I did? I'm so sorry, I can han-" Or, worse, him on the verge of hanging up on her, leaving all the important things unsaid. The fact that he bought her pathetic excuses so easily (though they were mostly true) made her even a little sadder.

She cut him off with more impatience than usual, raising her voice. She needed to say this, needed to finish it, needed to finally get all the words out. "No, let me finish," she insisted. He fell silent, and she resisted the urge to exhale heavily. "I'm glad you called, really." She only admits to herself that her night probably would've been even worse if he hadn't called, but it's no less true even though she doesn't say it out loud. "I'm... grateful for you, Ricky," she said slowly, licking her lips, feeling that lump form back up in her throat. Propping her head up against the arm of the sofa seems like a great idea now.

Charlotte was blinking furiously as she said it, caught up in the whirlwind of emotions from earlier. All of them are some shade of gratitude. "Thank you for taking a chance on me and making me your partner..." She wiped at the leaky corners of her eyes, remembering how he'd really helped her settle in. He'd had the office all made up for her the way she liked it when she got here, and he'd been the one to tell her about local apartment buildings within her budget and then go look at them with her. He'd even organized a welcoming party for her first day on the job and taken her out to dinner afterwards to celebrate and inform her about company procedures that hadn't been covered earlier. "And really helping me feel welcome here and making me a part of something," she added after a moment, swallowing over the thickness in her throat. "It means a lot to me, really, more than I can say."

His response was immediate and assured, almost smooth, if Collins could be smooth. "Miss Lu, choosing you as my partner was, without a doubt, the best choice I've made in my career. I truly don't believe I could've found anyone better-suited to my company," he declared with the utmost certainty. The double meaning of that sentence hit her unexpectedly in the stomach, and a part of her wondered if (hoped) he meant the second, more personal meaning. Then again, this was Ricky she was talking to, so his company was as personal to him as anything else in his life, if not more so. It's probably one of the nicest things he's ever said to her, and certainly one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about her. "Indeed," he mused, "you fit in here even better than I could've foreseen."

There was something almost sad about the way he said it. She knows him well enough now to read between the lines, and what he's really saying is that she fits in better than he does... at his own company. She could almost picture him hanging his head a little. As if this admission alone was not enough, Collins elaborated further, his voice softening, "I wouldn't trust my company to anyone less exemplary." She could comfortably classify his tone as warm, but that wasn't what stuck with her about the comment. It's the first time he's explicitly referenced the power transfer they've got in the works outside of an office or a meeting with attorneys. The power transfer that was nearly a fait accompli, just weeks away from completion.

With how hard she'd worked and continued to work, she couldn't say she wasn't glad for the opportunity and the promotion... but, well, a part of her couldn't help but think, "But it's lonely at the top." A small part of her wasn't exactly thrilled about the transfer, about the most stable thing in her life (her entire life, really) changing so suddenly. Ricky no longer being a fixture in her life, well, the mere thought of it just seemed wrong... as much as she earlier would've welcomed the autonomy back when he was micromanaging her and breathing down her neck, taking over every inch of her life (whatever semblance of a life she had at that point). She'd finally gotten comfortable, used to something, and now he was going to move away, and she would be all alone again.

Maybe a tiny part of her was scared. Because when he left, she would be the one in charge. Every decision to make would be hers, and what if she made the wrong one? It didn't matter quite so much when she was his Number Two, even though she did the majority of the work and made the majority of the decisions. Ricky had a higher stake, of course, and he was there for advice and to monitor her (and she had actually learned things from him). She had a safety net, a smokescreen for in case she screwed up, and it wasn't all on her.

Of course Charlotte knew that he would be only an email or phone call away in the future, sure, but she would be the one responsible for his baby... and, as much as she didn't want to fail publicly or upset their investors, well... she was just as terrified of letting Ricky down after he'd handed the reins of the company, "the most important part of my life", over to her. She wasn't entirely sure she deserved that amount of trust, no matter how much he insisted he trusted her judgment.

Her rather unprofessional attachment to Ricky was a big reason why she didn't exactly trust her own judgment.

She meant to say "thank you;" she really did. What came out instead was something very different. "I've really missed you, Ricky," she murmured thickly. She realized as she said it, almost too late, that it was true. The offices were lonely without him and his chatter to fill the silence. And too much time left alone with her own thoughts led to dangerous places like this very moment. Where her feelings made her say far too much, and she'd probably said a mortifying amount already, and her thoughts were irrationally shame-spiraling the way Lizzie's did sometimes. She heard his sharp, sharp intake of breath, and suddenly everything went silent.

It didn't sound like either of them were breathing, but she hadn't stopped holding her breath. She waited anxiously for a response, already crafting an out or some other way of backpedaling out of this. But then, after what felt like a small eternity but was more probably only a minute or so, he spoke. "I've missed you as well, Charlotte. It really isn't the same without you by my side." She'd released the breath she'd been holding in a slow hiss, slowly sucking in a fresh breath though she wanted to gulp for air desperately. She still couldn't quite believe he'd really said that, let alone that he'd called her just Charlotte for what had to be, quite possibly, the first time since high school graduation. She liked the way he said her name almost as much as she liked the novelty of it.

She was so taken aback that she was bereft of all words. What was the appropriate response to that startlingly personal admission? She felt as if anything she said would risk making the situation even more awkward or uncomfortable for both of them. Or, at the very least, it would ruin the moment. If she and Ricky were having a moment, and it certainly seemed like it since they were, apparently, now on a first-name basis for the first time since their adolescence. So she merely thinks I wish you were here instead of staying it out loud and reminding him of his fiancée.

They were both silent for a minute, absorbing what had been said, trying not to read too much into it. Then Ricky astounded her by more or less stealing the words from her head, as if he could suddenly read her mind. "I wish I were there." He sounded wistful, almost longing. The "with you" goes unspoken, unsaid, but she hears it almost as clearly as if he's actually said it. As much as Charlotte tried to tell herself he was just saying that because it was her birthday, she's inclined to think it was a bit more than that, and not merely because she wants it to be. She was breathless with shock, of course.

She opened her mouth to reply, realizing she'd left him hanging a bit there, but Ricky was already jumping like some sort of skittish horse to extricate himself from the awkwardness. It hit him fairly suddenly that he'd said too much, probably, that he'd crossed that invisible but all so tangible line between them. It was all a bit too much for one night. "I-I should go. It's getting late here, and I should be headed to bed..." Charlotte closed her eyes, suddenly reminded of the fact that, at least in theory, he would not be in bed alone and that, no matter what she tried to tell herself, his place wasn't here with her on her couch.

Apparently Collins too realized the mistake of mentioning bed to her, a woman he'd just been conversing on the phone with on what even he must recognize are booty-call hours (though he regularly calls her quite late with some business detail he's just remembered), because he cleared his throat almost violently. "Happy birthday, Charlotte," he said quietly, his voice just as soft as it was before. She couldn't help but smile, though a part of her reminded her that it was pathetic that she was excited that her boss had called her by her first name and wished her a happy birthday, and it really wasn't worth getting all worked up over. Not that she was worked up, but, God, really, who was she kidding here but herself and possibly Ricky?

"Thanks for calling, really. I mean that," she said, though it felt like she stammered it. Her words didn't even remotely measure up to his, but it was the best she could do. She hoped anything she'd said, as paltry as it was, had made him feel even half as good as he had made her feel just now, right when she'd needed cheering up most. He'd done that too when she'd thrown herself into work, mourning Lizzie's absence from her life, and she hadn't appreciated it then as she ought to.

"It was my pleasure," he assured her quickly in a voice that was almost at his normal confidence level. He still didn't sound quite like himself, at least, not quite like the Mr. Collins she knew. Charlotte was strangely unable to stop herself from smiling. "I'll... see you later?" he said. His intonation was such that the words lilted up towards the end, like it was a question.

Either way, there was something hopeful in it, so she sank back into the soft cushions, feeling warm and fuzzy. "We've got a lot to talk about," she agreed, nodding. She bit her bottom lip, running a hand through her hair. She tried to remind herself that she was talking to Ricky here, and that it was hardly worth getting excited over, especially since they were talking about him leaving Hunsford for good. Supposedly. So she really had no right at all to be hopeful about anything or to feel so close to giddy about it, except that she was taking over the company from him and would have the independence she'd wanted for months. "I'll, uh... I'll call you tomorrow," she added a bit shyly.

Ricky cleared his throat a little. "Er, actually, would it be possible to Skype instead?" he asked a bit hesitantly. He paused a moment uncomfortably before continuing, "I have some diagrams and charts I'd like to go over with you, you know, analytics and that sort of thing, and I figured it would be best to show them to you... face-to-face, as it were, or as close as we can get to it, thanks to videoconferencing software." Charlotte placed a hand on the flat of her stomach, smoothing over it distractedly and wondering what he meant by this request. It was, after all, hardly necessary when he could merely email her the diagrams and charts, if she wasn't already aware of them, along with any needed elaboration or instructions. Collins sent very thorough and verbose emails on such subjects.

As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, he said, "At times, I find the personal touch far more suitable... and preferable, of course." Sometimes, Charlotte had found, Ricky anticipated her thoughts and needs almost as well as she did his. Occasionally, he could even finish her sentences. Apparently it worked both ways, and while much earlier in this partnership that would've alarmed her, it did not now. Still, what did this mean, any of it?

"As we are in the digital media business, I must admit I much favor dealing with people and seeing faces..." This time he sounded almost entirely like himself, which both relieved Charlotte and unsettled her some. It didn't dissipate the strange anticipation feeling coiled in her stomach. Apparently the feeling was somewhat mutual because Ricky felt the need to go on in one of his rambles, which he only did when he was particularly anxious about something or working his way up to something. "And sometimes the leaps and bounds we have made to use technology to communicate with one another just astound me. Why, when we were children, this would've been an impossibility! But now you and I can communicate via the video format from different countries thousands of miles apart!"

This was ordinarily where she would cut him off, if she hadn't done so earlier, and this was no exception. Charlotte rubbed her stomach, feeling the sleepiness return. "That sounds fine." She very pointedly avoided saying "sir" or calling him "Mr. Collins," as she would've usually. She somehow knew he was excited about it, perhaps because she heard him clap or something in the background, the way he would've usually. "I'll videoconference with you tomorrow then."

She found she was surprisingly reluctant to hang up, which was new, but all in all it was hardly the longest conversation she'd ever had with Ricky, not even by a long-shot. She rarely wished to lengthen their conversations. "Goodnight," she said, leaving off the name because she was certain she would've called him Ricky and didn't want to chance it again. She felt like she should've said something more but didn't know what. She was still half-smiling.

For his part, he all but whispered a formal goodnight, telling her to get her rest, that she deserved it. He seemed equally unwilling to hang up, but even Ricky eventually ran out of things to say, and they both hung up. For a minute or so afterwards, Charlotte merely stared at the phone. The whole conversation and her memory of it felt surreal, like something she'd dreamed up. He'd never even told her why he'd wanted to call her aside from wishing her a happy birthday, had he?

Reflecting on this strange warm feeling that was probably more a result of all the wine rolling around in her stomach than anything more... romantic, Charlotte shifted on the couch, pulling the blanket over her and setting her phone down. She groped for the remote to turn off the movie, which was still going, and turned it off with some satisfaction. She was still smiling to herself like a drunken idiot, still going over the phone call in her head and wondering what it had all meant. The unexpected (and initially unwanted) phone call had made her feel good... appreciated, and, of course, other, softer, kinder things she thought but was too sleepy and too wise to enumerate. Maybe her birthday hadn't been so bad or so disappointing after all, Charlotte thought as she snuggled into the couch, closing her eyes, and drifting off into a blissful slumber.

Either way, it felt like the beginning of something, something far more than merely her tenure at the helm of Collins and Collins, though she didn't exactly know what.

- Loren ;*