A/N: Hey, I'm back (did a slight detour to zombieland in the last few weeks, finals are brutal;) so this one-shot has been playing around in my mind for some time now and I hope you like it;) It's a modern AU of the Hunsford proposal with lots of AU;)

I'm stilll working on a translation of Bones grow from the middle of both ends but it might take some time, so this for you to tie you over, suspecting of course you want to read my other story;)

And before reading: THIS IS HUNSFORD! do I need to say more? consider yourself warned...

Soundtrack: The Most Beautiful Bitter Fruit - La Dispute

Disclaimer: Still not owning Austen, don't know why I repeat myself all the time, if I would own it, Fanny Price would have more of a backbone..

Long Live The King

The serious look on the face of the woman on the TV screen caught Lizzie off guard.

She'd gotten home in a daze, thoroughly exhausted from hours in meetings and in front of her laptop, trying to get the research for her new project done and at the same time convincing her boss to trust her on that one.

She'd stumbled through the door, not paying any attention to her rapidly ringing phone while she lost most of her clothing on the way to the bathroom. Now with dripping wet hair, hanging over her shoulder with a bowl of Lucky Charms in her hands, she stared at the blonde woman on the TV screen and the flashing letters containing the news and she thought she probably should have answered the phone.

Her fingers got nervous, started making noises with the spoon against the porcelain, while her eyes were frozen to the spot. She had known about the possibility of this event, as highly unrealistic as it had seemed all the time and while it wasn't life altering for her, it would be that way for him.

For him, it would change everything.

The bell rang and the sudden noise startled her so that she nearly spilled the milk on her shirt. Cursing silently she made her way to the door, thinking it must be Jane or Charlotte, even though she hadn't spoken to the latter in nearly two months. Yeah, there hadn't been much left to talk about after Charlotte decided to quit her job in order to become the trophy wife of Bill creepy Collins – Lizzie still got a chill every time she thought about the lecherous idiot with the sweaty hands.

But it wasn't Charlotte at the door.

"Hey", she managed to get out, shocked to find him of all people on her doorstep. He looked like shit, dishevelled and unkempt, his appearance was as far away as possible from the usually well groomed, never a hair out of place, business guy, she knew.

It was one of these things, she always teased him about. His severe attitude, the can't-stay-in-bed-until-eleven-sermon, his overall pursuit of perfection, all that stuff that irritated her to no end and she loved to see the mask crack, to provoke some reactions other than a glare and a stony face, options he used if he couldn't get his face to contort in some polite mien.

"Hey", he replied and looked up, his blue eyes dark with deep shadows that cut the skin like razors around them and she suppressed the urge to touch him. They weren't friends. Not at all.

"Do you want to come in?", she suggested and opened the door, half expecting to see Rick appearing behind his shoulder. But he wasn't there.

He nodded and again, like so many times before, she was struck by how much his sheer presence affected her, when he passed by. He had a way to influence the atmosphere of every room, he went in, unconsciously done sure, but none the less impressive, how the attention of everyone assembled always seemed to gravitate towards him.

Including her own.

"I'm sorry", she said, when he stopped in the middle of the room, his eyes flickering to the TV and the news that flashed in capital letters over the screen.

"So you heard." His voice was deep, a bit raspy and the sound did things to her body, she wasn't ready to even think about.

She motioned to the TV and to the blonde journalist who agitatedly spoke into her microphone, Lizzie was grateful, she'd turned off the tune. "Kind of hard to miss", she answered and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

He nodded a bit tired.

"Please sit", she offered and sat down on one end of the sofa. "Do you want something to drink?"

He shook his head, but sat down nonetheless. He wore a pair of black trousers and a white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up so that his forearms were visible. They were nice forearms, strong but not overly muscular and she suddenly felt a bit under dressed in her old, way to big shirt and a pair of pinstriped shorts.

"You okay?", she asked, because she didn't know what to say and questions like these were appropriate , weren't they? He looked up from his hands, his eyes caught hers and suddenly it was so fucking hard to breathe.

"I cope", he said, returning to his hands. She let out a shaky breath and pressed her knees defensively against her chest.

"I'm surprised, you got here", she said, successfully managing not to arch an eyebrow. This wasn't the time for eyebrows or any other way of sarcasm or even humour.

Duh, that bereft her of most of her coping strategies.

"Things got a bit... out of order over there", he finally replied, now staring intently on the bowl with the Lucky Charms, she'd left on the coffee table. "Richard is distracting them for me in order to escape and well...", he made some kind of vague gesture towards her apartment.

"Your aunt's probably not to happy about it, hmm?", she mused when it crossed her mind that this definitely counted as humour. Bloody hell, what was she supposed to do? Congratulating him on his promotion?

"She's in raptures" He said and she was -to put it correctly- shocked to hear him making a joke. And in this situation particularly.

"A bit morbid, aren't we?", she remarked without a thought and then bit her lip, because it was not the fucking time or place to be funny, event though he seemed to have finally developed a sense of humour.

Yeah, tragedies do always bring out the best in people.

"You have no idea", he said, now again his usual correct and proper self with just a hint of haughtiness in his voice that made her want to strangle him – or do other things to him.

Wrong direction, she chastised herself. This is tragedy mode, get your hormones under control, girl.

She stood up and walked over to the open kitchen space, where she poured herself a glass of wine.

"I got Georgie to travel to our summer house", he then continued and she nearly dropped the bottle of wine in surprise. "She was in no condition to face our aunt." He was a moment silent before he added: "I sent Anne with her as soon as Catherine left her alone." There it was again, the bit of humour in his voice that suggested, he probably was after all just a human being.

Yeah, no godsend whatsoever.

She turned around and smiled. "How long will it take until she notices her scheme is not going to work out?"

He didn't return the the smile. "She's a lunatic for even thinking I would go so far."

Lizzie shrugged her shoulders. "Desperation does things to people." She pressed the rim of the glass against her lips and stared at the man in her living room. He seemed as out of place as a gigantic dinosaur would have been, someone from another time , another world. Definitely not her world.

"What's going to happen now?", she asked when he looked at her. The darkness in his eyes seemed to clear a bit, making way for the dazzling blue that let her knees start to buckle.

"I don't know", he admitted and coming from him it was so out of place, she nearly choked on the wine in her mouth. He stood up and let a hand run through his wavy black hair before he dropped it and started pacing around the room.

"I had a plan", he then said heatedly. "We... I had it all planned out. M y life... this... how it should all work, but now..." He started pacing again and she knitted her brows together in confusion.

"I can understand that this is all kind of confusing, but you worked for that moment all your life. I'm sure, you'll manage", she then said slowly in order to calm him down and she halfway thought about calling Rick, but then decided not to, his cousin had probably enough to do with handling Aunt Catherine, especially if the old Lady hadn't taken her medicine.

The man in her living room stopped dead in his tracks and then turned to her with an almost wild expression on his face that made her stomach do a whole roll backwards.

"I'm not talking about that", he spat out, before a look of determination crossed his face and he got closer.

"Then what are you talking about?", she asked confused. The man in front of her was so not the guy she'd met only a few months ago while having dinner with her sister and her new boyfriend. He and Charles had been best friends since university and after the general astonishment and awe about who Charlies illustrious best friend was had disappeared, they'd gotten on quite well.

She'd teased him about the things that irritated her and he'd retorted the same way so that their playful banter had gotten more and more heated over the next few weeks until they'd ended up in the same manner in her kitchen with the same look in his eyes, he also professed now.

Oh, no, she thought, here we go again.

"Do you really have no idea", he said, his voice deep, sending shivers down her spine. "what all of this means? What this means for us?"

"Us?", she asked, now thoroughly confused, there was no "us", both of them had made it pretty clear right from the beginning that there would never be one. He couldn't do longterm relationships due to his... job... and she couldn't either, although for entirely different reasons.

"Us", he confirmed, the look in his eyes sincere.

"I don't understand", she said, distracted by his closeness, she still wasn't used to this, to him and the things he could do to her body, even after all those months.

He got even closer, put his hands on her hips and she wanted to scream "Don't!", but didn't and then his face was only inches away from hers.

"I love you", he said and she opened her mouth to say anything, everything, but then his lips crashed against hers and she was lost.

It had always been that way, every time since that first evening, when they had been arguing about the pros and cons of direct democracy and he had silenced her with his mouth against hers right in the middle of her winning speech. And what had she done? Instead of shoving him away and continuing what had been a very promising monologue about all the advantages of a referendum, she'd pressed herself against his body and buried her hands in his hair.

Needless to say, there hadn't been much talking afterwards.

And it wasn't much different now. After managing to safely put her glass of wine away (wouldn't want to destroy the 200£ shirt he wore), her hands were in his hair, her bare legs brushing against his trousers, he kept her mouth and tongue and mind occupied while his hand travelled down the well known route from her breasts to her waist to her hips.

But this time there was an urge of desperation in the way he pressed her against the kitchen counter, hands everywhere, he kissed her deep and hard as if he was a drowning man and she his oxygen.

She'd known him to be a man of few words, but sometimes in the way he touched or kissed or looked at her, she'd thought to have detected a hidden meaning, something he tried to tell her but couldn't quite put into words. She'd let him, partly because there was no point in pressure, partly because she wasn't sure, she wanted to know.

But now it was different. Screaming the words he now put into the way he kissed her, would have been more discreet and she felt her heart beating in fear and lust and she surrendered, because she had no idea how to fight back.

They needed air at some point. Detaching themselves in a bit awkward manner, panting and reaching for air, he didn't let her go, but instead cupped her face with one hand and gazed intently at her.

She didn't know what to do with her pounding heart and his hand tracing patterns on her waistline, she just knew she couldn't take his hand on her face. It was too much, too close, too everything.

He had been doing that a lot lately, small gestures, a hand on her back, fingers tracing the lines of her face from her cheekbones down her jawline and to her lips. In the afterglow of an orgasm, draped across each other, she hadn't paid much attention to what he was doing, what kind of patterns he was drawing across her skin, but now she wasn't satisfied and totally oblivious to the world around her (she would never tell him this, his ego and the rest of the world would never survive another boost), she was tired and exhausted and totally riled up with him so near and she just couldn't take it now.

"You're confused", she said as calm as possible (which was kind of hard, considering she was still gasping for breath) and pulled his hand away from her skin. "You're not thinking clear."

He looked at her, a bit taken aback, his hand in the air like some half forgotten toy. "Believe me", he then said his expression grim. "I'm thinking clear and I'm perfectly serious."

"About what?", she asked and moved a bit to the side, trying to get some room between the two of them, "you loving me?" She tried to bit back the laugh that threatened to rise in her throat.

"Don't turn this into some kind of joke", he admonished, his face a mask of steel.

"I'm not joking", she said taking a well needed sip from her wine glass. "But obviously you are. Honestly, Darcy, weren't you the one to start the I-have-no-time-for-relationships-speech?"

"That was months ago", he retorted. "And I was honest at the time."

"So what changed?", she asked. Both of them had been clear about their arrangement, so why was he suddenly turning everything into a fucking mess? "Because I sure as hell haven't."

Something in his eyes flashed up. "No, you don't", he muttered. "You don't change.." His voice grew louder. "And that's one of the points, why I thought a relationship between us wouldn't work out. You're... you're everything I don't need! Your stubbornness, your insistence on your "independence", the constant arguing about every little detail, your bluntness, your..."

"My what? My personality?", she asked, anger rising up in her throat. "Is that what you want? Some lifeless robot, that smiles and looks pretty and tells you what a great little fucker you are?!" Her eyes flared up and she clenched her fists furiously.

"That's not what I want!", Darcy shouted, the forgotten hand cutting the air between them in two halves. "It's what I need!"

"Then go get it!", she yelled. "I can give you some phone numbers, if you're so desperate to get laid!"

"Don't insult me", he barked, putting every inch of the well known Darcy arrogance in his tone. "I was merely speaking the truth."

"If you don't want to be insulted, then don't go out and verbally harass other people!", she retorted angrily. She pressed her lips tightly together. "You know what?", she said somewhat calmly. "Let's not go there. We both had a hard day, you lost your father, you're confused, because so many things change now..."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about!", he exclaimed. "But instead of listening to me, you treat me, like I'm mentally unstable or throw my words back in my face!"

"Because you insult me!", she cried out. "Should I be pleased that you have spent your precious time studying my character?"

"I was merely listing the facts, which prevented us from entering a relationship in the first place", he stated, his eyes hard. "But now things have changed, you and me... we can be together, officially, since my father's death there is no one who can get in our way. My aunt may go manic and a lot of people will be displeased, but I don't care!"

"So you're basically telling me that you have waited all the time for your father to die in order to be together with me?", she asked incredulously, her brows knitted together.

When he nodded curtly, she snorted. "Wow, way to go, Darcy! This sure isn't creepy or psychopathic in any way..."

"What do you mean?", he said, his tone dangerously calm.

"Oh, only that I'm really asking myself if in all these months I've slept with a man who killed his own farther in order to begin some kind of relationship with a woman he doesn't need!"

"I didn't kill my father!", he shouted, his mask cracking. "I only wanted to tell you that the only positive thing, that can come out of this, is for us to be finally able to be together! I don't like the circumstances, I didn't want my father to die and even if you finally get your head together and see what this means for us, it's going to be tough, people won't like you, they won't like us, won't like our marriage and the paparazzi are going to be brutal, but..."

"Wait a moment there, Darcy!", Lizzie exclaimed. "Marriage? You want to marry me? We aren't even in a relationship and you talk about matrimony?"

"It's a thing we have to consider", he explained not at all affected by the horrified look on her face. "If I wouldn't think it to be possible, that it would work out, I would have never even considered it. But you and I...", he took a step closer and she could smell a hint of his aftershave. "I think we have a chance to make it work, if you would just change some things..."

"Darcy", she said and tried to suppress the anger in her voice. With a slight clink she put her glass down on the surface of the kitchen counter. "Let's face it: We are not going to work out. We don't have a relationship, we have sex! That's all it is. Your father just died and you think, you see something here, but the truth is, there isn't. We're not a couple, I'm not going to change anything about me in order to fit in your little world and we are sure as hell not going to get married!"

The words cut through her chest like knifes that tore apart her body and opened it up to the world. She hoped he wouldn't notice, that he wouldn't see how much it hurt to get these words out, even though she was so fucking mad at him.

He jerked back a little when she spat out the words but he didn't move and when she was finished, he just looked at her intently.

She fidgeted, tried to get her breathing back under control, a hopeless attempt at regaining some kind of dignity.

"You're lying", he simply said.

"I'm not." Too fast, she admonished herself, way too fast.

"Liar." He got closer and she didn't move. "Tell me", he said, his voice raspy. "that we don't have a relationship."

"We don't", she said and tried to keep her voice under control. He put his hands on her hips, pressed his forehead against hers. She could feel his breath on her skin, his scent in her nose.

"Tell me", he said again and his voice sent shivers down her spine. "That this between us doesn't mean anything."

"It doesn't." She choked on the words, her breath got faster. Images sprung to mind, the both of them lying in bed, she draped across his body while they were talking about music. Darcy in her kitchen when she prepared some midnight dinner for them. The way he talked about politics, about the future and how to make the world a better place and the way he looked at her when they both reached their climax.

"Tell me, it's only physical." He breathed in deep, his hands now on her waist, he pressed her body closer against him. Her arms were caught between them, the wine glass somewhere left in her hand.

"It is", she whispered. "Just your body against my body. It is nothing. Just a chemical reaction."

"Prove it", he demanded. "Prove that it's nothing more."

And she proved it.

Sure, she could just have stepped away, shown him that he hadn't that much of an impact on her but she was too far in to stop it now and so she leant in, forgetting the wine glass in her hand, that came crashing down on to the floor, and kissed him with all the pent up passion his words had stirred in her.

And he reciprocated.

For a wonderful blur of moments it was all just desperation and feeling and the question who could fight longest, when she broke away, panting for air.

"See", she said, the look in her eyes determined.

"Liar", he said again, smiling.

"I'm not lying", she protested and bit her lip.

"I love you." She jerked back, but he didn't let her go. "I love you", he said again, his forehead against hers. She grabbed his arms, tried to get him away from her. "Tell me you don't love me."

"I don't." She looked him in the eye, tried to appear honest, while everything inside her begged to just surrender.

"Liar."

She made an exasperated noise. "I don't -"

"Liar."

"-love you."

"See?"

The smile, the closeness, the heat against her body. It was all too much.

"I-"

"Elizabeth."

"Fine", she finally gave in. "I love you."

"I knew it."

"You are an ass."

"And I love you."

She paused. "Yeah, you do." She closed her eyes, tried to think of something to say, tried to think of a way to say the next words. "It doesn't change anything.", she said then, still in his embrace, still with her forehead pressed against his, her eyes closed.

"Why not", he asked and he sounded... hurt.

"I can't change", she said. "Not in the way you want me to."

"But it wouldn't be much, just your job...", he protested. She smiled weakly and disentangled herself.

"Yeah, exactly", Lizzie said, "my job, the thing that makes up a huge part of my personality."

"You're a journalist." She threw him a death glare.

"Keep your disapproval to yourself, Darcy. We had that talk and let's face it: It's not just my job, it's my whole life, you want to change. You want to change me, the way I am and it's not going to work." She felt the need to vomit and cry at the same time.

"Shit, Darcy. Why did you do this to me? Force me to admit my feelings! I was okay before and now... There's no way this will ever work... How could you?"

"How could I do what? Get you to feel something? Get you out of your safe space? Don't think this isn't hard for me and now to hear that you don't even want to give us a chance!"

"What kind of chance?", she asked, tears stinging in eyes. "Outside of this apartment we are incompatible, Darcy!"

"I love you."

"Like that's going to make it all better!", she cried throwing her hands furiously in the air and she was close to stamping her food on the ground when she remembered the broken glass and the fact that she only wore a pair of socks on her feet. "Shit", she mumbled. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

"Cursing won't do the trick either."

"You're not helping", she said and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Helping you with what exactly? Finding reasons not to try it? Telling you that this this not even worth a try?"

"It would be, if it was not for your...position!", she yelled unnerved by his unyielding manner.

"Don't make this about me", he shouted, his eyes furious.

"But of course it is!", she screamed back. "It's all about you, about what you want and what you need and about your reasons for putting this relationship-thing of! Even if there weren't your... circumstances... a relationship between us would never work out, because let's face it: you are an arrogant asshole and probably the last man on earth I would ever be prevailed upon to marry!"

That was the final blow and she knew she had gotten through to him.

"So that is your opinion of me? That's precious, really. So you are sleeping with assholes but everything else is too much? Great! Thank you for explaining it to me so eloquently, but I'm sure it wouldn't have seemed all that bad if you weren't scared shitless about opening yourself up to another person!"

"And even if I was scared", she cried out. "I have every reason to be! The paparazzi, the people, you say they are going to hate me and I'm not willing to give myself up in order to pursue a slight what-if and to open myself up to you of all people!", she spat out the last part with every intention to hurt.

And it did. She could see it in he look in his eyes and for a moment, she thought he would kiss her again.

But he didn't.

"I'm sorry", he simply said. "For taking up so much of your time. I agree, our circumstances seem insurmountable." He nodded curtly and walked over to the door, left her there in between a bloody sea of wine and glass.

"Darcy", she cried out before the man left her apartment. He turned around, his mask again made of steel. "My condolences", she said and he simply nodded and left.

She didn't clean the mess she'd made up after she stepped out of it. Instead she went over to the TV, turned on the volume and listened to the reporter who told the entire country that their king was dead and that his successor would soon take over the crown.

"The king is dead", the blonde woman said with fake distress. "Long live the king."

Yeah, long live the king, Lizzie thought and started to cry.

A/N: I'm going to let this open for some time, don't know if I'm doing a sequel or not... for now this is the way it is, hope you like it, although there is no happy end so far;)

again, I'm no native speaker, so please forgive for any mistakes I have done (or tell me, i'd like to correct them;)

Thank you for reading, and as always: Reviews appreciated!