Author's Note: This is my first ever attempt at writing fanfiction, and I don't have a beta, so tell me if you find any glaring mistakes. Thanks in advance for reading.
In the summer, the sun comes early and overstays its welcome. It scorches the ground and squeezes sweat out of the people trudging in criss-cross patterns through the streets of the concrete jungle. And yet he, in full business attire, remains unperturbed. Taking precise steps, walking with shoulders squared and face impassive, he glances at his watch and nods slightly to himself. He continues on the direct path towards his office, but suddenly falters mid-step.
The smell of her shampoo. That's what brings it all back. Not floral or fruity, not fragrant-she wasn't that kind of person-but clean. Sharp and fresh. Someone passes him on the street and he is flung back to her hotel room, and they're both mildly intoxicated and not thinking straight. She's yelling and he's just standing there, listening to her tirade, the tension palpable after he so foolishly turned to her and moved closer, heart pounding because all he can think about is how irresistible she smells. Then the person walks on, and the memory is blown away like mist at dawn.
When he arrives at his office, he tells his secretary, "Kate, would you please call Ryan and ask him when he'll be well enough to drive me to work? This heat is getting to me."
It isn't until weeks later, at lunch with Charlie, when the past that he so painstakingly suppressed resurfaces. "Hey, you remember Elizabeth? Apparently she's coming to visit Jane for a few days."
He asks, "Where does she live now?" even though he knows the answer: somewhere in a faraway city, where he won't be tempted to see her, where he doesn't have to think about her.
Charlie laughs, "She lives with me, idiot."
He pauses before saying, "I meant Elizabeth."
"Sometimes I have to wonder if you actually don't realize when I'm joking, or if you're just playing along. Elizabeth lives over in…" He stops listening as Charlie prattles on for a while about her, because he really shouldn't have to care. But Charlie knows his ways, and grabs his attention again. "Darcy! I know you weren't listening, but do you want to meet her again? This Friday, eight PM, my place."
"There would be no point in a reunion." And because a fundamental principle of life is that Darcy does not lie, Charlie lets the subject go.
The winter after the disastrous confession, he is still moping about. Because he can afford to, he doesn't go to work, but is nevertheless constantly fatigued, the heartbreak still weighing down the bags under his eyes.
"Dude, get off your pathetic ass and fly out to see her if it'll make you feel better. You look worse than I did when I was going through my goth phase."
He blinks blearily. "Georgie, I have work to do. I can't just fly off whenever I feel like it."
"Really? Because it sure doesn't look like you're working all that much.
"You just arrived last night, and it's Sunday morning. You have no way of determining whether or not I have work."
"Eleven hardly qualifies as morning. Plus, I have Fitz on speed-dial."
"Go away." It doesn't work, but he hadn't expected it to.
It takes several further minutes of pestering to get him out of bed, and almost an hour to convince him to leave the apartment to go to lunch with Fitz.
"Hey, long time no see! I almost thought I was going to have to tell the office that you'd died in a mugging gone wrong. No, wait, that's not very plausible, is it? Maybe a mugging gone right?"
"Fitz, if you're nice to me, I swear I'll go to work tomorrow."
"And if I'm super duper nice, will you go see that girl?"
Georgie interrupts, "I've already tried that, but he convinced me that it was a silly idea."
"And here I thought you were a romantic," replies Fitz.
"I am, but no woman wouldn't be put off by that depressingly mopey face of his."
"Makes sense."
He says slowly, "I don't think I'll be going to work tomorrow."
"Aww, come on, Georgie and I are the only two people in the world that know how much she means to you. Give us something to work with. What would you do if you could see her again?"
He had never found out whether or not his letter had reached the intended target. She had left, off to make a new life for herself somewhere out west, sharing a yearning for adventure with the pioneers of the past. Hopefully, she would eventually come to understand that his intentions had always been honorable, although she would much more likely forget about him entirely and move on. No matter how much he likes her, he can't force her to like him back.
"If I could see her again, I would tell her I loved her. Properly. And that really would be the end of it."
He decides that pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. So he buries the memory deep, piling on work and responsibilities until his feelings are six feet under.
He sometimes wonders if he was right to not attend Charlie and Jane's wedding, even though Charlie asks him to be the best man. He has learned from his mistakes, and adamantly refuses to go to any and all parties or receptions. Even though it's Charlie, she'll also be there, and he doesn't want to see her. He doesn't want her to know that he was the one that worked so hard to get Charlie and Jane back together, doesn't want gratitude for his mistakes. He did the right thing, and now he is finished with the whole affair.
In the photographs that he is later shown, Elizabeth is seen with a man that Charlie tells him is her fiancé. He doesn't ask any other questions.
He somehow finds himself standing outside Charlie's apartment, ringing the bell. Muffled voices float through the door, but all he hears is the clear and melodious laughter that still haunts him. An unfamiliar man's laugh suddenly joins in, deep and rich, sounding for all the world as if meant to harmonize with hers.
His own voice and hers had always mingled in discordance, interrupting each other and clashing fiercely. Another reason it would never work. Another reason he should let go. He should wish her happiness and move on, because that would be the right thing to do, and because for all his wealth and power, nothing he can do will change anything. But he is a selfish man, or at least she had said so. He desires, no, needs this cathartic release.
In front of him, his friend opens the door and raises his eyebrows slightly, but doesn't seem particularly surprised. Charlie steps aside, shouting, "Hey, you'll never guess who dropped by!"