A/N: For the record, Airbnb has not, in any way, shape, or form, given me any money or incentive to write this story. If they did, I would be a decently-earning writer rather than an aspiring one! I do hope this modern AU isn't too far out there for anyone!
His Uber pulls up the now-familiar road, slowing more than screeching to a full stop. Despite the inevitable stress of the following morning (because why does his aunt need to insist on living in the middle of Rosings, Nowhere, Ohio?), he feels a small smile tugging at his lips.
They had a pretty ugly battle royal the first time he stormed out of the de Bourgh estate, costly and shiny luggage in tow, and crashed in the most decent Airbnb he could find within a five-mile radius. It didn't have any reviews back then, and it had been a little unnerving to realize the host - despite her sensible profile picture - was married to a man who basically idolized his aunt. But, beggars can't be choosers.
And that's how William Darcy found his Ohio home.
"Have a good day," his driver - John, he thinks - greets by way of a polite head nod before Darcy deposits himself and his stripped-down work travel gear on to the sidewalk. It's 1:30, a little too early for check-in; but he knows Mrs. Collins wouldn't mind.
"Hey, come on in." She doesn't disappoint when he rings the doorbell. After years spent among clawing, ambitious New York she-wolves who either wanted his money or his job, Darcy hadn't taken long to warm up to the modest, down-to-earth Charlotte Collins. He knows she's around his age, and there's still a youthful vigor to how she attacks her matronly jobs. But at least she's married, and she's kind, and she's never gone out of her way to impress him (if fellow Airbnb reviewers are anything to go by).
It helps to feel, of course, that he's somehow beaten the DBC system by spending only half of his lodging allowance on the private wing of the Collins home. He's technically being paid extra for staying somewhere clean, cozy, and secluded - and to have those divine pancakes Mrs. Collins always manages to whip up at all hours of the day - without having to tolerate the volatile temper of the great and only living founder of the great De Bourgh Corporation.
"You know the drill," says his hostess, with a gentle smile, before leaving him to the privacy of his very own wing of the house.
It helps to have a home away from home - where the comforts of middle America soothe his overexcited NYC senses, where too much wood and too much fabric replace the too much metal, glass, and chrome of his downtown Manhattan flat. It's different, and it's always what he needs when he has to fly to fulfill his mother's deathbed wish.
It's not as if modern technology requires him to be physically present for DBC's quarterly meetings. But he did promise his mother to "help" the family - to maintain ties that meant so much to her even when they'd already lost all meaning to anyone else. As a devoted son, he vowed fervently to keep his promise.
As a devoted son, he fights his every instinct to the contrary, and keeps on keeping his promise.
The sheer curtains give him a tasteful glimpse of the growing fall colors. The Collins home is nestled on a quiet street - and it's always hard to imagine the brewing storm that is Aunt Catherine whenever he's ensconced in this side of town.
Still feeling the plane ride in his bones, he strays towards the queen bed, stretching out his limbs in the process. There are days when he's viciously irritated that airlines don't even bother offering business class for this route, because God knows he would be willing to pay every penny of the price difference. There are also days when he's just thankful two airlines have decided to offer this route at all.
Who knows how long he would actually keep his promise to his mother if he has to bloody drive from the bustling East Coast to the middle of nowhere?
He groans when his back hits the mattress, and he almost contemplates taking a power nap in his suit. As usual, he had to fight TSA security way too early this morning, just to catch his flight and arrive a day early for a meeting he doesn't even really care to attend.
'VP of Operations, DBC' always looks impressive on his card. His mother's family did manage to build a globally-acclaimed fabric empire out of nothing. And even his own father, for all his wealth and holdings in England, for all his charity and generosity this side of the pond, never earned the same name-recognition that his brother-in-law had. George Darcy passed on plenty of intellectual property and assets to his children - but nearly all of Darcy's liquid assets were from his mother.
And it is an eternally sad fact that Aunt Catherine never forgets.
A loud thud echoes from the middle of the bed when Darcy tosses his arm out a little too violently. The place isn't particularly big enough for him, but there's a subtle romance to the quaintness of it all.
He chuckles hollowly. Short, cramped flights came hand in hand with zero entertainment options - so he's polished his fiction-reading habits increasingly over the years. One can't really hunch over a laptop on a tiny cabin tray when his own knees can barely fold up enough to squeeze him into the pod-like space.
So here he is - the great and lonesome William Darcy - lying down on a snug queen bed feeling every bit the tragic heroine trapped in an unwilling life while his friends and family pass him by.
This little space, that he books in advance every time, where he chooses to stay with his own hard-earned money - is one of the very few pieces of life he gets to control.
And, more than once, it's one of the last footholds left holding him back from quitting his job, fleeing this country, and starting over as the eccentric mad scientist he knows his father, in one way or another, always was.
Outside the house, the sound of a car pulling in signals that he's spent way too much time moping already. Billy Collins, for all his silly adoration, is a diligent salesman - who used up all his apparent life wisdom in marrying a prudent wife.
Darcy almost laughs again at his own stray thoughts - and rolls himself up to unpack.
A/N: Buckle up, folks, because this is one of my longer ones. I don't have a great track record for modern AUs (they just always seem to be less popular than any Regency ones I attempt), but I'm really, really hoping this one will prove enjoyable for everyone!