"Oh, there's just one problem," Says Lizzie, struck suddenly by the strangeness of the situation. "I don't have a costume for Fitz."
"Oh, it's not a problem." Darcy says with a look of complete satisfaction on his face. If he were a cat, Lizzie imagined there would be cream on his whiskers.
"It's not?" She asks, doubtfully.
She isn't exactly convinced that Darcy's hair is capable of reaching the epic proportions produced by Fitz- though she has seen it messy now from the salty San Francisco breeze, that was more sexy bed-head than wild afro.
She doesn't realize that her own mind used the word "sexy" do define a physical aspect of William Darcy until he's already speaking again, and she tries to refocus.
"The production facility on the third floor has a wardrobe department." Darcy says coolly.
Lizzie makes an impressed face that she realizes too late probably looks a lot like the face that Jane makes when she does her Darcy impression. She makes a mental note to cut it out later in the editing process.
"Lead the way." She says.
They stand and there's an awkward moment where neither of them knows which way to move. Weeks ago this is just the sort of thing that would have made her roll her eyes and brush angrily past him, but things have changed. She knows him better now.
He moves aside to make way for her to pass first as she knew he would, Gentleman-like. She smiles at the floor and, of course, rolls her eyes anyway. He's so old fashioned, it's hard not to laugh sometimes. She makes sure to shut the camera off before making her way to the door. Darcy waits there, that newfound smirk on his face as he opens the door for her and bows in an almost self-mocking kind of way. "M'lady."
"Sir." She responds with a short curtsey.
Once out of the door, they walk nearly side by side, Darcy slightly in the lead, as he knows where they are going and she does not.
"I'm glad your sister made us talk." She says before the thought she's chasing can escape her. She knows it sounds stupid the second it leaves her mouth, but there's no shoving it back in now and it's something that she's been wanting to say, though not necessarily in front of the camera.
Darcy looks back at her in surprise. They've reached the elevator and he slowly presses the down button. "What makes you say that?" He asks, clasping his hands in front of him the way that he seems to do when he has nothing else to do with them.
Lizzie shrugs as the double doors open and they step inside. "I'm glad because I think I understand you a little better now. Your humor." She grins a little at him. "I honestly didn't think you had any."
He smiles back at her, but it's a strained smile. He remembers, she can tell, all too well the time when she thought he was humorless and heartless. Something pulls at her stomach. Probably guilt, or the downward motion of the elevator. Either or. She swallows.
"But you do." She says nervously. Why is she nervous? "You're smart, and your sense of humor is smart. It's the kind of humor that comes from keen observation of the world around you instead of a quick survey of the room to tell what kind of joke will make everyone laugh. I like it."
His smile softens and he pulls his chin in towards his neck.
Like a turtle, she thinks, and smiles back at him.
The elevator dings and they step out onto a floor busier than any of the other floors Lizzie has seen at PemberlEy. There are people everywhere, and everyone looks far too preoccupied with their own business to even notice that their CEO has arrived.
"Quickly," Darcy says, ducking down and reaching blindly for her hand. The touch of skin is like an electric shock and for a second she's afraid that he can feel her heartbeat quicken through her hand. But there isn't much time to think about that as Darcy leads her along, both of them hunched over as they half-run from hiding spot to hiding spot on their way down a back hall that is only slightly less crowded than the rest of the floor.
"Why are we being sneaky?" she whispers during a pause in their mad dash, crouching behind a particularly large potted plant.
Darcy's face is close to hers, and in his brilliant blue eyes is a mischievousness that she has never seen before. There are so many things that she's never noticed about him, and suddenly she just wants to take a close up video of his face to see all the things she never took the time to see before. Like his eyebrows. God, does he tweeze or do they just look that flawless naturally?
"Because it's fun." Darcy says in response to a question Lizzie forgot that she'd even asked. "And because they still treat me as though I'm the nine year old boy who used to sneak down here to play with the costumes at the behest of my trouble-making best friend."
Lizzie looks at him and a million things rush to her mind; I'm sorry that I ever thought George Wickham was a better man than you, and I wish that I'd seen him for the liar he was, and I think I love you more than I ever liked George.
But then they're off again.
It's one more mad dash, and then Darcy pulls out what must be a master key and opens a door labeled "Costume Shop", letting go of her hand to do so. It feels emptier now, and it tingles. She shakes it a little.
The door opens and they rush in, closing the door behind them and leaning against the wall, shoulder to shoulder.
"Well," Lizzie says, "It was fun, I'll give you that."
She turns to her right and finds the light switch, flicking it on and within seconds rows of electric lights come on to illuminate shelves and shelves of wigs, and an incredible array of clothing racks.
"Oh my god." Lizzie says, pressing her still tingling hand to her heart.
Darcy nods, rubbing his own hands together. "It's quite impressive."
Speechless, Lizzie steps forward and begins perusing the racks. Things begin to jump out at her- a hat that she could see belonging to her mother, a jacket that looks like one her father owns, and a horrid pantsuit that reminds her shockingly of Miss Catherine De Bourgh. She barks out a laugh and holds the suit up, imagining being able to do real justice to the awful woman.
"Eugh."
She looks to Darcy, who from across the rack is eyeing the pantsuit with what Lizzie can only guess is disgusted amusement.
"A, ah, donation item. Given to the department most generously by my own aunt- after I accidently ruined it." He gestures to a cluster of clumsy blue flowers drawn near the bottom button of the blazer. "I tried to cover it. Sadly, the ink was more permanent than the grape juice I had originally spilled on it."
Lizzie grins, imagining a little Darcy, doodling flowers over what was probably the only mistake he'd ever made in his young life, trying to make it into something pretty- only to make an even bigger mess.
"Honestly I think it's the only tasteful part of the thing. Mmmm don't you think, Annie Kins?" Lizzie says in her best impression of the lady Catherine as she hangs the suit back up.
Darcy laughs. She's come to find that the loves making Darcy laugh, and that hearing his laugh causes an uncontrollable smile to worm its way across her face.
They keep searching, both holding up item after item for approval, but more often than not simply for amusement. Lizzie finds a beautiful, delicate bracelet that matches so well with the necklace she gave to Lydia for her birthday, and for a second she condiers pocketing it and bringing it home with to her sister as an apology gift. But when she looks up Darcy is watching her and she puts it back gently, and keeps looking for something that reminds her of Fitz.
It isn't until they reach the wigs that Lizzie finds what they really need- a big, fuzzy black afro.
"Perfect." She says.
"You think? I think it looks pretty smooth myself."
Lizzie turns around to find Darcy making that one-eyebrow-raised face at her and wearing- God help him- a little black mustache.
She can't breathe. She's laughing too hard. And Darcy is just giving her that look and oh, she can't. She can't cope with it it's just too funny. She leans against the wall and stares at him, tears welling in her eyes.
"What are you doing?" She finally manages to say, her hand covering her mouth as though that will stop the flow of giggles.
"I'm a grown-up. This was the mustache I used to wear when I was a kid and I wanted people to take me seriously."
"Oh my God." The giggles are back in full force. Finally, she manages to sputter, "You look like a smarmy sex therapist."
Her giggle fit seems to amuse Darcy almost to the point that he breaks character- but he doesn't. He maintains composure but for a shadow of a smirk as he stares her down. It honestly only makes it funnier.
It's two minutes before Lizzie can catch her breath again.
She pushes herself off the wall and comes to stand close to Darcy. Too close. She can see the smirk disappear behind a curtain of utter terror and it helps to keep her from laughing again.
"I'm really, really glad that I got to know you, Darcy." She says, inching ever closer.
He gulps, and she can almost see beads of sweat growing on his forehead. She tries what she hopes is a sweet, seductive smile and her hand comes slowly up to rest on his cheek. In a split second Darcy understands, but doesn't have time to prepare. He starts to take a deep breath and-
RRRIIIIP! Off comes the 'stache.
"Aghhh," He groans, touching his lip gingerly and glaring at Lizzie with an endearing combination of hurt and amusement.
She steps close to him again and he flinches back.
"Oh, don't be a baby." She says, rolling her eyes.
"What are you going to do?" He asks suspiciously, watching her like she might jump forward at any moment to hurt him again.
And for some reason that makes her feel like crap. Hasn't she hurt William Darcy enough already?
"I'm going to make it better." She says matter-of-factly, and she leans forward and plants a light kiss on his lips.
Nothing sexy, nothing heavy. Just, sweet. Something nice. Something nice to make up for all of the crap that she has put him through since the moment that they met.
When she pulls away Darcy's eyes are still on her- they probably never closed. He looks utterly shocked.
"Come on. Let's go see your impression of Fitz. After all this trouble, I hope you've really got your Fitz act together."
"Darcy smiles at her and takes the wig out of her hands, pulling it over his head. "Oh, you have no idea, Miss Bennet."
They leave the costume shop arm in arm, Darcy in his afro and Lizzie in the most dashing mustache. No one stops them on their way back up to Darcy's office. Perhaps no one recognized them behind their disguises, or perhaps the pair were simply too busy laughing at one another to notice anyone else.
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