Between the words
Summary: Darcy knew, without a doubt, that dangling a check in front of the man would be all that it took to get him out of Gigi's condo and out of her life forever. Only now does he wonder at what cost. One-shot set somewhere around episodes 88-89.
Pairing: Lizzie/Darcy
A/N: Special thanks to mrspollifax for her beta work
In the last 24 hours Darcy has raced across the country in planes, cars, and whatever else he can get his hands on that moves. If he keeps moving then at least he won't go crazy. He won't keep playing her words – Lizzie's or Gigi's – over and over in his head. They're both blaming themselves for this current predicament, and maybe others are too, but only Darcy knows the truth. He was the one that saw through George Wickham way back when, long before the jackass began dabbling in the business of playing with women's hearts. Darcy knew, without a doubt, that dangling a check in front of the man would be all that it took to get him out of Gigi's condo and out of her life forever.
Only now does he wonder at what cost. Darcy foolishly thought that throwing money at a problem would make it go away. And it did, at least for a time, but his father had taught him better than that, he should have known. Truth was, this was all Darcy's fault.
So Darcy's racing across states with Fitz at his side, ignoring responsibilities like running his father's company, which isn't like him at all, and they check themselves into a small motel on the outskirts of a town that doesn't even appear on a map. But neither of them cares because it's close to a location that blipped on a stream of internal data fed to Darcy from the Domino app. This grungy hotel has the only features that matter right now, rooms available plus Wi-Fi. They set up computers and work the rest of the day and long into the night chasing the Internet version of breadcrumbs through a forest path dirty with pine needles covering every trace. It's close to four in the morning when Fitz suggests they get a couple hours sleep. They have a lead on Wickham's location and they think they have a way to block the sex tape site. It's not everything yet, but there's nothing more they can do until it's light outside.
Darcy lies down on top of the comforter. He's wearing only his boxers. In the hotel room next door, with the connecting door cracked open slightly, he can hear Fitz quietly speaking on the phone. There's only one person he would be talking to at this hour; he's saying goodnight to Brandon.
Darcy tries not to feel the tug of jealousy. Really. He's happy for his friend who has long deserved finding the love of his life. If only Darcy could call and say goodnight to someone special of his own, speak sweet soft words in the ear of…
It doesn't matter now. Even if they solve this, even if the nightmare ends, Lizzie knows the full story. If only Darcy had done more before, the first time, then maybe this wouldn't be happening to her own family now, and she must detest that fact. He just waved a check. He passed the problem off to somebody else. He kept secrets from the world at large. Maybe Lizzie's version of him on her videos hasn't been that far off all along? Stubborn, narrow-minded, believing he is better than others.
Darcy's heart wants to scream back in protest. But it seemed like things were changing! She chose to spend time in his presence, willingly. He was learning the ways to make her smile, and even laugh. Not at him — well, OK, maybe sort of at him. But mostly it was with him, and it was a joyous sound.
He just really, really wants to talk to her.
Darcy gets out of bed as soon as Fitz hangs up and the faint glow of the bedside lamp in the other room switches out. Darcy grabs his cell phone and makes his way in the shadows to the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and takes a breath. He does the math, and where Lizzie is it's morning. It's early but he doesn't care right now.
It rings three times.
"Darcy?"
Her voice has a quality he's never heard before, and he realizes this must be how she sounds when she first wakes up. That knowledge shoots something hot and electric down to his groin.
Darcy closes his eyes. "Yes, sorry if I woke you." He's not, because he has this now, this sacred knowledge of one piece of the puzzle that is Lizzie in her bed, just opening her eyes to the morning. He's trying not to imagine himself there as well, stretched alongside her, his hand skimming up the inside of her thigh, or maybe under the silky top she has on, while placing a kiss on her neck just under her earlobe. He wants to know what her skin tastes like right there.
She stumbles. "What are you— I mean, is everything OK? Is Gigi OK?"
"Yes, fine." But he has no idea what else to say now that he's actually got her on the phone. He wants to tell her that the theater tickets are still in his wallet; even though they are useless now he can't seem to throw them in the trash. He wants to say he's sorry and beg forgiveness and tell her that if he could go back he'd do it all so differently. Or maybe exactly the same? If it meant meeting her and being close even for a brief time in his life. He's no good at declarations. She knows probably better than anyone how badly he can screw up, especially when it means something.
He wants to tell her that they will find Wickham and they will make this right. But he can't, he doesn't want Lizzie beholden to him. Doesn't want her feelings to be manufactured out of some kind of gratitude for something that he should have handled long before now, the right way the first time. No, he can't make her promises, can't let her know the lengths that he would go. She's best never realizing his role.
"Darcy?" She fully awake now, he can tell. Probably sitting up in bed, letting the sheet fall to her waist, waiting for him to say something, and the longer the pause the more her heart races. Panic, fear, pain, she's had enough of it already. He just wishes that once it all goes away he could be the man next to her, pulling her back down in bed and shushing her. Everything is fine, sleep a little longer, I'm here.
He clears his throat. "I just wanted to say… I hope, that is, I wish… I'm hopeful that things turn out OK for you and your sister in the end. Somehow. I know how hard this must be and I just wanted to…"
Tell you that I'm still in love with you, he chokes back.
"Thank you." She's sincere, the anxiety about even more potential bad news now leaching out of her tone. "That's very nice of you," she says. Maybe she doesn't hate him. Maybe that's too strong a word. But despite the fact that she hasn't yet hung up on him, he's still sure that his chance with her is over.
He sinks to the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and lets his legs stretch out across them. They steal the warmth from his body that Lizzie's voice has been building. His legs are tired, as if all this searching has been literal and he's run a marathon three times over. They're tired, and they don't want to keep moving; they want to stay for a while, right here. Just rest, with her.
If only.
"That's all I really wanted to say." It's not, but he figures it's all he can offer.
"I appreciate it." She takes a breath, there's more she wants to say, but she pauses. "And if you…" Another pause, then, "If you want to call again, maybe next week… That would be nice."
Suddenly he's not so tired anymore.
"I will." He clutches the phone tighter to his cheek. "I'd like that."
"Me too."
Before he figures out how to respond, there's a scuffle of distant noise from her end of the line, Darcy pieces together that someone has come into Lizzie's room to talk to her. She covers the phone to respond to that person – more than likely one of her sisters – and then she's back saying that she has to hang up now. He doesn't have to guess what it must be like these days for her and her family; he still remembers the twisting sick feeling in his gut upon finding Gigi in bed with Wickham. And this is so much worse.
"Of course, no problem." He lets her go, and it feels like the hardest thing that he's ever had to do. Considering the things he's had to overcome, to sacrifice, to step into years before he was ready, that's saying a lot. But that's how deeply this woman has affected him for almost a year now.
Darcy just sits there for a moment in the dark bathroom in a shoddy motel in the middle of nowhere, and he breathes. She wants him to call.
It's a second wind, a chance. He's up and moving again. And as long as he keeps moving, then maybe he can outrun all of this, maybe he can head toward something, someone, instead of aimless wandering alone. He's moving, and it finally feels like he's getting somewhere.