Summary: All Lizzie wants is yogurt, a road trip, and a little sunshine to wash her troubles away. But when she gets in the convertible with Jane and two random strangers, the stress increases tenfold. And between thunderstorms and Will Darcy, no one can see the sun.

Disclaimer: Mr. Darcy may live in my head, but he was not born there. (Don't think about that too long or it becomes slightly perverted.) He and the entire cast of Pride and Prejudice belong entirely to Jane Austen. Nor do I own the company Yoplait Light. I do, however, own a rusty spork. I am slightly proud of this fact.

You Aren't My Sunshine

Chapter One

Break Out the Rusty Sporks, I've Got a Plan

"Listen. If you make me pay interest on this total crap late fee, I will take a rusty spork and use it to cut off your –"

"Bethie!" I turn around, covering the mouthpiece with my hand. I blow my bangs out of my eyes and reach for the yogurt that's balancing on the back of the sofa. "What are you doing?"

I roll my eyes. "Just settling a few money matters, dearie" I say, "no worries." Jane, my roommate, gives me a look and puts her hands on her hips. "Now go back outside" I continue, plastic spoon scraping the bottom of the yogurt container. "We need more Yoplait Light."

I have decided to go on a diet consisting entirely of Yoplait Light. I mean, the advertisements say that it's good for you ...

"Liz ..."

"Shut up!" I say, turning back around, "I'm on the phone!"I return to my conversation with the oh-so-friendly 'Charlie from PR.' "But the thing is, it wasn't late." I sift through the multiple bills spilling off of our coffee table, "we sent you guys the money, it was just the goddamn postal service ..."

"It doesn't matter when they came in, Miss Bennet, but the date on your return—"

"You are violating my rights as an American citizen! Do you need me to review the sixth amendment for you?"

"The right to a speedy and public trial?"

Come on.

No one ever calls me on that.

"Shut up."

"Additionally, Miss Bennet, about the interest on this fee ..."

"Oh my God," I cling the receiver and start to get up, heading for the window. "Listen, Charlie-from-PR, it's been really great talking to you, but I'm going to have to call you back. I think my wife is about to have a baby."

And with that, I hang up the phone. I then walk over to our bookshelf, push it slightly out of the way, and yank the cord out of the wall.

"Jane," I say, turning around and doing my best to sound like what Christopher Columbus probably sounded like. Except not Spanish. Which probably means I sound completely different. But whatever. "I say it's about time we get out of here."

She just stares at me. And, ever-so-slowly, her hands reach up and she starts tugging on a piece of her hair, a nervous habit she's had since I met her when we were freshman at Colgate. The girl's a nervous wreck. Really, she is. She just doesn't like to show it.

She therefore contents herself with ripping out half the hair on her pretty-little head.

"What do you mean, get out of here?"

"Jane," I say, taking in her slim frame and pretty face, lightly scattered with freckles, "there aren't many definitions to choose from."

She bites her lip.

"Come on," I get up, loosening the string on my sweatpants, figuring I should change out of my pajamas and shower sometime before 7:00 pm. Running my fingers through my hair I open the fridge, fishing around for another yogurt.

Damn it, the stuff is addicting.

"Stop being such a wimp," I continue, "three months is all I ask. Hm? Maybe a little less. We'll buy a cheap baby blue convertible, we'll go to baseball games, meet some guys ..."

Jane seems to pale at the idea of my last suggestion.

"That Collins dipwad isn't still following you, is he?" Jane looks down and scuffs her feet together. "Jane! What the hell! Call the police!"

"I just ... you know. I don't want to cause any trouble ..."

"He's a creep," I say, pulling on a pair of mismatched socks I found next to the fridge, "and if you don't call the police, I will. Say he's been stalking me, or something. Wouldn't be that hard to believe, actually, we did date that one time ..."

"You threw a Boston Cream Pie at him."

"Yeah, well, he was an ass." Jane looks down again, continuing to pull on her hair. "Come on," I say, "this is just the escape you need, and you know it."

She looks at me for a long moment.

"Fine." Just as I'm about to jump up and whoop in joy, she hold up her hand. "On one condition." I wait patiently. "I've met a guy."

–xxx–

"Mr. Darcy?"

I glance up.

"What is it?"

"The new poll results are in." The new secretary – Megan, or Morgan, or something – walks in, her hands shaking. She tries to hide it as she places the sheets of paper my desk, but it's hopeless. If she doesn't calm down by next week, she's fired. God, isn't there anyone as good as Amy in the world? Why do women have to go off and get pregnant all the time?

I pick up the papers, and she hovers in front of my desk a moment. I glance at her again, and she bites her lip.

"You can go now."

"Right," she says, stumbling over the word in her rush to say it, "right. I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Darcy."

"Yes, I know," I say, and she turns and rushes from the room.

Shoving the poll results aside, I glance over the numbers for the quarter and suppress a groan. We were down. Again. No one down in marketing is doing their fucking jobs right. I pick up the phone and dial seven. Stacy picks up almost immediately.

"Yes sir?"

"Tell the goons that work for you that if they don't get their asses in gear, the company is going under, and their jobs are going to be the ones I'm cutting first."

"Is that true, sir?"

"Does it matter?" I shake my head and rub my temple. "Just get them working on some promotion, all right? No one's spending anything. We're not going to make a profit unless we work at it." I hang up the phone and groan, putting my hands on my head as I spin my chair around and look out though the long windows that line my wall. The city stretches out in front of me, screaming.

I turn back to my desk. Things were too damn busy and complicated. "I need a vacation."

–xxx–

So. Jane had met a guy.

Of course she had.

Not that I minded. As long as it got her away from the city, away from her worries, and away from Collins-The-Boston-Cream-Pie-Sketch-Ball, I was happy. I could deal with guys. For the most part, they were fun creatures to be around if you avoided sex. And since he was Jane's date, that would probably be easy enough.

So I said yes. It was an easy enough term to comply with, and knowing Jane, he'd be a good guy to have around. Being stunningly beautiful and everything gave her a lot of choices, and she usually ended up choosing pretty good ones. Minus Collins. Don't really know what happened with him.

He's not even good looking.

In fact, I was so concerned about her and happy that she had agreed to come that I even agreed to the term of letting Jane's date bring a friend along. He had apparently begged about how his friend was in a horrible need of a vacation and that things in his life had been so busy and complicated and stressful he could hardly handle them.

Knowing Jane, this Charles guy probably said something in passing along the lines of "Would it be all right if I brought along a friend? He needs a vacation." Jane's just too nice for her own good. Really, she is. But I love her. She doesn't mind if I leave my dirty socks all over our apartment, so life is good.

We walk down the street towards the used car lot that's just around the corner from our apartment. We're meeting Charles and his friend there today so we can pick out a car for the trip. I had already been down there earlier today, and had one in mind. A crappy powder-blue convertible that looks like it's from 1802.

It will be perfect.

Two men are waiting in the lot for us. One is a redhead in jeans and a polo who waves jauntily at us. The other is standing a little off to the side, wearing a suit and muttering away into a crackberry.

Blackberries are ridiculous inventions that are addictive and expensive and have no use in the universe. Thus, the nickname. Get yourself a regular cell phone. That way you save yourself money and a lot of useless conversations.

And what's the man doing in a full suit? It's 72 degrees out.

Dumbass.

Jane bounds up next to the redhead in the polo and gestures to him like she's the woman on The Price is Right. "This is Charles," Jane says, and the man holds out his hand.

"Hi," he says, "call me Charlie."

I freeze. A piece of hair falls out of my ponytail, and I stare at him. I know that voice.

"Is everything all right?"

I point my finger accusingly. Some people would call me melodramatic. But this is dreadfully important. Really, it is. "YOU!"

Jane looks at me, wide-eyed, and Dumbass-In-A-Suit glaces disapprovingly over his shoulder. Charlie seems equally confused, the little prick, but it's slowly starting to dawn on him.

"What?" Jane asks.

"Your new boyfriend is the prick from PR!"

A/N: Oh, the drama of the last sentence. *dun dun dun* (not) Well. Isn't it a beautiful day. I've kind of been gone from the fanfiction circuit for, um, years, but I must say I've gotten better at writing during my hiatus, if that's any consolation. I've also become a tad bit obsessed with Pride and Prejudice and Emma and Persuasion and Jane Austen in general during the break, and after being religiously in love with Darcy and Colin Firth and all sorts of things, I decided 'hey, why not give a fanfic a shot?'

So here I am. I hope it's not so dreadfully horrible that it moves you to tears. But if it does, feel free to tell me. If it doesn't, feel free to tell me. In a really sexy awesome bitchin' REVIEW.