A one-shot of what Darcy was thinking before going up to Lizzie in the Collins and Collins offices. So set in episode 60.
I couldn't resist. I don't know why I'm writing another Darcy-centered fic, but I find him really interesting to write through. I started writing this to fill the gap between yesterday's cliff hanger and [SPOILERY ALERT] the importance of what we will witness tomorrow! It's nothing too interesting or important, just a bit of fun since Darcy is a calculating and careful person, and what he is about to do is probably the most rash thing he has ever done in his life. I hope you enjoy it. I didn't have time to revise, so I apologize for any errors, and I hope it gets you through a few more minutes of the arduous wait ;)
I don't own The Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Pride and Prejudice, Lizzie herself, Darcy, or even Collins' and Charlotte's amazing costumes.
Darcy ran his fingers nervously down the length of the suspenders he was wearing. His fingers even shook. He laughed at his own nervousness. Even that came out wobbly and jumpy, just as he was, starting every time someone walked into the restaurant. Then turning back in disappointment when it wasn't her. He wiped his sweaty palms along the sides of his pants. It was ridiculous to be this stirred up. He ignored an employee of his aunt's who was trying to catch his eye, make conversation, and slunk further into the corner he was using for protection for socializing. But this was how it was now, and he was reaching the end of his calm, the point when he would burst. His reactions were exaggerated, ridiculously concentrated in this moment, intensely depending on it, just like any other time he had had to wait to see her the past few weeks.
He had thought it difficult enough, but it had been a lot easier when he was at Bing's in the summer. He wasn't as free to see her as he was now. He couldn't come up with an excuse to go to her house like he could convince himself now that he was visiting the office to get a few more papers, or check up on things – like he had all those times. And the surprise to see her that first time and in a different context, through the eyes of others as well – his aunt's scrutiny and Fitz's immediate adoration (and he would have been jealous if it was anyone else). Her beauty, her color, her general perfection just shone more clearly now somehow. Perhaps it was the plainness of the setting, the white, controlled office. Or his boredom.
He knew it was his own feelings.
Plus he was just an idiot. Especially since he knew it, and yet still stood in this dingy, third-rate restaurant at a party he would have otherwise not be caught dead in, choking on his own breath like a lovesick child.
Where was Fitz when he needed him? He had, as usual, knowing Darcy better than anyone, guessed the nature of his feelings for Lizzie. Darcy shuddered at the thought. Feelings. And he had also promised to come to this party (whatever it was) for… moral support, let's call it. But, as usual, he was late. And Darcy had never felt more uncomfortable or nervous, alone at a party where he knew no more than three or four people (none of whom had arrived), especially with one of them being Lizzie.
He glanced at his watch and sighed. He might have arrived a tad early, owing it to not bothering with a costume, of course (it was enough to dress up every day without having to worry about other people's opinions). But he was getting tired of pretending to enjoy the company of anyone stupid enough to approach him, to have to guess what their costumes are, and try to tell them as subtly as possible to bugger off. Was he irritated? He was irritated. Well, he had a right to be.
It was just… Lizzie. Lizzie Lizzie Lizzie. She was too much, and maybe, he knew this honestly, not enough. He couldn't see her enough, and then that was too much because, really, his adoration was getting ridiculous. And he couldn't talk to her enough without chastising himself for not trying to get over her. Get over her, he told himself, just as his heart leaped to his throat when he saw Mr. Collins and Charlotte Lu in some ridiculously bulky ensemble costume walk through the door. He was smiling now. Teeth and all.
Subtly, but not caring anymore, he rose higher on his tiptoes, trying to see behind them. He moved forward, bumping a few people out of the way, not thinking to apologize. Where was she? Collins and Charlotte Lu were halfway across the room. Where was she? Had she left? Was she even here? When was she leaving? He was sure it wasn't for a few weeks, at least. Yes, of course, he was sure. He had committed the date to memory. He stole one more glance at the door, gave up hope, took a deep breath, and another, trying Caroline's suggested deep breathing because, and it was worth it, he approached Collins.
"Mr. Collins." He had to be extra nice; this was the man who possessed information.
Mr. Collins jumped and skittered around to face him, his face shadowed by the large… was that a mustard bottle cap? But his jittery excitement was evident.
"Mr. Darcy!" he squealed in that irritating voice that always seemed to rise higher and higher in any conversation. "What a pleasure to see you here! Oh, very witty, sir! To come as yourself! No better costume than the great—"
Darcy cut him off, grimacing and hoping it would pass as a smile. He couldn't think of anything to say, something to make his question sound natural. Oh, well…. "So, where is Lizzie… Bennet, that is?"
Mr. Collins' chipmunk features contorted with pain and disgrace. "Oh, I'm afraid Ms. Bennet is quite ill. Headache, perhaps, or nausea. Diarrhea perhaps?" He made to turn to Charlotte Lu for clarification.
"Mr. Collins," said Darcy. "Thank you, that's enough… information. Uh, thank you."
Without thinking. Without considering the awkwardness. Without preparing something to say. Darcy was out the door and across the street before Collins could compliment him on the outstanding color of his costume.