Summary: Modern AU. I'm Mary Bennet, rational and methodical. I left the melodrama to my family...until I got involved in theater, tabloid scandals, corporate espionage and worse, sentimental nonsense. I blame Georgiana Darcy.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Jane Austen.

Author's Note: I wanted to try my hand at a modern AU, to take a break from TODQ.

Warning: it's a bit cracky, the timeline is post P&P events, and it is told from the point of view of a modern Mary Bennet. Also, as usual, crossover with characters from other Austen novels, because I just can't help myself.

I am aware that this modern version of Mary might be hard to like but I have fun writing her and I hope that with time she'll become a more layered and sympathetic character. Also, a very wise woman wrote "Pictures of perfection, as you know, make me sick and wicked."

I can't pinpoint the moment my life went south. My quiet, studious, right-on-track life.

I never had much taste for melodrama; I leave it to my mother and my two younger sisters, Kitty and Lydia.

Besides, last year has provided more emotional upheavals for the whole family than I care to remember. I shall give you the Cliff's notes version:

-regarding Jane, my eldest sister: obvious heartbreak, then tentative reconnection with the equally obviously enamored heartbreaker, and subsequent engagement to the surprise of no one (although I never understood why love-struck Charles Bingley did break her heart in the first place)

-fugue of Lydia, my youngest sister: while it did come as a shock to some people, I had expected her to elope to Vegas and get married by an Elvis impersonator ever since she turned sixteen. Thankfully, none of this happened (that we know of, and I hope we shall remain in blissful ignorance) and Lydia was returned to our care by the industrious Mr. Darcy. How and why the CEO of Pemberley, Inc. took time from his busy schedule to track down this runaway, well, I have an inkling this may be related to the following point:

-Lizzy, elder sister, now dating said William Darcy. Again, many people expressed their shock at the news, but I had suspected both sides were interested in each other long ago. Case in point: all their interactions ending up in Lizzy arguing something while Darcy looked either petrified or fascinated, not unlike a cobra's prey. Also, Lizzy is a lawyer. She voluntarily argues for a living. She loves arguing. If she finds your wit or intellect lacking, she'll drop the activity in a flash. So why did she argue so much with a man she claimed to dislike? It always looked like some twisted, extended Lizzy-wooing to me.

Kitty (fourth sister in the Bennet family line of succession) and I escaped relatively drama-free, to her despair and to my pleasure. One advantage to being on the sidelines is that you keep your sanity intact and your life well-regulated. When I offered this consolation to Kitty, however, she was quick to point out the downsides, which are that you get ignored by everyone and that you might get as dull as your life. I ignored her pointed look at me. I was always mature for my age and at twenty-two, I was quite satisfied with the direction my life was taking. Working on my thesis, sharing knowledge with literature students as part of my job as a teaching assistant: this was what I had always been dreaming of. Kitty, who was only two years younger yet so far behind me, with no plans, no ambitions, nothing to distinguish herself from the rest of her sisters, could not understand how content I was. She wanted to be pretty, popular, a leader rather than a follower. She would not take any advice from me, the dullard bookworm. It did not hurt me. While I thought her pursuits frivolous, they were her best shots at gaining the attention she craved for; unlike me, she did not have the energy or the disposition to skip a few grades and flourish in academia.

Then, as par for the course, Professor Gardiner had to pull out the rug from under my feet.

It was like high school all over again. It was like primary school all over again.

Who was I kidding? It was like life all over again.

I thought that we were all past this. At this stage, actual competence ought to prevail, not some kind of popularity contest!

"You have excellent research skills, Mary, but you are not a good teacher. The feedbacks from the students are quite clear on this point."

"I do not understand."

Truly, I did not. I did my best to share the maximum of information with them, to impart knowledge to the best of my abilities.

"I follow the syllabus and do my best to complete it. I answer the questions, I have no speech impediment, and I enjoy teaching to a captive audience."

A beat. Professor Gardiner frowned.

"A captivated audience," I amended.

"This is the issue, Mary," she said. She pushed her black-rimmed glasses down her nose and sighed. "I do not doubt that you can direct the students to the most obscure yet extensive bibliography they could find on the subject. I know that you check and double-check every little nugget of information that you give them. But teaching must be more interactive. You can't just drone on, expecting them to jot down notes."

Well, that smarted. Especially, the "drone on" part. Lydia used to compare me to a robot- not that I cared. It was in college that a course on communication made me "get" what others saw when they saw me. Our teacher had filmed us making a presentation to the rest of the class. It all went well, until I watched the video.

The monotonous voice, with no inflexion; the rigid, still body with hands gesturing briefly to punctuate a statement; the overly formal, distant speaker: this was me. After this, I practiced my speech patterns a lot; I reminded myself that I was speaking, not writing a dissertation; I favored informal speech over convoluted reasoning…

But I could not erase completely who I was. I could not mimic the easy ways, the laugh-out-loud jokes of the more popular teachers. This was not me, and the rare times I attempted it, I was left feeling foolish, obviously fake, with my jokes crashing and burning a fiery death.

"You must engage them, stimulate their interest. Mr. Benwick, the T.A. in Poetry, got glowing reviews."

Benwick? Jim Benwick? Please! The man looked like a melancholic scarecrow and emoted all over the place. It was unseemly.

"Miss Dashwood, too, is very much appreciated."

Marianne Dashwood, who took nineteenth century romanticism to new extremes. Who chained herself to a tree she thought was going to be cut. Who received sympathy from every corner after a disastrous break-up (People had overreacted. They had brought her cups of tea and boxes of chocolate while she sat in the break room, using up all the tissues in the world. I am not a monster; I understood that the undeserving of the other sex could break a woman's heart thoroughly, but after two months of this daily show, I wanted someone to tell her to snap out of it and focus on her thesis. Also, for the record, while she swore up and down that she would focus on her thesis only from this day on, she now spent her time in frequent confabs with Professor Brandon, who did not study the same field as her. At all.)

In the interest of full disclosure, I must add that overhearing her calling me "conventional, cold, stuck-up and pedantic" did not endear her to me. Although I like to believe that I am above such petty grudges and can judge her in all impartiality.

"Leave your books and your research for a while."

This threw me for a loop.

She was not in Professor Gardiner-mode anymore. She was now Aunt Jen, one of my father's oldest friend, his eldest daughter's godmother and a confidante of Jane and Lizzy.

"I worry about you, Mary. Always so closed-off. Even as a kid, you would play your piano or read thick books instead of playing with others. Now, I feel that you see the academic world as a refuge You can't go on like this. It's not healthy. It impacts you." She smiled a little. "Venture into the world. Learn from others. It will make you happier, and your work, richer."

"I am perfectly happy!" I protested. "I like the company of a good book; it's not a crime! I can't help it if most people are illogical and exhausting!"

I cringed at my outburst. There was nothing I hated more than losing control of my emotions. How I must appear to Aunt Jen! Childish and moody, like Kitty.

She shook her head, looking more amused than offended.

"You and your father…You are more alike than you think."

"Maybe, but you and he would rather have me be more like Lizzy, right?" I scoffed.

"Mary," Aunt Jen began.

I did not let her finish whatever conciliatory lies she would have offered. I was not wholly unobservant. The unspoken "why can't you be more like Jane and Lizzy?" hung in the air.

"I'll keep on working on my thesis and I'll find another job in the meantime. Good bye, Professor Gardiner." I said.

I would temporarily leave the safety of the college, prove Aunt Jen that I could venture into the world, and when I finish my thesis, she'll be begging me to come back.

Dashwood and Benwick may be popular, but when the collective average GPA drops, the Dean will reconsider Aunt Jen's assesment.

I hope.

In the midst of my applications, I had to take a break to attend Jane's wedding. The venue was appropriately beautiful, the bride angelic-looking (then again, it was Jane, so no surprises on this front) and the bridegroom suitably awestruck (but when had we ever known Charles to look otherwise when Jane appeared?).

Even though I am much too rational to believe I'll ever feel a quarter of what Jane and Charles shared, I felt a fleeting emotion as they looked into each other's eyes and exchanged vows. Their sincerity, their genuine belief that their love would stand the test of time, made me almost think that it could be achieved. But mostly I wondered at their state of happiness: how could they not fear that at some point, the other shoe would drop? Being so jubilant was scary; I could not for the life of me imagine that this elation would be topped.

I was distracted from these thoughts as the wedding reception began. My mother was looking at Lizzy and Darcy with a speculative gleam in her eyes. It was not difficult to imagine her keeping a tally of the daughters she had to get married and settled for life: one down, four more to go.

Lydia was several seats away from me, which made it difficult to monitor her alcohol intake; but I saw a stern-looking man in his thirties, whose straight posture screamed "military", taking the bottle from her hands and saying:

"I think you've had enough, kiddo."

Amazingly, Lydia was subdued. I remembered that he belonged to the Darcy camp; a cousin of Darcy. Something in their bloodline must make them Lydia whisperers.

After a while, I escaped from the crowded room as the dancing began. I had no intent to be humiliated by my mother's attempts to snare up young single men to dance with her remaining daughters.

I found a quiet place with a bench and a source of light good enough to read the paperback I had brought in my small purse. Soon I was engrossed in the familiar work when a young girl walked in and stopped dead in her tracks seeing me.

Well, she looked young, but she was close to Kitty's age. She had been introduced as Darcy's little sister and had barely spoken to anyone. When she had, it had been in a murmur which could not be heard above the louder voices of the other guests.

I had immediately recognized a very, very timid person. It was understandable that she would seek to flee the crowd as soon as possible.

"I'm sorry, I did not know this bench was occupied…", she stammered.

"It's alright, please seat down. You won't bother me," I assured and she complied.

"I'm Georgiana. Georgiana Darcy," she introduced herself in a rush.

"Nice to meet you. Mary Bennet," I replied.

"Nice to meet you," she echoed.

The ensuing silence was making her nervous, but I was not inclined to make chit-chat. Neither was she, if she had escaped the festivities. To make her feel at ease, I did the only thing I could think of: "I was looking for some quiet" showing her my book. "Do you want to read it?"

She peered at me uncertainly.

"It's one of my favorite."

"But…you were reading it?"

"It's alright, I always keep a spare in my purse. You never know which kind of book you'll be in the mood for reading."

I took out a detective novel. Georgiana smiled:

"In that case, thank you."

We sat in companionable silence as we read side by side. This is why I love shy people: they're as introverted as I am, don't pester me with questions or gossip, and are quite content with remaining quiet.

At last my name was called. My family was looking for me. I got up.

"I have to go. Thanks for the company, Georgiana."

"Wait! Mary! Your book?"

"You're not done with it, you can keep it," I said, pleased that Georgiana had looked quite taken up with North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell.

This was how I met Georgiana, future best friend and under her sweet countenance, harbinger of doom.

Last year, my sisters got all the drama. I wasn't aware that this year, it would be my turn.

Hope you enjoyed this short introduction! Though writing a modern AU is less stressful than writing a period piece, I'm afraid this modern version might be a little too cracky.

Anyway, as always, I'd love to have your feedback on Mary, the tone of the story, etc...Suggestions and opinions are welcome!