A/N: Hank Green and Bernie Su, the creators of "The Lizzie Bennet Diaries," own this interpretation of Georgiana Darcy and George Wickham. Paramore owns "The Only Exception." I am borrowing heavily from both works.
It was a chore to get George to come to karaoke. He always said that Gigi's was the only voice worth hearing and it would be easier to just stay in and do a private concert. But Gigi liked the stage and enjoyed seeing other people let go and enjoy themselves, and she knew what to do when George needed extra convincing, so here they were, perched on bar stools, waiting for Gigi's name to be called. A woman a little older than Gigi was singing Kelly Clarkson, and she wasn't half bad.
"See?" Gigi smirked at George. "Coming to karaoke isn't that awful."
George gave a long-suffering sigh. "We could have had a lovely night staying in, Peach. But you know I'll do anything to make you happy."
Gigi rolled her eyes. "After a bit of bribery."
George straightened as if offended, but his twinkling eyes gave him away. "I resent the slight on my scruples."
Gigi shoved George with her shoulder. "You're in a secret relationship with your ex-best friend's little sister. What am I supposed to think of your scruples? Face it, you're exactly the right amount of bad boy."
"'The right amount of bad boy.'" George stroked his chin. "I like it."
"And I like you."
Just then, the Kelly Clarkson lady finished her song and the announcer called, "Next up, we have Gigi D!" Pop music played as filler while Gigi hopped off her bar stool, winked at George, and made her way to the stage. Then she took the microphone, and the intro to Paramore's "The Only Exception" started playing instead. Gigi's right leg pulsed to the beat, keeping time almost fiercely. Gosh, she'd had this song on repeat for what seemed like ages.
She took a deep breath and sang the first line: "When I was younger, I watched my daddy cry and curse at the wind." Everybody thought of "The Only Exception" as a love song, but it wasn't, at least not in Gigi's mind. It was a song about a family. There was romance, too, but that was secondary.
The first verse was the hardest, not because of the melody but because of the family tragedy. But Gigi made it to the chorus and things got easier from there. Her favorite part was the bridge, and by that point she was pouring out her heart through her voice, leg pounding back and forth, hurling herself into the song. "I've got a tight grip on reality, but I can't give up on what's in front of me here. I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up—leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream!"
But that was the top of the song's arc; the final chorus was quiet, gentle. Gigi's built-up energy had nowhere to go, at least not as far as the song was concerned, so it came leaking out of her eyes instead. She didn't realize she was crying until her voice cracked. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified, dropped the microphone, and ran through the bar and out the door.
She was halfway down the block when George caught up with her. He had brought the sweater that she'd left on her stool inside, and now he settled it over her shoulders. "What's wrong, Peach?"
Gigi wiped at her eyes. "I think that song is a little too autobiographical."
George frowned, clearly puzzled. "Isn't that a good thing? That I'm the only exception to your moratorium on love?"
"But it's not just a love song. It's about a family, too."
"Divorce," George supplies immediately. "I don't get where you're going with this, Peach. The girl's parents got divorced and so she doesn't want to—"
"But it doesn't have to be divorced. It depends on how you interpret it. 'When I was younger, I watched my daddy cry and curse at the wind. He broke his own heart and I watched him try to reassemble it.' Dad's heart broke, George, when he knew he was dying. Not because he was going but because we were losing him.
"And then, 'My mama swore that she would never let herself forget.' You were there, George. You remember. After Dad died, Mom said that carrying on his memory was one of the most important things we could do. She meant it for herself, too."
"Okay, okay, I see what you're saying." George held up his hands in surrender. "But the girl in the song doesn't believe in love because of what happens to her parents."
"No. It depends on how you interpret the 'if' in the next line: 'That was the day when I swore I'd never sing of love if it does not exist.' That can either mean she's doubting the existence of love, or that she won't sing of love unless it exists, like, in that particular case. And honestly, I think the latter is more likely. After all, she says later, 'None of it was ever worth the risk.' If love writ large doesn't exist, then what are you risking by getting too close to people? But if love does exist, then you're risking true heartbreak. The kind she would have seen her parents go through when her father was dying. The kind I saw my parents go through when my father was dying."
George wraps Gigi in a tight hug. They're halfway to the condo by now, and Gigi is no longer crying. When George finally lets go, he says, "But what does 'the only exception' mean, if she's always believed in love?"
"He's the only person she's willing to get close close to. The only one whose closeness is worth risking heartbreak."
"But there's a chorus after the first verse, too. 'That was the day when I swore I'd never sing of love if it does not exist. And darling, you are the only exception.' What's that supposed to mean? That love doesn't exist in our case but you've decided to sing about it anyway?"
Gigi's shoulders drooped and she looked at George beseechingly. "Can we just get home?"
"What are you saying here, Peach?" George pressed. "You won't sing of love if it doesn't exist in that particular case and I'm the only exception to that?"
"No. Of course not. 'I've always lived like this, keeping a comfortable distance. Up until now I swore I'm content with loneliness. And darling, you are the only exception.' That's what I mean."
"Are you sure?"
"Come on, you know the song isn't wholly autobiographical. After all, 'I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up' is kind of the opposite of our reality."
George slung an arm around Gigi's waist. It was the first physical contact they'd had in a while. "Quite the opposite. I never want to leave you, Peach. Never."
They arrived back at the condo. Gigi took out her key and unlocked the door. "I don't want you to leave, either."
George nuzzled the top of Gigi's head and kissed her hair. "Perfect."