So I'm basically writing a bunch of alternate universe scenarios, with a twist. The twist being that those scenarios are discussed and speculated upon by Lizzie and Darcy themselves. It gets kind of meta. ;) I just get the feeling from Episode 99 that they would be the sort of couple who endlessly analyzes and hypothesizes about every aspect of their relationship. Hope you like this first one.

Lizzie Bennet was sitting on his bed.

Strictly speaking, it wasn't his bed. Not the one in his actual bedroom in his San Francisco apartment, the one he slept in perhaps two-thirds of the time. It was his bed at Netherfield, in the room he had chosen for himself while staying there last year. Now that Bing was living in New York he was planning to put the house up for rent, but as was typical of his easygoing nature, he hadn't gotten around to arranging it yet. For the time being, the house was conveniently available for Darcy's use. And Lizzie's.

Meanwhile, she was sitting on his bed.

It shouldn't be so fascinating to him by now, after nearly a week of seeing such things. It didn't matter. He couldn't get enough of the sight of her, comfortably leaning against the headboard, clacking away on her laptop, biting her lip in concentration. She made herself so perfectly at home in a space that had once been only his. It seemed the very physical representation of how easily she became a part of his life, rearranging his surroundings and habits and patterns so that his daily routine was no longer just his own, but Darcy-and-Lizzie, a united front, a synchronized pair.

He knew if he spoke such thoughts aloud she would make a joke about synchronized swimming or synchronizing their watches, and it would only distract him further from the flood of emails that currently required his attention, so he turned back to his own computer screen and tried to concentrate. He was sitting at the table positioned near the bay windows; working in bed had never been effective for him. The bed's current occupant would make it downright impossible.

It was Lizzie who broke the silence instead. Abruptly she said, "What was the play?" as if they were in the middle of a conversation and her question was a natural follow-up to something he had just said.

Darcy looked at her quizzically.

"The play you were taking me to see," she clarified, stretching her arms and setting aside her laptop.

They had finished filming her question and answer video some hours ago. "Have you been thinking about that all day?" he said, raising his eyebrows. He had himself been floating a metaphorical six feet above the ground since she confirmed that she would have agreed to attend the theater with him, but he hadn't expected it to occupy her thoughts as much.

"Off and on," she shrugged. She patted the spot next to her, and he immediately rose and came to join her. This was why he had needed several hours of solitude to get some work done this morning. Lizzie was making him a skilled procrastinator, a state of mind that was utterly unknown to him before now.

"The play," he said as he took his place beside her and she leaned her head on his shoulder, "was a stage version of Anna Karenina."

Her head immediately flew up. "Seriously? Tolstoy?"

He restrained a smile. "Yes."

Then she was kissing him, attacking him with such enthusiasm that he crashed against the headboard and would have worried about a possible concussion if he wasn't so absorbed in the pleasure of her mouth on his and her hand tugging on his bowtie.

"Seriously," she said again, breathless, and fell back onto the pillows. "And I used to think there wasn't a romantic bone in your body."

He didn't try to restrain his smile this time.

"Although…" She looked up at him. "Outside the context of our, uh, conversational history, Anna Karenina isn't really romantic. It's pretty depressing, actually."

"Would that have ruined the evening for you?"

"Hardly. I'm sure Anna's tragedy would have provided plenty of intelligent discussion." Lizzie gave him a sly, sideways look. "And you know intelligent discussion is one of my major turn-ons."

"Mmm." Darcy settled down alongside her, propping his head on his hand. "I'd like to imagine that the evening would have brought us one step closer to a relationship."

"Just one step?" She nudged him playfully. "You should really have a little more faith in your irresistible charms."

"Do you think that just one evening would have been enough?"

"One evening was enough last Sunday."

His face grew warm at the very memory. "Yes…but circumstances had changed by then. We had failed to communicate for so long, nothing less than a full disclosure would have sufficed. While you were still at Pemberley –"

"I see what you mean. We were both feeling a little less desperate back then. We could have taken our time." Lizzie's eyes went alight, and she moved to mirror his pose, head on her hand, gazing at him. "Okay. Let's give it a whirl. Imagine that a certain unmentionable jerk never wormed his way into my sister's life. Lydia and I never got in that awful fight. I apologized to her in the first place like I should have. So when you told me it would just be you and me, there was no urgent phone call to interrupt us."

"Are you thinking of costume theater?" he said, his lips twitching.

"Tempting. But no. We can use our imaginations."

"Very well. So what next?"

She considered for a moment, then, "I would have hesitated before giving my answer. Not because I doubted what I wanted, but I was startled. Surprised. That you were giving me a second chance."

His brow furrowed. "I thought you were the one giving second chances."

"Both of us were, I guess." She gave him a rueful smile. "But once I'd gathered myself enough, I would have said….Okay. Yes. Sure. Sounds great! Something stutter-y like that."

"And after a moment, when I had recovered just enough to speak, I would have stuttered back, Okay. Good. Great. Can I pick you up around seven?"

"Sure. I think I'd start nodding like an idiot at that point. I'll see you then. That would be great. I look forward to it."

"I would have fumbled to find a way to end the conversation without betraying how thrilled I was. I'll see you then. I look forward also. To it. Thank you. And – have a good afternoon."

Lizzie was laughing so hard she seemed to have trouble breathing. "That sounds about right," she managed to say. "So…." She forced a straight face. "Then the big night. 7:00. What were you going to wear?"

"A tuxedo, of course. What else would I wear to the theater?"

"What else indeed." She tugged on his bowtie. "You never do anything by halves."

"And you?"

"Ugh. Not many options. I didn't exactly bring a whole suitcase of formal wear to Pemberley. I wore the nicest dress I had with me a few days earlier, when we had that interview." She tapped her chin. "I probably would have gone on a frantic shopping trip after work. Spent an hour combing the clearance racks until I found something acceptable. Hopefully something shimmery and green."

Darcy could easily envision her in such a dress, one that flattered every line of her figure and brought out the vivid color of her eyes, while her hair framed her face in soft curls –

"Hey." She poked him. "Wake up. We're just getting started."

He blinked slowly, only somewhat emerging from a pleasant haze. "What next?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"I would have been scrambling to get ready on time, because I know you're unfailingly punctual. Checking myself in the mirror fifteen times or so. Making sure I had my keys and my phone and tossing in some breath mints, just in case, and then wondering if I'd lost my mind to imagine that we could end up kissing. And maybe only then would it hit me that I was going on a date with William Darcy and I'd collapse on the couch and just sit there, my heart thrumming against my ribcage. Then the doorbell would ring and I'd jump about ten feet in the air."

"And when you came to answer it, you would be breathless and flushed and I would stare at you, making a fool of myself. I would have to restrain the urge to brush your hair back from your face."

"I'd start to say, Hi, Darcy, but then I'd realize it was weird to go on a date with someone and still call him by his last name – on the other hand, no one calls you by your first name other than your sister and we're definitely not at the point where I can call you anything except Darcy, so I'd just say Hi and choke on the rest."

"And it would finally force me to speak. Good evening, Lizzie. Are you – ready to go?"

"Yes. Yup. Let's go. Wow, this would just be a whole buffet of awkward, wouldn't it? Maybe you're right that it would have taken a while to make any progress."

"I might have offered you my arm to escort you to the car. Would that have been too forward?"

"Nope." She tilted her head inquisitively. "Didn't you notice I started looking for excuses to make physical contact with you that last week at Pemberley?"

"Did you?" He recalled the shoulder touch, of course. And after the interview, when she shut off the camera, she had sat back down next to him instead of dismantling her tripod and gathering her equipment right away. Upon further reflection, he could remember that on Wednesday, before everything fell apart, she had been leaning toward him, inching almost imperceptibly closer. Their arms had brushed. He thought it was unintentional. "You did," he said wonderingly. "So…you would have accepted the gesture?"

"I probably would have blushed, but yes. Good thing it was dark out already."

"Then both of us would have been red-faced in the dark while we walked to the car."

"And while we were driving there, it would have finally occurred to me to ask what play we were seeing."

With a perfectly straight face Darcy asked, "Would you have responded to my answer the way you did today?"

She smirked. "Maybe in my head. In real life, I would have smiled and blushed some more, and fought off the urge to grab you and kiss you by asking who had written the adaptation."

"And I would have admitted that I had no idea. We would have to wait until we had a program to refer to."

"That's all right. It would have started a conversation. I would have said…I wonder what Tolstoy would think of the new Anna Karenina film."

"He would hate it," Darcy returned immediately.

"You seem very sure of that."

"Too much spectacle, not enough introspection. He didn't even care for his own early novels after a certain point. He became a strict ascetic and pacifist."

"Yeah, after spending his youth sleeping around and making his wife read a memoir all about it when they got married."

"Do you not care for Tolstoy, then? I thought –" At some point he had ceased thinking in hypotheticals and entered a real discussion with Lizzie.

"He was a great storyteller. I'm not sure what I think of him as a human being."

"He did have a great influence upon Gandhi. His views on pacifism –"

"Provided much of the inspiration for the passive resistance movement in India," Lizzie finished. "I know. So do you think that would have brought us all the way to the theater?"

"What?"

"Our conversation."

"Oh." He considered. "Likely. It wouldn't have been a long ride." He was a little disoriented that they weren't continuing the discussion in real time. This was becoming surreal.

"Okay. So how much time before the show started?"

"I expect we'd have about ten minutes. I would show you to our box, and you would take your seat and I would take mine and try not to gaze at you."

"And I would be trying to calculate whether our seats were close enough to make our shoulders brush without being too obvious about it."

"They are," Darcy answered.

"Oh? And how would you happen to know that? I suppose you've taken other lovely ladies to the theater?" Her playful tone assured him she wasn't jealous.

"Only my sister. When she was younger and had less patience during long plays, her squirming would irritate me, so I started asking her to sit one chair over. That is how I know."

"Ah." She turned more serious. "You really haven't taken anyone else? I'm sure you would have found plenty of willing dates, if you had wanted to."

"I didn't want to. I wasn't interested in casual dating, and I seldom met anyone whom I could consider as a serious partner."

She leaned forward and kissed him lightly. "Lucky for me."

"So would we have talked any further before the play began?"

"I think so. We'd look through our programs, comment on them, that sort of thing. Nervous chatting. Then the lights would go down, and I'd be disappointed and relieved at the same time."

"I might not pay perfect attention to the play. There would be just enough dim lighting in the theater box to gaze at you without being caught."

"Oh, you'd get caught. Because I'd turn to glance at you every now and then."

"Would you smile?"

"Maybe. Would you? Wait, I'm talking to William Darcy. You might manage the tiniest ghost of a smile that I'd need a magnifying glass to detect."

"You would notice it, though."

"Yeah, I would."

"So let's say that this surreptitious gazing went on for the rest of the first act. What would happen during the intermission?"

Lizzie grinned. "More intelligent discussion. We'd talk about the adaptation. Lots of Anna, not enough Levin. His story always gets the short shrift."

"Do you prefer his story?"

"Well, not to be simplistic, but it does have a happy ending. Tragedy can be cathartic, but happy endings just feel better." And then maybe I'd get daring and challenge you a little. "You're not one of those people who prefers stories with ambiguous endings and no real resolutions, are you?"

"I might lean just a little closer then. I like to be challenged. I would answer, I'm not sure which sort of story you're referring to. It depends on what the nature of the narrative demands."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Totally pretentious. But you'd know I was teasing you, because I wouldn't be able to stop smiling –"

"And your eyes would be dancing, like they always are when you're being playful. And I might consider, just for a moment, leaning a little closer and seeing if you reciprocated –"

"And then the house lights would dim," she finished.

"Because they always do."

"Yeah. And I'd spend the beginning of the second act wondering if I could slip a breath mint into my mouth without you noticing, then wondering if I wanted you to notice, and generally driving myself crazy with doubts and second-guessing. So I'd force myself to focus on the play."

"Until I noticed your hand resting just a few inches from mine, when I would slowly shift my arm so that my fingers brushed yours."

"I would pretend I was totally casual about the whole thing and take your hand. Sure, no big deal, what is this, middle school? But inwardly I'd be letting out high-pitched squeals of excitement."

"Likewise. Perhaps mine would be a little lower-pitched."

She rolled her eyes. "It's in your mind; what difference does it make?"

Darcy just smiled and took her hand in real life, thrilling at the feel of her fingers interlaced with his, her palm smooth and warm. "Then what?"

"Maybe toward the end I'd get pretty emotional. Like, the actress playing Anna is really convincing; you can practically feel her anguish. And you'd hear me let out a little sniffle."

"So I would shift position to put my arm around your shoulder."

"And I would lean into you and sniffle some more."

"I would hold you tighter and perhaps congratulate myself for choosing a tragic play."

"Ha. So then, when it was all over and the house lights went up again, I'd give you a shy look and say shakily, I have mascara all over my face, don't I?"

"It's not so bad. Because it wouldn't be that bad, and also because I wouldn't want you to leave for even a minute."

"But I would. Partly to mop up my face, but also to sneak that breath mint. Because at that point I would have decided that before the evening was over, I was going to kiss you."

"Really?"

"Definitely."

"So when you came back," Darcy ran his thumb up and down the side of her hand, "I would check the time and wonder if I could create some excuse to extend the evening, even though it was past ten o'clock."

"You wouldn't have to try very hard."

"Dessert, then? There's a bakery not far from the theater that stays open till midnight."

"Perfect."

"I would suggest the blackberry pie, my favorite."

"I wouldn't have expected you to have such common tastes."

"Believe me, Lizzie, there is nothing common about this pie."

Another wide smile. "Okay. So I would say, Why don't we share a piece?"

"And I would give you a cautious look, trying to see if there was something suggestive in your words."

"Oh, there definitely was."

"So we would eat pie and discuss the play until nearly eleven, and I would think of how I had never spent an evening more pleasantly."

"And I would think how I had never been more excited or more terrified at once, and wonder why in the world I just ate something with blackberries so my teeth are probably stained, and is there someway I can brush my teeth before saying goodnight to you? But I'd smother my panic and take your hand when we got up to leave and pretend everything was calm and normal."

"Nothing would feel calm and normal while you were holding my hand."

"You'd drive me home and I would chatter mindlessly because that's what I do when I'm nervous."

"I would listen, loving the sound of your voice, and staying silent because that is what I do when I am nervous."

"When you brought me to my door, I would stand there for a second, fiddling with my keys, and finally look up at you and say quietly, I had a really good time. Thanks."

"I had a good time as well. I might have trouble speaking much beyond that."

"I'd unlock my door, then turn back and say, Would you like some – tea?"

Darcy caught his breath. "I would hesitate," he said softly, "not wanting to seem too forward. Then, Thank you. I would like that."

"We'd go inside, not looking at each other. I'd say, Uh, have a seat. I'll be right back. Then I'd run into the bathroom and scrub my teeth and squint in the mirror looking for any traces of blackberry. And toss back another breath mint, just for good measure. When I came back out, you'd be looking at the bookshelf."

"I would ask if they were your books or the homeowner's."

"Some are mine. Kind of silly, I guess, to bring all those books with me."

"Not silly at all."

"You'd pick up my copy of Anna Karenina and thumb through it, and then I'd blurt it out in spite of myself. Did you really read Tolstoy for me?"

"I would turn to you, startled. Well…re-read Tolstoy, technically."

"I would walk slowly toward you, heart pounding. Thank you. Belatedly."

"It was nothing."

"No it wasn't. We'd be standing so close, and I'd have trouble getting the words out. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"You know. All of it. I hope – I hope you're not still mad at me. For everything I said in my videos."

He shook his head. "I was never mad at you to begin with."

Lizzie let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She lunged forward, took hold of his face and kissed him desperately. Darcy was so caught up in their make-believe, it felt like the first time all over again.

When they pulled apart, he discovered she was trembling. "Perhaps you were right," he murmured. "One evening may have been enough after all."

She straightened, sitting up, and he did the same. "I'd still be nervous. Wondering if I misinterpreted your words. Sometimes your reactions aren't easy to interpret. So I'd murmur something like Maybe…I should make that tea now?"

"And that would startle me enough from my stunned happiness to reply I'd rather you stayed here. Please." He pushed the straying hair back from her face, then pulled her close and returned her kiss with a fervor that left them both breathless.

"Okay," she said with a shaky smile, her forehead pressed against his, eyes intent on his mouth. "So much for tea. I don't think we'd get any sleep either."

"Agreed." His hand roamed idly up and down her back. "Do you wish it had happened that way? Without the weeks of uncertainty and waiting?"

"Mmm…no, I don't think so. As nice as it would have been, I like how things turned out. I knew you were a good person at Pemberley. But now I've realized you're the best person I know."

He reddened, overwhelmed.

"When I wish things had happened differently," she went on, "it's for Lydia's sake. But not for ours. Those weeks of desperation were rough, don't get me wrong. But they made things so much more…satisfying when everything was resolved."

In response, Darcy drew her close for another kiss.

Clearly he wasn't going to get any more work done today.