A/N This is a sequel to my other fics but can be read without. Wickham is living in current day London with Amanda. It was just a little idea I had about how I thought Wickham might handle an irate ex...enjoy! Rated for language.
The right person at the right time
She was sat at the kitchen table with Wickham when the knock came at the door. She had been marvelling at how natural it felt to be sat drinking coffee with him. It was such a domestic thing to do. There was still an edge of surreal to it all though, like she would blink and he would disappear, like a portal would open and send him back to fictional Georgian England by force. Things were just getting good at the moment as well. She worried that there was an imbalance somewhere and suddenly someone was going to realise. In the end she decided to stop thinking about it, in case she accidentally ended up blurting out her fears to the wrong person and got sectioned for her troubles. She got up and he raised his eyebrows.
"What are you doing?"
"Answering the door," she replied, "you know, as we don't have servants to do that."
"I did not suggest that was the reason, and yet you did. Do you miss them that much?"
He was goading her. She made to move past him without answering but he caught her around the waist, tugging her towards him.
"I meant," he amended, "that if you answer they may wish to come in and we would be obliged to entertain," he paused significantly and raked his eyes over her suggestively, "rather than spend the morning in...other activities."
She smiled at him then, all dimples.
"That's very sweet," Wickham moved to tug her onto his lap, "but I'm going to answer the door."
She smirked at his put out expression and slipped out the kitchen. The smirk vanished the instant she opened the door.
"Michael!"
Yes, her voice had definitely gone an octave higher. Her ex skulked guiltily in the doorway.
"Heard you were back."
"Yes," there was no friendliness in her tone. Only statement.
"Didn't work out with Nancy Boy then?"
That stung. "Goodbye Michael," she made to shut the door. He put out a hand and stopped it.
"Look...I mean… sorry it didn't work out..." She looked at him piercingly and he shrugged, "all right. I'm not. I am sorry how we left thing though and I was wondering," his eyes flicked over her shoulder and narrowed, "if you wanted..." he trailed off and she felt Wickham's presence at her shoulder. The look on Michael's face was deadly. She felt like blurting out that they hadn't, you know, done anything...yet...Wickham was being a perfect gentleman...ish...and then she remembered it was none of Michael's damn business.
"Who's this?" he snapped.
George gave his trademark charming smile.
"Captain George Wickham of the _ regiment." He was taking the piss. Amanda tried to hide the smile. George extended a hand, "and you are?"
Michael did not take the hand.
"Michael," he snapped and pointed at Amanda, "boyfriend."
"Ex," she added sharply.
He looked hurt. She was annoyed.
"Ah," Wickham merely made the noise knowingly and withdrew his hand. It diverted Michael's attention back to him. Deliberately? Amanda wondered.
"Wickham?" her ex sneered, "you're one of that poncy lot." He skimmed him with disgusted eyes. "I hear you like to go after teenage girls," Amanda felt George stiffen next to her, "what kind of sick pervert are you?"
"That's enough Michael," she said, "you'll get in trouble throwing those kind of accusations around."
"You mean he will," Michael pointed at Wickham. Amanda opened her mouth to retort but George got there first, his face earnest and serious.
"Well, sir, you must do what you think is right, of course."Michael looked taken aback. Amanda gave Wickham a worried look and then saw the edge in his eyes. "The least I can do is make sure you get all the details straight." Uh oh. "The names of the two girls you are referring to, I assume, are Georgiana Darcy and Lydia Bennet, They reside in..." he looked puzzled for a moment as though he couldn't remember, "you know, I'm not quite sure how you say it. Miss Price?" He looked expectantly at her and she suddenly knew exactly what he was after.
"Fictional Georgian England?" she posed and his puzzled frown cleared in a sunny smile.
"Yes, of course."
He turned the look onto Michael and her ex bristled further.
"Seriously? This guy?" he addressed this to Amanda, half shouting, half sneering. "You read that bloody book enough times, you know what he did. Guy's a sicko."
Amanda took a step forward. "Have you read it?" This more than anything else irritated her suddenly. The number of times he'd failed to take an interest in the past and now he was interested! He looked sheepish.
"Watched it," he mumbled curtly.
"McFadden?" she added and he nodded. Of course. Shortest version.
"Wanted to see what you were giving me up for."
She took a deep steadying breath.
"What it says happened," she gestured to Wickham, "didn't happen."
Michael went on the offensive again and jabbed a finger over her shoulder at George.
"He tell you that?"
"No, dammit Michael. He didn't need to because I was there!"
There was a beat of silence and then he uttered stonily, "So what? You're just working your way through them? Got a new one lined up after him?" She winced internally at the half truth but externally set her jaw. "What is it about them? Are they a better fu..."
"Good bye Michael," she made to shut the door but he caught it again with his hand so it was open a slither and his face was pressed near hers in the gap.
"C'mon Amanda. I'm sorry." His voice dropped low, whispering, "just come out with me, away from him, where we can talk."
"I think you've said enough."
"Amanda," his voice was getting desperate, "just let me in." He shoved the door and she resisted.
"Go away Michael."
Fury sparked in his eyes. "Damn it Amanda, let me in."
This time he threw his weight against it and the force knocked her back against the wall.
How dare you lay a violent hand on Miss Price! The memory echoed and she expected to hear it again now in George's voice not Darcy's. She didn't. Instead she saw a blur of movement as Wickham sprang forward, punching Michael; one high in the face, one low in the stomach, spinning him around and out the door in one fluid move, following him into the hall and out of Amanda's sight. She waited for her sounds of a violent brawl, waited for her feet to move so she could dive after them and pull them apart. Neither happened. Wickham was back in the flat before she could follow, closing the door quietly behind him.
"What..." she started but he ignored her, instead examining her with a gentle touch and his eyes before he stepped back.
"No harm done."
He made to move back to the kitchen and she caught his arm.
"But Michael?"
"Will not be back," he was curt, to the point. She wasn't satisfied.
"What happened Wickham?"
He turned back to her with a quizzical expression.
"You seem intent on focusing on this unpleasant incident Amanda."
He looked at her a moment and she faltered.
"It just wasn't the reaction I was expecting..."
His eyes bored into her for a beat and then he smiled knowingly.
"You had the same thing happen with Swellerando." She nodded. "You see, the thing is Amanda, Mr Darcy is a gentleman of high birth and rank. He will never do anything to endanger that unless severely provoked and even then it will not be swift."
Amanda raised her eyebrows at him.
"And you're not a gentleman?" she queried it as she always did when he implied, or tried to imply, that he was worse than he was.
Wickham gave her a very serious look.
"I'm a soldier."
No hesitation, no fear of getting his hands dirty. Swift and decisive action. She understood.
"Well, thank you. I'm sorry about...that." She gestured a hand at the doorway and Wickham gave her a gentle smile.
"You have spunk Miss Price. It has its consequences."
"It's not ideal," she objected, annoyed at herself and poor choice in relationships. George reached out and tilted her face with a light touch so she was looking up at him.
"I have told you before that I like it. I would not want you to be without it."
A smile lit up her face and he returned it, before leaning in to kiss her. It wiped all other thoughts from her head.
"No," Wickham murmured when he withdrew, a wicked smile dancing at the corners of his mouth. He sat down and tugged her into his lap. "Where were we?"
Michael sprawled on the floor outside the flat aware of the pain in his face and stomach and from the impact of the floor. He rolled onto his back as the footsteps of the interloper followed him out and he looked up into Wickham's eyes.
"It is over sir. You – have lost." His tone was light but there was an edge to it.
"Is this where you tell me to stay away from Amanda?" Michael growled.
Wickham gave his best puzzled expression.
"Why would I? Miss Price has already made that clear to you." Michael glared. "If I were you I would honour her wishes. She does not yet want to cause you physical pain but further provocation might change that. I have seen it happen."
"Bastard."
For some reason the insult afforded Wickham some amusement.
"So I have been reliably informed."
"She loved that Darcy you know. Loved him for years. You're no Darcy. What makes you think that it's going to work out for you?"
Wickham's smile disappeared. Slowly he bent down until he was closer to Michael – not so close he could be hit.
"No, I'm not the Swellerando," he murmured as though making a confession. He paused with significance before continuing. "I'm the right bastard at the right time." He straightened abruptly, finishing with a parting blow, "and always will be."
Michael watched dejectedly as Wickham strode back into the flat and shut the door.