He could see the trails left behind by her earlier tears streaked across her cheeks, wishing he could do more to help her.

They had only been seeing each other seriously for a couple of weeks now, but, as he looked at her in this moment, he couldn't see a future without her by his side. Darcy was glad he'd gathered the courage to tell her again just how much he loved her when he had. He couldn't even imagine what it would have been like if she'd had to leave before he could tell her, and, hear her finally admit she felt the same.

However, right now, those sweet and happy memories felt a millennium ago; just one phone call and Elizabeth Bennet's life had been turned upside down; his eyes glazed over as he started to remember just those few days previous, the events that led him to be sitting here, in his girlfriend's bedroom, comforting and consoling her.

He'd been walking down the familiar corridor that led from board room 1 to Elizabeth's temporary office, when he'd heard her voice coming from her open door. As he'd slowly grown closer he had started to notice that Lizzie didn't sound her usual cheerful self, and his pace quickened, impatient to find out the cause of her discomfort.

When he'd finally reached her door she looked ready to dissolve into hysterics. She sat with her back to door, back arched over, one hand grasping the phone at her ear and the other methodically brushing her hair back repeatedly. He became aware that she was truly upset when she failed to even flinch as he reached out to touch her shoulder; instead, she simply turned in her chair and let her bloodshot eyes reach into his and drag his heart up his throat.

After what seemed like an eternity, she removed the phone from her ear and allowed her hands to fall limply into her lap; instinctively, Darcy reached out for them, squeezing them reassuringly; he searched her eyes for anything that would tell him more of her predicament, but they were empty, the light in them dimmed, if not absent entirely. She did however notice his inquisitive stare, and with the little energy she had left, she said the two words that left Darcy's chest cold, "George Wickham".

He had immediately pulled her into a hug, although somewhat awkward given the way they were sat, it seemed to help draw Lizzie back to the present a little; her voice was husky and quiet from crying, but he managed to make out what she said, "Lydia's been seeing George…Now they've both disappeared and there are people asking after them…He's done something and now Lydia is in the middle of it all…". Darcy's jaw tightened, a sense of déjà-vu creeping over him, threatening his self-restraint.

The tone of his phone brought him back to the present. Quickly looking down he saw Gigi had replied to his previous text explaining why Lizzie and himself had left quite so suddenly; he could practically read the awkwardness in the message.

Originally Lizzie had resisted his suggestion, or more accurately, his declaration, that he should accompany her on the flight back to her home town; she had, however, eventually conceded, aware that she would probably need the company to ensure she didn't slip any further into the abyss that was currently threatening to consume her.

Staring at her face, innocent in her sleep, Darcy had only one remaining thought, that this situation was entirely his fault.

Lizzie was trying to slip off into her subconscious so that she might, eventually, find some peace from this nightmare; she tried to focus on the pressure of Darcy's hands in her own rather than the crushing weight of anxiety and guilt that was currently pressing against her rib cage, restricting her breathing more and more with each breath. How could this have possibly happened, just when her life seemed to be coming together? She could barely recall the happiness and elation that had possessed her whole being only a few days ago, could it really have only been so few? Finally realising that, in fact, she was completely and utterly in love with William Darcy; feeling the shadow that had accompanied many nights of confusion over the glances she found herself aiming at Darcy, and, the butterflies that she got every time he spoke to her, lift.

Now she was back where she started, at her childhood home, worrying about somebody else, dealing with her mother and focusing her attention on everybody around her, ignoring her own needs and feelings until she was safely inside her room, in the quiet, alone with her thoughts.

Only now she wasn't so happy to be left alone with her thoughts, one in particular would enter her head, completely unbidden and relentless, that she had no choice but to accept, because, if she was honest with herself, it was true. This situation was entirely her fault.