December Fourteenth.

For my dear friend Rachel, who gave me this idea and inspired me write this even though I haven't written fic in five years. Love you boo.

Lizzie pushed open the familiar glass doors, today with tinsel strung around their handles. It was only once she was already through them that she realized this was likely the last time she'd ever enter these offices.

"Morning, Lizzie!" Marta, the receptionist, chirped, handing her a candy cane.

"Oh, wow, this is so nice!" Lizzie hooked the candy onto her shirt next to her sunglasses. "The place looks so great!"

It did. Though Pemberley Incorporated was a secular company, its attempts to appear as much were limited to the general use of the word "holiday." The interns had stayed late last night, literally decking the halls with literal boughs of holly, and balloons and streamers and lights. The juxtaposition of traditional Christmas decorations with the sleek, modern Pemberley offices was at once inviting and slightly off-putting. After all, this was the same place where, not too long ago, an overstressed accountant had thrown a computer out the window, but it was also the place where morning Java Races were common.

Java Races, invented by Georgiana Darcy, were spontaneous competitions in which two people who happened to wear white that morning were forced to sit in four-wheeled office chairs and hold hot coffee as they were pushed around the offices, trying not to spill. They had become a lot more frequent since Gigi had finished her first semester at college and had been dropping by the offices out of boredom. Lizzie had walked in on one on her first day. She'd loved Pemberley ever since, much to Dr. Gardiner's delight.

"Are you staying for the party tonight?" Marta asked, her eyes already glued back to her computer monitor. Such went business at Pemberley—work hard, play hard. Never at the same time, but instead switching back and forth maniacally, like only people from Los Angeles could do.

"Yeah, I brought cookies! And I've got a change of clothes and everything," Lizzie held up her platter and tote bag. She could spot Gigi in the distance, standing on someone's desk, trying to fix a string of lights that had fallen down. "It's my last day here—I can just pretend it's a goodbye party."

"Aw, we'll miss you," Marta said distantly, without looking up.

Taking her disinterest as a cue to leave, Lizzie waved to Gigi and made her way into the office she was sharing with Kent, a former intern who had just started in a PR position. She opened her laptop and settled into putting the finishing touches on her report.

She hadn't been working long before there was a soft knock on the door. "Kent's not here, sorry," Lizzie called, candy cane sticking out of one side of her mouth.

She heard the door close and turned around. "I wasn't looking for Kent."

A small smile, distorted a little by the candy between her teeth, fought its way onto her face. Darcy. Of course he would be wearing all black on Christmas. His lack of spirit wasn't as characteristic as his lack of foresight; he had probably forgotten about the holiday, and had only noticed the decorations when a stray balloon made it into his office. She wondered what occupied his mind so fully that he was rendered incapable of remembering holidays… or functioning like a regular human being. "Oh, hi, did you need something?"

He shifted a little, hands clasped in front of him. "I was just wondering if you were attending the party tonight. I heard Lynn made excellent eggnog."

Lizzie wanted to chuckle, but he seemed dead serious. Maybe it was just really, really good eggnog. "Yeah, I was going to."

"But then…?"

"What?" She frowned. "Oh, nothing. I mean, I'm still going. I made cookies."

"Well, I'm glad," he nodded, "I suppose I'll see you there."

"Can't wait," she said, a little too dryly. "I've been craving eggnog all year."

"Pardon?"

"You—you said Lynn made good eggnog?"

"Oh, yes, right. Yes, I will see you there, then." He had barely finished the sentence when he turned and marched out.

Lizzie stared after him, frozen for a minute. She shook her head in an effort to diffuse her confusion. Why was every conversation with the guy so needlessly complicated? How did he manage to be at once so confident and so awkward? The two hadn't spoken about anything that had happened at Collins & Collins since she'd started observing Pemberley Inc., and she was relieved. It had allowed them to become casual with each other, maybe even friendly sometimes, but there still was no shortage of uncomfortable conversations, though perhaps fewer heated ones.

She went back to working, changing the wording on a sentence when she heard another knock. Her head jerked toward the door. He was back.

"I'm sorry to disturb you again, I forgot this in my office," he said, gesturing towards a gift bag he was holding. "I, uh… We thought we'd get you a gift to say goodbye. We've enjoyed having you here."

He extended the bag toward her and she awkwardly grasped it, still sitting in her chair. "Oh, thanks." She put it under her desk next to her tote. "What is it?"

He looked at the floor. "It's not much. You can, uh, open it some other time. Don't worry if you don't like it, there's a gift receipt. I wasn't sure what… Anyway, feel free to return it."

"Okay…" She eyed the bag suspiciously.

"Okay. See you tonight," he said quickly, and he was gone.

Lizzie slowly let out a sigh, relieving the tension that had built up in her chest from the conversation. She decided to finish her report then open the present. It was probably a ridiculously expensive pocketbook or something. Maybe it was even monogrammed. He didn't have to be so weird about it.

"Wow," Fitz said. "Way to make an exit, Lizzie B."

"It's not too much, right?" She twirled around.

"Absolutely not."

Lizzie had been heading into the restroom to change into her dress for the party when she had caught Fitz in the hallway and asked him for his opinion. It was a simple sleeveless dress, with a champagne-colored satin bodice and a fitted red body beginning at the waist. The ruffled neckline was admittedly deep, but living in Los Angeles and working alongside some of the most sexy, fashionable people she had ever seen had changed Lizzie's perception of what was office-appropriate. Jane, who she had been staying with, had lent her sparkly gold pumps to match. Lizzie couldn't help but feel ridiculous.

Fitz smiled. "Everyone's going to be talking about you tonight."

"Because of my cleavage?" Lizzie looked down and frowned. "I guess I could safety pin this neckline…"

"No, because you look great. Leave the pins out of it," he said.

"Are you sure?" She reluctantly let go of the fabric. "The shoes are good, too?"

"Yes, yes," he nodded. "They go great with Darcy's present, right?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh, wow, I completely forgot about that. I was going to open it before I changed… Wait, did you say Darcy's present?"

"Yeah, he said he gave it to you this morning."

"He told me that was from the company!"

"Ha!" Fitz threw his head back in amusement. "So you haven't opened it?"

"Not yet! He told me to open it later! Now you have to tell me what it is!"

"I'm not gonna ruin it. Just open it now."

She reluctantly peered into the hallway. "Can you go get it? It's under my desk. I just don't want people seeing me in this."

He shook his head. "They're going to see you in it in, like, an hour, but fine." He dashed out of the hallway and was back within seconds, gift bag flinging in his hands. "Open it, go go go!"

Lizzie lifted a small box out of the bag and tore open the wrapping. It was a velvet jewelry box. "Oh, no," she said, embarrassment creeping over her face. "He got this for me?"

"Well, I helped," Fitz shrugged.

She cracked the box open to reveal a thin, elegant bracelet. "Oh, my god, this is so beautiful."

He grinned. "Yeah, you like it?"

"Like, it's making me sick how beautiful it is. God, I can't keep this! I can't believe you put him up to this!"

"You should wear it tonight."

"No! It's probably like eight trillion dollars! Countries are probably run on budgets less than the cost of this bracelet. Kate Middleton probably has this bracelet and doesn't even wear it because it's too nice for her! And I didn't even get him anything, ugh." She took the bracelet out of the box and started putting it on against her better judgment. "There's not even a card. What is this?! Who does this?"

Fitz shrugged again, smirking. "I don't know, he has the money. Don't make a big deal out of it."

Lizzie raised her eyebrows. "Okay, but it's a big deal."

"It doesn't have to be. Just pretend like it's from the company."

"Why would the company give me the most expensive piece of jewelry ever created by humankind?"

"Alright, alright, do whatever. It wasn't actually that expensive, though. It's just pretty. And don't talk to him about it, he was really on the fence about it, so this is my fault," he said matter-of-factly.

"Okay?"

"Buuuut you should wear it tonight."

Lizzie turned her wrist and admired the bracelet reflect the light. It really did match her outfit. She could feel her brain wanting to consider the implications of the gift and, even more complicated, the implications of keeping it, but she shut it down. "Fine," she groaned.

"Now back to work! Party's not until six," Fitz announced, patting her on the back and disappearing into the men's room.

She adjusted the neckline of her dress again and sighed. She began walking down the hallway to the main offices, feeling self-conscious despite herself. Just own it, she thought. Everyone else is probably wearing, like, see-through bodycon dresses anyway. She was almost back to Kent's office without attracting any stares when Darcy exited the office next door.

He did the world's most obvious double take. "Lizzie," he said, as if trying to identify her.

"Darcy."

"You're, uh—you look…" he said, trailing off.

She pursed her lips, all insecurities suddenly nonexistent. How do I look, William Darcy?

"…Stunning," he offered lamely, without meeting her eye. She waited for more, but he was already walking towards his office.

The party did not start as scheduled. When the caterer had canceled a few days earlier, the Pemberley employees were saddled with the responsibility of bringing in snacks, and most of them had forgotten. So much for Lynn's seriously famous eggnog. Gigi was on the phone doing damage control, trying to call for any kind of last-minute delivery. Meanwhile, a group of interns were running around the offices, trying to fix the speaker system that had spontaneously gone on the fritz. Lizzie, who had been in her dress for nearly two hours now, was helping herself to the only things on the table—alcoholic punch and her own cookies.

Despite the compliments she was getting on her dress, everyone was still working and seemed to think the party had started yet, so Lizzie poured herself a third glass of punch and returned to her office. Kent was out helping the interns and she had submitted her report online earlier, so she had nothing to do. Already feeling a little tipsy, she turned on music on her laptop and began singing to herself. She was only a couple of lines into "Silver Bells" when Darcy appeared at her door for the third time that day.

"Hey, it's you," she said, lowering the volume. "Come in."

He had changed his funeral attire to a much more festive deep green shirt and patterned bowtie and suspenders combo. It looked nice on him, even if it did make him seem like an overgrown schoolboy. That was kind of his thing anyway.

Lizzie smiled knowingly, dangling her wrist in the air. "You bought me this," she said smugly.

It was a statement, not a question. Darcy blinked several times and took a sip of his glass of wine. Where had he even gotten that? "I suppose I did."

"I like it, a lot. Thank you." She decided not to accuse him of lying. "I wish you'd told me, I would've gotten you something."

"No, don't worry about it. It's from all of us," Darcy said, putting his hands in his pockets.

She cocked her head sideways. "But mostly from you."

He neither confirmed nor denied. "You genuinely do look stunning tonight," he said, changing the subject. "Bewitching."

She looked up at him and grinned, cheeks a little flushed. "You're not half bad yourself. I like this whole suspenders/bowtie thing you've got going on." She flicked his reindeer-print bowtie.

"I didn't choose this ensemble. This is Fitz's doing," he admitted.

"I could've guessed that," she said, "Irregardless, you pull it off."

He smiled a little. "It's just 'regardless.'"

"What?"

"The word is 'regardless,' not 'irregardless.'"

She scoffed. "Ugh, I know that. I was just trying to be nice, god. We're past business hours now, so it wouldn't hurt to show a bit of leniency for my incompetence. It's Christmas, okay?"

"It's only December fourteenth," he said, but his expression softened. "And you're not incompetent."

Lizzie rolled her eyes. "Man, I should wear this dress more often. People are nicer to me in it."

His gaze dropped down to the dress. She suddenly felt the urge to cover herself and crossed her arms awkwardly, letting out an uncomfortable laugh. He realized he was staring and his eyes snapped back up to meet hers. In an attempt to ease the tension, he took a step backward and tried to take a sip of his drink, only to find his glass empty. She laughed.

"Can't get enough of that eggnog, eh?"

A flush of burgundy crept up his neck. "It's, um, it's actually wine."

She smiled sheepishly and began examining her shoes. She felt so tall, lanky and awkward and unfamiliar with her own body. Was this how Darcy felt all the time? "Yeah, I know, but this morning… I was just—"

"Sorry," he said abruptly. "I understand. It was a joke."

She bit her lip, pausing for a second. Darcy-bot malfunction. "Do you want to get drunk?" She asked, shrugging good-naturedly.

"I believe you're already quite ahead of me."

It was no wonder she spent so many months hating him. He was truly awful with tone. A little inflection couldn't hurt; in fact, it would probably save him from coming off like a curt asshole in most situations.

"I mean…"

"Then catch up!" She said, extending her drink to him. "Come on. Why not, right?"

He reluctantly accepted it, examining the contents of the plastic cup. Don't be a dick, she thought. Don't you dare wipe off the rim first. Just drink it, you moron. To her surprise, he tossed it back, his Adam's apple rapidly rising and falling.

She watched in awe. "Wow, seems like someone needed to unwind."

All his years of refinery and emotional suppression couldn't keep him from making a face. "Good god, what was that?"

"I don't know!" Lizzie laughed. "But let's get you some more!"

"No, I—"

She had already had ahold of his arm and began dragging him to the punch bowl. Clearly, more than one person had had the idea of sneaking something extra hard in there. The party was in full swing now—the speaker system had been fixed, the food had arrived, and Gigi had found a box of Santa hats and was going around pulling them over people's heads.

Lizzie picked up a hat lying near the desserts and threw it onto on Darcy, who was pouring punch into his glass. He spun around, startled, and spilled the contents of his ladle all over the table. Lizzie's hand flew to her mouth in attempt to stifle a giggle, but she lost it when the punch started spilling over the edges and dripping onto the floor. Darcy, still wearing the Santa hat, frantically dabbed a handful of napkins into the mess, mostly in vain.

"Forget it," he said, beginning to smile himself. "I can't do this."

The two distanced themselves from the drink table conspicuously, laughing at their own silliness. Several employees took notice, bewildered. Lizzie mock-stealthily grabbed a plate full of her frosted sugar cookies and followed Darcy to his corner office.

"Where's my chair?" He said, exasperated. "If they're using it for another Java Race… Sometimes our employees are just irresponsible."

"They'll bring it back, relax." Lizzie said, sitting down on what looked like a very expensive rug. She kicked off Jane's gold pumps. "You don't like Java Races?"

"Oh, no, they're an enormous amount of fun, of course, but it seems they've made a habit of specifically using my chair," he sighed. "I'm going to have to get it reupholstered soon, what with all the coffee stains."

Darcy opened a few drawers in his desk, rummaging around for something. Lizzie admired the room. "How do you get any work done with this view?" She said, gazing out at the twinkling Los Angeles skyline. "Does pacing back and forth while on the phone and looking out this window make you feel super important?"

He didn't answer, instead emerging with two tumblers and a crystal bottle of scotch. He handed her a glass.

"Oh my god, are you Don Draper?"

He paused. "In terms of taste, work ethic, and corporate reputation, I suppose so." He sat down across from her, eyeing his functional couch and coffee table. His discomfort was obvious in his stiff posture, but he said nothing. "In terms of adultery, temper, and substance abuse, I would hope not."

She was surprised he had understood the reference. Did Darcy even watch television? She handed him a tree-shaped cookie and began pouring herself some scotch, being careful not to spill and jeopardize her life savings. "Did you know I really hate scotch?"

He poured himself a glass. "I hated whatever you forced on me out there, but you didn't see me protesting."

She bit into a snowman cookie. "I didn't force anything on you. I handed it to you and you just went for it!"

"I think a part of me needed it," he chuckled.

"You did."

She watched him devour two cookies in silence. Santa and a gingerbread man.

"We're going to miss you around here, Lizzie," he finally said, his eyes locking on hers. "It's been a pleasure."

She smiled at him. "It really was fun."

"You should consider staying in Los Angeles. Perhaps you could find work here… I could speak with some of our associates," he said, pulling threads from the rug.

"You want me to stick around, huh?"

"I won't deny that, but I do think there are some opportunities in town worthy of your talents,"

"And what are my talents exactly? Speaking to a camera about my life?" she laughed.

He smiled. "I'm not going to compliment you more than I already have."

"You just called me stunning and bought me a bracelet, man. You haven't said anything about my talents."

"Well, you have quite a talent for baking," he said, standing up. "Would you like to see if there are any of these delicious cookies left?"

He extended a hand to her and she accepted it, pulling herself up. If she had been more sober, she probably would have scoffed and gotten up herself, but who was she to deny the extra stability at this blood alcohol level? She adjusted her dress, which had ridden up a little, and slipped Jane's heels back on, taking note of Darcy's sudden interest in the corner of the room.

He followed her out of his office, only to be met by a group of his colleagues. He politely introduced her but she excused herself, making her way over to the snack table. She texted Charlotte so it looked as though she was doing something. Eventually, a few of the friends she had made at the company found their way to her and struck up friendly conversation, but she kept glancing over at Darcy, who seemed busy with his own affairs. What was he saying that was making everyone laugh so much? He wasn't that funny. She resented the fact that she wanted him around and tried not to appear distracted or disengaged to her friends—thankfully, being social was kind of her thing.

When Darcy finally made his way to the table, she was deep into a cup-stacking contest with Fitz. "No, you're cheating!" she laughed, knocking over a portion of his pyramid.

"I apologize," Darcy cleared his throat. "I didn't expect to be kept so long."

Lizzie and Fitz looked up as Darcy helped himself to another cookie. Was that his sixth? Seventh? "Oh, no, that's okay," she waved him off, punchiness fading at his return. "It's not like you're my date or anything."

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. They had been so good about being platonic. No mention of love or dating or relationships had been made in over a month. It was the only way they could interact—pretend as if some things had never happened. Lizzie felt the weight of the awkwardness she expected, but the moment passed quickly, thanks to Fitz's genial chuckle.

He stuck his hand in his pocket. "Hey, I have a surprise for you guys!" He pulled out a misshapen ball of leaves and the two stared. He tried to flatten them in his palm and then shook them in the air, grinning.

Lizzie's stomach dropped as she realized what it was. Why, Fitz, why? She glanced at Darcy to see if he understood. Why was he still wearing that dumb Santa hat?

"Mistletoe!" Fitz made a flourish with his hand to display it, as if it were a prize in a game show.

"No," Darcy said firmly.

Lizzie resisted an urge to roll her eyes. Tact, ever heard of it? "Are you serious?!" She wasn't sure who she was asking.

"Come onnnnnn!" Fitz waved the leaves above them in a little dance. One of Lizzie's favorite things about him was his energy, but right now she hated this oversized manic elf. "In the spirit of Christmas!"

"But it's not really Christmas!" she protested.

"It's only December fourteenth," said Darcy at the exact same time.

She suspected an air of playfulness in his voice… mock objection. Anger washed over her as images of Fitz and Darcy scheming before the party sprang to mind. She immediately let go of the notion—Darcy could be a lot of things, but he wasn't conniving. He had been nothing but respectful of her rejection and had gone out of his way to avoid intrusions of personal space since the incident. She wondered if it was her mother's fault she was this paranoid. Of course it was; she had come to expect convoluted plans everywhere.

"Are you guys twelve years old? It's a party. Look," Fitz said, gesticulating to the room. Lizzie glanced at the Pemberley employees: laughter being shared, arms slumped around shoulders, friendly kisses being exchanged. Admittedly, the two of them did seem comparatively stiff and sober. "Your tension is killing this party. C'mon, get it out of the way! Kiss and make up, water under the bridge, et cetera!"

She turned towards Darcy, trying to read his expression. She considered whether it was manipulative of her to kiss him when she knew he had once held feelings for her. Any time before she started observing Pemberley Inc. felt far away and irrelevant, but she knew that in terms of linear time, it hadn't been that long ago. Things had been good—he seemed to be in the process of forgiving her as she was forgiving him. They were friends, kind of, something slightly above acquaintances and certainly below rivals. So why ruin it now, why risk his feelings resurfacing when they were on the path to something… cordial?

He looked like such a dork in that hat, though. A dork with a decent face: decently dark eyes, a decently strong jaw, decently soft lips. Maybe cordial was boring, maybe it wasn't what they should aspiring to. It would be a shame if all their love and hatred ever amounted to was indifference. She didn't feel indifferent now; maybe it was the faint notes of "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" and the cheerful decorations, the alcohol and the energy. She couldn't process it any further—his eyes were already closed and their lips were almost touching, barely touching, completely and entirely touching.

When they parted, she realized his hands were on her back. It hadn't lasted long enough for her arms to make it to his neck, so she found herself awkwardly cupping his elbows. She dropped her arms to her side, causing him to let her go, and she blushed much more deeply than she would've preferred. Fitz, the elf that he was, had seemed to have completely disappeared.

"Merry Christmas," Darcy said, almost inaudibly. He had the blankest expression on his face, and he was making an unsettling amount of eye contact. Just because she kind of didn't hate him anymore didn't mean he wasn't still a robot.

"You have a gift," she said, looking away sullenly, "for making people incredibly uncomfortable."

His expression slightly changed, if only to something less readable. He blinked. "I'm… I'm sorry."

Lizzie felt a sudden swell of guilt in her stomach. It rose to her shoulders and burst, trickling down her torso and up her neck and making her head spin. He had nothing to apologize for. She had always gone on the offensive when she didn't know how to navigate a situation. She didn't know how not to.

"No… I don't know why I said that. I just… didn't know what to say." She barely knew what was tumbling out of her mouth. Most of her consciousness was already engaged in replaying the moment, desperately searching for something absolute in this universe where suddenly her feet couldn't find the ground.

"Nothing would've sufficed."

It had been nice. That was all she really knew. In this moment, with his eyes shooting through her, she couldn't make sense of the clumsiness, the embarrassment, the implications, but beneath it all was an objective truth: it had been nice. So surprisingly and unnervingly nice. She wondered if he had meant that saying nothing at all would've sufficed… or that nothing she could have possibly said would have sufficed.

She wondered, despite herself, if she'd ever be able to kiss him again. How strange it was that his lips had always been there, and would always be there, but that so many things could keep her from them, so many things that were in no one's control but hers. She could feel the heat of the liquor egging her on. She sighed and obliged.

"Okay," she agreed softly, inching closer to him. I'll give you nothing.

His shoulders visibly tensed, unaware of her intentions. She reached for his face, his bracelet hanging from her wrist. She was unable to look him in the eye even in this bold, spontaneous moment, but she could feel his eyes on her mouth as she moved closer. He accepted her lips, slightly leaning into them and wrapping his arms around her waist. The white fur ball at the end of his Santa hat slipped from behind his shoulder and padded her lightly against the cheek. She couldn't tell what was responsible for the sudden warmth spreading through her body—his hot breath on her face, his steady hands on her waist, or his eager, so eager, lips, pushing against hers, challenging her. Her tongue hesitantly grazed his teeth. No stranger to subtlety, Darcy parted his lips, letting their tongues meet, tightening his grip on her back. Scotch and frosting, she thought, answering a question she didn't know she had wanted the answer to. William Darcy tastes like scotch and frosting.

An involuntary moan, nearly faint enough to classify as a sigh, escaped from somewhere in her throat. She was instantly reminded of their surroundings, hyper-aware of the dozens of people—friends, mentors, bosses—who could be watching. The music and chatter flooded back, suddenly deafening. She pulled away from him gently but quickly, taking a few steps back for extra measure. He looked a mess, or the messiest a Darcy could ever look: festive bowtie askew, hair poking out through Santa hat, confusion and desperation betraying themselves in his eyebrows.

Joyous to have the opportunity to even the score of cryptic looks and off-guard catchings, her eyes locked on him for a second, straining not to disclose anything. She wiped her mouth on her hand with all the nonchalance she could muster, and turned. She grabbed her laptop and tote bag from Kent's office and proceeded to walk straight through the double doors without looking back, praying that Jane's shoes would keep her steady for the twenty steps. She felt Darcy's eyes following her all the while, and she grinned to herself as she reached the elevator. All I want for Christmas is to see the look on his face right now, she thought.

But it wasn't really Christmas. It was only December fourteenth.