Twenty-Two
Dedicated to the coolest godparents ever :)
And for coffeebookchiller and Captain Americanna, the most enthusiastic Darcy/Alina shippers out there.
Written to Twenty-Two by Lily Allen.
1
The first time she sees him, well not really sees him-for Thomas has her peeling onions for the pasta and her eyes are burning like someone poured a whole bottle of the nastiest eyedrops in the world into her eyes-she is running down the back corridor of the restaurant, blindly searching for the restroom so she can wash her eyes and she collides with a warm body. She thinks she is going to fall on her face but a pair of large hands steady her, their grip on her shoulders sending a shiver down her spine. She ignores it.
'Hey', she says, smiling in his(?) general direction, her eyes shut tight. 'I'm looking for the restroom and though I know this place like the back of my hand when my eyes are open, blind I am at a severe disadvantage. Can you help me?'
He says nothing but removes his hands from her shoulders. She hears his footsteps moving away from her.
'Hey!',she exclaims,'you skewed my sense of direction and now you don't even have the decency to point me in the right direction?'
She hears an exasperated sigh and he moves towards her.
'Would it kill you to move faster?', she snaps, irritated by his slowness. She has onions to peel, tomatoes to slice, capsicum to chop and a giant horde of dishes dying for her touch in the sink and this guy is taking his own sweet time.
He grabs her hand and suddenly she is struck by the realization, that she does in fact, not know his gender.
'Are you a guy?', she asks.
'Yes', he exhales in a honest to goodness British accent.
'Mate, I only asked because if you were a bird you could've taken me inside the restroom', she says, irritated by his high and mighty attitude. She would have been damn more polite if their roles had been reversed.
'Thank God that I'm not a bird then',he snaps back.
'Dude, you need to get laid man', she says, clutching his hand, scared of knocking into a wall.
'Will you stop that?', he asks exasperatedly. 'Your impersonation of a British barmaid is entirely inaccurate.'
'I was trying to be the bartender actually,' she says casually as he stops in front of the restroom.
He pushes the door open and it creaks. Loudly.
'Woah, this is really inappropriate. I mean, you know..'
She can practically hear his disapproval. He is one of those snobs who think they are too good for regular people.
He leads her to the sink and then disentangles his fingers from hers. She does not know how they became entwined. She had nothing to do with it.
'Goodbye.'
'Bye, mate!'
She hears him sigh before the door slams after him.
2
She's tired because she's been up the whole night crying. A combination a bad breakup, exam stress and pure, good old homesickness. She just got dumped by George Wickham, the campus hottie who led her to believe that she was the love of his life while it was actually a bet to see if he got her, the bloody nerd to sleep with him, she has tons of papers to write in order to maintain her grades and she misses her brother. It's been two years since she's seen him. The stupid, noble man that is her brother, he is away in some country, working with Doctors without borders. Last night, he sent her an email with a wedding photo attached. She is his fellow doctor, a pretty petite brunette named Elizabeth and Richard says he is the happiest man in the world. The sad part is she believes him: he no longer needs her like she needs him.
The tears overflow then and before she knows it, she's curled up on the floor, her head between her knees and sobbing, her body trembling with the force of her sobs. Oh, how she needs him, her brother, her knight in shining armour who always swooped in and made things okay.
'Excuse me?',a quiet male voice breaks the silence in the restaurant. She hurriedly wipes her eyes and gets up, pasting a sunny smile on her face, in preparation of greeting the customer. Her life may suck but she needs this job. She needs it if she is to become someone, someone self-made, out of the shadow of her domineering mother.
She smiles at the cute guy in front of her who sort of looks vaguely familiar and he stares at her in return. It gets awkward after a minute and she wipes her nose, suddenly conscious about her appearance.
'Er, hello? Earth calling Mister!'
'Oh!', he says, running a hand through his tousled hair, looking up at the menu. 'I need a tomato and lettuce sandwich with a mango milkshake.'
'Ohkay..', she bills the items and looks at him over her computer screen. 'Anything else?'
'No. That's all.'
'That'll be-'
He places a bill on the counter.
'Keep the change,' he says and hurries out without even taking his order.
She looks after him in bewilderment.
3
It's raining.
Everyone around her is ducking under buildings, opening umbrellas or just walking real fast in order to avoid getting drenched but she wants to stand there, just stand there and get soaked to the bone. It reminds her of her childhood, when mother was away at business trips and Dad was alive and he took her and Richard to play in the yard outside whenever it rained.
They played soccer, splashed about in mud puddles or just danced in the rain, when Daddy would twirl her and she would laugh loudly, her face upturned towards the heavens.
She raises her face then, the drops splashing on her skin and for a moment it's like she's back in Napa Valley, on the vineyard and everything's the same-'
'ALINA!'
Her recollections are interrupted by Thomas' loud voice and sighing she goes inside, back to living in the dull, drab reality.
He watches her go, her shoulders slumped and when she disappears from sight, he turns and walks away, his black umbrella and dark clothes effortlessly blending into the rest of the crowd.
4
The fourth time he sees the girl with the violet eyes, she's dancing on a stage in the corner. Apparently, it's the owner's birthday and they are celebrating it. She dancing, twisting, twirling and smiling and laughing and he's never seen anything so uninhibited. His childhood has been starched shirts, pressed pants, properly knotted ties and sophisticated waltzes and he doesn't know what to make of her. She's crazy, wild, free and she has him bewitched, that much he knows.
His phone rings. He glances down. It's Caroline. He swipes to the left. He wants to enjoy this freedom as long as he has it. He knows what awaits him once he goes back to England and while the dutiful son and fiance in him tells him that sitting here, drinking, staring at this pretty girl is the last thing he should be doing, the man in him, the man he has discovered in America, softly rejoices in this quiet rebellion.
She's his symbol of disobedience. She's means something to him even though she doesn't know he is the same British guy who helped her, she just knows him as the guy who sits at the corner table and orders mango milkshakes and tomato and lettuce sandwiches every time he's there. He's spent hundreds of dollars in the past two weeks ordering the same things repeatedly which he gives away in soup kitchens the moment he leaves the place but he cannot bring himself to leave it. Leave her. Something holds him there.
He smiles wryly. He knows what's wrong with him. He's in love with her.
5
After two weeks of serving the same order to the cute, British guy who sits at the corner table, she is burning with curiosity about what brings him here, so she approaches him. It's a slow day and there's no one else there so she sees no harm in talking to him for a few minutes.
'Hey,' she says softly, clutching the menu to her chest like a shield.
'Hi', he looks up from the book he is reading-Sherlock Holmes, he suddenly skyrockets into her list of top ten customers-and smiles. Gods, he is beautiful. And he sounds a bit familiar.
'You're the British guy?', she ventures. 'Your accent sounds very familiar though you're seriously downplaying it right now.'
'Yes', he says sheepishly in his natural accent. 'I find it easier to blend in if I adopt your accent.'
'I find your accent ho-nice', she blushes. Sometimes it would be nice if she wasn't so blunt and honest.
He laughs and her cheeks turn redder. 'Yes, I've been told by a substantial amount of women and men.'
They both laugh then.
'Forgive me', he says, standing up and she cannot stop the disappointment that floods her face. She wanted to talk to him. He reads her correctly and a smile pulls at the corner of his lips. 'Please, sit.'
She looks around the restaurant and then throwing caution to the wind, slides into the booth across him.
'So, what's your favorite color?'
'Sorry?'
'Oh come on, here we are, two strangers who don't even know each other's names, sitting across each other in a restaurant and doesn't playing random twenty questions fit right in?'
She cannot stop her giggles and he blushes. 'Your impersonation of a romcom is seriously lacking, mate.'
'Aaand, my favorite color is blue. The grayish blue of the sea on a stormy day.'
'Were you brought up near the sea?'
'I've only seen it once in my life. You?'
'I have a cabin near a beach I retreat to whenever I need a break.'
'Ooh! Poor little rich boy, are you?'
'You think I'd fit the part?'
'With your brooding looks and gucci shirts, certainly.'
He looks at his shirt searching for the insignia that gave him away. He finds nothing and looks at her questioningly.
'So, you do wear Gucci shirts then',she comments casually. 'Shame, I took you for an Armani guy.'
6
They become friends. He is a graphic designer from England and she's a Economics major to be, working part time in Wendy's to pay off the loans she took to pay her tuition. He's tall, brown haired with the most beautiful blue eyes she's ever seen-she wasn't kidding when she said the color of the sea on a stormy day was her favorite color, it's the color of his eyes after all and she doesn't think he realizes that-and she's of average height, pretty run of the mill looks except for her violet eyes that seem like a freak gift of nature. He's rich and she, is not. She donated her trust fund to Greenpeace the day she came of age. She misses the money sometimes but when Greenpeace tells her what the money is being used for, she feels proud of herself. She hasn't told Richard though.
They meet everyday, make idle conversations and soon she confides in him about her family:how her mother is an obsessed, domineering woman who sees nothing beyond profits, how her brother became a doctor with great difficulty, going against her mother's expectations and was cut off as a result and now he's happily married to Elizabeth and doesn't want to come back. He pats her hand like an old lady when she feels like she's going to cry and she starts laughing instead, the panicked expression on his face is priceless. Men are the same when it comes to crying women.
He tells her about her family. There are only three of them. His father, his sister and him. His father is quite like her mother, a domineering businessman who wants him to follow in his footsteps and run his company. He loves the family business but he hates his father's constant interference. There is no place for him to be his own man. His younger sister is still at school and according to him, she is the best sister in the world. She agrees with him after the first time they face time with Georgiana.
7
A month and a half after they meet, he asks her out. He's nervous and keeps twisting his fingers and she smiles so big that her cheeks hurt. Finally.
They go to see a movie, a horror one at that and she spends the entire time in the cinema with her face hidden in the crook of his neck. He doesn't seem to mind.
8
They are walking in Central park after their date and it's pretty quiet for a park that is flash bang in the middle of the city and she tucks her arm in his and leans her head on his shoulder. He hums quietly to a Beatles song and she recognises the words to 'I wanna hold your hand'. She hides her smile with her hand. He looks at her, his expression filled with love and adoration and it takes her breath away.
He leans down and it is beneath the cloudy, smoky sky with barely any stars visible that they have their first kiss. They break apart, breathing heavily and he leans his forehead against hers.
'Alina Fitzwilliam', he says, his voice pleasantly husky. 'You are the best thing that happened to me.'
She captures his lips with hers in response.
9
The next few weeks pass in a haze. He comes to the restaurant after work which coincidentally is the same time as the end of her shift everyday and soon everyone at Wendy's starts teasing her. They call him lover boy. Everytime, she's in the kitchen helping or on the counter and he enters, they are surrounded by cheers of 'Lover boy'. The blushes on their faces only serve to increase the pleasure of the teasers.
They go to her place and he cooks for her as she kicks back and relaxes in her pjs and makes headway on her homework. They eat dinner together on her old couch in front of the T.V. watching Sherlock. She loves Benedict Cumberbatch and her evident admiration for his fellow Englishman seems to make Will quite jealous.
It is then, one fine day, his phone rings. He rejects the call and leans back on the sofa but then it rings again.
'Will', she says playfully, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. 'Pick it up or it might interrupt us later when we don't want to be interrupted-'
His heated look causes a shiver of delight to run down her spine and this time, she definitely doesn't ignore it.
10
She's worried.
He has been pacing in her non-existent balcony for the past half an hour, shouting agitatedly into his phone at frequent intervals and she doesn't envy the person at the other end at all. He runs his hand through his tousled hair, trying to make his point to the person on the other end and when he ends the call, his face is drawn and his hands are shaking. She can't stop herself any longer and she goes to him, her hair flying in the cold wind that surrounds them and cradles his face in his hands.
'What is it, Will?', she asks gently, caressing his cheek.
He closes his eyes and a lone tear runs down his cheek.
'Will!Please..', she is scared now, she has never seen him so discomposed.
'My father..my father is dead',he croaks and she embraces him then as he breaks down in her arms.
11
It's 3 am and they are lying in bed, his head over her heart as she runs her hand through his hair soothingly.
He breaks the silence.
'I have to go', he murmurs quietly against her damp shirt.
'I know', she answers softly.
But neither of them move to get up.
'I'll come back.'
She says nothing, she's never believed in promises. Her Dad promised her that he would be back home early that Christmas and what they got instead were two policemen at the door to tell them that Damien Fitzwilliam was dead. Killed in a head on collision with a truck. Will reads her correctly again.
'I am going to come back, Allie', he insists, leaning up on his elbows to look at her. She feels horrible and monstrous for she doesn't want him to go. She stares at the ceiling.
'Allie', he says, cradling her face. 'Look at me, love.'
'I don't want you to go Will', she sobs as she hugs him. 'I don't want to lose you.'
'You won't', he says with determination as he wipes her tears. 'I will come back to you, I promise.'
They just hold each other for some moments, savouring the other's warmth.
'Will', she says quietly. 'I love you.'
'I love you, Allie',he says as he presses a soft kiss to her forehead. He rubs her back and before she knows it, she's asleep.
When she wakes, Fitzwilliam Darcy is gone.
To be continued..
HEYYY
This is my first P&P Modern and this Darcy/Alina has been bothering me for days and today I finally decided to get it out of my system. Hope you liked it :)
Please, review.
If you liked the pairing, you can read my other story with the same characters (though a pairing there may not happen) called Lady Alina Fitzwilliam. It's set in the Regency Era and presents an OC's perspective of the Darcy and Fitzwilliam families starting 1804. Do give it a chance!
Love,
Mango