A/N: First off I have to apologise deeply and sincerely for this extremely overdue update, and you can expect the next chapter to be up in a lot less time. I hope this delivers! Happy reading!
Charlie Bingley stared down his best friend as he interrogated him over his choice of movie at the rental store. "You're telling me you've never seen Braveheart? Honestly, what did you do in your spare time? It's stuff like this that makes me wonder whether or not you're actually human." He clamped two fingers down on Will Darcy's wrist. "Someone get a doctor quick because I don't feel a pulse!"
Will shoved him away with a little more oomph than he intended but was unapologetic nonetheless. Charlie rubbed the sore spot on his arm. "The creature lives! He breathes!"
Will rolled his eyes. "You're just jealous because I spend my free time being excellent company with many of the female species." He countered pathetically.
Charlie snorted. "We all know that I was the one that charmed the pants off the ladies, unless the female company you're talking about is reading erotica to your bed-bound great aunt." Charlie smirked. "I love that woman – family reunion any time soon?"
"You've been disowned. And back to this Braveheart thing. I'm not gaga over Mel Gibson. I know there are better films."
"But you see, the thing is, it's not about it being a good movie. It's a social expectation. No, I change my mind, it's a moral obligation. Like seeing who can pee the farthest up the wall at Uni after-parties, you know? Wait, have you ever been to one of those?"
Will slotted Braveheart back into the shelf and began examining the other titles. "Yes, on several of my urinating exploits. A fond pastime, call it what you will."
Charlie chuckled. "I'd like my steak with a touch of sarcasm, not too dry. Where on earth did you find this sass? It's so unbecoming of such a fine gentleman as you."
"Don't do the posh voice thing." Will argued, scrunching up his face. "You sound like my aunt."
"The one that claims she's great at everything or the one that likes erotica?"
Will shot him a glare. Charlie backed off. "I'm genuinely curious. I take great interest in the wellbeing of people who must associate with you on a frequent basis. Myself included. Thank fuck Jane's a training psychiatrist."
"You met the girl three days ago, Charlie."
"So? Jane's magical."
He sighed. "Whatever. Let's get this rental thing over with. Is Titanic any good?"
Charlie pretended to slowly suffocate. "Y-you mean…you haven't…"
"I jest. I'm not that much of a social reprobate." He smirked, but then added in a whisper, "Wait, this is the one with Kate Winslet, right?"
Charlie rubbed the bridge of his nose. "One day Will, I am going to murder you with a DVD player and make it look like you didn't know how to put the disc in the machine. In your case, it's an extremely plausible notion." Charlie deadpanned. "We'll just stick with Braveheart. I have to head home and tidy up a bit before the party. I'm meeting Jane in a tick – can you pick up Lizzie?"
"You know the chick hates me. What have I done to deserve such debilitating punishment?"
Charlie grinned. "You know exactly what you did. But hey, no hard feelings man. See you at seven. Don't be late. There'll be alcohol."
Sometimes he wondered why he and Charlie just clicked. Had they met under different circumstances, the bloke would have been to him as annoying as the bug next door – persistently encroaching on his solitude with the eagerness of a three-year-old child. But they hadn't. Charlie got him. He saw that one tiny thing in people that made a friend a friend and he stuck with that. Bad habits, anti-social tendencies and guardedness? Irrelevant in Charlie's dictionary.
He paused mid-step. It was too early in the morning to bear any notice to sentimentalities. He was turning into god-forbidden mush at half-ten in the middle of a DVD rental store, one hand clutching Titanic. He made haste to slip it back onto the shelf. It was not a good day.
As he made his way out the store, he saw from the corner of his eye a flash of brunette, a familiar frame. Voices drifted into his ear.
"I think blondes just have it too easy. Take Jane for example. Also, have you ever seen an ugly blonde?"
The figure that looked like Elizabeth scoffed. "Sarah Jessica Parker."
"Yeah but Sex and the City. Come on. And she's not really blonde. More like caramel. Or honey."
"She's the perfect blend of, say, altruistic saccharinity and indifference. She's got one of those smiles that exude the whole, 'I don't give two cowpats about what you're talking about but I'm famous. Bitches bow down!"
"Yeah okay. But she gets laid."
"Only in Sex and the City."
"But fake getting laid is still better than not getting laid. Maybe I should take up Bill's offer."
"Collins? Gross Charlotte, I thought you had more class. The guy's a creep. He's probably already gone through your underwear draw like six times now. He did it with Jane and he did it with me and we didn't even date him."
His brows knitted together. He remembered Bill from undergrad – a pudgy desperate bloke studying theology and who was only accepted into society because of old money. Figures. He also seemed completely unaware of the notion of personal space, and lacked severely in any sense of emotional intelligence. Sometimes, in boredom, he'd think about that kid and wonder how he did in life. Was he eating well? Was he making friends?
"He's exceptionally sweet."
Lizzie laughed. "Ah, you see, your definition of sweet differs a little to mine. To me, making sure his eyes had swept through every inch of your room to find out what you were interested in is borderline serial killer. How do you know he wasn't just getting a secret kink out of looking at your knickers and stuff? He's perv-y."
"I suppose he's just being thorough. If I'm going to spend a week with him in New York I suppose I'll appreciate it if he knows how I pack my stuff and things."
Lizzie gasped. "You didn't tell me he was taking you to New York! Marry him quick and then have babies so he can't just up and run."
He hadn't realised that they'd both been steadily walking into the same direction until he bumped – quite unceremoniously – into the two of them. Apologies flew everywhere. He saw her eyes squint in recognition and suddenly possess a dangerous gleam. Maybe he was just over-analysing things. They weren't best buddies, so be it.
"It's you."
He tried his best attempt at civility. "It's me." He heard Charlie berating him in his head. 'It's called keeping up a conversation, Will. Don't be a jackass.'
But she beat him to it. "So, Charlie's tonight, yeah? Seven?"
He coughed in affirmation. "Jane's heading over with him. I've been given express orders from the host himself to pick you up."
She crossed her arms. She looked…defiant? Slightly unimpressed? Irritated?
"Who says I can't get there by myself."
He prayed to the Gods above that she wouldn't be difficult. "You don't know where he lives."
"Oh, and addresses can't be given out in the 21st century?"
He frowned a little. "Stranger Danger? Ring a bell? You know. Accidental murder and woops. The Bingley Inheritance gone." He paused for effect. "Besides, I've got a smoother ride than yours."
He knew she wanted to keep on arguing, but her friend was looking uncomfortable and making subtle suggestions for them to leave. Her knuckles whitened. She swallowed noticeably. Her pride perhaps? A snarky retort?
"I run a bookstore. I don't know where you get the idea that you can insinuate that I'm some sort of money launderer. You're just- nevermind." She sighed forcefully. "Name a time and place and I'll be ready."
"Good." He called over his shoulder. "6:30 at Meryton. Bring wine. You can leave behind your wit."
He felt his face redden a little as he turned towards his car. He'd meant for that last comment to sound casually insulting. A little bit of bite, not too deep.
You were trying to flirt, his mind answered. Don't.
He'd actually – in a sort of twisted backhanded way – admitted that she was quick and witty, which was the last thing he wanted to do. Compliment her, that is.
But as he moved off from the kerb and onto the street, he could only think about how much better she looked today compared to their first unfortunate meeting. It wasn't as if she was decidedly ugly before, she just looked slack and predictable. In his defence, from a distance it was all University sweater or cardigan and skinny jeans. And feet propped up on a counter. He hated that.
Today she wore a floral printed dress and she'd done her hair up nicely. He admonished himself for thinking back to that creamy expanse of skin where the back of the dress dipped into a V. There was something about her eyes too, which he didn't notice before. It was probably due to the makeup or whatever it was she put on those lids, but they held you in a way that would render it impossible to break eye contact in a conversation. Maybe it was the vitality of future hopes, of aspirations, a sense of gratitude, of liveliness. It confronted him a little; he had grown so accustomed to the dullness of the eyes which belonged to people who had been drawn into the monotony of routine, where living became a responsibility rather than a gift. He had seen it in his own eyes far too often. But it was fruitless to try and make any sense of the girl. They weren't even friends. He was wasting valuable thinking time musing over the mannerisms of someone who rubbed him up in all the wrong ways.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened.
"Since when were you seeing someone?"
She gave Charlotte a quizzical look. "You know I'm devastatingly single. Where on earth did you get that idea?"
She could almost hear Charlotte roll her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. Tall, steamy blue eyes, strong jaw? He even smells gorgeous."
Lizzie barked out a laugh. "Oh. Him. He's the unfortunate bastard that I met when Jane was introduced to Charlie."
"The friend? Care to explain why you left out the fact that he's, uh, I don't know, ridiculously hot?"
Lizzie shrugged whilst turning the radio louder. "I couldn't see past his disgusting attitude. I swear he trots – his nose is pointed so damned high that no one's good enough for him. He also looks like he's suffering from a perpetual aneurysm."
"I thought it looked sexy."
Lizzie could only raise an eyebrow in question.
"What? It's totally the Hollywood smoulder. You know, like how when Chris Pine does the whole squinty eye thing and argh. My ovaries."
Lizzie scrunched up her face. "You've clearly not been around him long enough."
"And you have?"
She opened her mouth to retort but came up empty. It was true that she was probably being a little harsh after meeting the man only two times, but he'd proven to be rotten and arrogant on both occasions. It wasn't her fault for judging. The guy was an ass.
"Long enough to know that it's not the Hollywood smoulder. And besides, first impressions are important. It's completely his fault if I find him unbearable."
Charlotte merely laughed and rested her head against the window. "You're going to rue the day you ever decided he was nasty. If Bill wasn't around, I might just snatch the man up myself."
"Well don't." Lizzie retorted quickly. Too quickly. "For your own personal wellbeing, I mean."
Charlotte spun around to face her, curls and eyes blazing in all her devious glory. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy? I knew you secretly had the hots for him! I was actually worried for a second that you'd lost your marbles there."
Lizzie rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to disagree with you on the fact that he's decent-"
"Decent, Lizzie? My God you have a better vocabulary than that-"
"-but he has the emotional subtlety of a teenage boy and that never scores well in my books. I'd like some maturity. This time round, at least."
The two fell silent for a while as the sunny tunes of Norwegian Wood drifted languidly inside the car. Charlotte spoke softly. "Thinking about Joseph again?"
Lizzie flipped the turn indicator violently but her voice was subdued. "You know I am."
"That was a year ago. Put it behind you. Not all guys out there are like him. You can't let one horrible bugger stigmatise the entire male species for you."
"Whoa there. Who said anything about stigmatising? I was only drawing comparisons from one bad guy to another. I'm not going to let Joseph get me down, that's not my style."
Charlotte turned to lean against the window again, sceptical. "If you're sure."
"I'm sure." Lizzie replied. But she knew that her voice betrayed her certainty. If anything, her relationship with Joseph plagued her mind more than ever.
She remembered it almost too vividly, as if her memories with him were stored on a broken mental cassette tape that kept on repeating one fragmented melody. Some had called it a whirlwind romance. She was fresh into University – it was exciting, having a literary boyfriend made her feel a little older, a little more mature. When the drinking started, she thought it was normal. Then came the cancelled meetings, the double takes whilst they were on dates. It was only after two years that she realised he'd been stringing her along for a total of six months.
Charlotte suddenly turned back to face her, her eyebrows raised high in a look of defiance and sudden clarity.
"I'm setting you up on a blind date."
Lizzie banged on her forehead on the steering wheel. "That's a horrible idea – you will do no such thing."
"I think it's a brilliant idea. You're never willingly going to admit that you need another man in your life – I know plenty of excellent men. You'll have a blast. I promise." She fumbled around in her bag before extracting a brown leather journal from its recesses. "There – Tuesday week, down at the bar."
"Charlotte-"
"No closet poets in nice shirts. I got it."
"I'm serious-"
"Well so am I. All you do is spend your day couped up in Meryton – not saying that's a bad thing or anything, okay yeah, it's a bad thing - this supposed 'asshole' Darcy is the most exciting thing that's happened to you since you started dating Joseph. Now if that doesn't scream 'spinster in the making' to you, then you need to get your priorities sorted."
Lizzie laughed as they pulled up outside Charlotte's apartment. "My priorities are about the same as everyone else's – earning a living, paying bills, yada yada yada."
Charlotte screwed a face. "You've clearly forgotten 'men' as priority number one, but that's alright. After Tuesday week, you'll be so overwhelmed by the desire to copulate-"
"Let's keep this conversation PG-13, Charl-"
"-you'll be – politely, mind you, we are British – asking to remove his clothing before you even-"
"-Alright Charlotte, we've arrived at your humble abode. Please feel free to extricate yourself from my vehicle and to refrain from engaging yourself in any further inappropriate conversation. Have a nice day!"
Charlotte snorted. "Look at you and your Oxford vocabulary. I'll help you dress up for the date. Don't lose sleep over it, kay?"
"Whatever. Now go away. Don't you have a Collins to wed?"
Charlotte flipped the bird and sing-songed merrily as she clambered up the stairs.
"Were you polite?"
"I'm not at liberty to answer that."
"I'll take that as a no. At least don't be late. We don't want her thinking you're anymore of a bastard than you already are."
"I do enjoy a good compliment here and then. And it's too late now. I'm fairly sure she's probably got a voodoo doll of me in her bedroom, ohh yes, I felt that. A pin straight in the eye."
He could hear Charlie rolling his eyes from the other end of the line. "What did you do?"
"I may or may not have insulted her car."
"Will…"
"I also may or may not have accused her of trying to steal your inheritance. But hey, at least we now know that the Bennett's are clean…I hope."
"Your capacity to fuck up as much as possible in the space of two minutes astounds me. Do you even know what common courtesy means? Go and install a filter on your mouth or something. I have to go pick up Jane. Be good, please."
"Yes, mother."
"Also, I know this whole insulting thing means you like her. Caroline's an absolute bitch and you're nothing but indifferent to her most of the time, even when she tried to cop a feel of your inner thigh-"
"Charlie, I'm hanging up."
"-and you still refrained from calling her a slag, honestly Will, Lizzie's done nothing but be polite and nice and-"
"Bye Charlie."
He tossed the phone unceremoniously back into the inside pocket of his jacket and waited, leaning effortlessly against the driver's side of his car as he pondered over his conversation with Charlie. It was true that he detested Caroline – the girl had no boundaries, it made him feel like a prude being around her.
That being said, he hadn't met many women who had any shred of decency or self-respect for themselves either. He was either looking for dates in the wrong places or there was something worryingly wrong with his tastes. He hoped fervently that it was the former.
"You're early. I thought we said 6:30." Lizzie clipped.
He looked up sharply and heard several bones in his neck crack. She was wearing a ravishingly low cut little black dress that tapered in at the waist and skimmed over the tops of her knees. And she'd done something with her hair, for starters, it was out of her face (which framed all the more elegantly the length of her neck) and he found that it curled rather nicely around her ears. Not like he was paying that much attention to her hair. Clearly.
He swallowed several times. "We did. I loathe tardiness."
He saw her raise a delicately groomed eyebrow and snort derisively. "And here I was presuming that there would be nothing that we'd agree on. And also," she paused momentarily to finger the hem of her dress, "Is this a bit much? Jane told me it was smart casual, but I wasn't sure if you were talking smart casual or smart casual. I didn't want to give off the impression of being rather dull, you know what I mean?"
Ouch. The chit really knew how to rub salt on a wound. "I can't say I've got much experience with handling wardrobe malfunctions-"
She scoffed. "Excuse me? Malfunctions?"
"But I'd say you look passable." He retorted, reeling from the adrenaline (yes, adrenaline, his life was rather lacklustre) of witty banter.
She took a step closer then, eyes narrowing dangerously. "We can either do this the hard way, which is, I go back into my store, call Jane to tell her I'm not coming because William here has a hard time removing his head from ten kilometres up in the clouds, and ruin the evening, and possibly, Jane and Charlie's relationship. Then, you'll have Charlie using your nether regions as a dartboard and possibly dissolve your friendship forever because Jane is the absolute perfect candidate for a girlfriend and he would wallow in despair for the rest of his life."
He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Are you done?"
She started to pace back and forth. "Or, we could do this the easier way, which is, I get an apology from you, you can glue your mouth shut with some tar, and we behave like civilised adults and not kill each other in the process."
"It's Fitzwilliam, by the way."
She threw her hands up in confusion. "What?"
"My name. It's Fitzwilliam. Not William."
She rolled her eyes and made the sign of the cross. "Lord grant unto me patience and goodness of heart to deal with this asshat-"
"I'm sorry. Will you please just get in the car? You're making me nervous."
She smirked. "See that wasn't so hard, was it Fitz?"
He opened the car door. "Please don't ever call me that."
"Or maybe Fitzy's better, what do you reckon?"
"Elizabeth…"
"It's Lizzie. Good God, will you loosen up?"
"I was loosened up a second ago before you threatened to kick my ass."
"You call that loosening up? Wow you must have a horrible backstory because I've never seen anyone that insulting whilst they're calm. Okay, maybe myself, but that's beside the point. What do you do anyway?"
"Investment banking. Why, is there a problem?"
She laughed half-heartedly. "No, I was just admiring the size of your back trouser pocket."
He narrowed his eyes before going around the corner violently and saw her laughing out of the corner of his eye. His shoulders slumped.
"Oh." He said. "You're joking."
"Yes I'm joking. Do you see what I mean by loosening up? You're so uptight I could play squash against your abs."
"Was that a compliment? Are you insinuating that I'm fit?"
She huffed and rolled her eyes. "No. Y-No. I don't know. You know what I mean."
They spent the remainder of the car ride in silence, and he snatched brief sideways glances at her whilst she rummaged around her bag. She was very pretty, exceedingly so. But who was he kidding? He hadn't even spent that much time in her presence and he was sure that the likelihood of them meeting again after tonight would be slim. Nothing special there.
Her voice broke into his musing. "For the record, you're a lot better company when you're not so high and mighty." She gave him a cursory once-over. "Maybe next time you could even try wearing jeans."
He half-smiled. Half. "That was definitely a compliment."
She got out of the car and closed the door behind her. "Yeah, yeah, take it or leave it, it's the only one you're ever going to get."
"Whatever."
"Charlie also says you've never seen Braveheart."
"Oh let it go."
"But Mel Gibson-"
"Overrated."
"Really? Wow you don't get out much."
He pretended not to be cut up by her retort. The truth was, he really didn't get out much. He spent the majority of his evenings sprawled on the sofa flicking between dodgy sitcoms and sipping periodically on cold beer. He blamed his inadequacy with keeping up with social decorum on his work and avoided small talk by pretending to be too intellectual for mindless chit chat.
The elevator dinged as they arrived at Charlie's penthouse. But something was decidedly not right. For one, he was almost positive that there was an..IV..positioned by the sofa. He watched in mild astonishment as Lizzie gasped and ran over to the couch.
"Um, Charlie?" He called. "What's going on? I don't remember you inviting paramedics to your housewarming."
Charlie was pale as a ghost as he rounded the corner.
"It's Jane. She's fainted."
A/N: Thanks for the read, please leave a review!
