Hello! Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing and following. It has been so great to hear from all of you!

The next three conversations happen in February after Lizzie has left Pemberley Digital.

A long, mournful, plaintive moan draws Lizzie up the stairs, where she finds Lydia's door closed and almost assuredly locked. She tries the doorknob just in case, but as she suspected, it doesn't budge. Lizzie shifts her weight back and forth, unsure and guilty, as she tentatively knocks on the door. She hears a sob, and her heart aches for her baby sister. Once again, Lizzie wonders how everything has gone so horribly, awfully, terribly wrong.

"Lydia? It's me. Please let me…"

Lizzie trails off, unsure of what she wants Lydia to let her do. Come in? Help? Do something?

But what is there to be done? What help can she give?

Lizzie feels wretched. She is plagued with every kind of loathing — loathing of George, loathing of the situation, loathing of the Internet's insatiable desire to peer into peoples' private lives. Most of all, she loathes herself, for giving the Internet the means to examine her family's private life in the first place. Lizzie's guilt over everything she has said and presented on her videos has been building ever since Darcy showed up to confess his love — if Lizzie's honest with herself, it had probably started when Bing made his first unexpected appearance — and has come crashing down around her head. Because the fact remains that there was little likelihood of her baby sister becoming "YouTube Star Lydia Bennet" without Lizzie first opening the door to give the entire Internet a free show into their private lives.

"Lydia, I'm… here."

Sounds of more wracking sobs come from the room, and Lizzie's eyes slide shut. She leans her forehead against Lydia's door, trying to be as close as her sister will let her. Lizzie had thought her shame couldn't grow any more after going to Pemberley Digital and realizing just how terrible a person she was for castigating a man she barely knew on the Internet. How many times had Dr. Gardiner lectured them on the permanency of the online world? How many papers had she written about how that very immutability had forever changed the style and technique of communication? How monumentally stupid could she have been?

The videos were never supposed to grow this large. The audience was never supposed to be this massive. It was just supposed to be a lighthearted part of her thesis project. A fun footnote, really.

But now this fun footnote had morphed into something much darker, and the entire world was now aware of a forthcoming sex tape starring her baby sister, who was currently locked in her room, a door away — an entire world away — from Lizzie.

"Lydia, I'm here," she says again, hoping Lydia can hear her. "I'm here if you need me. I'm here."

"Jane, you need to come home."

Jane is curled into the corner of her office building's stairwell, the only place she can get enough quiet and reception to have a private conversation. She has just spent fifteen minutes listening to Lizzie's breathless tale of Lydia, George Wickham, a sex tape and a countdown clock, and she's feeling like she might be sick.

"Of course," Jane says, standing up and smoothing her dress down with one hand. "I'll come home tonight. I'll let Paula know right now."

"Good," Lizzie says, and there's real relief in her voice. "I'll tell Lydia."

"Thanks. I'll call you when I'm on my way."

"Great. Love you Jane."

"Love you too."

Jane takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she's sure will be an unpleasant conversation. Paula, her boss, hates any kind of disruption in the best of times, and mere days before Fashion Week could hardly be categorized as "best."

She exits the stairwell and steps back into the bustling workroom, where harried assistants carry fabric swaths back and forth and the undercurrent is one of barely contained chaos. Normally, Jane would jump straight in, reveling in solving problems and finding creative ways to arrange garments, but now is not that time. Now is the time for family. Family, above everything else, is the most important thing.

The door to Paula's office is open, but she is poring over sketches and doesn't notice when Jane approaches. Jane takes another deep breath before rapping on the door.

Paula's head jerks up. "Ah, Jane. Glad you're here. Can you take these to Abbie, and tell her that the second look is the one we'll be going after—"

"Actually, Paula," Jane says, interrupting. She never used to interrupt. She wonders sometimes if New Jane could be a polite way of saying "Rude Jane," but pushes that thought aside. "I have a private matter I need to discuss with you." Jane steps inside and closes the door to Paula's office.

"Is everything all right?" her boss asks, with what appears to be real concern.

"Not really," Jane says honestly. "There's been a family emergency, and I — I have to go back home. Tonight."

Paula's eyes widen dramatically. "You have to leave tonight? Is someone in the hospital?"

"Uh, no—"

"Did someone die?"

"No—"

"Then I'm afraid I fail to see what the family emergency is."

Jane has always appreciated Paula's no-nonsense approach to work and life, especially in Los Angeles, where the majority of the world's actors and producers and directors make their living by overdramatizing everything. However, Jane has never been less pleased to meet with Paula's forthrightness.

"My family needs me at home. That's really all I can say."

"And they need you immediately?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

"I'm not sure."

"Jane," Paula says, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes. "I like you, I really do. I think you have a great point of view and potential to do something in fashion. But you can't expect to work in this industry and take an indefinite leave of absence due to an unspecific family emergency just a few days before Fashion Week."

Tears spring up in Jane's eyes before she can stop them. "I understand that. But I have to go home."

"And I have a show to put on. There is a lot of work to do. I'll have to fill your spot immediately."

Paula pauses for just a beat, and Jane waits for the final blow.

"I'm sorry to do this, but there won't be a job waiting for you when you come back from your family emergency."

Defeated, Jane nods. "What do you need me to do?"

"Well, if I can't convince you to stay, I need you to clean out your work area and give your keys to HR.

"You can't," Jane says, low but strong. "I'm sorry, but you can't convince me to stay. My family needs me."

Paula puts her glasses back on and examines Jane. "I respect that, Jane. I just can't afford to lose any hands right now. I hope you know that."

"I do." Jane stands, fighting to not let unshed tears fall on her cheeks. "Thank you for everything, Paula. I've learned a lot since I've been down here."

"Don't mention it. Like I said, Jane, I think you could go places. Feel free to put me down as a reference."

This is more than Jane expected. She ducks her head, bringing her hand up to her eyebrow before she realizes it. This has always been her go-to move when she's processing information. She drops her hand to the side of her dress. "Thank you, Paula."

"Leave the door open," Paula says, already back to looking at sketches.

Jane steps back into the workroom and makes her way to her desk.

Once again, Gigi sits curled up in the chair next to William's desk. This time, her socks are dotted with pink whales. William has already wrinkled his nose at them, which Gigi chooses to ignore.

"You know," she says casually, reaching for a pen on his desk and twirling it between her fingers, "Caroline told me Bing has been thinking of going back down south soon."

Cautiously, Gigi tries to catch her brother's eye, but William doesn't look at her. He does, however, stop clacking away at his laptop.

"I think he's going to stay in Netherfield."

Still, William says nothing.

"I think he's going down there in a few days."

William apparently finds the floor vastly interesting.

Gigi takes a deep breath and throws caution to the wind. "I think you should go down there with him, find Lizzie, and tell her it was you who got the video taken down."

William's eyes snap up to hers. "No."

"Why not?" It wasn't as though Gigi hadn't been prepared for this, but his bullheadedness was so frustrating sometimes.

"We already talked about this. I'm not going to tell them. I don't want them to feel like they owe me anything."

"They do owe you."

"No, they don't!" William stands up, running his hand through his hair the way he does when he's really stressed. "They don't, Gigi. It was my fault George had the money to leave San Francisco and go manipulate and abuse another unsuspecting girl. It was my fault, and so the remedy had to be mine. That's it. They don't owe me anything —"

"But don't you think they're curious? Don't you think they'd want to know? And don't you think—" Gigi stands up now too, the force of her recent revelation hitting her. "Don't you wonder if they might think that whoever was responsible for taking the video down could put it back up again? Don't you think they'd want some reassurance that it won't ever appear online, that it won't be distributed somewhere else?"

This stops William short. Gigi can almost see the wheels turning in his head.

"I'd want to know that. Anyone would." Gigi sees him reach the same conclusion, and she begins to smile. "And just to clear any doubt from their minds, you could simply tell them that it was you and that the video won't ever show up—"

"I can get someone from legal to craft a document," he says quietly, walking back to his desk to write himself a reminder about it. Gigi's smile turns into an immediate frown. This was not what she had in mind.

"But William, don't you want them to know it's you? Don't you want Lizzie to know? Just think how grateful she would be, how grateful they all would be—"

"I don't want her to be grateful to me!" William bursts out, cutting Gigi off. "I don't want her to feel indebted to me. I don't want her to feel like she owes me anything, and I don't want her to feel like she has to repay the favor somehow. Dammit, Gigi, I don't want her to love me because she feels like she has to!"

Gigi stares at her brother, her mouth hanging open. William doesn't often render her speechless, but when he does, he does the job thoroughly. He glances quickly at her, color high in his cheeks. His chest is heaving as if he's been running hard, even though he hasn't moved more than a few feet.

She takes a deep breath, then another. Gigi has never heard her brother speak like that about anyone, has never heard him speak with such emotion. He avoids her eyes again and sits down in the desk chair, putting his head in his hands. She approaches him tentatively.

"So you don't want Lizzie to know about the video… but you do want her to love you."

William lets out a short breath and raises his head. His eyes meet Gigi's, and he looks totally, completely lost. "Yes. I do. I just never thought it could be possible, until—" He cuts off abruptly, looking down to the floor again. "Forget it. It's hopeless."

"No, it's not!" Gigi kneels down in front of him and takes both of his hands in hers. "It's not, William, I know it isn't. Things have changed between you. You have changed and so has she. It's not hopeless. I think you should go down to Fresno with Bing and tell her how you still feel. You don't have to tell her about the video."

He laughs, but there's no humor in the sound. "The last time I made a confession of love, it didn't turn out too well."

Gigi winces, remembering that awful conversation. "Things are different this time."

"I don't think so."

She's not sure if he's being purposefully obtuse or if he really is just that blind when it comes to Lizzie Bennet. She looks at him, considering. Perhaps it's a bit of both.

Poking him in the side, Gigi says, "Well then, you are willfully misunderstanding the situation."

"I don't think I am."

Gigi frowns at his obnoxious stubbornness before deciding to pull out her trump card.

"She would have said yes."

His brow furrows. "What?"

"When you asked her to go to the theater. She would have said yes if her phone hadn't rung. You know it."

"I don't know anything of the sort—"

"Yes, you do!" Gigi squeezes his hands again, trying to make him see, to understand. "She would have said yes. And I think you owe it to yourself — to both of you — to at least ask her again."

William pulls his hands out of hers and runs them both through his hair. He looks at Gigi sadly. "What if she says no? I don't think I could take it if she said no."

"I don't think she will."

"But what if she does?"

"Then she's not the person we thought she was. But I think she is, and I think you think she is too. And if not, well…" Gigi trails off, looking at her big brother with a wisdom she didn't have a year ago. "Then we'll get through it together."

William reaches out and takes her hand. He nods. "Together."

Gigi sits back on her heels. "We can get through anything together. We'll be okay. Okay?"

William gives her a small, closed-lip smile. "Okay."

Thanks again for reading!