I'm sorry about the incredibly late update! Life has kind of been kicking me in the ass lately.

I would also like to apologize for the large number of page breaks in this chapter. There's not a whole lot of plot development, but I'm trying to air out different views.

If you guys want to keep in touch with me then you can find me on my tumblr, jamesstruttingpotter :) I'm much more likely to answer messages there than PMs here.


"Miss Bennet? Miss Bennet. Am I right or is Keith right?"

Lizzie started, turning away from the whiteboard in front of her. Twenty curious faces stared back at her in the hazy glow of the projector. "Yes, Maria, you're correct," she managed to say, mind working furiously to pick up where it'd left off. "The Anti-Transcendentialist movement grew out of the Transcendentialists."

"But can't you argue that it extended even further? I mean, they were pretty depressed about everything, not just nature," Keith appealed. "It was more like... man had a bad effect on nature, so mankind is bad, whereas the Transcendentialists said that nature was good so mankind is good. It's backwards."

"Who else thinks this is a valid point?" Lizzie asked, watching a few hands shoot up. "All right, then, anyone want to elaborate or refute that?"

This was the great thing about teaching AP classes, Lizzie decided as at least three voices chimed in. The class practically taught itself.

Alright, so that wasn't an excuse for zoning out, but there were two minutes left in the period and she was fucking tired.

The bell thankfully signaled lunch and Lizzie collapsed in her seat ($27 at Target, with memory gel and wheels, booyah) just as Charlotte wandered in. "I swear to God I will murder that twitchy little asshole one day," she commented lightly, perching on a student desk across from Lizzie.

"George? He's not that bad," Lizzie said.

"Uh, yeah he is. He kept throwing pen caps at Lana Gunner today. Nearly made the poor girl cry."

Lizzie declined comment, instead choosing to focus on her valiant struggle to stay awake.

Charlotte made a sympathetic clucking noise that made Lizzie think of her mother. "Is Nathaniel keeping you up?"

Lizzie buried her face in her arms, groaning as she felt her hair frizz and fall out of its bun. "Every three hours."

"Tell Darcy to take care of it."

"We take turns. The crying still wakes me up every time though."

"Shouldn't babies start sleeping through the night at around this time?"

Lizzie stiffened. "I guess. He misses Jane."

Charlotte stilled too. "Oh. Oh Lizzie. I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she replied mechanically. And it was, kind of. She felt numb by now, cut off from all sensation but the heavy weight of grief slung across her shoulders. It was her first day back at work and she was trying to bury herself in teaching, something Principal Beckert had seemed to realize. He had called her into his office before homeroom started and Lizzie had slunk in, feeling very much like she was a student instead of a paid teacher.

"You sure you're alright, Bennet?" he'd asked, staring at her intently. "It's only been a few days."

"I'm fine, sir," she'd replied, shoulders straight. "I want to come back. I miss everyone."

"If you're sure. I'm willing to give you a week or so off."

It had been a tempting offer, what with Nathaniel to take care of. But Lizzie suspected that she'd use the week to stay in bed, listless and lacking the energy to care for herself, much less a baby. Besides, her financial situation was looking dire (babies were expensive) and she point blank refused to lean on Darcy for help, shared child or not.

"I'm alright, truly." A well timed glance at the clock had saved her. "There's only a minute or so before homeroom, so if you'll excuse me..."

He'd let her go, but she had been careful to perform at her very best the whole day, sure he was keeping tabs.

"I'm going to go get a sandwich," Charlotte said, breaking into Lizzie's thoughts. "You want?"

"Nah. I'll see you during seventh period break, okay?"

"Cool." Charlotte left the room and Lizzie tapped her fingernails against her desk, staring at the black phone next to her computer.

She lasted approximately 3.7 seconds before snatching up the receiver.

"Hello, Bing - er, Darcy resid - uh... Hello?"

Lizzie blinked, unsure whether it'd be appropriate to laugh. "Will? Is that you?"

"Elizabeth? Aren't you at school?"

"Uh, yeah, I was just calling to check in with Richard - um, why are you at the house?"

"My afternoon meetings got canceled so I thought I'd come back early, do paperwork from the house. Is that okay?"

"No it's bloody well not okay, I had plans with Nate! Plans involving Barney and building blocks!" came Richard's tinny voice from a distance. Lizzie and Darcy snorted simultaneously.

"Alright, well you sound busy with the two children - " Lizzie drawled.

"I heard that!"

" - so I'll leave you alone."

"When do you finish, again?" asked Darcy, voice absentminded. She guessed he was revising the aforementioned paperwork and rolled her eyes.

"Around two thirty. I'll be back at the house by three. Listen, can you figure out dinner? I'll take chicken pad thai, extra hot sauce."

There was a pause. "Uh... I can't make Thai food."

There was an even longer pause. Lizzie half suspected she'd swallowed her voice box. (Um, ew.) "You what?"

"Did you expect me to be able to?"

"You're cooking?"

"Is that a problem?"

"You can cook?"

"Can I stay for dinner?"

"No," replied Darcy, sounding mildly irritated at this point. Lizzie rolled her eyes again.

"Why not?"

"Because you have that date with that model."

"I do? Oh, I do."

"How did that happen?" Lizzie asked, interested in spite of herself.

"God only knows."

"Oi!"

"Shut up, Richard. We have to pick up Ana before any dinner is made."

"Right, she's coming in today. What time is that, again?"

"Four. I'll go, you stay with Nate."

"Or we could all go," Lizzie suggested. "Nate could use an outing."

"No, the terminal's bound to be crowded and he'd just be fussy."

Lizzie frowned at his tone but failed to come up with a sufficient counter-argument. "Fine. Are you sure you'll be back in time to cook?"

"It'll be fine. Do we have baby food?"

"You're the one in the house; check."

"Okay, there's - oh, fuck, Nate's crying. Dammit, Richard, what did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"Would you stop cursing around Nate?" Lizzie interjected, frowning. "Go pick him up and pat him on the back or something - "

"His diaper's full, I doubt picking him up would help - "

"Then go change it, why are you still on the phone?"

"You called for a reason and I'm still waiting to hear it."

"I was just checking in, would you go take care of the kid?"

"I'm going over to the changing table now, would you stop with the italics?"

"Jesus." Lizzie rubbed at her eyes and swore. "Eyeliner. Right. I wear makeup."

"Stop swearing around Nate," Darcy replied.

Lizzie actually pulled the receiver from her ear and stared at it. Was William Darcy feeling smug?

"Go fuck yourself, Darce."

And then she hung up.


Nathaniel was down for his afternoon nap by two forty five, and that left Darcy a small slot of time to finish up his work. Richard had reluctantly left an hour ago, promising Nate juice boxes and Blue's Clues reruns despite Darcy's continued comments of, "He's only a year old, Richard, he doesn't understand what you're saying."

Darcy spread several files out on the kitchen table and pulled up Excel spreadsheets, checking numbers and going over reports. He tried to keep phone conversations quiet and checked on Nate more often than strictly necessary. Despite this, he felt jittery the entire time Nate was out of eyesight. It was true that he'd raised Ana since she was six years old, but a six years old girl was much different from the delicate bundle that was a one year old boy. Darcy felt quite out of his depth, especially since Lizzie seemed to have a more innate grasp of what Nate wanted whenever he was crying. He eventually gave up on his last analysis report and wandered into Nate's nursery, sprawling out in the rocking chair by his crib.

His godson was still sleeping soundly, on his stomach with drool oozing onto the blankets. Darcy felt tired himself after a night of constantly getting up to placate a fussy baby and felt his eyelids start to sag. As if sensing impending rest, Nate started to snuffle insistently. Darcy dragged himself up and carefully picked him up, settling back into the chair and patting Nate's back clumsily. He felt completely clueless, having never really eased a child back to sleep before this whole ordeal, but Nate seemed to be satisfied for he settled back into slumber.

Darcy checked the clock. It was nearly time for Lizzie to be back, and after that he had to head out to Newark to pick Ana up from the airport. He didn't want her to miss too many classes (after all, freshman year was important), but he also understood her need to see Nate. She was an aunt now, and although he himself felt woefully unprepared he had to realize that Ana must be feeling the weight of responsibility as well, all the way out in Chicago. Darcy patted Nate's back meditatively, staring at a cartoon giraffe on the wallpaper opposite him. Their entire lives had shifted off kilter because of this tiny human being, and the worst part was that Charlie, long one of the central steadying figures in Darcy's life particularly, was no longer there to help him through the transition.

Darcy suddenly missed his best friend more than words could say. He blinked, now glaring at the giraffe, and tried to keep himself in check. There was no use in breaking down in front of a sleeping baby.

The warm weight of both Charlie's child and repressed grief had him soon drifting off as well.


Catherine de Bourgh prided herself on being a competent woman. She owned a significant portion of both branches of Darcy Corporations, was considered a member of the upper echelons of American society, came from an old line of English nobility, and had excellent musical taste to boot. Being competent meant, of course, keeping close tabs on her most favored nephew, William Darcy. The man in question had a veritable gold mine of promise that Catherine was just dying to tap into, including but not limited to high intelligence, good breeding, ample maturity, and unquestionably good looks. She knew that with the right push, he would marry the perfect woman and raise more Darcy children. He was already off to a good start, CFO of the company at only twenty eight.

Money and connections; the two things that any man really needed. All she had to do was move Caroline Bingley into a more opportune spot - the girl knew what was good for her and was more than happy to cooperate, pleasant thing that she was - and William's life would be complete.

Which was why Catherine was seething when she heard about the Bingley will.

"All I wanted," she raged to her cowering chihuahua, "was William to be well settled. Now he's chained to some Bingley spawn and another Bennet to boot!" She scooped up the terrified dog. "What on earth are we going to do, Anne? I think at least a phone call is in question. No, maybe a summons. I'll have to see all three of them right away. Yes," she decided, collapsing dramatically onto her bed, "they'll simply have to come visit. Oh, my head. I need a cold compress. And a martini."


Lizzie let herself into the house, slipping off her pumps and tugging her hair loose. It was eerily quiet. She frowned. Darcy was supposed to be tapping away at his keyboard in a few rooms over, and there was no way that Nate would deign to stay silent for more than a few moments. Yet she had parked her own car right next to Darcy's. A shard of panic pierced her thoughts and she scrambled to the playroom, breath leaving her lungs when finding it empty. She flew up the stairs, hoping against hope to find someone in the nursery, and threw the door open wide -

- to find a sleeping Nathaniel Bingley snuggled into an equally unconscious William Darcy.

She inhaled sharply, sagging against the door frame. She slid down to sit at its base, wood digging into her spine. The sunlight slanted across the room and onto her shoulders, warming her skin. She wasn't sure how long she sat there, forehead touching her knees and arms wrapped around her thighs. She only moved when Darcy stirred, and that was just to look up at him.

Will was always handsome, but Lizzie decided he looked best when he'd just woken up. Slightly disoriented and very fuzzy, he stared at her with clouded blue eyes under a mop of mussed hair. "When did you get home?" he asked, voice scratchy.

"A few minutes ago," she guessed, pulling at her pencil skirt disinterestedly. His gaze traced the curve of her calves before he snapped back to her, tips of his ears coloring pink. She pretended not to notice as she stood up. "You have to get to Newark by four, so you'd better leave now. It's nearly three fifteen."

"Ah, good point - " He made to get up but suddenly remembered the sleeping Nate on his shoulder. Cupping the child's head, he lay the infant carefully down in the crib, making small soothing noises when Nate fussed. Lizzie watched, mouth agape. "What?"

"How did you do that?"

He shrugged. "Putting a kid to bed is the same no matter what age. Ana had a rebellious period after our parents passed and refused to go to bed until she literally fell asleep on me most nights."

"Oh." Lizzie suddenly envisioned a tiny, golden haired Georgiana clinging stubbornly to a tired sixteen year old Darcy, both their eyes drooping as he struggled to draw the covers over her limbs. It made her inexplicably sad.

"Yeah. The therapist says sometimes people get paranoid about losing other people after a major death. She'd panic if she didn't know where I was."

"You're awfully talkative after waking up," Lizzie noted, fingers itching to push a tuft of hair out of his face.

He drew back, mouth tightening. "Sorry."

"No, I... No. It's nice."

He gave her an inscrutable look. "Alright. Uh. I'm going to go now."

"Right."

"Yeah."

"Bye then."

"Good bye."

Darcy slid out of the room and Lizzie settled into the rocking chair he'd just vacated, pulling it closer to Nate's crib. "Things are getting weirder and weirder, babe," she whispered, hearing the front door creak closed.


Ana was subdued as Darcy loaded her duffel into the back of his car. Understandable, of course - the bustle of airports and the stale air of planes always wore him out too - but on closer inspection he noticed a distinct red tint to her eyes. He pressed his lips together and chose not to comment, knowing his sister would speak sooner or later.

Sure enough, about halfway down the I-287, Ana spoke from the ball she'd curled herself into. "How is she?"

"Who, Elizabeth?"

"No, Whoopi Goldberg. Yes, Lizzie."

Darcy bit back a grin. "She's... hanging in there. It hasn't really hit yet, I think." Ana made a humming noise in the back of her throat. "It's coming to her in bits and pieces. She's very quiet. Almost reclusive. A little snappy."

"Well, she's always snappy around you," Ana remarked, tracing hearts on the dashboard. "She loves me, though." Darcy declined comment, unable to refute either point. It was no secret that Lizzie and Darcy could barely stand each other, but for some odd reason she and Ana got on very well. Darcy blamed their similar temperaments; Lizzie and Ana blamed his sour one.

"Nate is a very outgoing baby. He'll take to you easily," Darcy said after a while, turning to look at Ana briefly. She nodded, face suddenly drawn. "I'm making dinner." She nodded again. "Is there anything you want?" A head shake this time. He sighed and gave up.

The rest of the car ride was silent.