Sixty-one: worrying

She worried. She as a worrier; it's what she did. It made her nervous to watch her eldest son dive. Will had assured her that it was perfectly safe, that he did it for years, but it made her nervous. She was scared that he was going to hit his head on the way down or miss the pool.

Watching James play hockey wasn't any better. She didn't like all the violence, didn't like the hits on open ice of the body checks. And don't get her started about the danger of having blades attached to your feet.

At least Thomas and Annie didn't give her anxiety over their sports. Thomas and William usually had their swim and dive meets together, so she would focus on Thomas in the pool instead of William flipping through the air. Annie's tennis matches were a nice change of pace as well.

Sixty-two: Changes

Her husband really appreciates the changes in her body due to pregnancy. Her breasts are larger, she's softer all over, and curvier, and she's horny all the time (well, hornier than normal).

After she gets over the first few months – the morning sickness and the general discomfort, she likes the changes too. For the first time in her life she can truly call herself voluptuous; she feels really sexy.

Sixty-three: ocean

His feelings for her are as deep as the ocean. He realizes that it's a cliché and he doesn't care. His feelings are the ocean and sometimes they're as violent, as powerful as the story seas. His feelings are not the waters close to shore that ebb and flow. His feelings are the bottomless depths of the deepest, darkest sea.

Sixty-four: controlling

At times, he'll admit, he's a little controlling. He's been a control freak since he was a child. It's always been a part of his nature.

When his parents die, the control issues are magnified. He has to control Gigi's life as well as his own. Part of it comes from his newfound responsibility and the other from his control issues. As he grows older and more confident he is able to let some of the control issues go.

He still, at times, will make decisions for Lizzie or try to control her, but it's a terrible habit and one that he is working on.

Sixty-five: tempter

For his icy exterior, he has a bit of tempter. Little things don't set him off in to a blind rage or anything, but his temper is terrible when provoked.

All it takes to set him off is a threat against any of the people he cares about. As far as triggers go, it's not a bad one to have. George Wickham is one of the few people to ever experience the full extent of his temper. Wickham himself would tell you not to cross William Darcy.

Because, William Darcy has felt the pain of loss, so he'll do anything in his considerable power to prevent himself from ever feeling it again.

Sixty-six: sick

William Darcy doesn't get sick often, but when he does, he goes down.

It's the second week of January when he gets the flu. Lizzie nagged him about getting a flu shot, but he never found (made) the time. Lizzie comes over after work after his secretary told her that he went home sick – not to tell him "I told you so", but to care for her ailing boyfriend.

She finds him on top of the covers, still in his clothes from work. His bowtie is only slightly loosened. She climbs up on the bed next to him and takes off his bowtie. He stirs in his sleep but doesn't wake. She continues with his buttons and then removes his shirt. He's feverish.

He stays in bed for the next week under the orders of Nurse Lizzie. She brings him homemade chicken noodle soup (okay, it's not homemade, but the old woman who owns the take out place makes it from scratch) and she listens to him whine about missing work.

She finds she rather likes taking care of her sick boyfriend – even if he is a terrible patient.

Sixty-seven: unrequited love

Unrequited love sucks. He struggled to find a more eloquent way to say it, but "sucks" is the only word that adequately describes the way it feels.

It's overwhelming: the longing, the self-loathing, the feelings of failure. It hurts, loving someone so fully and deeply and having them loath you just as strongly.

Sixty-eight: sunrise

When they're at his old family home in Newport, they get up early to watch the sunrise. It's so different than watching the sunset in California – there's something solitary about being awake at five in the morning.

Bing holds her hand in his while she sips her tea to fight the morning chill. She's distracted by the beauty of the sunrise when Bing gets down on one knee.

She drops her mug and it shatters, "Yes! Yes!" she tells him as the tears well in her eyes.

Sixty-nine: sunset

He takes her up on the roof of his vineyard (yes, he owns a vineyard) to watch the sunset. It has the best view on the entire property, the best view of all his properties.

They bring up a bottle of wine and drink the whole thing. It's probably a little bit reckless because they're on the roof, but they don't care. They remain on the roof until longer after the sun goes down, because that's what happens when the two of them start talking.

Seventy: snow

They get stranded in the mountains because of all the snow on their first Christmas as a couple. She apologizes profusely to her mother, but there is really nothing she can do to make it home. She's too tired from a previous week of skiing to be coaxed onto the mountain no matter how much he tries to convince her with talk of perfect conditions.

He spends a couple half days on the slopes, but even he tires of that. They pass their days by the fire, with tea in mugs, and old paperbacks. Eventually, he gets antsy and wishes to return to work. Lizzie gets cabin fever and they can't wait for someone to finally clear the roads.

The main roads have been cleared, but they haven't gotten to the smaller neighborhoods at the top of the mountain. They can go out their back door and be right now the mountain, so they are not a priority.

When they are finally freed, Lizzie swears she never wants to see snow again, but agrees to go the next year. Because, by then, she's forgotten all about the cabin fever and remembers only the nights in front of the fire.