For, Casey.
Bang the Doldrums
Charlotte was surprised to receive a call from Lizzie asking for a ride home from the airport. First of all, it was ten in the morning – her prime time to be unconscious, and second of all, she had expected Little Lord Darcy to at least be capable of driving her friend home; but from Lizzie's deathly silence all the way from LAX to their apartment on 2nd street, Charlotte immediately knew the 'vacation' had not been a relaxing one.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Charlotte asked as she swung the car into a parking space.
Lizzie sighed heavily, "You don't wanna know my thoughts."
"I promise you won't offend my delicate sensibilities," she said with a crooked grin.
"You don't have any," Lizzie shot back actually managing a smile.
"I know; I'm completely amoral so you have nothing to worry about."
"Stab, shoot, decapitate…"
"Oh, is that all?" Charlotte cast a sympathetic smile in Lizzie's direction as they climbed out and quickly rounded the car to grab the bags out of the trunk. "Did I ever tell you how very sorry I am for making you go to the club that night? And then not stopping you from going home with him? Cause, I am, really sorry…"
"He's the most pompous jackass I've ever met! Seriously, he told me I couldn't understand what it was like to live with the weight of familial obligations on my shoulders because I'm a middle class kid from the Valley!"
"He said that?!" Charlotte's eyes widened.
"Well…" Lizzie began scrunching her face up as she slung the small carryon over her shoulder, "I may have jazzed it up a bit, but yeah, that was the gist. Oh, and get this, I'm the mistake he's fixing. It's like he thinks I'm absolutely thrilled I got knocked up because of who he is."
"All things considered, you did kinda hit the jackpot in that area."
Lizzie made a point to violently mash the elevator button. "But, that's just it; I don't care about his money, or his stupid name! His family roots could be traced all the way back to a bum living in an alley behind a pub in London and it wouldn't make a difference – Darcy would still be a total fuckwit."
"God, Will, you're a total fuckwit."
Darcy sunk against the passenger door with a frown. He couldn't understand for the life of him why he was the one being treated like the bad guy.
Elizabeth took to giving him the painful silent treatment for the remainder of their trip; when they were in the presence of Georgie (who was also busy perfecting her cold shoulder), Lizzie played the part of his doting girlfriend perfectly, but when they were alone she would barely condescend to look in his direction let alone speak more than two words to him.
After three whole days of that sort of tension, he finally fed his sister a load of bull about needing to get back to the office, nixed his plans about proposing all together, and coolly instructed Lizzie to pack her bags. Once they landed in LA he offered to have his driver take her home, to which Lizzie replied with an exaggerated southern drawl,
"But Mr. Darcy, I'm just a poor girl from the Valley. I dun know nothin' 'bout no limos."
Okay, so maybe he could have handled the situation with Georgie a little better (a lot better), but he stood by his feelings on the matter, and Georgie's his sister so it really wasn't Elizabeth's place to question him as far as her well-being is concerned.
"Why don't you just apologize and explain to Lizzie that your mouth works independently of your brain?"
Holding his cell up with his shoulder, Darcy stretched out on the limo's backseat. "Why should I apologize? I didn't say anything that wasn't true."
Charles audibly sighed. "True or not, it was still rude and she has every right to be pissed. You're going to have to coexist at some point I figure it will be easier if you admit to being a jackass now."
Darcy clearly heard the distinct sound of a toilet flushing on the other end of the line and scrunched his face up. "Are you talking to me while you're in the bathroom?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?"
Darcy rolled his eyes with a shake of his head. "Could you just do what I asked, please? No more lectures. No more name-calling; and certainly no more of whatever it is you're doing in the bathroom."
Charles gave him a defeated sigh, "Okay, but if you're looking to smooth things over with Lizzie, I don't think this is the way to go about it."
"Things don't have to be smooth with Lizzie," Darcy grunted, "they, only have to appear that way to everyone else."
Charlie closed the bathroom door behind him, slipped off his Bluetooth with his free hand, and side-stepped Lizzie and her rolling luggage.
"Hey, Lizzie, welcome back." He smiled and disappeared into the bedroom across the hall.
"Hey, Charlie," she replied absently.
Suitcase wheels stopped with a screeching halt as Lizzie's eyes darted between the bathroom door and her sister's bedroom where she could have sworn Charles Bingley, only clad in his boxer shorts, just walked into.
"Jane obviously had a much better week than I did."
"Sarah, hold all of my calls."
The ever dutiful secretary glanced up from behind her computer monitor quickly minimizing the window containing Perez Hilton's latest gossip, and gave her boss a sly smile. "So, how many fictional meetings are you in today? Just so I can practice the lie."
Darcy didn't bother to stop. "Make it a nice even number," he told her over his shoulder.
Once safe inside the confines of his office, Darcy sank comfortably into the Italian leather of his desk chair and immediately went for the iPod stashed away in the desk's top drawer. He simply wanted a moment to himself; when he first arrived to work that morning, he was quite literally ambushed by his staff and stuck in meeting after mind-numbing meeting – assaulted with figures and projections he didn't care about all the way up until lunch.
Leaning back, he slipped the mp3 player's earbuds in and let the 'soothing' sounds of Cannibal Corpse lull him into a fantastic state of non-thought. His appointment book lay open across the cherry-wooded varnish of the desk possibly left so by Sarah when she was double checking meetings of his she would later have to cancel; Darcy made a move to close it when one entry caught his eye:
Dr. O'Malley – November 15th, 3:30 p.m.
Oh, god, he had completely forgotten about Lizzie's doctor appointment! Pushing up the sleeve of his suit jacket, he checked his watch; it was already ten after three. If he rushed out the door now and broke every speed limit on his way to TGI Friday's, he could get Lizzie there just a couple minutes late.
Hitting the pause button on the sounds of death metal growls and blast beats, Darcy made a move to jump out of his chair and then stopped. Lizzie obviously hadn't made any attempt to remind him – three whole weeks had passed since they had gotten back into town and he hadn't heard a single word from her. So, maybe she didn't want him there and the very last thing he wanted was to show up and be blown off.
"Could always call and make sure…" Darcy mumbled to himself as he grabbed his cell out of his pocket and turned it on. Swallowing the lump that had mysteriously formed in his throat, he scrolled through his list of contacts and reluctantly hit the 'send' button.
"TGI Friday's, this is Navi." The voice on the other end didn't exactly sound enthused.
"Um, can I speak to Elizabeth Bennet?"
"Sorry, Lizzie's gone for the day."
Darcy sighed feeling strangely hurt, "Oh, okay. Um, thanks," he muttered and hung up quickly.
Sitting back in the chair with a grim expression, Darcy tucked his phone away and returned the earbuds to their rightful place.
"Oh, Lizzie, I thought you'd gone!" Navi said with a sheepish look as Lizzie and Wickham passed by the hostess' podium.
Stopping in her tracks, Lizzie turned around. "I would have been, if my ride hadn't bailed on me," she told Navi bitterly, "why?"
"You had a phone call." The teen popped her gum loudly, "But, they didn't leave a name." She shrugged. "Oh well, catch ya later."
Lizzie gave her a little wave and followed Wickham out of the restaurant's double doors; smiling graciously, the beginnings of a blush creeping up into her cheeks, she babbled, "I can't thank you enough for this, Danny."
"Seriously, it's no problem." He bared his brilliant pearly whites at her. "Not only do I get to help out a friend, but I don't have to deliver a single plate of potato skins for the rest of the afternoon. It's a win, win situation."
Lizzie gave him an affectionate laugh when he held open the passenger door of his beat up Ford Focus for her. Once Wickham slid in the driver's seat, she said, "Ever the gentleman, I see."
He shrugged with a grin. "I try to make my mamma proud."
"Unlike some people I know," she grunted as the tiny car made its way into Santa Monica's traffic.
Wickham glanced at her briefly. "Let me guess, my good buddy Darcy was originally the chauffer for this trip?"
"His cell phone's mysteriously off and his secretary swore he couldn't be reached. I don't even know why I expected him to…" She trailed off and looked at Wickham with pleading eyes. "You have to promise you won't say anything, okay?"
"What, do you have cancer or something?" He asked her teasingly and very quickly grew pale off of her serious expression. "Oh, god, Lizzie, you don't have cancer, do you?!"
Lizzie shook her head, letting a smile cross her lips. "No, but wouldn't you feel like a total asshole if I did. Take that next right," she instructed.
"Very funny," Wickham sighed with relief. "What's wrong then?"
"I'm pregnant." The statement surprised Wickham so much that he ended up jerking the wheel and immediately had to jerk them back into the proper lane with a chorus of horns sounding behind them. Wide-eyed, Lizzie gripped the door handle. "That didn't mean you could kill me now."
"Sorry." He blushed. "Does Darcy know?"
Lizzie nodded. "Yeah, and take a left at that light."
Wickham's face was very bleak. "Good luck with that."
"I know you said to hold all of your calls, Mr. Darcy, but this is literally the thirtieth time this woman has called in the past hour, and if you don't pick up this phone I'm going to jump out of a window. I mean it."
Sarah's frustrated voice boomed through the intercom; blindly he slammed a hand on the 'talk' button and Darcy picked his head up off of his desk long enough to grumble "Patch her through". So, Elizabeth had expected him after all – it was almost better to be yelled at by her than to continue to sit here feeling utterly useless and unwanted.
"Hey, I'm sorry, I completely forgot about your appointment and I called your work, but you'd already gone…" he babbled into the phone.
"It's sweet of you to apologize, Darcy, but I have no idea what you're talking about."
It was Eva. Not Lizzie. Eva the Terrible.
If possible, he felt even worse.
"Eva? Sorry, I thought you…why the hell are you calling me?"
"Now, is that any way to speak to the person who's calling to take you out to lunch? I thought maybe we could talk some more – it was really nice seeing you that day, Will."
When feeling the least bit hurt, Darcy had a tendency to act impulsively. It was this fatal character flaw that led to his irresponsible drinking, which led to his irresponsible clubbing, which ultimately led to his irresponsible one-night-stands. And at this very moment, it led to him agreeing to meet Eva at her place in fifteen minutes.
"I shouldn't have said that – he's your boyfriend. I really hope it all works out."
Lizzie frowned at Wickham, not bothering to take her seatbelt off. "What did he do to you?"
"You're gonna be late," he warned.
"I don't care," she quickly replied.
Wickham took a deep, dramatic breath. "I grew up with Will, though you wouldn't guess it by the looks of my car and my job. Our mother's were best friends, extremely close, and when my mom died in a car accident, the Darcy's took me in. They treated me like a son, loved me like a son, and Will couldn't stand it. Despite my best efforts, we never got along; he was just too insanely jealous of me.
Anyway, when we were juniors in high school, I found out about an affair Will was having with one of his mom's married friends – hey, I know a lot of horny, teenage boys wouldn't agree, but I thought it was right to let someone know. He didn't exactly appreciate the sentiment – he made up some horrible story about me and his mom, which luckily old Mr. Darcy didn't believe. Mr. Darcy was helping to fund my education, but after he died, Will saw to it that those funds were cut off and I had to drop out of school. So, now I'm a broke waiter at a Friday's trying to keep creditors off my back."
"Oh my god," Lizzie said breathlessly, horror etched into her features.
Wickham shrugged. "But, that was all a really long time ago, and he's had to have changed if he landed a great woman like you.
Lizzie brought a tender hand to his cheek. "Danny, I'm so sorry…"
Wickham's green eyes focused on her lips and in an instant his mouth was on hers.
Eva didn't waste any time; the moment he walked through her door, she pounced on him and Darcy all too readily accepted. He couldn't help it, he felt like total shit and it had been a surprisingly long time since he'd had sex.
"Fitzwilliam, what are you thinking about?"
As insane as it were, for a moment, Darcy was compelled to answer that question with complete and total honesty. That's not to say he usually specialized in being dishonest; he'd merely had enough experiences with women in his lifetime to know that when asked that particular question, absolute truth did not have his best interest at heart.
In fact, absolute truth was only interested in getting him castrated.
And yet, he wanted to tell her anyway. Wanted to tell her instead of sweet and dirty nothings to whisper in her ear, his brain was frantically thinking of exit strategies:
Sneak phone to bathroom. Text Charlie to call. Make up excuse on way to door.
Wait till she falls asleep. Use fire escape as getaway.
Hit her over head with alarm clock. Use fire escape as getaway.
He wanted to tell her instead of dinner plans his brain was frantically thinking of ways to explain what a cad he had been. That, he knew this was wrong, but he had done it out of fear (after all she knew when afraid he was apt to do something incredibly fucking stupid), and honestly he'd had no intentions to hurt her despite their past.
He wanted to tell her all about Lizzie – everything about Lizzie, and he should have done so that day at the cemetery, but it had felt so good to see her; unfortunately blocking her calls and emails because he was angry hadn't turned off his feelings. The whole scene would be infinitely easier if he could find a way to be cold and indifferent.
Eva shifted under the covers and wrapped a slender leg around his thigh, snuggling closer.
Darcy sighed and fought his crisis of conscience. "Nothing; I'm not thinking about a single thing."
"Well, that's disappointing," she pouted, rubbing against him. "I was thinking this has been the best lunch I've had in a while. We should eat together more often," Eva added with a chuckle.
Suddenly, Darcy untangled himself from her and rolled off the bed. "Have you seen my boxers?" he absently asked.
Eva bolted straight up. "Where are you going?"
"I've got a – a meeting, I just remembered. She's already threatened to jump out of a window once today, Sarah will probably slit her wrists if I don't make it," he lied through his teeth while frantically buttoning up his shirt. Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, Darcy practically sprinted for the door.
"I'll call you, or something."
She brought a hand to her lips and tried her very best not to cry.
This unfortunate event was just another prime example of her impeccably shit luck when it came to the opposite sex. Since about the age of fourteen, Lizzie had unwittingly amassed an impressive list of loser boyfriends, perverts, and emotional fuckwits; piles of stunted growth who had managed by the grace of god to dodge the clutches of natural selection (see: Archie the Thief, Danny the Meth Lab Technician, and Nate the Drummer).
Unfortunately, her list of 'good ones' that got away' was equally as long (depressingly so) and growing longer by the second.
If only she had spent that night at home instead of agreeing to go clubbing with Charlotte…
If only she hadn't had that fifth tequila sunrise on a virtually empty stomach…
If only she hadn't met Will Darcy and made an even bigger mess of her life…
Lizzie let out a tiny sigh and continued to finger her lips as he gazed at her with a devilishly handsome smile on his face. "What are you thinking about, Lizzie?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, and leaned in close to her once again,
If only Daniel Wickham hadn't been such an excellent kisser.
"We're friends, right?" weren't exactly the words Wickham had expected to hear and he stopped just inches from her lips.
"Yeah…" he began looking thoroughly confused.
Putting a hand on his shoulder, Lizzie gently pushed him away. "Which is why what happened can never happen again and I hope you understand and don't totally hate me."
His face softened considerably. "Yeah, I understand."
"Thanks for the ride, I really appreciate it."
Without another word, Lizzie exited the car and hurried for Dr. O'Malley's office. While in mid jog, her phone began vibrating like crazy in the pocket of her jeans and she stopped to answer it.
"Hello?" she barked frustration evident in her voice.
"Hello, is this Elizabeth Bennet?"
"Yes, it is."
"Hi, this is Corey Nelson with People Magazine. I'm just calling to ask if we could get a statement from you on your engagement to Fitzwilliam Darcy? We've already received a quote from Mr. Darcy and we would like to have one from you as well. He's usually not too generous with the press, so we were surprised when his representative broke the story to us. Oh, god, where are my manners! I completely forgot to tell you congratulations!"
Lizzie could feel the blood boiling behind her eyes.
"No comment."
Darcy's a bit of a shit isn't he? Oh well, we love him anyway.
Suggestions for the name of Lizzie's doctor from my boyfriend included: Philip McCrotch, Richard Moist (call him Dick), Gregory Mouse (heh), Gene Feelgood, Steve Speculum, Jordan Soggybottom, Dr. Spock, The Medical Offices of Don Polk and Ann Praud, and Virginia Slim.
Obviously, he was no help.
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