"...With all dear Emma's little faults, she is an excellent creature. Where shall we see a better daughter, or a kinder sister, or a truer friend? No, no; she has qualities which may be trusted; she will never lead anyone really wrong; she will make no lasting blunder; where Emma errs once, she is in the right a hundred times." – Mrs Weston (nee Taylor) to Mr Knightly in Emma, by Jane Austen.
The observations of her uncle and aunt now began; and each of them pronounced him to be infinitely superior to anything they had expected. "He is perfectly well behaved, polite, and unassuming," said her uncle.
"There is something a little stately in him to be sure," replied her aunt, "but it is contained to his air, and is not unbecoming. I can now say with the housekeeper, that though some people may call him proud, I have seen nothing of it."
"I was never more surprised than by his behaviour to us. It was more than civil; it was really attentive; and there was no necessity for such attention. His acquaintance with Elizabeth was very trifling."
"To be sure, Lizzie," said her aunt, "he is not so handsome as Wickham; or rather he has not Wickham's countenance, for his features are perfectly good. But how came you to tell us he was so disagreeable?" – Mr and Mrs Gardiner in Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.
Contrary to popular belief Darcy did not meet Emma through George.
He had in fact met George through Emma. It was six years ago now since he had first met Emma – raging, furious, and quite frankly terrifying sixteen year old girl – and while they would never have the closeness that she had with the girls or he with George, they had a rather strong friendship.
Despite this friendship Darcy was never good with dealing with crying females.
God he hated crying females. If he had a choice between bungee jumping of a space satellite or comforting a crying female, he would pick the bungee jumping without hesitation, at least then he would know he'll still be alive afterwards. Whenever he tried to comfort Georgie or Annette when they were in tears he seemed to somehow worsen the situation.
With the greatest reluctance he placed his arms round Emma, petted her hair, and murmured something along the lines of 'there, there' while praying for George to come home soon and pry Emma off of him.
Fortunately for him Emma wasn't much of a crier and she eventually pried herself off of him and sniffled sheepishly at him, "sorry," she mumbled, "I don't suppose I can come inside now?"
He stepped aside, "I'll get you some tissues," he said uncomfortably as she edged past him, "would you like something to drink?"
"No thanks," Emma replied as she entered the living room.
Darcy slipped into the bathroom and used his towel to wipe the damp spot Emma left on his neck with her crying before helping himself to reams of toilet paper which he shoved into Emma's hand rather ungraciously a moment later.
"So..."
"So..." Emma blew her nose which was rather revolting.
"What...erm...well, made you cry?"
"Jeeze, you really don't like crying girls, do you?"
Ah, Emma, he can always trust her to understand him even if she doesn't agree with it. "No," he agreed happily, "no I do not."
Emma rolled her eyes, "no wonder Lizzie thinks you're a jackass," she mumbled. Darcy ignored that because he knew Emma didn't mean it maliciously. Elizabeth probably still thought of him rather arrogant and unfeeling but he desperately hoped once she got over her embarrassment she will view him in a different, more romantic, light and they can make those beginning steps of a relationship. Instead of reacting he just gave Emma a pointed look urging her to tell him the truth. "Oh all right," she huffed, "Wickham told Lizzie some butchered version of what happened five years ago and she believed it. God, she believed him."
Darcy fought down the urge to run when Emma's eyes started to water and she sniffed into the ball of toilet paper. He also had to fight the urge to hunt Wickham down and punch his lights out, not only was he spreading lies and misleading Elizabeth but he was making Emma cry.
"He has a habit of being rather charming," he muttered.
"Yeah but I'm her friend," Emma half wailed, "She should have asked for my side before choosing him!"
"I have no doubt," he said in an attempt to comfort her, "that she only believes him because he spoke of me first. Elizabeth is intelligent in more ways than one," he might have said that a little too admiringly but he can trust Emma to not tell anyone (apart from George) that. "She will soon realise that Wickham gave her a half-truth and apologise."
"I hope so," Emma sobbed.
And Darcy was back again holding a weeping woman while he wondered how much it would cost to go to the nearest space satellite and just jump off of it without the bungee cord.
He never liked Wickham and over the years his dislike rapidly turned into hatred. He already would have very happily put Wickham in hospital especially after what he did to Georgie but now if he were to bump into Wickham right this moment he would outright kill the bastard.
Darcy and Wickham had a long history of rivalry that was better off left unsaid but when Darcy had reached of age he decided to seek Wickham out to settle the matter once and for all. A private detective had found Wickham in Highbury where he was living with his aunt – a weak, frail woman who had not quite recovered from her abusive childhood and had taken Wickham in when she discovered his existence. He had arranged to meet Wickham in the cafe and within five minutes of them barely speaking to one another Emma burst in and slapped Wickham.
Darcy sat there in shock as this furious blonde screamed all sorts to Wickham. Apparently he was a 'heartless bastard' who broke a Harriet's heart. If it had been a simple case of Wickham being a heartbreaker Darcy would have left within another hour but it was so much worse than that. Harriet Smith was fifteen years old and two months pregnant with Wickham's child...and the moment she had naively told him (with the greatest hope he would marry her once she turned sixteen and help raise the child); he broke up with her and told her that he had lied.
That he had never loved her.
That he had only ever wanted a shag and she was the easiest one.
And when she cried, begged him to stay, and tried to grab hold of him, he smacked her away. He smacked her hard enough for her to bruise.
Emma, in her blind fury having just comforted Harriet Smith, screeched all of this out to the whole of Highbury as she continued to smack Wickham with a newspaper that she had stolen from a nearby pensioner.
A Mr Perry managed to calm Emma down and there was a moment of silence until, "Shame on you," an elderly woman spat out to Wickham, "shame on you George Wickham!"
Darcy abruptly ended his meeting with Wickham with a cold goodbye and left his foster brother screaming abuses at his back as he followed Emma Woodhouse out of the village. At first she was just as angry at him as she was with Wickham but when he explained he wanted to make some sort of compensation to Harriet, though nothing could compensate for that loss of innocence and heartbreak, she calmed down and took him back to her home (which was far smaller in comparison to Pemberly but fine in its own right), and introduced him to the young girl.
Darcy gave Harriet Smith most of the money he had intended for Wickham which would later pay for her beautician classes and set her up in a small cottage after she turned eighteen. A small little portion went to the abortion. He, Harriet, and Emma sat there together in a private hospital in London two weeks later after meeting. It was when Emma learnt he struggled with crying females since his attempts of comfort only made Harriet sob harder.
And that would have been the end of it if it hadn't been for Emma insisting on his email address. First she just sent him reports on Harriet and Wickham, Harriet was cheering up, and unfortunately Wickham's aunt's nerves couldn't cope with the gossiping and they had moved. Then she started to tell him about herself and encouraged him to speak about himself in return, and then eventually she just sent him funny videos where he had to reply with Emma for god sake stop filling my inbox with junk mail, but she knew it amused him. He didn't know how she knew but she knew.
Then after a distasteful viewing of the residence halls for his main choice of university he decided he would look for private accommodation and when he informed Emma of his choice she had pointed him towards George.
And the rest was history. Here he was now with Emma now falling asleep on him (she better not drool on his shoulder, she soaked it enough with her tears) just as George arrived back from the shops.
"Sorry it took so long, the queues were a nightmare," he called out from the kitchen. "I got some more bread and beans as well while I was there but I think we need to do a proper shop tomorrow seeing as we barely have anything for dinner to-"
George walked in and immediately closed his mouth shut at the sight of Emma. His narrowed eyes took in the damp spot on Darcy's shirt and the pile of toilet paper on the floor, and the fading redness of Emma's face.
"Who made her cry?" he demanded to know.
"Elizabeth," Darcy murmured, "apparently Wickham has been telling tales."
"Right."
Darcy has seen George angry a couple times but he has never seen him this angry. It appeared if one wrong word was spoken he was likely to explode. Darcy didn't have the patience for such dramatics. At this point he only wanted to get a dry shirt on and get some sleep.
"Come and get your girlfriend off me," he said, "I have an early start tomorrow morning."
"She's not my girlfriend," George said immediately.
"Could have fooled me," Darcy muttered.
"Is it all right if she stays here for the night?" George asked as gently pulled Emma off of Darcy and cradled her to him with all the carefulness one might have with a newborn babe.
Not his girlfriend, yeah right, Darcy inwardly snorted. "It'll make a nice change," Darcy said out loud with a shrug, "usually you're the one staying over at hers."
"The girls are so much nicer roommates than you," George teased.
"Hey you chose me," Darcy shrugged.
"Yeah, but the choice was between you and this creepy guy with a tarantula," George said cheerfully, "and I don't know about you but I'd rather share a flat with someone I barely see than a great big hairy spider that might poison me in my sleep."
"I didn't know you were so scared of spiders."
"I wasn't talking about the tarantula."
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When George arrived at Austen House the next morning he was surprised to find Fanny sitting outside with a cup of tea. The sweet blonde looked exhausted and he had a suspicion she might have waited out there in the cold November night all night waiting for Emma.
"Don't tell me you've been here all night," he called out.
She looked relieved to see him though it vanished when she realised Emma was nowhere to be seen. "No, just since three o'clock in the morning," she said as if it was nothing. George thought she had the patience of a saint to sit out in the freezing cold for four straight hours. He barely had the patience with Emma this morning when she spent closer to an hour in his shower and then nicked his favourite shirt and jogging bottoms to wear. "Anne had almost fallen asleep when we realised she was still waiting outside for Emma," Fanny continued unaware of George's admiration, "is she at yours?"
"Yeah," George replied, "came straight over after the fight and cried all over Darcy. Poor sod. She's going to stay with me for a couple days though."
Fanny nodded as if she expected that but then perhaps she did. "I'll let you in," she said standing up, "but then I have to go soon for my work placement. Ask Anne or Ellen to pack a bag for you."
George laughed at Fanny's suggestion because he knew exactly why she made it. "Trust me Fanny this wouldn't be the first time I handled Emma's underwear – I've done her laundry! And packed her bags a couple times!" he added hastily at Fanny's horrified look, lord knows what she was thinking until he said that...well he knew but it wasn't something he wanted to think about.
To make things easier on both of them, he rushed up the stairs and went straight through to Emma's room. After he grabbed everything Emma could possibly need or want (including her laptop because he wasn't having her use his after the virus incident) he went to make a quick escape only to find Lizzie waiting for him in the hallway.
"You're angry with me too," she noted his facial expression, "I didn't mean to make her leave, I just-"
"Being incredibly prejudiced," he finished for her. He was angry with Lizzie but not as much as he had been yesterday. When Emma woke him up very early this morning (he didn't care that she couldn't sleep anymore it was five am) they had sat down together with a cup of coffee and discussed what happened the night before. Emma insisted she was just as much to blame because she let her pride get in the way of telling Lizzie her side. George tried to point out it was only her pride that wasn't letting her go back to Austen House but she decided to stop listening at that point. "You didn't even let her tell you her side of things. Wickham only told you the bare bones of the story."
"Well what did happen then?" Lizzie asked frustratedly.
"He was in a relationship with the girl Emma matched him with," George said simply, "and then broke up with her when she told him she was pregnant," he was deeply satisfied at the shock and horror on Lizzie's face. Now she knew her Wickham wasn't the perfect angel she thought he was whether that meant she would do the right thing however was another case. "Emma had a go at him in public and unfortunately gossip spreads in Highbury very quickly. His aunt couldn't cope and they left. Emma wasn't the villain, Lizzie; she has always been the misguided one at the most in these sort of stories."
Lizzie looked down guiltily. "Tell her I'm sorry," she said quietly.
"Tell her yourself," he said shortly.
"I will," she said firmly, "I will and more."
"More?"
"Well, I'm going to have to beg her to come home, won't I? Or the others will never forgive me."
With a short goodbye, George went back home, and ended up spending a good fifteen minutes standing in the living room door way watching Emma and Darcy battle it out on the x-box while he admired her in his clothes.
She looked far too adorable and perfect in his shirt for her own good.
JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA
Lizzie had tried to apologise to Emma twice now and both times she failed.
Then again Lizzie's timing hadn't been perfect despite her trying for a time when Emma was alone and not so busy. As the old age saying goes, the show must go on, and Emma continued to boss everyone about, help set the stage, sell the tickets, and sit in the audience watching them perform. And although she felt like a big pile of shit Lizzie put her all in her performance or Emma really would never forgive her.
The first time Emma had completely blanked her and then asked Ellen to get the cast on stage for one last run through of the final scenes and then the second time she had turned round and said, "Not now Lizzie, I have to talk to Ben about his habit of singing in the wrong key, and then get Holly's make up done. Can you get your costume on please?" before she rushed off to do exactly what she said.
The show went fantastically for the first two nights aside from a couple mistakes and normally they would all go home exhausted but on a post-show high. Instead they have gone home exhausted and miserable as Emma goes home with George instead of them. Fanny hasn't spoken a word to Lizzie since the argument, Anne and Ellen have only been civil, and Cathy has been nothing but a bag of nerves; unsure whether to be kind or if she should be cold like the others. Lizzie, however, just felt guilty and missed Emma more than anything else.
She couldn't quite believe that Wickham had left a pregnant girl alone but then don't half the young men in this country do that these days? And yeah she liked Wickham and thought him rather charming and sweet but at the end of the day what was his friendship compared to Emma's? He didn't find her a place to live for the last two years, he didn't know all her secrets, he wasn't there to hold her hand when she thought she broke her wrist, and he certainly wasn't there when she cried over her grandmother's death either. She had been an utter moron to believe Wickham without a single thought when it came to Emma. She could believe him on Darcy because Darcy was that sort of prick, but Emma...Emma couldn't purposely hurt a fly.
The final performance went smoothly as possible. Cathy missed a line and Ben mucked about as usual but overall it was the best performance they did and once the curtains closed as they finished their song, Lizzie took a deep breath, and stepped out before the curtains with her final monologue.
The audience tittered and applauded her at the right times (god bless English Literature and Drama students) and when the rest of the cast came on for their bows they burst into the loudest applause there was until Lizzie motioned them to be silent.
"There is a saying that behind every great man is a greater woman," she said loudly, "well it rings true here in the theatre only instead behind every great show is a greater director. We wouldn't be here tonight if it wasn't for the hard work of Emma Woodhouse and the whole cast would like to thank her."
The audience roared their approval as Emma blushingly climbed onto the stage (with Elton's and Ben's help) and Anne passed Holly the bottle of wine and bouquet of flowers that they always got the director (unless one of the blokes were doing it then it was just more wine) who passed it to Lizzie. Lizzie clever manoeuvred the flowers to cover her face as she leaned towards Emma to pass her the wine and grabbed her wrist instead.
"I'm sorry," she blurted out in a whisper, "I am so sorry. Very, very sorry."
Emma's eyes softened as she shifted her wrist out of Lizzie's grip and took her hand instead. "Help me clean up and we'll talk about it then," she whispered.
Lizzie squeezed her hand in return while the audience, remained oblivious to a broken friendship on the road of being mended, and continue to applaud and cheer loudly.
JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA
Like George, Darcy had watched As You Like It three times in a row, and like George he had noticed Elizabeth's attempt of apologising to Emma behind some flowers on the stage. Unlike George he didn't sulk about it.
Though he must he was too busy admiring Elizabeth to care about anything else.
The pub doors opened once again and Emma and Elizabeth came in arm in arm. All things were forgiven it seemed and the pair shared a joke with one another and headed straight to the bar. Darcy avoided catching either girl's eye and scanned the pub briefly but efficiently enough to discern that Wickham had indeed gone with the young lady that was playing Phebe.
Good, keep him away from Elizabeth and from interfering any more with her friendships. In fact may whatever deity that exists strike him down with lightening so he doesn't ruin any young girl's life ever again.
"I can't believe she forgave Lizzie just like that," George grumbled.
Darcy rolled his eyes. "Emma only ever holds grudges to someone who truly deserves it, like Wickham," he pointed out, "if she was to never forgive anyone who angered her or upset her...well you two would have stopped being friends years ago."
"I have you know that Emma was in the wrong every single time during those incidents!"
"Yes, well you would say that," Darcy said raising an eyebrow, "I, on the other hand, am pleased to see Elizabeth and Emma have made up. It means Emma will be back in Austen House, honestly, how can one girl shed so much hair in the shower in two days?"
"You could talk!"
"Yes, I am so glad after all these years of friendship you realised I can speak."
"Oh shut up," George said good naturedly, "come on admit it, it was nice to have Emma over, and you enjoyed her company."
"I did but not her hair in my plug hole or the sudden disappearance of my biscuits, and certainly not the sound of Taylor Swift at all hours in the day," Darcy said listing only a few of Emma's irritating habits, "and you cannot tell me you enjoyed sleeping on the sofa for the last couple nights."
George rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. He then glanced across the bar where Emma was now doing shots with the rest of Austen House (apart from Fanny who was sipping her lemonade) and his grimace melted away into some sort of sickening adoring expression. Darcy hoped he never made such a face whenever he looked upon Elizabeth or if he did someone will very soon put him out of his misery and shoot him.
George then sighed, it was one of longing rather than long suffering, "I have a feeling I will be taking Emma home tonight judging how quickly she has gone through those shots," he said.
"Shall I expect your return some time after Christmas, then?"
JAJAJAJAJAJAJAJA
Chris had been delighted when Marianne asked him to come and see As You Like It with her, and then to join her and the rest of Austen House at the after show party, he had hoped he could have some alone time with her which he has yet to have since he had first met her. Either they had been surrounded by the entirety of Austen House or she was out somewhere on her own little adventure.
He was very quickly disappointed then when it turned out Marianne also invited someone called Willoughby.
Yeah, just Willoughby, like Cher apparently. And yes he laughed at that too.
Willoughby was decent enough, friendly, cheerful, and on the cheeky side much like Marianne. But it quickly became apparent that Chris was nothing but the third wheel to Marianne as she paid more and more attention to Willoughby. His throat stricken and his heart fell to his stomach as Marianne's behaviour became more flirtatious and Willoughby returned it with his own flattering comments and smouldering looks that shouldn't be used before an audience. As he finished his second drink, Marianne and Willoughby were so absorbed in their conversation about some band he had never heard he decided it was better if he was to leave now before he saw something that would truly break his heart.
He should have known someone as young and beautiful as Marianne would never see someone as old and worn as him as something more than a friend.
His goodbye was barely acknowledged and he moved slowly through the crowd towards the door when he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and stiffened. It took all of his control to not whirl round and hit his attacker. When he did turn round he was surprised to see Marianne's eyes peering out at him with concern...
...but it wasn't Marianne. The short copper curls surrounding a rounder and fuller face was all Ellen. "Have a drink with me;" she said softly, "we haven't had the chance to hang out since last week. Tell me what you've been up to."
He smiled weakly and murmured his assent before allowing her to lead him back to the bar. Just as he walked past, in the corner of his eye, he saw Marianne and Willoughby kissing passionately, his stomach churned and he felt his heartbeat pause for a moment, he had now completely lost any chance with the likes of Marianne Dashwood.
He felt Ellen's hand squeeze his and he tried to shake himself out of his stupor. He still had friends, he didn't – shouldn't – need a girl anyway. He was too broken, too old, and not Willoughby – handsome, charming, cheeky, and bright as a new shiny penny – enough for the likes of her.
It didn't change the fact his heart was thoroughly shattered though.
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Things were beginning to get hazy for Cathy.
At first she had a drink with Harry and he said he thought she was marvellous. Oh he was being too kind! She was terrible compared to Ben, Lizzie, and Elton who were arguably the best actors in the group. They were discussing their favourite parts of the play when Anne suddenly took hold of her and told her that Emma was coming home. Next thing Cathy knew she was having celebratory shots with the girls. Then Emma whisked Fanny away towards Elton, Ellen disappeared, and Lizzie and Anne were discussing past productions leaving Cathy virtually on her own.
She went in search of Harry but couldn't find him anyway and before she knew it she got dragged into three different drinking games, was pennied two times, and was on her fifteenth – maybe sixteenth, she's beginning to lose count – drink when Emma appeared again and whisked her away for a drink of their own.
"Fanny's gone home," Emma told Cathy, "Ellen is talking to Chris, Lizzie and Anne are god knows where, and I think George and Darcy are brooding in a corner somewhere."
"Why did Fanny go home?" Cathy asked.
At least that's what she hoped she said, she had drank so much that it was possible she said something along the lines of 'Wha Fan gone ha?' or worse. And no she means worse, like she could have asked Emma 'why did the vagina go home', which sounded like a terrible, horrible, and utterly mean joke on Fanny's behalf. Cathy has a habit of putting her foot in her mouth when she's drunk and she certainly isn't the most articulate person when she's drunk this amount of alcohol either. Whatever she did say it must have gotten through to Emma...or maybe she's now on the verge of misunderstanding Emma? Who knows?
"She still has to get up in the morning for work," Emma replied, "that and I think, like me, she got fed up with Elton. Why did I think he would be good for her? All he did was ignore her and talk about my directing and kept reverting back to it every time I tried to mention Fanny's talents. Moron."
Before Cathy could reply she heard the familiar chinking sound of a penny going into her glass and groaned.
"Get it down you," Ben said cheerfully.
She turned to look pleadingly at Emma but the traitor just grinned and shook her head. "You know the rules Cathy," she snickered.
So after gulping down a near full drink, as the crowd surrounding her chanted the same song again, Cathy very gleefully put a penny in Emma's drink.
Five times.
Revenge is sweet when you have no freaking clue what you're doing.
Then she lost Emma and she had no idea where anyone is as she staggered around the pub struggling to find someone that seemed vaguely familiar. She also started to feel rather queasy and she wanted nothing more than to go home and cuddle her new best friend the toilet.
She bumped into something hard and warm and almost fell back onto the floor until someone caught her firmly.
Whoever it was smelt revolting, terrible cologne and smoke, she tried to pull away instantly but the person held onto her tightly.
"Hello Kitty Cat."
"John," she groaned.
"Came to see your show with your brother," John said oblivious to her struggling, "we thought it was brill. You looked very pretty in your white dress at the end. A Pretty Kitty indeed."
"Thank you," Cathy said desperately seeking for someone to save her.
Much to her dismay there was no one she knew around apart from her brother and Isabella. She knew they wouldn't save her, not because they seem to like the idea of her and John, but because they were eating each other's faces. Yeah there was no romantic bone in her that would call that snogging. It was a disgusting sight to see and her stomach churned even more as bile flooded her mouth.
She turned back to face John and she was even more sickened at the disgusting expression on his face. It was revolting. He was staring at her like she was something to eat, that she was nothing but his prey, like she was pretty but it wasn't a good thing, and she wanted nothing more than to run away and hide under her bed covers from such a look.
"What do you say, Kitty Cat?" he inquired. "Would you like to try some kissing to?"
"Please," she mumbled woozily, please don't kiss me, please go away, please someone save me, please leave me alone, she tried to say but the words were nothing but bile in her mouth, she swallowed it back and tried again, "please..."
"Yes," John murmured, "yes that's right Kitty Cat."
He then leaned down and Cathy became more and more terrifyingly aware that he was going to kiss her.
Just as his lips were about to touch hers though she suddenly ducked her head down and then...
And then...
...she vomited violently all over his feet.
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"George!"
One moment George Knightly was looking for Darcy – who seemed to have vanished during the short trip to the loo – and then the next he was suddenly attacked from the behind by Emma. Her arms wrapped tightly round his waist and her head resting on his back. He sighed and turned round only to have Emma rewrap herself round him and her head nesting itself on his chest. Elton, who George had no doubt had only moments ago been flirting – and failing – with Emma, looked furiously frustrated and immediately stormed off in a huffy rage.
"George," Emma said as she looked up at him brightly, "you know I love you, don't you?"
"How much have you had to drink?"
"It's not my fault," she pouted, "Cathy pennied me five times. Five times, George."
"I'm taking you home."
"Aww...do you have to, George?"
"Well no, but I don't see any of the girls around and there' no way on earth I'm leaving you here to cause trouble," George said unaffected by Emma's wide pleading eyes. So he tells himself. "Where is your coat?"
Emma shrugged and continued to hold onto him which made it highly difficult to find her coat and bag (fortunately Anne was looking after it – unfortunately neither she nor Lizzie were in the right state to take Emma home) and then even more so difficult when he went to say goodbye to Darcy and Chris.
"Have fun," Darcy smirked.
"Yeah," Chris agreed with a similar (and very evil) smirk, "good luck soldier."
"Piss off, the pair of you," George grumbled. He took about two steps when he stumbled over Emma one time too often and halted to a stop. "Emma I can't move if you don't let go."
"Then I shan't!"
Darcy and Chris howled with laughter behind George. "If you don't let me go," George said warningly, "I won't ever bring back your stuff that you left at mine."
Emma released him, not quickly enough for his threat to have worked, but she released him and they left the pub without too much of a struggle (side stepping the vomit somebody left behind) and walked home. As always it was difficult to walk Emma back when she was in such a state – he was constantly trying to keep her off the road and back onto the pavement – but before they knew it, they were back in Austen House just as Emma was regaling George on who she loves.
"...and I love our monstrous lot, of course, they are my nephews and nieces, and I can never forget the day I first held each of them," Emma babbled as George walked behind her on the stairs. She had staggered backwards twice and he wasn't going to risk her breaking her neck on the stairs! "I love Harriet, I love Taylor and Mr Weston, and I even love Miss Bates even if she is the most annoying person in all of Highbury! I love everyone in Austen House, I love Ellen, I love Lizzie, I love Anne, I love Cathy, and I love Fanny, did you hear that Fanny? I love you!"
"Emma, hush," George hissed as he hustled her quickly past Fanny's bedroom door, "you shouldn't wake Fanny up, she has work in the morning."
Emma giggled mischievously. "Can't wake Fanny up," she agreed, "we blondes have to stick together."
"Of course you do," George agreed.
They finally arrived at Emma's bedroom door when Emma spoke up again, "George?"
"Yes, Emma?" George asked in a very long suffering voice.
"I love you too," she said quickly, "you're on my list of people that I love more than anything in the world. I love you more than all of them put together. I love you the most."
George smiled at that. it wasn't the first time she told him this, she said it often when she was a child, and then whenever she drank more than she should she told him it again. It always warmed him to know she loved him just as much as he loves her.
"I love you too," he said, "now go to-"
His order was suddenly interrupted. The order that would have seen Emma tucked safely into bed while he would either end up on the sofa (making his neck ache even more) or have made the journey back home where he would have undoubtedly collapsed on the bed only to belatedly realise something rock hard of Emma's was there – like her hairbrush. Instead Emma interrupted him. She changed it all.
She kissed him.
It was, at first, a tentative brush of lips against his, but when he pressed his lips firmly against hers, it deepened. Emma's arms were looped round behind his neck and his hands were firmly planted on her waist when the kiss suddenly took a much more passionate and heated turn. The bedroom door opened behind him and they staggered in – still kissing – George was barely aware of what was happening, he was too busy focusing on kissing Emma back, making her moan into his mouth, taking her jacket it off (the sound of two jackets falling to the ground told him that Emma's hands weren't idle either), when suddenly the back of his legs hit Emma's bed and together they fell onto his, Emma on top of George, and the kiss broke.
"Emma," George gasped for breath, "I-"
Emma snorted.
For one terrifying moment he had thought she just played a cruel joke on him, that she had played him for her own twisted drunken amusement, but then she clung to him tighter and mumbled something nonsensical sleepily, and he realised that she had fallen asleep on top of him.
They had been in the middle of what was probably the best kiss of George Knightly's life and Emma had a gall to fall asleep in the middle of it all.
And now here he was lying on Emma's bed, uncomfortably aware of how aroused he was, trapped beneath Emma's leg that was draped over him and by an arm tightly wrapped round his chest as her face was still buried into his neck. There was no way to escape and go home in this situation...
Goddaminit Emma!
Author's Note: this chapter is dedicated to Iambbq, who wanted more George/Emma, I hoped this filled your requirements. To the Guest reviewer who wanted weekly updates I am going to have to say no...just no. In fact this is my last update until March, I have a major essay due in on the 22nd (though fortunately I can talk about Shakespeare despite it being a history essay on witches...god I love my course), I have a pile of research I need to get through for my dissertation before this Friday, I have a pile of weekly reading I need to do on top of all of this, and I got a job – well sort of – in a charity shop, it's only six hours a week but it eats into my study time which eats into my writing time, and then finally we stupidly (very compelled into doing it) agreed with our director that we should do As You Like It in the original Shakespearean accent (he brought in the world leading expert Professor David Crystal to talk about it and I am not kidding that man's voice is magical. If he told us that jumping off the Menai bridge would make us better Shakespearean actors there would have suddenly been a stampede) making us the seventh production in the whole world to do it which means I'm stuck learning a new accent on top of all my work, and then finally (finally!) it's my birthday on the 26th and since it's my 21st (and my parents or friends can't believe I managed to live this long, they all had money riding on the fact I'd blow myself up in my First Year) I'm busy from the 23rd (PHANTOM OF THE OPERA! DAD IS THE BEST DAD EVER!) to the 28th (probably very hung over) celebrating before I go back to doing some more work – fortunately though after my birthday the only things I need to focus on is a small non-assessed essay and my dissertation presentation so I should eventually produce a chapter by mid March in between doing actual work.