First Impressions
Rated: T
Disclaimer: My initials have JA in them…
Awesome Reviewers (who make my day):
Cvtperez: Thank you. C: I really hope so, too.
Ladysilver11: I think I know what you mean, lol. Thank you! :D
MidnightReadingAddict: Aw shucks, thank you – I love you guys, too. :) Lol, I won't be building hopping anytime soon… I'm not Superman/Captain Underpants.
Amina: He doesn't normally. When you're completely exhausted, your motor skills are hampered to an extent… words blend together, etc. Darcy was just really tired when he wrote the note.
HawkAngel XD: Thank you. :) Why were you expecting something more formal?
- … Right? -
"Hey, Dad?" Elizabeth spoke softly, cradling a steaming mug of hot chocolate. It reminded her of her cousins up in New York and how they got along compared to her and her sisters. Sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd been born with different parents, she would have more friends… or, at least, she'd have the two permanent friends she was supposed to have, Lydia and Kathy. But, instead, she was stuck with a kiss-up and a girl who thought she was all that and more.
Treading carefully when she got no answer, Elizabeth saw her father was nose-deep in papers with a red grading pen trapped between his slightly crooked teeth. His fingertips, tinged black, were tapping thoughtfully against his chin as he went over a paper, glasses sliding down his nose ever so slightly. Elizabeth wondered if the dim lighting provided by his desk lamp was enough so that his eyesight wouldn't be hampered, but she didn't mention it. Instead, she just continued on into the room, sipping on her hot cocoa, reclining back in her beanbag chair. Wayne would notice her when he had time to, or so she told herself.
When her drink was no longer piping hot but instead bone cold and only dregs of it remained, Elizabeth got to her feet, ready to give up. She paused in the doorway on her way out, chewing on her lower lip; usually, she'd leave, but…
"Hey, Dad." Elizabeth spoke louder in a more persistent manner. Again, she got not response whatsoever; instead of accepting it this time, she sat her mug down loudly on her father's desk, placing a hand on his now miniscule stack of papers.
"Yes, Lizzie-boo?" Wayne looked up, eyes heavy against the bags beneath them. Elizabeth almost backed out then with a, "Nothing," but she took a deep breath and shrugged.
"If… um, what is it like to like something?" Elizabeth's voice was quiet, almost too soft for Wayne's old ears to hear. He took his pen from betwixt his teeth, fiddling with it as he watched, fascinated by the pink blooming over his daughter's cheeks. Wayne had never seen her so… shy before. It was humbling to know she'd still come to him after all the things he didn't do but should have.
"Like a boy, perhaps?" Wayne smiled gently, wanting to laugh at the irony. Of course, the only thing Elizabeth would need help with was the one thing he'd so long ago forgotten. The slight blush that dappled her cheeks told Wayne his assumption was correct, and he found himself trying to imagine the type of young man Elizabeth would fancy. For the life of him, Wayne couldn't. He'd never met any of Elizabeth's past boyfriends (or male friends, for that matter), and he'd never seen her put up posters of famous males like Lydia and Kathy. Wayne wouldn't know the first thing about his daughter's preferences in the opposite sex, and he found that fact rather stirring.
"What's the young man look like, Lizzie-boo? Does he happen to have a name?" Wayne inquired, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. He was going to change the sad fact of not knowing any of Elizabeth's friends, save for Charlotte, or her interests other than academic ones. Heck, Wayne didn't even know what Elizabeth wanted to do with her life; all he knew was that she enjoyed English!
Elizabeth looked up at her father, surprised since he'd never asked questions before. Her mouth opened, she knew, but no words spilled forth; her eyes darted around nervously as she tried to think of what to say, exactly, to her father.
"Sit down, Lizzie-boo." Wayne smiled softly, gesturing to her beanbag chair. He watched Elizabeth warily sit down, as if she didn't want to make any noise at all, and contemplated on what kind of man could provoke this kind of reaction from his usually vociferous daughter that was never at a loss for words. Wayne scrutinized Elizabeth chew her lower lip in meditation, drawing her knees up to her chest as she got comfortable. His eyes followed her fingers as they drew little nonsensical patterns into her pajama pants, the ones Wayne clearly remembered buying from the discount bin after Halloween had passed two years previous as a gag gift. The pants were black cotton decorated with a smattering of cartoon ghosts laughing merrily. Wayne could still envision Elizabeth's face opening the poorly wrapped package at Midnight on Christmas, how exultant it had become as she started to laugh… Wayne's heart ached for the times when he actually knew his so-called favorite daughter. It was looking like he might have to give Elizabeth away without even knowing who the groom was prior to the wedding!
That thought jarred Wayne sharply form his musings. His smile turned downward slightly when he realized he was jumping to the silly, absolutely frivolous conclusions Fatina would if she heard a word about Elizabeth's… dilemma, for a lack of better words. Choosing to attempt not to think anymore, Wayne looked over Elizabeth again, noticing for the first time the shirt she was wearing. It was a black short-sleeved shirt reading "NIKE" in bold blue letters, and it was much too big for a women's t-shirt, let alone one of Elizabeth's petite size.
"How about you start with the basics, Lizzie-boo. Name, age, eye color, hair color, et cetera…" Wayne broke the silence when Elizabeth wouldn't. A spark has started, and he didn't want to get short with Elizabeth and scare her off. All he wanted to know was why she was wearing a man's shirt, and gently segueing into the topic was probably the best choice. Wayne was not happy that Kathy and Lydia were… well, "gardening tools," but he was at least aware of their habits and that they did it safely. Apparently, STDs were "so totes not cool," whatever that meant. Lydia and Kathy Wayne could tolerate having loose morals, but Elizabeth… his stomach boiled at the mere thought of her sleeping around. He'd raised her better than that! No man deserved his Lizzie-boo, including Wayne himself!
"Well, um…" Elizabeth wasn't sure if she should tell her father Darcy's real name. She wanted to keep him all to herself, but now that her father was making inquiries about her life again, she didn't want to shut him out and discourage it.
"His name is William…"
Wayne could see Elizabeth hesitate and wondered if she knew he was growing irate. He schooled his features to a calm, politely listening mask as she trudged on, meticulously choosing her words.
"He's, erm, twenty… twenty-four, I think." Elizabeth lied, unaware of the looming storm but knowing that, if she said Darcy's real age, something would blow up in her face over it. She didn't like the sick, twisting feeling stemming from her intestines, but she knew she had to lie. Besides, it wouldn't hurt them… she'd never see Darcy again. Elizabeth wasn't sure if she kept telling herself that for reassurance or just because she was a masochist.
"William's got gray eyes… kind of a silvery tinged with a tiny bit of blue, actually, and curly black hair. A bit long, but…" Elizabeth trailed off, blush darkening as she remembered that Darcy's head wasn't the only thing with dark curls. A giggle threatened to bubble up her throat as she remembered heckling him about his leg hair after she had noticed the peculiarity of it.
"He's usually real nice, a sweetie, when he's not intentionally being an as—a jerk, but even then... He's a hard nut to crack when you first meet him, though… His apologies are sincere, too." Elizabeth caught herself before she cursed in front of Wayne, remembering how he disliked it. Darcy didn't, either, if Elizabeth thought about it… in fact, if she recalled correctly, he'd never even cursed in front of her. Sure, he had used English cover-ups like "bullocks," but he'd never actually said the words deemed unfit for use in polite society. Darcy was a bit stodgy that way (and many others).
Wayne's eyes rested solely on the broad smile slowly spreading across Elizabeth's face, causing him to draw his lower lip between his teeth, an action she'd copied from him at a young age. From what Elizabeth said, he could deduce that "William" had done something to offend Elizabeth twice, once before when he'd apologized, and now, confusing her. Between the two times, Elizabeth and "William" must have grown close, Wayne assumed. But how close…? Wayne's narrowed gaze slid from his daughter's contented face back to the Nike shirt swallowing her whole. It was large, even for a male; either "William" was huge in height or huge in girth. Thinking to the stereotypical "sweetie" to a girl, Wayne was leaning towards the latter. He didn't mind it either way, just as long as "William" hadn't touched Elizabeth in ways Wayne would consider inappropriate. Almost exactly like Emma had, Wayne was making a mental image of Elizabeth's supposed suitor without specifics and would be inherently stunned when he finally met the man in question.
"He's a big nerd, actually… and he's way stubborn. William is also so freaking arrogant, but he prefers calling it 'confidence in himself.'" Elizabeth's eye rolled towards the heavens as she chuckled softly. The more she thought about him, the more she missed Darcy. In just a few short weeks, he'd become one of her best friends, and even with that ugly parting, she still wanted him. Besides, who else would be a cuddly pillow when she wanted to watch a "chic flick"? Certainly not Charlotte! Her boobs would get in the way, and she didn't radiate heat like Darcy did.
"I miss him, Dad." Elizabeth wasn't conscious of the words ever leaving her mouth, but she heard them, filled with all the nostalgic pains she was feeling.
"What did this 'William' fella do, Lizzie-boo?" Wayne was forced to ask, delaying him once again from getting to his desired topic. He'd skimped out on playing "comforting dad" for too long. In his mind, Wayne was resigned, but his visage showed no sign of it.
"I'm… not really sure. He's good with words… and I don't know if I can trust him." Elizabeth confessed, eyebrows quirking together. She could rehash almost the entire argument from The Fight, but really… all of it was her jumping to biased conclusions because of equally opinionated words of three other people. One she didn't know, the second she loathed, and the third was one of her best friends who didn't like Darcy, at all. But Jane had to have a reason for that, right? However, of all the time she'd spent with Jane, Elizabeth couldn't call to mind a solid reason for Jane to dislike Darcy so much.
"Obviously, you do." Wayne shook his head, rubbing at his eyes in a tired fashion. When he saw the palpable befuddlement on Elizabeth's face, he pointed to her shirt, his lips contorted into something between a smile and a disapproving frown. She looked down, a pout forming on her mouth. Elizabeth wished her father hadn't pointed out the shirt she'd purloined accidentally from Darcy. That, too, brought forth an agonizingly splendid memory with Darcy.
It happened about two weeks before The Fight in Darcy's apartment when he was cooking for her (again). It had been shepherd's pie that time with apple cobbler for dessert. Elizabeth had joined Darcy when he'd started doing the dishes, and that had turned into a water-cum-soap fight. With her choices being between Darcy's scrupulously folded and organized clothes and Richard's pile of clean, partly worn, and absolutely disgusting clothes, there wasn't any competition. From Darcy's clothes Elizabeth had borrowed the Nike shirt her father was having a fit over and a pair of blue running shorts that only fit her when she pulled the drawstring the tightest it would go. The only thing keeping those shorts up had been her hips, and they still hung down past her knees. She had accidentally stolen those, too, but they were up in New York.
"No, he just lent me this when my clothes – which were not white, by the way – got wet. We were closer to his place than Aunt Mari's and Uncle Ed's." Elizabeth explained, unconsciously hugging herself, holding the shirt closer to her. She was gazing at her toes, wiggling them every now and then, instead of facing Wayne; it embarrassed her that he thought she and Darcy had… The thought made her cheeks flame and her heart pound against the prison bars that were her ribs. It also brought the memory of Darcy almost kissing her to the forefront of her mind's eye. Elizabeth could clearly visualize his slightly chapped lips parted to the point where she could see a tiny glint of his teeth tightly clenched around the tip of his tongue, the day's growth of stubble adorning his upper lip, the dim lighting playing long shadows across his cheek bones and highlighting the myriad of grays and hint of blue in his irises… Elizabeth rubbed her lips together, wondering for what might have been the hundredth time, what it was like kissing Darcy.
"You still trust him, though." Wayne said, disapproving frown melting away. Even with Elizabeth so uncertain, he could tell she liked "William." That much was obvious to him from all the reactions Elizabeth was giving.
"How could you know that?" Elizabeth inquired, defiant eyes finally locking onto her father's for the first time in a long while.
"You're close friends with 'William,' aren't you?" Wayne raised one eyebrow skeptically, as if he was daring her to deny it. Elizabeth blinked, her confusion back.
"That's different." Elizabeth declared, although she had a feeling Wayne was about to tell her, quite pointedly, that she was dead wrong. She was thrown for a loop when he only asked, "Is it?"
Elizabeth sat for five minutes in silence, bouncing the thought around in her head, trying to figure out what her father meant. It had to be different. Friends were friends – they were disposable. They didn't matter and left you in the end, letting you find out they'd never liked you in the first place. Best friends came one in a million and were definite keepers. Family were the people you had to love, even though you weren't sure you did. Taking the extra step to become someone significant other… that was completely different.
… Right?
"Elizabeth, do you love Charlotte?" Wayne questioned, leaning back in his chair once more, folding his hands over his stomach. It was a pose Elizabeth knew well; Wayne always took that posture when he was about to give a lecture.
"'Course I do." Elizabeth answered, knowing for a fact that, no matter how distant they'd become over the years, Wayne knew that. He knew Elizabeth would do anything for Charlotte.
"Do you trust Charlotte?" Wayne continued, nodding slowly. Elizabeth turned her posture even more defensive, pressing the lower half of her face into her thighs so only her eyes peeked out over her knees.
"Yeah." Elizabeth's voice was slightly muffled, but Wayne heard her all the same. Again, he nodded slowly.
"Charlotte is your best friend, correct?" Wayne intoned, knowing the answer already, just like his previous two inquiries.
"One of 'em, yeah." Elizabeth mumbled, eyebrows low over her eyes as she tried to figure out the answer before Wane provided it for her.
"And is your 'William' boy another one?" Wayne asked gently, his chair squeaking slightly as he transferred the direction of his weight forward to lean on his elbows on his desk, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers.
"He is. I can trust him with my body, and I do love him like a friend… But he can't have my heart nor can I trust him with it." Elizabeth protested, seeing the parallels but not wanting to bend to them. She didn't like being proven wrong.
"Why not? You've done it with boys you didn't even like before. Besides, he already technically has it - or a portion of it, anyways." Wayne shrugged as if he didn't care anymore, but Elizabeth knew better. It was just him making his point, akin to him saying, "Why are you still arguing?"
"They didn't matter; they were just stupid boys forced upon me by my so-called 'friends!' Crispy can't… he can't…" Elizabeth stopped, ears burning. She'd slipped in the heat of the moment, not wanting to admit that the way her heart was racing, pumping blood drastically fast around her body, was because she already knew that subconsciously. Elizabeth desperately wanted Wayne to be wrong.
"Because he has the power to hurt you, you're shoving him away. You don't want to admit to trusting him with your heart with more than friendship because you're scared of getting hurt. Elizabeth, you already love the boy, as you've said, and it's blatant to me that you 'like-like' him, too. I suspect this fight you had with him was a bit of a 'lover's spat', as well. If this boy is worth your feelings, he will contact you again." Wayne concluded, taking note of the different name Elizabeth had used. He gave her a few minutes to digest the new thought before pressing onward.
"How much have you lied to me, Elizabeth?" Wayne asked, sounding grave to his daughter.
"Just about his name… kind of… and his age." Elizabeth murmured, extremely mortified and apologetic. She sighed before continuing on, words spilling out quickly so that maybe, just maybe, Wayne might mishear her and hopefully not ask again. With the way things had been going, Elizabeth severely doubted that notion.
"His name… isFitzwilliamCrispinDarcy - Icallhim'Crispy'… and he's fiveyearsolder than what I originally said."
Wayne tried to understand the rushed words, he really did, but it all sounded like mumbo jumbo to him.
"What?"
Elizabeth sighed once again, swallowing audibly.
"His name is Fitzwilliam Crispin Darcy; I call him 'Crispy' because it annoys him – or it did at first, at least. He's not twenty-four but twenty-nine. Everything else was the honest truth, I swear." Elizabeth spoke slowly that time, pronouncing each word with purpose. The earnest expression on her face, or what Wayne could see of it from her eyes and eyebrows, won him over from questioning further. He didn't know who Darcy was, so it utterly bewildered him that Elizabeth would somewhat lie about her beau's name. Wayne could completely understand why Elizabeth had been reluctant at divulging Darcy's age since the gap between them was, at this point in Elizabeth's life, quite large.
"Crispy isn't a perv, Dad, promise. At first, he wouldn't give me the light of day… but then he changed. I don't know why, and I could say I don't care that he did, but I do. I'm glad… because I think he's a really great guy." Elizabeth tried to reassure the doubts she was sure Wayne had when she only accomplished making herself rue the bad split up. She didn't doubt that The Fight resembled what some would call a "lover's spat," as her father had proposed, but unlike a normal "lover's spat," they hadn't been together romantically. Nor, Elizabeth figured, would they ever be.
"Then why not give him a chance, Lizzie-boo?" Wayne asked softly, sad gaze lingering on the head he wished he could caress lovingly to comfort but knew he had lost the right to years ago.
"I… don't know. He could hurt me badly if I tried." Elizabeth confessed, looking downward to complete the fetal position she'd been shifting into all night. Her head hurt, and her stomach was in knots. She was regretting even coming to her father at all for another opinion-slash-advice on the subject.
"What if he didn't?" Wayne prompted tenderly, crossing his fingers mentally. He wanted Elizabeth – and Kathy and Lydia, too – to find "the one"… but Elizabeth would never get there if she didn't try with the first guy she actually fancied. This Fitzwilliam Darcy could be Elizabeth's first experience in a real loving, caring relationship.
Elizabeth's head rose sharply, her amber eyes wide as if she'd never thought of that option before.
What… if… he… didn't?
- (Crappy break line) -
"Fitzwilliam Crispin Darcy, move your daft bum over here this instant!"
Darcy's head fell at the yell, vainly trying to hide himself within the group of workers he was with. They grinned and sniggered, elbowing him in the ribs. In a normal boss-employee relationship, this would be unacceptable, however, these were the men who watched Darcy grow up and had taught him how to work in the fields with them. All the personal workers on Pemberley were more like uncles, aunts, and cousins to Darcy than his real family in some cases.
"Go on, Little Darcy, the Missus has seen ya and wants ya." One of the older workers who had been around since before Darcy had been born, Barty Baumgart, chuckled, reaching up to pat Darcy's head roughly. Despite the fact Barty was a good six inches shorter than Darcy, he never failed to call him "Little Darcy" because Darcy had once been the child who followed his father everywhere, mimicking everything he did. The workers around then dubbed Darcy "Little Darcy" and had yet to stop doing so even though he was a great deal taller than every single one of them.
Darcy sighed, nodding, knowing Barty was right. Shoving his hands harshly into his pockets, head still hanging low, he slouched over to Mrs. Reynolds with the look of a child who had been caught doing something wrong.
"You, young man, are in trouble!" Mrs. Reynolds admonished, snatching the baseball cap from Darcy's head by the bill and lightly slapping his in the face with the other, sweatier half.
Mrs. Reynolds, or "the Missus" as the workers affectionately referred to her as, was an elderly woman all of five feet tall with salt and pepper hair always neatly tucked away in some sort of do or another. If she was working around the house or giving tours, her preference was a bun, but if it was a slow day for relaxing, her hair would be in a beautiful braid dotted with wildflowers that grew near the house. Mrs. Reynolds was never seen in anything but a dress that went down to her ankles, the colors varying from magenta to a lime green that wasn't obnoxious. Her ancient face always remained untouched by make-up, not even to cover up the freckles dotting her wrinkled cheeks. Despite the fact Mrs. Reynolds looked more like a hippie grandma instead of a woman in charge, no one ever crossed her (quite possibly because, if one did, one didn't get his or her share of the assorted sweets she baked on Sundays for all the workers and tenants on the vast Pemberley property – that, or because she was liable to set you on fire "accidentally." One of the other). Everyone listened to her, and one knew, if one's full name was called (because Mrs. Reynolds had her ways of finding out one's full name and exactly how to pronounce it if it was a foreign name), that one was in serious trouble with her. Whenever Mrs. Reynolds did call someone by their full name, laughter and prodding ensued, and a crowd would soon form to watch the little lady whip the poor soul back into shape with her sharp tongue.
Having grown up being reared by Mrs. Reynolds, Darcy knew all of her lectures – virtually by heart. When he'd been growing up, it was a rare day when Mrs. Reynolds wasn't crowing, "Fitzwilliam Crispin Darcy, move your daft bum over here this instant," for all of England to hear. It became a regular part of the working day for people to stop what they were doing when they heard the telltale signs of the Darcy boy being in trouble and go to investigate (the helpers form the house sometimes brought popcorn if they knew little Darcy was in for a long one). Darcy's ears burned in humiliation when he heard the group he'd just left laugh louder, calling the newbie workers over to witness a "classic Little Darcy whippin'."
"Don't make me fire you, Bartholomew Baumgart! I can and will!" Darcy shouted, pouting petulantly and pointing to the man whom he knew had started the growing crowd.
"The hell you will, Little Darcy! I got too much dirt on ya! The Missus would most definitely let me copy those pictures of your cute, bare baby bum an' send 'em to some big name printin' gossip magazine!" Barty hollered back, causing the group around him to roar in laughter.
"And you wouldn't be all—ow, ow, ow!" Darcy's return barb was cut short when Mrs. Reynolds, rolling her eyes at all of the testosterone flying in the air, reached up and grabbed a fistful of Darcy's sweaty curls. Normally, she wouldn't be able to reach them, but since he was still hunched over, it was just too easy for her. Mrs. Reynolds proceeded to pull on Darcy's hair down to a more comfortable height for her because, with his hair being so short currently, it was hard to keep a grip on, then forward as she walked back to the house.
"How many times did I tell you, when you were wee, that you'd follow your hair like a girl if you didn't listen, Little Mustard Seed? Now look what you've made me do – your hair is so sticky that it has dirtied my clean hands!" Mrs. Reynolds clicked her tongue. Darcy winced, awkwardly trying to keep up with her brisk pace without tripping over his own feet or accidentally kneeing himself in the torso since he was doubled over to accommodate to Mrs. Reynolds tugging on his hair.
"But Mrs. R—"
"Don't 'But Mrs. R' me, you little scoundrel. Look at the bright side, you won't accidentally hit your head coming in the door." Mrs. Reynolds interrupted saucily, giving Darcy's hair a final gentle yank as they entered the house through a side door, releasing his tender scalp from further abuse. Darcy righted himself, rubbing the top of his sore head just like he had as a kid, still wearing a pout.
"What have I done this time, Mrs. R?" Darcy accepted defeat, rolling up his sleeves in anticipation; housework that no one liked doing, for example, cleaning the grout on the floors, usually followed a hair pulling. He could easily list off at least ten times he'd done the unsavory work while Mrs. Reynolds followed him, lecturing him about how frogs were not to be kept in the sink where his mother would find them and freak her out or about how, no matter how cute the fish were, he couldn't keep the ones he'd caught in the bathtub. The list was quite long about how many lectures and punishments Darcy had gotten from Mrs. Reynolds while his parents backed her up, giving her permission to do whatever she thought was necessary. Sometimes, they had even doubled up the punishments because his parents and Mrs. Reynolds didn't always get to talk to each other before reprimanding Darcy.
Darcy more or less dragged his feet as he followed the silent Mrs. Reynolds through the many halls of his house, knowing where she was leading him to: the kitchen. Darcy rolled his shoulders in anticipation, expecting to be told to clean the grouts on the extensive kitchen floor with a toothbrush that would, more likely than not, break when he was halfway through the chore. Darcy had grown to resent the toothbrushes used to clean the grouts because the stupid things only broke when he was working, never whenever anyone else was using them. Whenever they did break, Mrs. Reynolds usually slapped him upside the head a few times, muttering under her breath about the impossibilities of growing boys, before she got a new toothbrush.
Darcy was, therefore, surprised to see the grouts in the kitchen did not, in fact, need cleaning. Actually, the whole kitchen looked like it had been recently cleaned since everything was spick and span. What looked suspiciously like a tall glass of warm milk next to a platter of cookies sat on the breakfast bar, though.
"You spent your birthday away, and you haven't even gotten yourself measured yet! You've forgotten, you daft boy!" Mrs. Reynolds told him, pointing to the pantry door with the expression he usually saw after she'd told him to march up the stairs to sit and think in his room about what he'd done. So, naturally, Darcy's response was lacking.
"What?" He asked, blinking rapidly as he looked from Mrs. Reynolds, to the clean grout, and to the pantry door.
"You heard me – march!" Mrs. Reynolds barked, trying to swat the back of Darcy's head with the confiscated hat; she only was able to get the back of his neck, though. Darcy shrugged, walking over to the panty door he'd long since grown taller than, placing his feet at the base of the wall and his back against the door. Mrs. Reynolds pulled a footstool over so she could finally reach the top of Darcy's head, her pencil darkening the line already marking his height.
"Same as before, right? I told you, I stopped growing when I was eighteen." Darcy teased from beneath her, fully expecting the sharp sting of her whacking the top of his head with her pencil.
"Don't sass me, Little Mustard Seed. Now go and eat your snack while I write down the date." Mrs. Reynolds instructed, attempting to sound admonishing.
"But dinner was about an hour ago…" Darcy mused, rubbing his stomach; he hadn't done too much and hadn't gotten hungry yet. Besides, snacks were for in between lunch and dinner, not dinner and dessert.
"Call it dessert, then! Just go, silly boy." Mrs. Reynolds sighed, ruffling Darcy's hair lovingly. He smiled up at her before heading over to the stools by the breakfast bar, sitting on one sideways to not bang his knees up.
"I haven't seen a sincere one of those since before you left for Charlie's wedding." Mrs. Reynolds remarked, her back to Darcy as she wrote down the date next to an extensive listing of dates ranging back to Darcy's eighteenth birthday in 2004. Darcy froze at her words, looking up slowly to the woman he thought of as the grandmother her never had. Knowing her so well, he realized that this conversation was the reason why she'd called him away from doing work with the men around the property.
"Have you gotten yourself in trouble with that wee man? Leslie told me about him and that girl. She believes you fancied that Elizabeth Bennet." Mrs. Reynolds went on conversationally, descending from the stepstool. She put the stepstool away, dropped Darcy's hat next to the plate of cookies on the breakfast bar, and washed her hands before collecting some granny smith apples to peel and chop up.
"What are you making?" Darcy inquired, endeavoring to dodge the subject of Elizabeth Bennet.
"Apple cobbler. Gee says you never sounded happier for a spell. Something go sour with her? Does that Elizabeth Benet think she's too good for you?" Mrs. Reynolds spoke clinically, shoulders stiffening by the second. It took her considerable effort not to face Darcy and still appear nonchalant, but the dull "thwack" of the knife hitting the cutting board got louder the longer Darcy remained silent.
"Ever since you come home two months ago, you wake up around four, run, shower, go to work, come home early just to go exert yourself in the fields until dinner, eat, go back to the fields until ten or eleven, shower again, and sleep. I thought maybe you were excited about the present you had for Gee and wanted to stay away from her, but her birthday, Christmas, and the New Year have all passed now. You're not smiling much, Little Mustard Seed, and you're not talking much. I know something is up with you, and, from what I know, it has to deal with that Elizabeth Bennet girl. So, don't even try feeding me one of your incredibly implausible lies." Mrs. Reynolds commented when Darcy still refused to answer her. She knew it might not be the best idea attacking the subject as she was, but since it was eating away at Darcy, it hurt her and Georgiana, too. Mrs. Reynolds and Georgiana didn't enjoy seeing Darcy behave as he was, so Mrs. Reynolds took the step Georgiana wouldn't dream of making: confronting him about it. Georgiana was not in the least bit scared of her brother; she was just painfully shy and awkward with such subjects.
Darcy looked down, scrunching up his nose as he scrutinized the cookies before him, selecting the best-looking one. They were his favorite kind, oatmeal raisin, and by far one of Mrs. Reynolds' best recipes; he remembered her making them every time he asked or didn't but wanted to. When he was younger, he sometimes had wondered if Mrs. Reynolds had the superpower to read his mind, but, as he aged, he realized she was just excellent at reading emotions through body language.
"Elizabeth Bennet is… ten kinds of wonderful and then some, Mrs. R. She just thinks she's not good enough for anyone because of… things. I said some wrong words, and she got, justifiably, offended and angry. Now, I can only wait." Darcy finally said, picking up the cookie he deemed best, nibbling along the edge of it.
"Wait?" Mrs. Reynolds confounded question came as expected. Darcy sighed, nodding.
"Yes, wait. I wrote her a letter and… entrusted it to someone close to Elizabeth to give it to her at the time they deemed best." He explained before taking a large bite of his cookie. Mrs. Reynolds raised a skeptical eyebrow, knowing that if Elizabeth didn't respond soon, that she'd seen have a very cranky Darcy on her hands. Darcy was not, after all, a very patient person.
- (Crappy break line) -
Before Elizabeth had quite realized it, the winter holidays had passed in a blur, and her semester abroad in Europe went even faster. With Emma in their free time, they'd done all the touristy things they'd dreamt about since they had been children, like seeing the Coliseum in Rome and taking kooky pictures of them "holding" the Eiffel Tower. It was truly an exhilarating, liberating trip that Elizabeth was quite exultant she was able to go on. She knew she'd do it again in a heartbeat if the occasion ever arose again.
While they were away, Elizabeth had noticed Emma's insistence that young men ogled her. At first, it was at the normal frequency, but as time went on, Emma mentioned it more and more often, not letting Elizabeth deny it. Emma had even done a few mirror tricks to show Elizabeth the boys ogling her; at first, Elizabeth was adamant that it was Emma that they were looking at. However, Emma "went to the bathroom," leaving Elizabeth standing all by her lonesome.
The boys still looked.
More often than not, Elizabeth had a cute European boy asking for her number when Emma left her side to make her point. It was a new experience for Elizabeth, actually being the one the boys were asking out. In the beginning, Elizabeth tried to say they were being put up to it by their friends, but after five times, she herself even began to doubt that. It wasn't like all of Europe was sending stupid boys to her. The boys even invited her to parties sometimes!
At one point, Emma revealed to Elizabeth just how popular she was on their campus in New York. Elizabeth was quite shocked to hear that her male "friends" (they were acquaintances to her but they called her a "friend") were trying to become more than that. Some, Elizabeth knew she'd never speak to again because Emma was blunt in her explanations on whether or not the boy just wanted sex or not, others…
That was as far as Elizabeth got to in her thought process before the little devil in her mind said that the sincere boys couldn't compare to Darcy. They weren't as mature, weren't as handsome, weren't as adorable, weren't as smart, weren't as whatever… they just weren't good enough when compared to Darcy. Elizabeth hated having to remind herself that that ship had sailed, quite literally if one considered there was an ocean between them, and that she'd never see him again. She'd have to suck it up, get over what never happened and move on, but Darcy was always there, lurking in the back of her mind.
Upon returning to the States, Elizabeth was a bit more accepting to the fact that boys did, indeed, ogle her. She'd be stupid not to with all the evidence heaped in front of her face, but she didn't have to be comfortable with it. It was unnerving since Elizabeth had been told she'd never be wanted when she really was. She even kept a look out for the boys now, almost as fascinated with the revelation as she was daunted by it. They actually ogled her! It made Elizabeth laugh mirthlessly when the thought popped into her mind. Fatina was wrong, but for some morbid reason, she wished Fatina had been right.
Almost as soon as she was back in New York, Elizabeth was on a plane again, flying down to Florida with her aunt, uncle, and cousins to visit Disney World. Throughout the duration of the approximately three hour flight, Elizabeth stared at the heavy envelope in her lap that Emma had given to her. Emma had come with the Gardiners and Elizabeth because she was going to drive their minivan back to their home. Elizabeth had been blindsided when Emma had held her back, saying she had something important to give to her.
"I know this is kind of sudden and totally unexpected, but… um… this is for you. I haven't read a word of it. He gave it to me, telling me to give it to you when I thought it was best. I don't know if you're quite ready to read it yet – I mean, not knowing what the contents are… but I just have this feeling in my gut that you need to read it now." Emma had said, pulling the envelope from her purse. Elizabeth had known at once who "he" was, and it felt like she received a punch to the gut when she saw the neat, front-like script on the front addressing the envelope to, "Kitten."
In the terminal waiting for the plane, Elizabeth felt like retching. Her aunt must have seen the envelope and "Kitten" written on it because Mariabella kept her children busy and away from Elizabeth. Elizabeth felt like a zombie when she boarded, hands trembling as she carried the letter, letting her uncle guide her to her seat.
Why was he doing this to her? They weren't going to see each other ever again! Why couldn't Darcy just leave her be trying to think the worst of him? Why, why, why…
When they arrived in the Florida airport and got their bags in baggage claim, Elizabeth followed her family mechanically onto the bus that took them to the car rental place. She was a robot during the drive to Disney World, gazing out the window but not taking the sights in; since it was dark, there wasn't much to see other than the neon signs lighting up storefronts, anyways. Elizabeth was forced to put the envelope in her bag when they got to the hotel so she could help her uncle load the trolley and maneuver it safely into the elevator while Mariabella kept track of her kids. After eating the room service perfunctorily, Elizabeth declined the offer to go swimming in the hotel pool, choosing instead to lock herself in the bathroom and read Darcy's letter. She lay a fluffy towel down on the floor before the tub, leaning her back on the tub while curling her toes into the plush towel.
"Quick, like a band aid…" Elizabeth whispered, closing her eyes as she slit the envelope open with her finger, trying not to reflect on the possibility that Darcy might have licked it shut.
"Dear Elizabeth," Elizabeth started reading slowly, chewing on her lower lip. She could see how hard it was for Darcy to write the letter since it was covered in furiously crossed out words or sentences. Elizabeth could only guess at what time Darcy had written the letter, but she doubted he had waited until the next day to do so. She figured he'd either written it as soon as he'd gotten back home or after a few hours of vainly trying to fall asleep that night.
"This is not a love letter, I assure you. This letter only contains the defenses I have against the words you shot at me during our argument. I cannot stomach the thought of you thinking badly of me. My second to last request from you, if you don't ever wish to see me again, is to read this letter." Elizabeth stopped there, rolling her eyes. Of course he wouldn't, the prideful idiot… Didn't he realize she hadn't thought badly of him in months, ever since she started trusting him? Didn't he comprehend that she couldn't help herself but to think well of him?
"My last request from you is that, after you have read this letter, is to please not tell anyone else of its contents. I have enclosed some extremely personal experiences in this letter, and I don't want anyone to find out about them. You'll see why.
"Let me address the issue of your family first. Although you might not see them as 'unhealthy' for you, I do. It is my opinion that you limit your contact with them since it severely affects your self-esteem. I don't know if you've realized it yourself, but you have bowed down to their expectations. Men have eyes, Kitten, including me. What we see is a beautiful young woman with gorgeous, enchanting eyes that light up considerably when she smiles. You'll never be able to convince me otherwise, no matter what your mother and sisters might say because they're jealous hags. From what understand of what you've told me, your sisters are your mother's 'mini-mes.' You're the only one that broke the mold, Kitten, and your mother doesn't like that." Elizabeth felt her stomach convulsing in silent, displeased laughter. That was the understatement of the century. Fatina abhorred it.
"Your father, on the other hand, just lets your mother and your sisters abuse you mentally; I can't fathom why he does. I would call this 'indifference at best' every time you asked me about it because, if this was happening to my daughter, I'd certainly stop it before it even began. I'm sorry my opinions may differ than yours, but they are what they are. I care for you, Kitten, and only want what is best for you. Your direct family is not what I deem 'good' for you, but I cannot stop you if you visit your family. I can only express that I'd prefer you didn't and leave it at that. As for when I mentioned the expensive restaurant, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it in the way it came out. I meant it in the way that I wanted to spoil you, do things with you your parents couldn't and didn't do.
"I will move on because my opinions will not change nor will I stop form voicing them. Again, I apologize that it offends you. I was just speaking what I believe is the blunt truth. The next subject I'll address is Jane. This will take longer than the first since I'll have to explain the whole situation to you. You may choose to believe me or to not believe me about any of the following events, including the ones after the Jane topic, but if you ask Dick, he can confirm all of this happened." Elizabeth stared at the rigorously crossed out sentence after that, trying to make it out. Her eyes glassed over in both ire and sorrow when she saw it read, "I'm sorry that you don't trust me enough if you do have to confirm these events through Dick."
"I hadn't met Jane until the wedding. Charlie I've known since I was just under fourteen. As long as she made Charlie happy, I really couldn't complain about her. I only thought that they were rushing things since they had only dated for two, three months top before Charlie proposed to Jane. On top of that, they are both so young and haven't seen so many of the hardships of life. I meant no disrespect when I said this; I just wanted to protect my best friend from the potential heartbreak and divorce he could go through in the future from a hasty decision of marrying Jane so quickly. From then on, she didn't seem to like me much, which I completely understand. I have the odd habit of pissing people off when I first meet them.
"During the wedding, Jane must have noticed how often Charlie came to me for advice. You must have detected, too, when we were together. I can only guess Charlie does this because he is very scared about making decisions on his own since his father has always made them for him. Being older than him but still his best friend, Charlie ahs relied on me since we first met; I've never led him wrong, either, so that helps his cause. Personally, I don't mind; I like helping friends. I'm assuming Jane only minds because Charlie comes to me before he goes to her even when the subject he wants an opinion on concerns her. I've never really opened up to Jane, either, so she's got an incredibly bad impression of me, which is entirely my fault. I haven't talked to her nor have I tried to push Charlie to her. I quite understand why Jane doesn't like me but I haven't been bothered to change her opinion.
"As I've said, Charlie comes to me when he should probably consult Jane instead. He had come to me numerous times, asking if he should have a baby or not. I have raised my own sister from birth, and I can assure you that babies are a step I don't' think Charlie is responsible enough for yet. So, whenever he came to me, I expressed my opinion that he should not have a child with Jane, and she knows of my disapproval through Charlie and because she was with Charlie and me sometimes when the topic came up.
"Again, I remind you that Jane doesn't know me that well and doesn't think highly of me. That, combined with my disapproval of them having a child, I do know how she jumped to the conclusion that she did when I asked if they had considered an abortion." Even though she had accused him of doing so, Elizabeth had never fully believed Darcy had the audacity to ask Charlie and Jane to their faces if they had thought about having an abortion when they must have been so zealous.
"They told me the news first over the phone. Jane must not have liked that, but that's not the point. After I asked the question, they hung up on me. They didn't hear anything else, only that I asked if they had considered this. Jane blatantly took it in the completely different way than I meant. I asked because I knew how heavily Charlie relied on my opinions, and my opinion in that matter was that they were better off without a child. I asked if they considered having an abortion to dissuade them from doing so if they had decided upon it. While I don't think they'll be able to handle their baby at first, I don't think they should kill it. It's my personal belief that the baby is alive once it's conceived and that it should stay that way unless the mother's life is in danger. Since Jane doesn't know me personally, she would have no inkling of this. I didn't bother calling back and further explaining what I meant, so it is, once more, entirely my fault about this misunderstanding." Elizabeth felt relief pouring into her veins. She knew Darcy didn't mean it in the way Jane thought! It was just a misunderstanding after all.
"Thirdly, let me address the longest and most painful grievance you have laid against me. I know not of the tabloid you spoke of, but I do know of the rumor that you read. It is an incredibly old one that I hoped had been forgotten. I shall warn you know I will be brief since it pains me greatly to remember these events.
"You thought the man's name was 'George Whitman.' His name is actually 'George Wickham,' and he is the reason I picked up smoking. I had no idea you held the habit in such contempt, so I'd like to say I've mostly quit it. It comes on now if I ever get exceptionally nervous or panicked. Continuing on with Wickham, he grew up with me. His father and my own were best friends. Mr. Wickham, George's dad, worked for my father as the head groundskeeper of my family's estate, Pemberley. I know I've told you of Pemberley, but I'm not sure if you understand how vast it actually is. As head groundskeeper, Mr. Wickham did many things, so his son was allowed to play in the house with me since Mrs. Wickham had divorced Mr. Wickham.
"At first, I fully accepted Wickham into my life. He was a playmate close to my age, finally; he's a few years older than me. As we got older, Wickham got into girls… many girls at one time. He was a cheater and liar from the start. Then he picked up alcohol, gambling, and nicotine. Wickham couldn't let his father know where his lunch money went, so Wickham convinced me to steal my father's private stash of cigarettes and bottles of whiskey. I never got hooked on alcohol, but once I tried smoking, I couldn't seem to quit.
"I started at around ten or so. My father found out when I was thirteen. I'm sure he had an inkling, buy he didn't have any solid proof I was the one smoking until he caught me one day. Danny, Mr. Reynolds, had ratted us out. Wickham blamed me for everything. It was the first sign of resentment I saw from him that year. It escalated quickly until I was a scapegoat for him to blame everything on.
"I'm sure your strong objection isn't to smoking alone. If you got the information from Wickham, I'm sure you saw him blaming me for my parents' deaths. This is entirely untrue since I wasn't even on the yacht when it was on fire. Wickham had pushed Gee, who was almost two at the time, overboard, whether intentionally or unintentionally I don't know. I jumped off on my own free will after retrieving a life jacket. In that time, Wickham had reached the wheel of the ship. With the adults, my parents as well as his own father, under the deck, they never heard me screaming. Wickham was learning how to drive to boat that day, so him driving around randomly wasn't uncommon. They wouldn't have suspected a thing.
"All I knew until Gee and I were identified at the hospital was that, for forty-eight hours, I had been floating at sea clutching my baby sister to my chest, trying to keep her head above water. I knew of the hunger, the thirst, the horror of watching my sister's movements fade and thinking she had died in my arms after the first day. It was just after they told me Gee would live that I was notified that my parents had died, burned alive at sea. I don't know how the fire came to be or why they couldn't get off. All I know for sure is that Wickham tried to kill or completely terrify me that day, as well as Gee; he did succeed in making Gee essentially blind and hampering my vision as well since both our eyes got severely burnt by the sun while we floated at sea. I didn't even know he had survived until he approached Gee when she was fourteen and told her the same sob story you read about. He nearly succeeded in taking my baby sister from me again that year; it's only luck she's still with me now. Because I went mute after the yacht episode, Gee didn't really know me; it's completely logical that she thought my silence was guilty. At fourteen, you believe anything, especially words coming from a man who said he loved you. I caught them just before they entered the airport to fly to God knows where.
"This is all that I can say and hope that you believe me. I can express my apologies once more, but I feel that might be redundant at this point. I hope that you live a happy life, Elizabeth, and that this has not tarnished your opinion of me." There was, once more, a sentence that was blackened out, however, Elizabeth was unable to make out that it said, "I love you."
The way Darcy signed the letter was also heavily marked out. There were three crossed out attempts before he just ended it with:
"God bless,
Fitzwilliam Crispin Darcy."
A/N: Woo for extra long chapter and hippie grandma-like Mrs. Reynolds? :) So, guys, good news: I have a weeklong break for Thanksgiving, and I'm probably not going anywhere. Know what that means? There's a chance I'll be able to get chapter 15 out by the end of this week! Don't get your hopes up though, just in case. I'm a lazy bum who likes baking brownies and playing Pokémon during break time. Also, I think this story will be about 20 chapters long (I finally thought of an ending!)… its gone by so fast. ;n; Oh yeah, BTW – I've never been to Disney World. I have no idea if their hotel has a pool (if it doesn't, pretend it does), and I really don't know what its like there. So if I get anything wrong in the next (few?) chapter(s?), I'm claiming artistic license. :P
~ Tobi