Behind the Scenes

by NotAContrivance

Lizzie Bennet Diaries. "In what universe would Darcy be in my bedroom?" THIS ONE. A.k.a. love, lust, and Russian literature.

21. Of Two Minds

So, long time no chapter. Basically being blocked and life got in the way. I mean, would I be up at 5:00 am writing this if I wasn't committed to finishing this? No, I would be sleeping (I waited before posting 'cause I was hoping I could make the last part better and I'd reached that point where you look at stuff and you're like, I've seen this all a thousand times before, does it have any meaning anymore? Ones mind at 5:00 am is not necessarily a high-functioning place). Part of my problem is that I have conversations I know I want them to have, but I sort of need to string them together... and then sometimes the story comes along and surprises me and is like, "well, why don't we have this here?" Plan changed. Anyway, the next chapter should be up much sooner.

This is the first Pemberley chapter... of like 6, I think? The number keeps going up. Part of something that annoyed me about LBD (I feel like I start a lot of sentences this way) was that Lizzie and Darcy seemed to interact almost solely on camera. Excepting the tour of SF, which was STILL on camera/twitter, there aren't even any hints that they are interacting more than what you see. Additionally, Lizzie didn't seem to spend much time with him or learn a whole lot about him, and Pemberley is a great place to do both of those things. Even if he's busy and you're trying to avoid him. I mean, I shouldn't feel that she spent more time with him at Pemberley in the original book, you know, given that was like 3 days max? And I think it's also kind of a great place to show the progression of how Lizzie and Darcy are changing as people and how their feelings change over time.

Anyway, the Pemberley chapters more or less line up with the episodes but don't overlap a whole lot. They sort of expand upon them, really. Which translates to a fair amount of Darcy and Lizzie backstory, as this chapter demonstrates. This chapter is set immediately after episode 78. In some ways I feel like it's the most random of them, but I mostly like how it turned out, I think the end is kind of... meh. Anyway, I got a character in here who I meant to get in during one of the Hunsford chapters, and I actually think it turned out better this way.

Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own Pride and Prejudice or the Lizzie Bennet Diaries or most of the characters depicted within unless you haven't heard of them.

As always, reviews are highly appreciated! Let me know what you think. :)

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There was just one word that came to mind upon seeing Darcy again. It wasn't even an English word, just something she remembered fuzzily from her college French class. Bouleverser. To overwhelm, to turn upside down, to shatter, to overthrow, to shake up.

Overwhelmed by a mixture of surprise, mortification, guilt, and a thousand other emotions she couldn't quantify, Lizzie was scarcely aware of what she did and what she said after actually laying eyes on him. She'd always known seeing him was a possibility, but she'd done just about everything possible to prevent this from happening... and it was like her worst, most awkward nightmare come true.

At the same time Lizzie was hyperaware of everything. Every look, every word, every action. And they all seemed to be wrong. She wanted to run away and probably would have, had Gigi not made that all but impossible; she was probably on the other side of the door, holding it closed, at this very moment. All Lizzie knew was that she needed to get away from him and think about everything, think about what she should do and how she should act. She needed time and space to get her head together because she was not at all prepared for this. So she refused Darcy's offer of a ride because she had places to be and things to do that did not involve him.

Darcy was different than she remembered. He was more relaxed, more confident, and she was the one making everything more awkward. There were flashes of dazzling almost-smiles. He even looked handsomer than she remembered, and as much as Lizzie tried to tell herself it was just because he was wearing navy, her favorite color, she wasn't quite sure that was it.

As always, when presented with Lizzie, Darcy could do little more than stare stupidly. It was easy to be annoyed with Gigi at putting them in this situation, angry on Lizzie's behalf that his sister had so clearly thrown them together without any consideration for Lizzie's feelings—or his own, for that matter. He was certain he was the last man she wanted to see. He'd signed her form and watched her videos, and he knew how she'd tried to get out of it, how she had forgotten the name of his company. He'd imposed on her enough for one lifetime. As much as he longed to see her again, he'd been willing to respect her wishes and avoid her company, but the board had called a meeting, and he'd had no choice but to come back to San Francisco.

A part of him hadn't actually wanted to see her, whether it was from fear she'd hurt him again or because the sight of her there in with everything that was his would be too painful. Just another reminder of what she was not. How he had so much, yet not the one thing he wanted most. It seemed a mockery of all his imaginings.

But when he saw her, he realized that something had changed. Maybe it was him. He needed closure, and he wanted to prove to her that he could be a better man. Maybe not someone who deserved her but someone polite, friendly even... someone she could respect or at least not hate quite so much. He'd needed to see her here, needed a chance to try and redeem himself in her eyes.

She wasn't how he expected either. She was every bit as lovable as he remembered, a little stiff and nervous, but at least she wasn't spitting insults at him (but still with that tart edge he loved so much, like a raspberry). It was strange; he'd sort of thought that if he ever saw her again, his feelings would've lessened. That maybe she wouldn't be everything he remembered and had built up in his head, that his memory was faulty. He thought she would be somehow faded all over.

He didn't know why he'd thought that, had dared to hope he might've even mastered this untameable longing by the time he saw her again. It had never worked before, not the other time he'd tried, or any time before, and he would need a whole hell of a lot longer time than two months to get over her. If anything, she was even more perfect than he remembered, and he had never felt more unworthy. Lizzie looked inviting as ever with her dark glossy hair, pale pearlescent skin, bright pink, pouty lips. She still had that little brown birthmark on her neck and that lighter one just above her breasts.

It wasn't fair that she should look so beautiful, even more beautiful than she had before, that she should still smell the same. That he should still want to kiss her so badly.

There were moments where they stared at each other just a little too long, stretching the seconds out until they felt pregnant and tense with something. There was also that one moment where it almost seemed as if he were flirting with her or something. Then he said "I'll see you around" like it was a promise. A moment later he added, the taste of guilt sweet and heavy on his tongue, "If there's anything I can do to make your stay here more comfortable..." Like he knew just how hard this must be for her, even though it was harder for him.

Then he was reaching his hand out a little, almost like he wanted to offer her help or something else, but not all the way, because he couldn't bring himself to. And there was something about the look on his face coupled with his earlier halfhearted entreaties that weakened something in her... because, in truth, it reminded her that she'd broken him and now he was extra cautious, like he was afraid of her, and she had never really wanted that. Hadn't wanted to do that to another person, whatever she felt about Darcy. So next thing she knew, she was putting her hand on his arm, releasing it almost as quickly, and stuttering a thank-you. Darcy's fingers curled into a white-knuckled fist.

And she'd whirled around and turned off the camera before she could do something stupid like touch him again. Lizzie stooped to pick up her bag and was all set to leave when she caught sight of the look on his face. A microexpression—disappointment—flitted across his face and stayed her. She felt decidedly off-kilter, peering up into Darcy's face. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, things she should say to him, but she didn't know how to put it in words. "Darcy, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come," she blurted out, unable to stand it any longer.

It wasn't what she'd meant to say. She'd meant to say something mature, something refined or professional. She didn't mean to remind him of everything that had happened before. And she had. She could tell because Darcy's entire face froze, his eyes widening with an emotion she didn't want to decipher, let alone name. "Why?" he asked, flexing his fingers. He did that in an attempt to suppress the panic suddenly bubbling up in him so that he didn't do something stupid like beg her to stay. His lips were already turning down at the corners. "Do you not like it here?" She heard that same strain of anxiety in his voice as she'd heard before when he'd asked how she was finding it, like he actually cared about the answer.

She shook her head and hurried to explain before he got the wrong idea. "No, of course not. Pemberley is... amazing. I can't see how anyone could find something to dislike-" Lizzie stopped right there, realizing she'd gone off track and was becoming a bit too effusive... borderline fangirlish, really, to her embarrassment. She twirled the end of her ponytail around her finger absently. Darcy perked up a bit, though. He took pride in his company, and it pleased him to know that Lizzie liked it. It meant a lot to him that she felt welcome here. "It's not that," she added, looking down.

Darcy frowned. He'd thought that maybe they'd finally gotten somewhere... at least to something approaching an equilibrium or a clean slate. Had he been wrong about that? Had he once again only been seeing what he wanted to see? But then he thought back to his sister's behavior and had an inkling about why she might feel uncomfortable. He opened his mouth to ask—or apologize—but Lizzie didn't let him finish.

She shook her head again, holding up her hands. "It's not whatever you're thinking. I promise." The confused look remained on Darcy's face, and Lizzie tried not to grimace. She didn't want to have to spell things out for him and bring up more painful memories, but... She sighed, crossing an arm over her chest. It was easier if she didn't have to look at him. "It's just... I can't see a way this isn't gonna be really awkward for the both of us," she said, gesturing between the two of them with one finger. Lizzie had the distinct feeling she'd had this conversation before, back in Hunsford, but this was somehow a million times worse.

Probably because now she had to tiptoe around what had happened the last time they saw each other, which she had spent the past two months actively avoiding thinking of, and never directly acknowledging or referencing it.

Darcy didn't react to this at all. It was always going to be awkward, as things with him often were. He hadn't meant to be here either, had wanted to stay away for her. But something had brought him here... whether it was kismet or, more likely, his sister and Fitz' machinations... and now he didn't want to go away again. Knowing she was at his company, in his hometown, had been a siren's call that ultimately he hadn't been strong enough to resist. And that chance, hell, just seeing her again was worth any potential discomfort or pain on his part.

Taking his silence the wrong way, Lizzie had already begun to backpedal, "I mean, not to demean your professionalism or anything, I'm sure you can..." Lizzie cringed at her choice of words, swallowing hard. Professional? Could she really use that word or even think it like she hadn't slept with him? Like professionalism was even really possible in such a truly mortifying situation? "I just..." She chose her words a bit more carefully. "I would more than understand if you didn't want me here, if you weren't comfortable with it. I wouldn't even blame you."

Darcy just stared at her for a moment, not sure what she meant. Yes, he was always uncomfortable around her, always had been, because she made him sit up and take notice. If anything, though, he was more at ease around her now. Before, he'd bottled up his words and feelings until he'd exploded, but now the only secret he had rattling around inside of him (if it could still be called that) was that his feelings hadn't diminished, contrary to both of their expectations. She'd made him feel out-of-control before, but he'd conquered that. And here she was now, on his territory, where he was best positioned to change her opinion of him. And he was going to try his best to do just that.

Lizzie did her best not to fidget under that stare that still burned like cigarettes. Was it the sort-of apology it seemed like or was she trying to give herself an out? Or, worse, had he given her the impression that he was so uncomfortable with her presence that she wanted to absent herself already, after less than a week here? Was it the situation she wanted to run from or was it him? Or was she trying to spare his feelings? Did she still feel the same as she'd felt in October? He put a hand in his pocket and tried not to dwell on any of that. "Do you think I'm uncomfortable with you being here?"

He asked it so placidly, as if he were detached from the situation, that she didn't know what to think. Was he over her? Did... she want him to be? This time, she managed to look up at him through her lashes. Darcy stared into her eyes and felt like he was drowning, like he was being sucked into a whirlpool. He'd forgotten how to swim and was just letting the current take him where it wanted. "Wouldn't anyone be, given the circumstances?" Darcy opened his mouth, ready to ask if she was uncomfortable, but Lizzie kept talking.

She made herself keep looking at his face. "The last thing I want to do is... impose on you or do anything to cause you more..." She would have said "pain," that was the word she meant, but she chickened out. There was something still about openly acknowledging that she'd hurt him. She knew she had, but... saying it out loud and actually thinking about his pain was quite another. "-Trouble than I already have." Her lips quirked up bitterly.

His brow furrowed. Did she really think that was all she was to him... trouble? That she'd only brought bad things into his life? Truthfully, Darcy hadn't realized how joyless and rote his life had become until he'd met Lizzie. He'd forgotten what it was to want, to look forward to things. He'd remembered how to laugh, how to appreciate the little things in life again because of her. She had been right about him being a robot—a tin man, really—but she'd made him grow. "I'm not that petty, Lizzie," he said. His voice was quiet but, at the same time, almost harsh.

Lizzie recoiled a little, looking down, and Darcy immediately regretted what he said. Even now, when he had nothing to lose anymore, he still managed to say the wrong thing to her. He cursed himself inwardly, but he reminded himself that change was a gradual process. "I wasn't saying that you were," she said quickly, licking her lips. Darcy almost smiled; she sounded just like that when they started arguing. He knew now that they'd only had such intense arguments because she hated him, but he missed being challenged, missed seeing her electricity up-close.

"Just that..." She wrapped an arm around her waist and glanced back up at him, meeting his gaze. She tried not to stammer too much over her words. The last time she'd seen him, she'd hurled words at him like grenades, not caring for the collateral damage. Now every word felt like a potential land mine. "This is your company, and if you'd prefer... if it would be better for you that I'm not here... I would totally understand and work something out." She bit the corner of her lip, dragged her teeth across the skin so that she could feel something sharp, something grounding.

Lizzie knew what Dr. Gardiner had said, how she couldn't back out of this and still graduate on time. Maybe she was looking for an excuse not to face this, or maybe she felt she owed it to him after thinking the worst of him. She—the girl who had broken his heart—had invaded his territory, his company, his world. He was well within his rights to never want to see her again. To sue her or get a restraining order even!

And regardless of what Dr. G had said (despite knowing everything, well, almost everything!), Lizzie couldn't in good conscience continue to stay here if it was causing him pain. She owed him this offer, this choice. She'd humiliated him enough. She could figure something out if it came down to it, short notice or not. When you had no other choice, you found a way.

When Darcy looked her in the eyes, he realized she really meant that. He'd seen the videos and knew what she was offering to sacrifice; moreover, he knew that she couldn't afford it. He couldn't ask her to leave even if he wanted to. And that was when he knew that things really had changed. For the first time since Halloween, he felt something like hope.

He shook his head no slowly. He didn't want her to go. Lizzie tapped her fingers against her side anxiously. "While I... appreciate the offer, Elizabeth, it isn't necessary," he insisted far more vehemently than she was expecting. He was trying a bit too hard to keep the current of desperation that had begun to well up in him out of his voice. She didn't know what to make of him calling her by her full name. "I'm fine with you being here, and Pemberley is certainly big enough for the both of us," he continued, hoping it sounded convincing. If she didn't want to see him, he could and would arrange that if she so much as asked. He hoped she knew that he wasn't going to force his company on her anymore.

Darcy persisted, "If I didn't want-" He stopped abruptly, realizing what he was about to say and trying desperately not to panic even though it feels as if his rapidly-beating heart is a bird about to burst out of his chest. He resisted the urge to crumple his jacket in his hand. "I assure you, if I had any issues with you being here, I wouldn't have signed off on your shadowing forms." He'd done far more than that, including ensuring she had use of an office, getting a nametag and pass, giving her access to every part of the company, and providing her with a rather more-than-usually-generous stipend, but she didn't have to know that.

Lizzie straightened a little, eyes widening. A small, hopeful part of her had told herself that he had no idea she was here, or that he would just sign off on things like any CEO without really looking at them. But now she had confirmation that he'd known all along that she would be coming here. Was his appearance here not an accident after all?

Lizzie bit her lip again, and Darcy found himself straining to be as pleasant as possible. It came easier than it would've before, but he still wasn't quite comfortable saying all the things he thought about her. "You're talented, intelligent, and creative. I've always thought that." Lizzie was touched by his words and the sincerity with which he said them, and it made her feel acutely uncomfortable and undeserving. She reached up, absently pressing her fingers to that spot on her neck.

Unbeknownst to her, Darcy's eyes tracked the movement, and he swallowed hard. "You deserve to be here. You have a well thought-out proposal and more experience with new media and content creation than most of my staff," he said firmly, seeking to reassure her. Lizzie's eyes widened almost comically; he'd actually read her proposal? Had he seen her application? She was suddenly glad she'd left out any videos mentioning him, even if they were the most popular with her audience. Had he looked at her résumé too, as if it would somehow tell him something he didn't already know about her? She wasn't sure if she should be flattered that he'd taken the time or creeped out... or not surprised at all, given how fastidious and thorough Darcy was.

Darcy watched her for a moment, marveling at how endearing she looked, waiting for a response that never came. Lizzie wasn't exactly sure how to respond or if that necessitated a response, so she said nothing and hoped that was the right choice. Instead, she played with a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. "I only hope you get as much benefit out of your time here as we will undoubtedly receive from you," he said, bringing a hand up over his heart to convey even more sincerity. But it was a fraught gesture, and, thinking the better of it, he brought his hand down. It lingered awkwardly in the air near his stomach and side.

Lizzie felt herself flush a little. Darcy had never said so many complimentary things to her face before, much less in one minute, and she didn't know what to do about it. That last sentence in particular was almost blindingly charming. It was a lot to absorb. Somehow, though, she found it in herself to say a quiet thank-you.

He tried to smile agreeably, like this all didn't mean so much more than shadowing his company. Lizzie tried to smile back, but all the compliments had thrown her a little. "Besides," he added almost conspiratorially, leaning in a little, "you're exactly the type of student we like to have around here... well-informed, hardworking, funny, and a compelling storyteller." She tried not to stare at him like she was as weirded out as she actually was, like when he'd talked about how unforgiving the hills here were, but she was probably doing that.

How could Darcy still have anything good to say about her after the awfulness that was their two last meetings? He hadn't even been so complimentary of her when they'd been sleeping together. Darcy did his best to prevent his face from falling at the look on hers, but he took a few steps back anyway. He'd probably said a bit too much all at once. He cleared his throat, sliding his hands back into his pockets so he wouldn't shift his feet. "Plus, your recommendations were exemplary... Dr. Gardiner had a lot of great things to say, and Benedict wouldn't stop raving about you."

Lizzie's brow furrowed, but the name set her on edge a little. Had he actually spoken to both of them or just read the letters? She stood up a bit straighter. "Benedict?" It couldn't be. The world couldn't possibly be that small.

"Sorry, you probably know him as Professor Fitzwilliam," Darcy explained. Her stomach flipped. Lizzie blinked, trying very hard not to have a reaction at all by being unnaturally still and quiet. In retrospect, she wondered why that out-of-character behavior didn't make Darcy suspicious. However, Darcy mistook her frozen expression for confusion or, worse, forgetfulness. "Benedict Fitzwilliam," he repeated. As if Lizzie could ever forget someone like Benedict Fitzwilliam. Lizzie closed her eyes briefly, trying to collect herself. Of course Darcy would call him Benedict.

"But he goes by Bennet," Lizzie said before she could stop herself. She wanted to clap her hand over her mouth or her cheeks. Darcy started a little at the familiarity, but he nodded. Was she blushing? She hoped not. She didn't know why she was surprised, exactly, given that she'd asked him for a recommendation months ago, but the way Darcy spoke about him made her anxious.

Dr. Benedict Fitzwilliam had been one of Lizzie's professors in both undergraduate and graduate school, though she'd only taken two classes with him. Like Dr. Gardiner, he was a mass communication professor. Unlike Dr. Gardiner, his primary focus was cross-cultural and adaptational communication, which he described as translating content from one culture, context, or medium to another, so he'd dabbled in every field in mass communication as both scholar and practitioner. He was the rare kind of professor who was every bit as devoted to his students as he was to doing ground-breaking research. He'd only been there temporarily, having signed to a one-year trial period and then a two-year term contract before he went back to London.

She'd been even closer to him than Dr. Gardiner. He was the kind of person everyone wanted to be close to—magnetic, extremely intelligent but not arrogant, cultured, kind, effortlessly cool but still kind of a dork. He had a hypnotic voice and a great sense of humor that made even the driest lectures seem interesting. And it didn't hurt that he was tall, dark, handsome, and had a British accent. It had been so easy to like him... a little too easy, really.

Darcy nodded approvingly, his expression turning a little bit warmer. He looked at her like he wanted to say something, probably to comment on their shared name. "Of course I remember him," she said after a moment, swallowing thickly. Did that sound girlish, the way it would if any of her classmates said it? She forced a laugh, but it was easier to smile. "We have the same name, after all."

It had sort of started that way, really. He'd seen her name on the roster, looked up and found her, and their eyes locked. "Well, Lizzie, I'm not sure if this classroom is big enough for two Bennets," he'd said, a smile playing about his mouth. She wasn't quite sure what had taken over her, maybe it was the challenge in his gaze or the way he'd said her name that had pushed her over the edge, but she'd replied instantaneously, "That's okay. I think I'll call you Ben instead, Professor." She wasn't usually that impertinent, and a self-important professor probably would've objected, but he'd just laughed, breaking the strange tension. Then he added that, even though they were on a first-name basis, she wouldn't be able to get away with anything now because he knew her name.

In this sort of situation, she ordinarily would've volunteered a story about their mutual acquaintance, and she had plenty of stories about Ben, but all of those stories felt a little too fraught at the moment. She reached up to smooth the back of her hair. "How do you know him, exactly?" she asked a bit too quickly. A feeling of trepidation had been gradually creeping up on her from the moment Darcy had first said his name, but now she felt almost nauseous.

Darcy smiled. "We go way back, both personally and professionally," he said with a little wave. In part because of the way he'd grown up, there were few family members Darcy could relate to, and even fewer he actually looked up to. Bennet, however, was different than the rest of his stuffy, distant family. Despite the distance, he'd always been there for William and Gigi, to the point where Darcy suspected that he'd moved to the area to work and study at least partly for their benefit.

Lizzie's eyes widened, mostly in horror. What had Bennet said about her exactly? "Of course I know about him from his contributions to our field... he even used to work here for a time, back when he was getting his degree," Darcy added proudly, and she couldn't even begrudge him for it. She nodded dully, starting to relax a little. His unexpected pleasantness was starting to lull her into a false sense of confidence. Then Darcy continued speaking, "He also happens to be my second cousin on my mother's side."

Lizzie was sure she'd turned at least two shades paler at that. They were related, of course. She'd thought of Bennet when she first met Darcy; something about Darcy's appearance or mannerisms had reminded her of Ben. At the time she'd written it off. Ben had just left for good, and she was going to miss him, and they did look somewhat similar, given their coloring and height. She'd thought she was looking for those things in all the wrong places, clearly.

But now that she knew, she looked at Darcy and saw his cousin. Bennet was slightly shorter, with longer, lighter hair and darker blue eyes. He had the face of a man who smiled more and the crow's feet to prove it, but they had the exact same nose. God, Lydia truly was right about her having a type. At this rate, John Cass was the only guy she'd ever been involved with who wasn't somehow connected to Darcy. That thought made her a little nauseous. "I can see the resemblance." Okay, now she was definitely blushing. She cleared her throat, trying not to think about it.

Darcy's eyes narrowed slightly, and he opened his mouth like he wanted to add something, and Lizzie had to change the subject. "Look, Darcy-" He closed his mouth. She straightened, smoothing her dress distractedly, remembering what she really wanted to tell him off-camera and mustering up the nerve to say it. "I... owe you an explanation." Well, owe wasn't quite the right word. She still didn't quite understand the obligation she felt towards him. Lizzie knew she didn't have to explain anything to Darcy, but she wanted to. She needed to set things straight.

Darcy's eyebrows went up, his weight shifting back to his heels. He was admittedly wary of whatever she was going to tell him, but it wasn't like she could say anything worse than what she'd said already. Lizzie took a deep breath, fiddling with the strap of her purse. She'd gone from one uncomfortable, sensitive subject to another. Why did every moment in Darcy's presence feel so fraught? "This isn't easy for me, but I... I'm sorry I believed George. I just... you didn't tell me anything, and he did." She finally allowed herself to look away from his face, offering up a helpless shrug.

Whatever he'd expected her to say, it hadn't been that. He nodded, understanding. The reminder of what he didn't say was like a punch to the stomach, even though he was almost sure she hadn't meant it to be. The disappointment was still there on his face, and it made Lizzie's stomach twist uncomfortably. "No, I understand perfectly. I had plenty of opportunities to tell you anything you wanted to know about me, and I didn't take advantage of those chances. I didn't give you a reason to take my side," he said calmly. The only visible sign of his emotional turmoil was the fingers fluttering in his pocket.

He'd thought at the time she knew what kind of man he was, that it should've been apparent. How could she not see, not immediately discern just what sort of man he was? How could she be fooled? But how could he expect her to judge when he'd presented himself and his interest so abysmally? How could he expect her to take him at his word when she barely knew him (and generally not as a man of honor)? And how could he expect her to give him the benefit of the doubt, of believing him, when he hadn't said a damn thing?

Still, it seemed like she believed him now, and that was really what mattered. Wasn't it?

I didn't want to know, Lizzie thinks but doesn't say, biting her lip instead. She'd believed what made sense, yes, but she'd also believed what she wanted. She cleared her throat anxiously, looking a bit paler than before. She knew it was going to be hard, but she owed him this much. If she never saw him again, she needed to put an end to their unfinished business so they could both move on. Darcy looked like he was going to bolt, so she found herself reaching out and grabbing his wrist again before she could think better of it. "That's not all."

He froze. Uncertain but leery of her next words, he raised an eyebrow. His expression said plainly "you don't have to tell me this or anything if you don't want to." He wants to know, but he's not sure he'll like the answer. Anyway, it's none of his business. His face showed the conflict there, but it only made Lizzie more determined to tell him. She shook her head and pushed on bravely. "About me and George Wickham..."

Darcy looked away abruptly, clenching his jaw almost violently, his face darkening. The childish part of him wanted to cover his ears, but he'd wondered about it long enough, let it torment him long enough with those recurring nightmares. Mrs. Reynolds had a saying, "You always think you can't bear something 'til you can." It was the sort of thing his father might've said up until his mother died. She'd found him one night in his father's office, head in his hands, deep in despair. Everything had seemed like too much. And she'd told him he wasn't his father, that he was stronger and more resilient. "Chin up, William." And it had been exactly as she said; he'd taken everything the world had thrown at him and come out even stronger, like tempered steel. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?

So Darcy steeled himself to take it, and Lizzie's grip tightened around his wrist. "I never..." She looked down self-consciously, licking her lips, and started over. "I never wished you were him." It doesn't feel like a lie, not really, and it isn't. Lizzie let out a breath. She glanced up at Darcy, biting her lip, clenching her fingers around the strap of her purse. Then she looked back down again. It was the one thing they'd never really talked about. He'd never asked, and she'd never brought it up, not until now. "That isn't why."

Darcy's shoulders relaxed in spite of himself. He felt strangely lighter knowing that. It wasn't an answer or a denial or an explanation why she'd said his name instead, but it was something. Lizzie thought he looked relieved. She attempted to smile but found she couldn't. She stared down at the shiny silver buckles on her shoes, a pair of black leather wedges with low heels. "And I didn't sleep with him, for the record," she said bluntly, feeling her cheeks redden with humiliation. She'd had to force that out, and she was sure her face was now tomato red. She hated that she had to say that. "Just so you know that, um, you don't need to worry about anything there," she said, finally letting go of his wrist.

It kind of burned, where her hand had been. He could still feel the pressure around his wrist, like rug burn, and he wanted to reach out to touch it but didn't want to draw attention to it at the same time.

When Lizzie managed to look up, his eyes were wide with incredulity. His expression was a mixture of the relief from before and sheer disbelief. As if her not having sex with George was that astonishing; it was a little insulting, really. But, then, Darcy thought, she didn't say she'd never had sex with George. She just said she didn't sleep with him, not that she didn't do anything with him or that she didn't have sex with him—and clearly he should really just let this go. It was probably just semantics at this point.

Still, she wouldn't have said anything if she had slept with him, after all. And why was she telling him anyway? She didn't have to, but her bringing it up now clearly meant she cared about what he thought. She didn't want him thinking the wrong thing, getting the wrong idea... and why would she want that if she didn't... If he thought about it too much, it would eat him up inside. Darcy rubbed his forehead, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose.

At this moment, Lizzie remembered something that had been burning a hole in her purse for weeks. "I have something for you." Lizzie opened up her bag, searching within for the piece of fabric she'd tucked inside, just in case. She'd debated mailing it to him before with no return address, but she'd never found the time to go to the post office. She hadn't wanted it to get lost in the mail, so she'd just, well, kept it. Up until she'd learned she was coming here, to his company, and she finally had an opportunity to return it.

She'd originally had the vague thought of sneaking into Darcy's office sometime during her visit and leaving it there so that he'd just think he misplaced it. But here he was, and she could take the opportunity to give it to him in person. Darcy stood up a little straighter, wondering what it was and that she should have a present for him. Her fingertips eventually found the neatly-folded silk jacquard, which she pulled out of her purse.

Darcy stared, amazed, as she pressed the red and black bowtie into his palm. He stared at the strip of silk in wonder; he'd believed it lost forever. To his embarrassment, he felt tears come to his eyes. Here, in his hand, was the last piece of his father. He'd searched everywhere for it before leaving Netherfield, even in Caroline's room, before realizing he must've left it at Lizzie's. And by then it was too late. He couldn't go ask her for it back; it was an embarrassing physical representation of the piece of himself he'd left behind with her.

"I believe this is yours?" Lizzie said, withdrawing her hand. Darcy scarcely heard her; he was too busy trying not to come undone at the fact that she's touched him, touched him willingly, for the first time in months. For a few seconds, he'd felt her fingertips on his bare skin. His palms ached with longing. Darcy looked up at her. The gesture feels weightier than it is. It feels almost like she's given him his heart back, only she certainly hasn't done that because his heart is still hers, as it feels like it has always been. She's still holding that in her hands.

Somehow, Lizzie didn't quite know how, she managed an awkward half-smile. Darcy was looking at her like he wanted to hug her. After she'd talked to George she'd suspected what this would mean to him, but she hadn't expected to see him looking so emotional. Even when she'd broken his heart, he'd managed to hide most of his feelings from her, as if he'd built up a wall behind his eyes. And even when she'd stripped back all of that, down to the most basic levels, he hadn't looked quite so raw as he did now. "Thank you," he said quietly, after what seemed like a small eternity.

She shrugged, feeling suddenly shy. "I'm just returning what belongs to you." He smiled at her sadly.

At that moment, there was a noise at the door, like someone was trying to open it. Darcy instinctively drew closer to Lizzie, almost protectively. A few seconds later, the door opened, revealing a dark-haired man who looked vaguely familiar. "Hey, Darcy, I've been lookin-" Noticing how close they were standing, the man stopped in the doorway. His expression turned apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

Lizzie flushed. Darcy looked at her, briefly meeting her gaze, and she answered his unspoken question by taking a big step back. Someone who knew Darcy well, like the man still frozen in the doorway, would've noticed the flicker of disappointment on his face and the way he stiffened a little, his chin beginning to recede into his neck. "No."

"Yeah, actually, I was just on my way out," Lizzie said, forcing a smile and moving towards the door. She knew Darcy was still staring at her, could feel his gaze burning into her, but she was doing her best to ignore it. Darcy took a moment too long to tear his eyes away from Lizzie and turned to look at the man in the doorway.

Alex was giving him a questioning look, and Darcy remembered his manners. He slipped the bowtie into his pocket. "I'm sorry you had to go searching for me. I was waylaid by Gigi after the meeting, and then I ran into Lizzie, and we got to talking," he explained, gesturing towards Lizzie. Knightley's eyebrow went up; Darcy getting caught up in conversation was that incredible. Lizzie looked like she wanted to do nothing more than bolt, but, then, she'd looked like that for the majority of the conversation anyway. He looked to Lizzie and then began the introduction, gesturing to the other man. "Lizzie, this is George Alexander Knightley. We went to college and business school together."

Lizzie started at the name, remembering, and met Darcy's gaze. She wondered if her name was still listed in Darcy's phone under Knightley Cell, if it was even still listed at all. Knightley watched the strange interaction, saying nothing, and made a face. "Must you always introduce me as George, Darce?" he asked, finally entering the room. He flashed a self-deprecating smile. "I'm hardly a king or a president, and no one calls me that but my grandfather and my mom when she's mad at me."

"Well, it is your legal first name," Darcy replied dryly. Knightley rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to make a comment about how rarely people called Darcy by his first name, but the other man spoke first. "As you can tell," he added for Lizzie's benefit, "our families are old friends." Darcy glanced at Knightley. "Knightley, this is Elizabeth Bennet."

Uncertain of what could possibly follow that, he hesitated a few moments, running through all the options in his head. The love of my life was the obvious answer, but he couldn't say that, of course. The girl who broke my heart—rejected me—was another, but he didn't want to reference those feelings which had made Lizzie so uncomfortable. Any other claim to her would seem far too presumptuous and hopeful, but he couldn't really say she was anything to him. He couldn't even really say they were friends since she despised him, and friend-with-benefits was certainly off-limits. She wasn't even his ex.

But she was more than an acquaintance or a random intern as well. Nothing he said would be enough to explain it all, but he had to say something.

"...We met when I was on vacation with Bing last summer," he said finally. Alex raised a brow at the word "vacation" and the pregnant pause. Something was definitely up with Darcy, and he didn't know what to expect next. Lizzie let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She hadn't really thought Darcy would say anything inappropriate, but she wasn't sure until he actually said that. "She's here shadowing Pemberley."

Knightley nodded, watching Darcy for a moment. There was more to the story, more than Darcy was telling, and Alex had his suspicions. He'd never seen Darcy act so strangely around a woman, and Lizzie was a little flushed but seemingly unable to look at Darcy. Maybe he could get to the bottom of it over dinner? The vibe in the room was exactly the sort of thing that would've attracted Emma's interest, and, if she were there, she'd have already begun trying to throw them together.

"You can call me Alex," he said warmly, holding out a hand. She smiled and shook his hand. For the first time, Lizzie got a good look at Alex. He wasn't as striking as Darcy, but he was handsome nonetheless, with dark eyes, longer, artfully mussed hair, a five o'clock shadow, and a heavy brow. He had a generally skeptical look about him, and the wrinkles in his forehead suggested he was a worrier. He seemed roughly the same age as Darcy, but one look told her he was far more easygoing and comfortable in his own skin. The two men were about the same height, but Alex was dressed far more casually in a light blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves, khakis, and a navy blazer draped over his other arm.

She felt sort of like she knew him from somewhere and stared at him for a moment, trying to place him. "And you can call me Lizzie," she responded in kind. "Everybody does." Alex looked up at her. For a petite woman, she had a firm grip. She wasn't blushing anymore. She looked pale, pretty, and a bit overwhelmed, but there was a determined spark in her eye that reminded him of Emma. In fact, something about her was very familiar, and, after a moment, it hit him.

Darcy was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable (and jealous) with them staring at each other, so he cleared his throat. "Do you two know each other?"

They turned back to him. "Actually, we have met before," Alex said, sliding his free hand into his pocket. "A few years back... at a cabin in the woods?" Darcy was beginning to grow increasingly alarmed with this conversation, even though he knew he had no right to be. The only thing that remotely reassured him was the bland look on Knightley's face and the reminder that Knightley was wrapped around the finger of his lady friend.

Lizzie gave him a puzzled look at first, but her eyes quickly widened in recognition. "Oh, right! You're Emma's best friend. We met when you came up for family weekend." Alex nodded. He'd driven up with Izzy to see Emma at camp, as John had refused and insisted on staying with baby Henry. Mr. Woodhouse had a history of carsickness, so he'd sat that one out, despite his desire to see his youngest daughter.

Lizzie had liked Alex. They had a similar sarcastic sense of humor. For one, his arrival prevented Emma from attempting to match her with every eligible male at camp or any of their relatives. However, his arrival also meant that Emma was now trying to match her with Alex instead and had proceeded to leave them alone for virtually the whole day after introducing them. While Lizzie was usually immune to such transparent attempts at matchmaking, she wasn't exactly immune to Alex' charms... and Emma's plan had worked a little too well.

She'd ended up kissing him (okay, making out) behind the cabin after the bonfire, when Alex had decided to stay. He tasted like s'mores and vodka lemonade. He'd been a good kisser, but Lizzie knew it wasn't right. There was something missing. So she'd pulled away and said, "You know you're into Emma, right?" in her typically blunt manner. He'd been too shocked to deny it, but he'd stared at her, mouth gaping open like a fish, eyes glazed, for a solid minute afterwards. He hadn't been able to admit it back then.

With that memory firmly in mind, Lizzie laughed and added, "It's nice to see you again. How is Emma?"

Predictably, a broad smile spread across his face. Emma was one of his favorite subjects. "Emma's great, as always. Jealous that she couldn't tag along on my business trip." Lizzie grinned. That did sound like Emma. She wondered what Emma would say if she noticed the look on her best friend's face when he spoke of her. Darcy's insides burned with jealousy, all but obliterating his appetite. "Darcy didn't mention this, but I'm also a board member here," he said, reaching out and clapping a hand down on Darcy's shoulder. "I came up with him for the meeting."

Lizzie nodded, and Darcy made himself smile, though all he really wanted to do was bodily drag Knightley away from her. He knew he had no claim on her, but he didn't want to sit around and watch her engage with another man. To see her eyes sparkle for someone else. He didn't have the right, but it made him burn inside. "Yeah, Darcy's mentioned you before, but I didn't connect it with you until now." Darcy threw her a warning look, but his spirits rose irrationally when she said his name.

Alex glanced over at Darcy, who was so stiff that it was plain just how edge he was. Taking pity on his friend, he squeezed Darcy's shoulder and tried to include him. "Lizzie went to... writing camp?" He raised a brow, and Lizzie nodded in confirmation. Alex smiled privately, remembering how he'd signed Emma up for that camp, giving her a taste of her own meddling ways. "With my best friend, Emma Woodhouse. The two of them really hit it off."

Darcy's face was deliberately expressionless. He couldn't possibly forget that name now. He surreptitiously glanced at Lizzie, who refused to look at him. He wondered if that name would still be in her phone if he scrolled through it now. He hadn't deleted her number. He didn't know why. Probably because some small, deluded part of him still hoped he would hear from her, that maybe she would drunk-dial him or reach out or something. At Darcy's blank look, Alex continued patiently, "You've met Emma a few times, but her dad likes to stay close to home, so she doesn't get out as much as she'd like."

Knightley talked about Emma incessantly, so Darcy had heard rather a lot about her, but he had difficulty putting a name to the face. If he thought about it, he could recall her having dark hair and, for some reason, resembling a kinder Caroline Lee. If he was honest with himself, he generally tuned out when Knightley talked about her and didn't pay as much attention as he could. It was just another painful reminder that Lizzie was right. He called himself Knightley's friend, and, yet, he knew few specifics about Knightley's closest friend, couldn't even be bothered to remember her name. And he couldn't even say she was beneath his notice; she wasn't of a lower social class, but she just didn't interest him, and he'd seen no reason to pretend to care or engage.

Swallowing his guilt, Darcy nodded like that meant something. "What a small world." Lizzie laughed a little incredulously, feeling a heady mixture of hysterical frustration. Sometimes she felt like her world, never very expansive, had shrunken to the size of a pinhead this past year. There were just so many odd coincidences and Darcy at every turn that she was torn between thinking she was being tortured or that the universe was trying to tell her something.

After all, even her mother had never succeeded in throwing her together with the same guy so many times.

The predictable pleasantries then ensued. Knightley mentioned that he was a CPA and started talking about the business he and Emma had started. Lizzie, desperate to escape the room and the lingering awkwardness with Darcy, threw herself into (safe) conversation with Knightley. He attempted to explain what he did there, but he spent more time bragging about Emma's success. Lizzie talked a bit about her grad program and studies, and Knightley congratulated her with real warmth. She responded by asking him a bit about business; if she didn't find accounting genuinely fascinating, it didn't show at all.

Darcy watched them talk like it was a tennis match; the frequent glances and the hard look in Darcy's eyes did not escape Knightley. Darcy didn't try to chime in, quickly seeing the pointlessness of such an endeavor. He knew too much about Lizzie to ask anything and referencing any of the thousands of little things he remembered about her would be like admitting guilt. Besides, he thought enviously, Knightley and Lizzie's conversation was flowing with such ease and good cheer. He would just be interrupting. Any conversation he tried to have with the woman of his dreams was stilted and strained, always on life support. He just barely managed to refrain from sneering when Lizzie laughed at something Alex said, but he couldn't help but scowl at Alex.

Lizzie offered up a few amusing anecdotes about her family and best friend; Alex responded in turn with stories about his niece, nephew, and, of course, Emma. Were they flirting? It sort of sounded like they were... Lizzie was using that teasing voice on Knightley, and Alex was smiling and laughing more than he usually did. Did Alex want her? Darcy watched, and he burned, and he wanted nothing more than to put an end to their little conversation. Darcy stared as Lizzie played with a loose strand of her hair, tilting her head just so, so that he could see more of the long, slender column of her neck. The better question was really how could Knightley not want her?

Knightley had picked up on what Lizzie was doing, of course. He recognized that she wasn't really flirting with him, not really, especially since she kept making little hints about Emma. However, he'd also felt the growing heat of Darcy's glowers. Alex did his best to include Darcy in the conversation on several occasions, but a man who preferred monosyllabic responses and serious conversations wasn't suited to small talk.

Midway through an anecdote about Emma's latest antics trying to match-make her assistant Annie and Ryan Weston, Alex caught Darcy's eye. Realizing Darcy was uncomfortable, Alex quickly finished up the story. "As fun as it's been to catch up, Lizzie..." he began with a smile, "I should probably let you go." Lizzie looked relieved. "William, we should really get going," he said, grabbing the other man's arm. Lizzie's brow furrowed slightly. Darcy didn't move, didn't stop staring at Lizzie, until Alex tugged on his arm. Darcy stumbled and reflexively glanced over at his guest. "We have dinner reservations, remember?" Alex urged.

Darcy nodded dumbly, not quite snapping out of it, and Lizzie slipped past them, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I should head out too, before I'm late for my dinner engagement." She adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder, picking up her coat from where it was stashed, just out of sight. Knightley looked over at Darcy and could tell from the way he was biting his lip that he wanted to help her into her coat, but she didn't even bother to pull it on.

Alex smiled. "It was good seeing you again, Lizzie," he said, meaning it, reaching out to touch her forearm. She started a little at his touch and reflexively glanced over at Darcy, which was interesting. "I'll let Emma know I saw you and tell her to give you a call. Maybe she'll stop by if she's in the area," he added kindly a moment later.

Lizzie nodded and smiled—a real smile this time. She had smiled more than he could've ever expected, but this was the first one that had no signs of strain, and of course it didn't, since it was directed at another man. "That would be nice." And it would, she thought, relaxing a little. She could really use a friendly face just about now since the only people she knew within the city limits were the Darcys (and, currently, Dr. Gardiner). With that thought in mind, Lizzie finally turned to leave, waving over her shoulder. She tried not to look at Darcy, though, out of fear she'd see his face in her dreams again. "Bye!"

Alex responded in kind, as did Darcy, a moment later and a bit more slowly, like he wanted to prolong it. They both watched her leave, Darcy with considerably more admiration, until she disappeared from view.

Knightley took one look at Darcy's face. He'd never seen that expression before, so he didn't know quite what to make of it. The fact that Darcy's face had a discernible expression was itself a rare occurrence. "Okay, that's it. We're going to a bar," Alex announced. Darcy opened his mouth to protest, to sing the virtues of the excellent place he'd chosen, but Knightley gave him a look. "Come on," he said, bumping his shoulder against Darcy's, "You don't need to impress me. And besides, the look on your face says you need a real meal. Wings."

Darcy's eyes narrowed, and he stopped walking to stare at his friend. "Who are you? A barbarian?" His lip curled upwards in distaste at the suggestion. Wings slathered in whatever disgustingly unnatural sauce they served at whichever pathetic chain restaurant they stumbled upon first? Unlike Darcy, Alex had simple and unpretentious tastes. This was a fact Emma frequently lamented and tried to amend; he would try the sorts of fancy, impossibly bland or ridiculous foods she foisted on him, but he rarely enjoyed it. He was a steak and potatoes kind of guy, so sue him.

Alex rolled his eyes. "Spare me the lecture, Darcy. There is a time and a place for everything, and tonight is not a night for a twelve course degustation menu of experimental food." Darcy opened his mouth to protest; he did know his friend's taste better than that! Knightley spoke before he could say a word. "Relax. I'm not going to drag you to a Chili's or anything. We'll go to some gastropub that I'll look up on Yelp in the car. It'll be at least three stars," Alex continued, leading Darcy to the elevators. Evidently this mollified Darcy, who merely nodded.

Alex kept looking at Darcy curiously as he pressed the down button. The strange look hadn't quite gone away, and his friend, while generally not especially loquacious, was usually more chatty than this. Was something wrong? When he thought Knightley wasn't looking, Darcy sighed wearily. Seeing Lizzie again had taken a lot out of him, especially since he hadn't been expecting it. Even though he'd known she was here, of course, it seemed so surreal and... almost destined? Obviously his sister had arranged their rencontre, but it still felt like fate, and like he was starting something he couldn't stop. There was still so much to process that he didn't really even know where to begin.

The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside. Darcy was too lost in his own thoughts to press the button for the G1 level, so Knightley did instead. They could usually hang out in companionable silence, but this felt heavier than that. Knightley watched the numbers change as the elevator went down and then glanced over at Darcy, who was staring blankly ahead at the elevator doors. "Are you all right?" Alex asked finally, concerned.

Darcy crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing. He was still trying to dissect every moment of his most recent interaction with Lizzie, and Knightley's voice was more of a dull buzzing that didn't even register. Simultaneously, he was trying frantically to contain and quiet his racing thoughts, trying not to read too much into what had just happened.

It was unlike Darcy to fail to respond to a direct question, so Knightley tried again, just as the doors opened. "Hey, you wanna talk about it?" he asked softly, touching Darcy's shoulder.

Darcy stiffened under Knightley's touch and sighed quietly. Not particularly, he thought. Was it really that obvious, that palpably awkward, that Alex felt he had to say something? He hung his head a little. "Do I have a choice?" he asked pointedly, giving Alex a dirty look.

Alex held up his hands in a surrendering position and stepped out of the elevator. Watching the other man warily, Darcy followed, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Look, man, if you don't want to talk, that's fine. You know I'm not going to push you," Alex said calmly. He paused for a moment, an Emma reference on his tongue, and stopped. She had rubbed off on him, sure, but he did still respect his friends' boundaries, and Darcy had more than most. He closed up if you pushed him too far. Alex gestured to Darcy's face. "You just had that look like you wanted advice."

Darcy suppressed another sigh. He was that transparent.

Darcy thought about it for a moment. Being an intensely private person, he hated asking others for advice in his personal life. There were plenty of reasons for that, of course; he had few close friends and virtually no peers, and he'd been burned before. He had trouble opening up to others, and he didn't want to say something only to have someone use it against him. He cared probably too much what others thought, but he didn't need other people or want to invite them to pass judgment on his choices. Darcy had also mostly stopped asking for advice in his professional life after he'd learned the ropes of his job. He was too used to relying on his own good judgment and doling out advice to others.

However, the aforementioned typically excellent judgment had always managed to lead him horribly astray where Lizzie was concerned. It was like he forgot his manners, forgot everything he knew about women and himself, when he talked to her. His good sense and good qualities seemed unequal to the task, or else they vanished the moment he laid eyes on her. He was left wrong-footed, always saying boorish things, and shooting himself in the foot. Words deserted him in her presence, and, when he wasn't hostilely taciturn, he somehow managed to say the wrong, absolute worst thing in his ineptitude.

It was like a special talent for alienating the object of his deepest affections. Truly a pathetic talent if one thought about it... or lamented it, as he did.

He hadn't really asked for advice before, at least, not directly, and if he had, he hadn't taken it. But that had clearly been wrong, and he had nothing to lose now by asking for help.

Thus resolved, Darcy nodded. "Yes, actually," he said reluctantly. He still wasn't sure it was a great idea, but he needed to do something different, and he wasn't too proud to ask Alex for some insight here. He needed all the help he could get with her. "You're right." Knightley might've smirked under other circumstances, but, as it was, Darcy looked so miserable that he couldn't. He stared at his friend for a minute, waiting for him to elaborate.

"You like her," Knightley observed, breaking the silence. Darcy said nothing, but his jaw tightened, which told Alex that he was right. The thought of merely liking Lizzie, like it was some stupid infatuation, was nearly comical at this point, and beyond frustrating because he could no longer delude himself into thinking it would go away with time or that there was something he could do about it. Knightley studied Darcy a bit longer, trying to read his silence. "And she knows?"

Darcy snorted, just barely managing to repress the urge to cover his face. That was the understatement of the century. It still mortified him to think about that awful day. "What tipped you off?" Darcy asked dryly.

Knightley gave him a look, but he was a little surprised. Emotional declarations of pretty much any kind were like a foreign language to him, and Knightley couldn't think of a single girl Darcy had ever actually expressed interest in in the entire time he'd known him. He couldn't imagine that conversation occurring, but it had to have happened since Lizzie clearly knew how Darcy felt. "I have eyes, Darcy," he retorted. "There was an awkward vibe, not to mention the way you two were looking at each other. And you were glaring daggers at me for even talking to her." Embarrassed, Darcy looked away. "I was definitely interrupting something."

Darcy sighed, running a hand down his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose briefly, but it didn't alleviate his building migraine. "She's the girl," he admitted after a while. Alex patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. He'd never seen Darcy look quite so tormented. Indeed, Darcy was actually in physical pain. His chest was tight, and he couldn't breathe right or deeply. His hands still ached inexplicably. He'd felt worse, of course, but he was energized, almost feverish, and suddenly alive all over again at the same time. It was simultaneously horrible and wonderful. "I'm surprised she even talked to me," Darcy said, dazed. "She already thinks the worst of me."

Knightley quirked a brow, and Darcy had to look away. Gigi had looked at him like that too, when he'd told her, as if she couldn't understand how anyone could feel differently than she did about him. And whenever anyone looked at him like that, like he was the man he'd always thought he was, he felt like a liar, or, worse... like he had two personalities—one the man he had always striven to be and known he was, the other an abominable, offensive creature who was every bit as bad as Lizzie had made him out to be. And then he wondered which man he really was and which one was just the facade.

Alex let out a breath, shaking his head. "You're going to have to explain it to me," he said, starting to walk again towards Darcy's impractical vintage Lotus. It was all Darcy could do to follow, dragging his feet. Knightley snapped his fingers. "Keys?" The two men exchanged looks, but Darcy eventually reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys, dangling them in the air.

Smiling victoriously, Alex snatched the keys from his friend's fingers. Darcy had originally planned on driving, but now it seemed better if Knightley did instead. Darcy wasn't really in the mood or shape to drive, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to talk about his feelings and drive at the same time. Alex liked driving Darcy's cars if he could, since he personally drove a boring, practical "accountant-mobile" SUV and occasionally liked to live large by driving a flashy sportscar once in a while. Knightley unlocked the car and turned to face Darcy. "Why don't you start by telling me why she thinks the worst of you?"

Darcy wanted to groan, but he restrained himself and walked over to the passenger seat. Where did he even start? "I made a bad first impression, and a series of misunderstandings followed and compounded the situation." It all sounded so bland and benign when he put it that way, passive. He hadn't quite thought of it like that before, not seriously. It was so easy to blame everything on the confusion of sleeping together and the awful things he'd said, but they'd started off on the wrong foot. It wasn't like she'd ever really liked him... and why would she? He'd said she was "decent enough" (perhaps the biggest understatement of his life, in retrospect) but refused to dance with her or talk to her.

And yes, he'd been uncomfortable around all the strangers, all the people staring at him and whispering about him, still mortified from the embarrassing, painfully awkward display earlier of the garter toss and dance. He was tired, physically and mentally exhausted from the travel and helping Bing move and set up his household, and jetlagged and still in his head, upset over everything that had happened with Gigi. And yes, he didn't want to raise anyone's hopes or give anyone the wrong idea because he wasn't looking for anything and had no intention of finding it here, and it was easiest to just nip it in the bud now before people tried to make nothing into something. Besides, he didn't have the time or patience for Bing's insinuations, subtle as they were, nor was he inclined to go out of his way to attempt to socialize with some probably insipid girl he'd never see again on the vague premise of "enjoying himself." He did not want to enjoy himself, and how could he in a place like that?

Most of that was true, or had been, but none of it was really an excuse for how abominably rude it had been to dismiss her like that. It was even worse because he saw now that she'd actually been trying to be nice to him, trying no less than four avenues of conversation before eventually giving up when he couldn't offer a more than monosyllabic reply. And then he'd implied she wasn't tolerable, said she was decent enough (what did that even mean?), and said he wasn't going to dance with her just because no one else was, all but calling her undesirable. For no real reason aside from discouraging Bing, so that he could get out of there as soon as possible.

Darcy had all but forgotten saying that until he watched the videos. That night had been a blur, a fog, aside from seeing her the first time and his overwhelming discomfort, but now he was doomed to remember every painful moment with perfect clarity. Because of that look on her face when she talked about it, how she'd been unable to finish two sentences because, even a week later, she was still upset about it. The look on her face in that video, as she tried so hard not to react, to not show how much he got to her ("I mean, I'm not even going to give him the satisfaction."), haunted him.

Who was he to say that? Who was he to act as if he were somehow above her or a prize that she'd just be jumping at the chance to dance with, when he'd known nothing about her and hadn't made even the slightest effort to figure her out? And how could he have thought she'd somehow gotten over that remark when he'd never apologized for it and only contradicted it after she'd rejected him?

At times like this, the magnitude of how much he'd screwed up threatened to crush him. Still trying to organize his thoughts, Darcy slumped into the seat. "Let's just say I expressed myself poorly."

Knightley raised a brow, sliding into the driver's seat. "And since when is that anything new?" he joked.

Darcy shut his eyes. The mere thought of telling another human being about arguably the worst moment of his life both pained and mortified him; he would almost prefer someone watched the video and made their own judgments. In truth, he was generally very careful and intentional with his words, but he'd been overcome by the feelings he was confessing and hadn't really been in his right mind after so many sleepless nights and hungry days. "I'm not going to reiterate what I said," Darcy began, running a hand through his hair, "but I may have inadvertently insulted her, her entire family, her financial situation, and way of life."

Knightley had been about to twist the key in the ignition, but he froze at that tidbit and turned to gape at Darcy. Under other circumstances, Darcy might've found the expression comical, but, unfortunately, there was nothing remotely humorous about his situation. "Damn. What do you mean "may have?" How is that something you accidentally do?" Alex interjected incredulously, feeling a lecture coming on. It was only a fraction of the sort of talk he often had to give Emma, of course, because Darcy wasn't quite so dramatic.

Naturally, Darcy couldn't look at him, which only confirmed his guilt. Knightley continued snarkily, "You know, Darcy, it's very easy to talk to women. All you have to do is not insult them and bring flowers." If he'd learned anything from his mother and all the romantic comedies he watched with Emma, it was that flowers should always be involved in any romantic declaration or gesture.

Darcy sighed irritably and shoved his friend. He'd been alone with only his mistakes for company for the better part of two and a half months, and he'd beaten himself up about it so much that he couldn't take Alex piling on, as much as he deserved it. "You drive, I'll talk," he snapped, reaching over to turn the key in the ignition. Alex gave him a look but complied after a moment, carefully starting to back out of the spot. He typed an address into the GPS and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for Darcy to just spit it out.

Darcy paused, licking his lips, and started in on the whole story. It was an abridged version, of course, lean on details and leaving out all but the most important parts. He also completely neglected to mention their sexual relationship. That subject was still too personal and raw and shameful to talk about with anyone, and dredging up those memories was the last thing he needed right now. Besides, Alex didn't need to know that.

Alex tried not to interrupt Darcy's story often, since he knew how hard it was for the other man to share these things... but sometimes he just couldn't help it. He was really trying not to be judgmental too! However, when Darcy had given a summary recounting of what he'd said to Lizzie upon declaring himself, Alex was unable to prevent himself from speaking his mind. He had launched into a five-minute rant on everything wrong with it and Darcy. Eventually, when he saw the blank, steely look on Darcy's face and the hurt still in his eyes, he stopped berating him and apologized. Darcy had always had a remarkable sangfroid when it came to people insulting him, so he merely brushed it off coolly and continued with the little that remained of his story.

When Darcy was finally done talking, Knightley sighed. It was the largest amount of words he'd ever heard Darcy speak in one sitting, but he still had so many questions. However, one question stood out above the rest. "What do you want to do here, Darce?" he asked finally, glancing over at his friend, "Are you asking me how to befriend her or how to win her over?" Darcy bit his lip and thought it over. In truth, he wanted both, but he would settle for getting through her visit without any incidents and minimal awkwardness. "And, again," Alex said, holding a hand in the air, "I'm hardly an expert in this area, given my own pathetic dating history."

Darcy shook his head. "I know that," he said shortly, "but you have a female best friend who is a matchmaker-wedding planner-life coach, et cetera, correct?" Knightley nodded. "As a result, I trust that you have far more insight into the subject of interpersonal romantic relationships than I do." Alex bit his lip; he wasn't so certain of that. Emma would certainly find it hilarious that Darcy thought that of him, but, then, she would've also corrected him about what it was she did exactly—Emma Woodhouse, making your life better!

The GPS informed Knightley that he had a turn coming up, so he directed his eyes back to the road. They lapsed back into silence as he made the turn. Darcy straightened a little and shrugged. "To answer your question from earlier, neither," Darcy began stiffly. "I merely want to improve her opinion of me." He had no right to want or expect anything more than that. Knightley gave him a doubtful look, and Darcy cleared his throat, gesturing to the road with his head. Alex's inattention to the road made him a little anxious.

Darcy smoothed his hands down his thighs and stared out the window. It was getting increasingly foggy, and it looked like they might be in for a shower. He hoped Lizzie didn't get caught in any rain; she'd said she was walking, after all. He knew, of course, that she wasn't the kind of girl who was afraid of a little water, and it was irrational to think she'd catch her death out there, but he couldn't help but worry a bit. "I just... I want to make things right. I need to," he swore, rubbing his cold hands together. "I want to show her that I can be a better m-person." Someone who could be worthy of her.

Alex tilted his head to the side but hesitated a few seconds before asking, his mouth curving up at one corner. "So you do want her to change her mind?"

A pained expression crossed Darcy's face. Lizzie hated nothing more than having to change her mind, and it would already be near-impossible to get out of the hole he'd already dug with her. But he had to have something to live for, something to look forward to, something to strive for. Darcy laughed mirthlessly; he knew what Alex was getting at. "Of course I would like that, but I don't think it'll happen."

Alex opened his mouth to argue, perhaps to say something uncharacteristically optimistic, but Darcy cut him off with a wave of his hand. Darcy knew he didn't have the right to hope for it, to even dream that she would change her mind about being with him. "All that matters to me right now is that she knows what kind of person I truly am. What kind of person I can be," he insisted.

He exhaled heavily and watched as his breath fogged the glass a little. He couldn't bear to think that she was out in the world hating him, thinking the worst of him, believing things that were untrue. He didn't think wanting her to know the truth about him was so much to ask. Surely she could appreciate that, with her background in mass communications and journalism, right? He'd corrected the record with his letter, made sure she had all the facts, and now he was just trying to... oh, hell, maybe she had always been right about him.

Even now, some part of him was crying out that he wanted to make her see. He wanted her to know the truth, his truth. Was wanting that really so self-serving? Or did that just confirm what she thought about him, that he was trying to spin this, to manipulate her because he thought he knew better, that his thoughts and feelings were still worth more than hers? Maybe he was wrong, and his perception of truth was off, and she was right, and he was just as awful as she'd said. Feeling a headache brewing, Darcy leaned his head against the window miserably.

He was tired of questioning his own motives and judgment, of endlessly second-guessing and overanalyzing every moment he spent with her, every word, every action. As much as he wanted to say he was doing this for her forgiveness, it wasn't that either, because he had no expectation of receiving it. He just, well, he wanted to prove to her—and, probably even more, to himself—that he wasn't the man she thought he was.

"I think you're being a little hard on yourself," Alex opined after another turn. He and Darcy were so alike sometimes, but Darcy had a tendency to brood and dwell and generally retreat from society that Alex didn't, which occasionally made him a pain in the ass to deal with. The other man immediately attempted to argue with that, but the driver wasn't having it. Secretly Darcy was a bit relieved; uncharacteristically, he lacked either the mood or inclination for an argument at the moment.

"With enough time, everything changes..." Given the way his life had turned out, Darcy should know that better than anyone. Alex turned to give Darcy a look of his own. "No matter how stubborn you are." Darcy blinked, not sure how to take that. Was Alex saying that his feelings for Lizzie would eventually go away, or that her feelings for him would change? Either one would solve the problem, but, at the moment, both seemed equally impossible.

Frustratingly, Alex did not elaborate on that point, and if he looked wistfully out over the Bay, towards Los Angeles, Darcy didn't notice. Knightley tapped his fingers on the steering wheel; they were stopped at a red light. "You're a good person, Darcy," he said, meaning it. "You've just got to give her time to see that. Be yourself."

Darcy wasn't sure he had that kind of time. He had been himself, and Lizzie had hated him, so he clearly needed to be a better version of himself. Alex glanced over at Darcy and correctly read the mixture of conflicted emotions on his face. "What's stopping you?"

Darcy knew the answer to that question: himself. He got in his own way, tripped over his own feet. He could never say the right thing at the right time. He swallowed, lacing his fingers together almost painfully. He couldn't raise his gaze above his knees. "This is... hard for me," he said eventually, twisting his fingers. "I've never felt like this before." Those things were both undeniably true, but he could hear Lizzie's voice in his head saying that those were just excuses, and they were. All that was really stopping him and holding him back now was fear.

It had kept him from her in the beginning because he'd been afraid of feeling out of control. When that dam of self-control had finally broken, he'd sought a way to regulate it, as if making rules and setting boundaries and scheduling their relationship would somehow limit what he was feeling or be a healthy outlet. As if he'd somehow be in less danger just because it was on his terms.

But his walls had been crumbling from the start, and he was just blind to the cracks until the whole thing was in pieces at his feet, and he was in up to his neck. Even he couldn't compartmentalize and contain his sentiments forever. He'd been so afraid of letting her in, because it meant that this was something real, something serious, that he had never really given her a chance to get to know him. And maybe it wasn't ineptitude. Maybe he'd actually been self-sabotaging himself with her all along for that same reason, so that he could hold her at arms' length.

And he'd been afraid of what it all meant, the force of these feelings. He'd been afraid of saying anything because he knew that, once he did, his life would never be the same. He would be giving her the power to destroy him, and she'd broken his heart but hadn't done that, at least. Was he still afraid of that, he wondered, thinking it over for a few moments. Maybe. After all, he was just starting to... if not quite get used to feeling as if he had a hole in his chest, then at least learn to live with it. It was more of a dull ache, a slowly-healing wound rather than an open, bleeding sore.

Then Darcy let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, hanging his head. He knew what he was scared of now. "I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing and send her running again. That I'll somehow make her hate me even more."

He wasn't even sure if that was possible, but she had spoken to him, albeit awkwardly, for several minutes. That had to mean something, didn't it? Surely if he was so despicable, she wouldn't have kept talking to him or wouldn't really have said anything, let alone encouraged future conversation. If she was willing to listen to him talk and actually bothered to explain about... things... Well, maybe it wasn't entirely hopeless after all.

Knightley nodded, but that slightly skeptical expression stayed on his face. Darcy cleared his throat, and the driver took his eyes off the road enough to manage an apologetic look. "It's not that I don't believe you... You're just so careful and precise with your words. It's a little weird."

Darcy shrugged helplessly. He knew better than anyone how it didn't make sense. Nothing about this had ever made sense. However, part of the problem was that he had been careless; he hadn't really considered how his words would make others feel because he hadn't seen the necessity in it. He'd long ago given up on caring what strangers thought of him or if they found him insufferably rude, so much the better, actually. If they found him disagreeable, they wouldn't try asking for anything from him.

"I just... she makes me forget myself," he said, pressing his fingers into his forehead and temple. It didn't alleviate his headache. He shut his eyes, idly rubbing his temple and wishing he didn't feel so at sea. "I can't think clearly when she's around, and the words get jumbled and come out wrong." The frustration showed in his frown lines.

Knightley reached out to pat his shoulder sympathetically. Alex wasn't good with words the way Darcy was, but he knew what it was to not say the things you meant to and to be unable to say the things you wanted to. "If you loved her less, you could talk about it more," he said with an almost sad smile. Darcy nodded. That was it exactly. The feelings were so strong it was hard enough to just speak of them, let alone put them into words.

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, then attempted to discuss and choose a restaurant halfheartedly. Then something occurred to Knightley, and he cut Darcy off abruptly. "How long is she here for?"

Darcy frowned at the dangling preposition and then thought it over for a moment. "About two months, I think." He said it as if he hadn't marked the known days of her visit in the calendar on his phone the moment he'd seen the shadowing papers with the pitiful excuse of at least knowing when to avoid his own corporate headquarters. But it wasn't set in stone, and she was on her own schedule, so it could go much faster than that. He could hardly blame her for wanting to escape him early.

He fiddled with his jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles. "If she enjoys it here, I was thinking about setting her up with one of the other media companies in the area." It would be easy enough to do; he had relationships with all of them, was on a first-name basis with many of the CEOs, and any fledgling media startup in the area all but jumped to follow his advice and meet with him.

Knightley gave Darcy a look, and Darcy looked away guiltily. It was a pathetic excuse to drag out her visit and keep her around, even if he did mean to help her. What was the point in having everything he'd prided himself on for so long—the money, the wealth, Pemberley, the houses, the connections—if he couldn't use them to help out the woman he loved most in the world? Helping her a little was nothing to him, cost him nothing, even if he knew she would resent it. He just wanted what was best for her (but, then, he'd wanted that for Gigi and Bing and had been wrong on both accounts), to help her achieve her goals. Was that wrong?

Knightley didn't look away until he took a turn, knowing that Darcy had more to say he didn't want to admit. Eventually, Darcy relented. "And possibly offering her a position after she graduates," he mumbled quickly, ashamed to have been caught out so easily.

Knightley actually guffawed, and Darcy had to reach out to grab the wheel so he didn't drift into another lane. He gave Alex his best stern look, but the other man was still too amused to be cowed. "Careful, Darcy, it sounds like you're setting yourself up for a potential sexual harassment lawsuit there," he joked, elbowing Darcy in the ribs a bit harder than he meant to. Darcy hadn't been expecting it, so it hurt more than he expected.

Darcy grimaced, rubbing his side. His expression was pained, but more from the implication than the elbow. He'd thought about that, of course, when he'd come up with this little scheme, the way anyone with a legal team would. But he liked to think he knew his own conduct and, yes, Lizzie, better than that. He'd made it clear he would do whatever it took to make her stay more comfortable, and he did intend to stay out of her way as much as he could. Unless she, for some reason, didn't want him to. He folded his hands primly in his lap and sat up a little straighter. "I would like to think she at least knows I would never stoop that low."

When Knightley glanced over, he saw that Darcy had become more animated, slightly flushed even. Seeing his friend like that, Alex bit back the comment he wanted to make about all of the things Darcy had said and actually admitted to doing—things some women might potentially consider worse than sexual harassment or at least as bad. It was almost comical that he could do and say all of those things, but sexual harassment was somehow the red line? However, he also knew Darcy, and the man he knew was too awkward and careful to ever get in a situation like that.

"There's no harm in merely offering her a good, well-paying position that she is perfectly qualified and suited for after she completes her Master's," Darcy tried to suggest. It came out defensive, his voice a little too loud. He wasn't sure she would necessarily take the offer well, if he ever got to make it (or if he chickened out and had one of his team leads ask her).

It would be a generously-compensated job with excellent benefits and career growth potential in her field, and she would have the freedom to do things she was interested in—a dream offer, really, the sort anyone would accept. As much as he wanted to think she would accept it or at least consider it, the way any recent college grad would, he couldn't fault her if she said no, given their history. And Lizzie wasn't the sort of person to say yes to something she didn't one hundred percent want to do; she'd turned down a similarly generous but less personally rewarding offer from Collins, after all. But... she had said his company was amazing and that she couldn't find anything to dislike (was she including him in that?), so, maybe, she might actually say yes?

Darcy did, of course, have a vested interest in keeping her around, but she would be there on her own merit. He would see her value as an employee even if he wasn't in love with her. He would even do his best to treat her as his other employees, to once again feigning being perfectly indifferent towards her, if she insisted upon it. In reality, Darcy was aware that his feelings for her would make it impossible to be objective unless explicitly asked. He would probably do any little thing he could for her—whether it meant paying her more, expanding her benefits, singling her out for commendation, or even offering her a place to live.

Knightley snorted. "Who are you trying to convince there... her or yourself?" He was now openly staring at Darcy in astonishment. When Knightley had called him up to discuss going into business with Emma, his very best friend, Darcy was the only person who'd had balls enough to say, "Don't mix business and pleasure." He had actually tried to talk him out of it, and, though he'd never admit it to Emma, Knightley would actually concede Darcy got in a few good points. But Alex was too much of a masochist to listen to his advice.

Now it seemed as if Darcy had done a complete one-eighty, which was rendered all the more impressive in that he was the most stodgy, stubborn, and unyielding person Knightley knew (excepting, perhaps, Darcy's aunt). He was so clinical, so businesslike, so brutally honest, that the whole thing was a bit hypocritical.

Alex tilted his head to the side and gave Darcy the skeptical side-eye he was famous for. "I'm sorry, but hasn't she only been here for a week? Don't you think that's a bit premature?" Truthfully, Alex thought the whole thing was a little premature, given the amount of time Darcy had known the girl. He evidently didn't know her particularly well, either, given everything he'd just related. "What if it doesn't work out?" And yet, Darcy shook his head no, utterly convinced. Knightley hesitated for a moment, but then his voice took on a teasing undertone. "A transparent excuse to keep her near?"

At this, Darcy turned to face Knightley, all sullenness gone. "You're hardly one to talk." He threw Knightley a look of his own, raising an eyebrow, mimicking Knightley's expression. Two could play at this game. He paused for a moment to give Alex a chance to back down, but he didn't. "Given that you concocted a business partnership with the sole purpose of making it more than that. Unless you went into business with Emma because you're actually passionate about event planning?" he retorted.

Knightley's grip tightened tellingly on the steering wheel. This was why he didn't often get into arguments with Darcy. He turned slowly to stare back at the road, silently willing the cars to move. They'd been stuck in traffic, not moving, for at least five minutes. "She's my best friend, and I believe in her," he said defensively. "Stop trying to make it sound like more than it is." Darcy didn't take it back; he just gave Alex the same look, not saying a word. At least he wasn't lying to himself.

The light turned, and Alex hit the gas, knocking them both back into their seats. Darcy scowled, but Knightley tried to justify it by pointing out that they were headed up a hill. "You know, I wasn't even supposed to be here for the duration of her stay," Darcy explained coolly, tapping his steepled fingers together. "Imposing my unwanted and unrequited affections on her is the last thing I would ever want to do," he said quietly. He cringed a little as he emphasized "last," remembering how that word had sounded on her lips, how it had flown out of her mouth like an arrow and struck him right between the ribs.

"But you can't quite stay away either, can you?" Alex said, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel with a bit more agitation than usual.

No, Darcy thought, no, he could not. He couldn't explain what it was about her that drew him in or how he was powerless to resist, but he'd long ago given up trying to rationalize his love. "You've met her. She's magnetic," he said simply. Alex nodded, and Darcy lapsed back into silence. He was trying hard to think of a way to avoid the temptation of finding little excuses to run into her, as he had done at Netherfield and Hunsford. Aside from avoiding his own company, he'd made sure he didn't know where her office was, and he'd even had a write-up prepared in advance for if she wanted to speak to the CEO.

However, his plans to stay away for the duration of her visit had been foiled by his board and his own sister. And he couldn't go back now to the way it was before, nor could he leave. Even if he wanted to, Gigi and the Board had ganged up on him and insisted he spend more time here at headquarters, even though Pemberley's day-to-day management hadn't remotely suffered from all of the teleworking. It was only then that he realized he'd decided he was going to stay.

The silence was almost comfortable, but not entirely. Alex started to hum under his breath. They went on like that for a few more minutes, with Darcy fruitlessly attempting to pay attention to his surroundings. But every building looked the same, familiar yet somehow unrecognizable, and eventually even he couldn't take it anymore. Still, he hesitated for a moment, biting his lip, and then he asked. "And if, let's say... I did want to win her over?"

Knightley perked up a little (a bit smugly for Darcy's tastes) and thought, briefly, of what Emma would suggest. She would no doubt tell Darcy to do something different than whatever he suggested, and he never knew if that was because of her contrariness or superior understanding of people. "Well, ordinarily I'd tell you to watch a romcom and do something like that, but you've already had your share of grand gestures here..." Darcy made a noise of disgust. He'd never done a proper grand gesture, and, even if he did, it would have no effect on Lizzie.

Emma was more romantic than Knightley was, and she'd probably suggest something more dramatic, but Alex couldn't be her. He could only be himself, and he was a pragmatist. Why mess with what worked? He held Darcy's stare and continued, "So keep it simple. Be patient. You know you've got to do a lot of work on yourself before you even get up to that stage... You need to gain her trust, her respect, maybe even her friendship, and use that as your foundation to build up to something more."

Darcy nodded, absorbing the advice. "Take your cues from her behavior." Knightley watched him out of the corner of his eye; Darcy seemed less pale, the set of his shoulders less defeated. He smiled to himself. "You've already put all your cards on the table, so all you have to say is that your feelings haven't changed."

Darcy was quiet, staring out the window at the road ahead of them. Anyone who really knew him knew his feelings rarely, if ever, changed. He wondered if Lizzie realized that this was the other side of the implacable resentment she'd accused him of months ago—persistent love, no matter how difficult it was. Knightly continued, "And when you do tell her, do it gradually, so you don't overwhelm her..." Darcy gave him a look; it was clearly too late for that particular gem. Knightley made a face. "Forgot who I was talking to."

Darcy rolled his eyes, but he knew he was intense. Knightley shrugged. "And be clear and direct, so there's absolutely no confusion about how you feel." Darcy nodded; there was nothing worse than mangling a love confession. He didn't intend to do it again. "Oh, and try not to insult her again, will you?" Alex added a minute later. smirking. Darcy groaned, but Alex elaborated, "If you feel the urge to talk about obstacles or your struggles, for the love of God, stop yourself and talk about something you love about her instead. Or why you love her."

Darcy glowered at his friend. He was enjoying this just a bit too much. "I like to think I've learned from my mistakes." Alex gave him a skeptical look, and a sulky Darcy turned to brood out the window. Okay, maybe he could admit Alex had a point there, but he was growing here, and he'd made some real progress in talking to her today. He'd complimented her and gone out of his way to put her at ease, hadn't he? And maybe it hadn't exactly worked, but, well, it was bound to be awkward. That had been inevitable, but it would get better. But what was the point in thinking about it if he didn't even know if he would get the chance to talk to her again?

Alex reached over to turn on the radio. A particularly obnoxious top-40 love song came on, and Darcy immediately turned it off. Amused, Knightley shook his head and moved to turn it back on again. "Love makes fools of us all, Darce." Darcy smacked his hand down. "Some more than others," Alex said pointedly, wringing his stinging hand.

Darcy sighed and shifted so that he was looking at his friend. It was nice to have someone give him advice for a change, and he both wouldn't and couldn't ask any of his other friends this kind of thing. Light ribbing aside, it was sound, serious advice. It helped to put it all into perspective and get some objectivity, and, most importantly, that was exactly what Darcy needed after running into her like that. He met Knightley's eyes. "Thanks, Alex," he said quietly but sincerely. Even that didn't fully convey just how much he appreciated it, not that Darcy could say more. When was the last time he'd said "thank you" and actually meant it like this?

"That's just what friends do, man," Alex replied, waving it off and finally turning into an area to park. He did enjoy giving advice, especially when the recipient actually wanted to listen to him. Darcy closed his eyes briefly, remembering the last friend he'd asked for girl advice. Even now, a part of him half-wondered what that George would have advised, could almost hear his voice in his head, coaching him. Alex knocked his shoulder against Darcy's, snapping him out of his reverie. "They tell you when you're acting like an ass."

Darcy tried not to wince. There were only a few people who called him out like that, and apparently Knightley was one of them now. He wasn't sure how to feel about that, but he didn't regret asking for Alex's opinion. "You're too serious, and that's coming from me," Alex added as an aside, slowing down (he'd been driving with a bit of a lead foot. Eyes on their destination, he carefully pulled into an empty space. Concentrating on his task, he shifted into park and turned the car off. Once that was done, he unfastened his seatbelt and turned to Darcy, waggling his eyebrows. "Now, I think you owe me a beer..."

- Loren ;*

In the next chapter: the Darcy Memorial Hall and yet another unexpected visitor... wonder who it could be? (Shouldn't be too hard to guess). :)