NOTES: Lizzy's POV. Mostly conversation, and cuteness. Normal length.

I addressed some of the things y'all commented in the chapter (Ive gotten several things about age), but basically my main reasons for making the characters a little childish is A) more fluff, B) awkward humor, C) interesting conversations that flow. This is all self-indulgent, and I just like it more if their fun side comes out ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I'm not very good at writing 'normal' people. Mine are always a little odd and silly. I'm always a little odd as well. Hope you guys enjoy anyway :)

The next chapter is gonna be very fun, with an extra layer fo fluff before I RIP IT ALL AWAY FROM YOU WITH AGNST MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA—

Not really. But kind of.

Ohhhh, don't worry, 's not gonna be TOO bad, and I'l fix it quick ;) Will post again very soon. Cheers! ~Vinny

Lizzy was already buckled up in Fitzwilliam's car, waiting in the Walgreens parking lot for him to pick up some cold medicine, when it struck her, he was going to all this trouble for her. All because she had gotten sick and didn't feel well, Fitzwilliam had dropped everything, raced over to see her, and was now going TO WORK FROM HOME the WHOLE DAY.

Workaholics Anonymous would be very disappointed in him. They'd probably revoke his membership.

She giggled at the thought, then frowned, glancing around for something to wipe her nose. Before she could find anything however, the car door opened and Fitzwilliam slipped in. Without so much as looking at her, he handed her a packet of tissues.

"Thanks," she nodded.

"No problem." He started the car, and looked over at her as he pulled out of the parking lot, "The wait wasn't too bad?"

Lizzy rolled her eyes. "I'm just sick, not four years old," she said with a sarcastic smile.

Fitzwilliam laughed. "Sorry, I shoulda picked up on that. You definitely don't LOOK four," he grinned." Then his eyes widened. "Not— Not that you look old! You don't! Just not like, uh, a four year old. That would be.. that'd be weird. But you're not old."

"I get what you're sayin'," Lizzy said soothingly, though she was trying not to laugh. "And I sure hope I don't look old! I'm only 23!"

"Ha! I got you beat by about.. uh… 5 or so years."

"Or so?" She parroted teasingly. "What? Don't know your own age?"

"No, I know how old I am." Fitzwilliam made a U-turn. "People just tell me I act older than I am."

Lizzy winged an eyebrow. "Really? 'Cause you seem pretty spry to me."

He snorted at that, a small smile creeping up on his face. "Nah, I just.. I'm… not very comfortable around many people. Even— and sometimes especially— at work. I come across as stern and cold, and that (combined with my height, I assume) makes people think I'm older than I am."

"Plus your music taste," Lizzy mumbled, though she was counting on him hearing it.

The somber expression melted away, replaced with almost pleased indignation. "What's wrong with my music taste?"

"You like Mozart. Unironically."

"Hey! That music's been around for so long for a REASON! It's good!"

Lizzy laughed, and patted his shoulder. "Whatever you say, grandpa."

Fitzwilliam grumbled as he turned onto his street. "Just because I don't listen to Lady Gaga doesn't make me old."

Lizzy was overtaken by a coughing fit before she could properly respond in her full rage. Fitzwillaim smirked as he pulled into the driveway and got out of the car, but Lizzy wasn't about to let him get away that easily.

Climbing out of the seat, leaning against the car to support her aching legs, she shouted ignantly, "Lady Gaga is NOT all I listen to! You just picked the wrong playlist, and she's not even that bad, it's all subjective and— oof!"

Her rant defending her guilty pleasure music was cut off rather abruptly by Fitzwilliam scooping her up into his arms, as if she weighed nothing. Lizzy yelped and clung to his neck, suddenly very high off the ground. Fitzwilliam paid no attention to her, just laughed, and began to whistle as he strode inside, a Walgreens bag on his elbow and a resigned girlfriend tucked in his arms.

He did have to maneuver a bit to open the door, but other than that (and a few select grunts as he hefted her over the threshold) Fitzwilliam carried her with ease.

"I'm not that weak," Lizzy grumbled, secretly delighted to be this close to him, but hiding it out of self-respect.

"I know," he acquiesced, smiling, "but I like carrying you around. You're so… small. I forget that sometimes."

She laughed, "I knew I was on the smaller side, but compared to you I'm a dwarf aren't I?"

"Not really," Fitzwilliam assured her as he walked through the house, to a room Lizzy hadn't seen before. "You still come up to my shoulder."

"Only on my tiptoes."

"Still better than some other people."

Lizzy let it go, and hoisted her head up onto his shoulder to look around. His house was even bigger than she had thought. It was hard to believe it was just him that lived here.

Before she could ask him if he had a butler, Fitzwilliam entered what appeared to be a modern lay decorated master bedroom, and unceremoniously dumped her down on the bed.

"Uhmmm, why am I in.. what I assume is your bedroom?"

Fitzwilliam was busy rustling through the plastic bag for cold medicine, but he looked over at her when she asked. He shrugged. "You can rest better in here."

Lizzy pushed her fist down into a pillow. It was so soft and cushy that it looked like the bed-stuff swallowed her hand whole. "You sure?" She asked, glancing up at him. "I, uh, don't want to impose. I mean, more than I already have."

"You're not imposing." Fitzwilliam smiled at her, almost shyly. "I want you here."

He pulled back the covers, and as Lizzy crawled in, he handed her a bottle of pills. He looked around for a glass of water, but Lizzy just swallowed them dry. She made a face as she did, and he chuckled.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Fitzwilliam asked. "Anything you need?"

She eyed him, already feeling drowsier. She sneezed. "No. I'm good." Lizzy pointed a drooping finger at him, eyes narrowed. "Don't you start worrying about me."

He chuckled. "I always worry. I'm just asking because I have a meeting to go to, and it'll probably last about an hour. I'll have time to make you some food, and eat with you, if you're hungry, but it's a board meeting. I can't really avoid it, no matter how much I want to."

"Alright," Lizzy said, nodding. "I'll probably fall asleep, and if I don't I have the kindle app on my phone. I'm all good."

"Perfect." Fitzwilliam smiled at her.

Lizzy tried to sit up to kiss him, but her muscles betrayed her at the last second. Thankfully, Fitzwilliam caught her shoulders and held her carefully, like a china doll. She squirmed forward and just managed to kiss him.

Fitzwilliam laughed, and hugged her gently, pushing her towards the bed. "You need to rest," he said, unnecessarily.

Lizzy snuggled down into the covers without protest, feeling like a pathetic lump. She sneezed, then eyed Fitzwilliam reproachfully. "You're not gonna try and feed me chicken soup, are you?"

He tilted his head, expressionless. "Do you want chicken soup?"

"N-no, I was— I was joking," Lizzy stumbled, embaressed about her incapacitated state, "You don't really need to—"

"I'm making you chicken soup," Fitzwilliam said decidedly.

Lizzy rolled her eyes as he kissed her forehead, but smiled afterwards. Yup. She had definitely hit the jackpot in the boyfriend department. Softly, Fitzwilliam assured her he'd be right back, but Lizzy was already starting to drift off. His bed was so comfortable. So soft, and homey. It felt like she was meant to be there.

Little did she know, as her boyfriend padded quietly out of the room to make her food (something he had never done, for ANYONE, before), she had no idea how much Darcy agreed with her.