NOTES: Darcy's POV. A bit shorter. Again, getting the angst rollin'. Kind of intense chapter, he's very in his own head.

Next one will come soon! Love y'all ~Vinny

Fitzwilliam Darcy found, over the years, that he tended to develop… defense mechanisms, at these kinds of 'parties.'

He reverted inside himself. He put on a mask and spoke very little. He got in his own head. Darcy knew he wasn't good at conversation; especially with the vultures that circled the marble dance floor. He wished he was better at it. He really did.

That was why he was so grateful to have Lizzy Bennet by his side. She was immovable. Unchangeable. She was a force of nature, wrapped up in a pink and blue pearly dress, smiling like nothing was wrong, even when everything was.

Darcy felt horrible about introducing her to Gavin Bromley.

Mr Bromley was a good example of everything Darcy hated about his work: the people. He was a man who was very good at his work, even though he did very little, and who made a lot of money— and thought that it made him better than others. The only thing about him that Darcy halfway appreciated was the guy's irritating habit of constant formality.

He had hoped, though, that because of this tendency Bromley might be at least.. n-normal… to Lizzy. She was such a kind, intelligent, amazing person; if any of them gave her half a chance they would be blown away by her glowing personality!

But Darcy couldn't be the one to tell them that.

Then they would think he was smitten (which he was). They would think he was weak (which he might be). They would think he was unfit to lead (which he most certainly was not).

If he told them everything he thought about Lizzy, they would think he was lying when he said she was wonderful. And if he told Lizzy everything he thought about them, she would know he was lying when he said it was all under control.

It wasn't under control. It never was. He was saying the wrong things to people, getting investors to pull stocks, making employees uncomfortable, making Lizzy think he was cold and rude and she would hate him and he was breathing too hard and why was his heartbeat going 50 miles an hour?

Breathe, he told himself, calm down. Lizzy's with you. It's all okay.

He glanced at her, and his heart was warmed by her smile. It was firmly in place, unwavering, and her eyes were sharp and sweet.

Lizzy was alright. So he must be too.

Ohhh, but if she knew how horrible these people could be, she'd leave— or notice how everyone in the room was staring at her— at THEM— and then she'd hate the company and him by extension and so many things could go wrong OH GOD—

Stop.

He kept his gaze on the floor. He kept his focus on breathing as he struck up a half-thought out conversation with the accounting manager.

'So, you don't wanna tell Lizzy what blood-sucking leeches these people are?' He asked himself. 'Answer's easy then! Just don't tell her. Then maybe she'll stay in blissful ignorance, and be happy. That would be better wouldn't it?'

'Well, no,' Darcy reasoned a second later,'She's not STUPID. She'd figure it out.'

'YEAH,' another internal voice piped in, angrier than the others,'You're the stupid one. You're staring off into space again and now the accounting manager is waiting for you to respond and Lizzy's not jumping in and there's too much silence crammin in your ears and SAY SOMETHING!'

"Mmm," Darcy said, inclining his head noncommittally.

"Well," Lizzy said, arching her eyebrows, "I for one am sorry, for the tragic loss of your aunt."

Fuck.

"Don't be," the accounting manager grunted, "She was a bitch anyway."

Lizzy's mouth opened just slightly, lips parted, and Darcy would have smiled at the expression had he not been so stressed he could literally feel his molars rubbing each other to nubs.

"Ohh, Archie," an extraordinarily tall woman said, "are you talking about Aunt Sarah again? How frightfully dull!"

She smiled like a shark at Lizzy. "Oh, why hullo, dear! Aren't you a sweet little thing! I'm Mrs Hubbler, but you can call me Maryln."

Lizzy took Mrs Hubbler's hand and shook it warily, though she smiled up at her with no sign of hesitation. "Nice to meet you, Maryln. I'm Elizabeth."

"What a charming name," the woman laughed too loudly, "Don't you think so, Archie? Archie?"

'Archie' had taken a large gulp of champagne and was unable to respond vocally. He instead turned up his nose and nodded with gravity.

"Well, I do like being Elizabeth," Lizzy jumped in, with that childlike kindness Darcy prayed these vipers wouldn't tear apart. "Lots of nicknames— I prefer Lizzy myself. Um… so, do people ever call you Mary?"

The incredibly tall Maryln Hubbler looked like she had just been offered a bug to eat. "No." Then she shook her head, and leered again, her lipstick stretching as thin and taught as a rubber band.

"So, what do you do, Elizabeth?"

There it was. The question he had been fearing.

If it got out that Lizzy was a barista, and that she used the money to help her ailing father, anyone with a soul would be moved to a bit more kindness, and pay Lizzy a bit more respect tinged with pity.

Nobody here had a soul.

"I actually just got a job as a—"

"She publishes book reviews," he said loudly, over her. "She's very good at it. Steered me right with Dostoevsky."

Darcy didn't have time to catalogue Lizzy's miffed look, or her arm being removed from his, because he was too busy concentrating on deflecting each and every one of the tall woman's (very intrusive) questions about Lizzy's work, her family, and their relationship.

"WELL," he blurted, clapping his hands as the woman took a breath (and her husband took another glass of champagne), "This has been…" he searched for an adjective. "Lovely. But I'm afraid Elizabeth's feeling a bit tired, and I'm starting to feel the same. If you'll excuse us."

He took Lizzy's hand, from where it was tucked away in her crossed arms, and pulled her frantically through the throng.

Darcy was so focused on calming his breathing and trying not to sweat through his tuxedo in his anxiety, that he didn't hear any one of Lizzy's calls for him to stop.

He didn't even notice when her hand was ripped from his.

He didn't stop until he was pulled into a dark alcove, and suddenly he was alone, and someone who was not Lizzy was whispering into his ear,

"Come with me. We need to talk."