Disclaimer: Here's what I own in this fic: zilch. Not a characters setting, not even most of the dialogue. Heck, I don't even own the Look (The Firth fans hall know what I'm talking about). Wish I did, but I don't.
Thank You: to every one of those wonderful reviewers. I am in your debt, I fear, because of your reviews, which nudge me along the path to updates. I am going to repay you now by replying:
Lis- I love you. Seriously. To hear that I am in character is the greatest compliment to me, because I am constantly worrying I'm mutilating a character.
Sammy 11- Lol, glad to see someone likes the movie as much as me!
Amariel- Yay! There were only 3 or 4 scenes of the Jamie/Aurelia story, so I thought it was kind of overlooked by the people who saw Love Actually. Yes! Another Darcymaniac! I thought I was a weirdo, but now there's two of us! Yay!
ChelseaBloom- Wonderful? Another? My ego shall now grow so big that my head will explode.
Karen1- Enjoy yourself!
Mimibaby- Hope you didn't die of impatience! If you did, I'm deeply apologetic.
JessieRose- Aw, thanks! Heh heh heh.... The ego is growing...
Organized-chaos- Congrats! You reviewed all three chapters, and they're (your reviews) all right on top of each other. Now, that's organized! Or a coincidence, your pick.
Xanya-forever- Three! Three Darcy/Firth fans! Yes, it is true, the Eyes must be a HUGE part of why Aurelia falls in love with him. They're the reason I fell so many fell in love with him, so it can't be very unlikely. Thanks for reviewing!
Danielle18- **faints** Okay, two other Firth fans is something to be celebrated, but three is a miracle. I'm treated as a freak because I showed some pics of Darcy to my friends from The Making of Pride and Prejudice, and now this single fic has attracted three Firth fans? Anyway, despite that, thanks for your review! I did send an e-mail to Fanfiction.Net, by the way.
Shotstarf- All right, here you go. Hopefully I'll be able to update again before long! Hope you enjoy this one!
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Chapter Four: Pros and Cons
Aurelia
It was the eyes that did it. If it hadn't been for them, he would've been a complete whacko. For now, at least, he was a semi-whacko, who could go either way. I remember thinking that it was pretty dumb of me to take away from his madness because of his eyes. But then I remembered staring into them, and immediately I smiled to myself, sure that someone with those eyes could not be completely out of it.
Damn him, I thought as I checked to see how much of a mess he had made already. He's making me go mad now, too, because of those damn eyes.
I then made a resolution to not look at him if it was unnecessary. Anyway, he was probably seeing his other girlfriend here. Why else would a man with those eyes come to cottage in the south of France, supposedly alone, until Christmas? I wouldn't be surprised if he had at least two other girlfriends here who knew nothing of each other, and nothing of the girlfriend he was most definitely trying to escape by leaving England. Therefore, being spellbound by his eyes would not be a wise choice on my part. No, I was going to be one step ahead of him. At the same time, I observed how organized he had been. The mess he had made consisted of only his suitcase placed a bit carelessly on the bed. The clothes inside— I only saw this because he had already opened the bag— were folded, not perfectly, I'll admit, but still neatly enough to be considered folded. The imperfection and slight messiness of them gave me a strange feeling, but to this day I do not know what that emotion was exactly. Perhaps it was relief that he wasn't a clean freak, although I myself was a bit of one, or that his idea of folding clothes wasn't simply tossing them inside the suitcase. I had been a bit scared when I stepped inside the house, because it was then that I dragged my eyes from his and took in what he was wearing. It then came to my attention that perhaps he was not here seeing Girlfriend #2 and 3, because it was highly unlikely that he would while wearing something that, in its own language, simply stated, I'm single and desperately need a girlfriend. I've got lovely, deep brown eyes that I'll let you gaze into if you go out with me.
Or, maybe, he just wanted everyone to think that so no one would suspect his true intentions in coming here.
Yes, that must have been it. Obviously. He was a male, and, as movies never fail to tell us, that is all heterosexual males think of. Unless the male in question is a movie star, of course, in which case he is sweet, understanding, and unafraid to cry in public if it's for the sake of true love.
I suddenly realized that I was sitting on his bed, leaning against his suitcase. My eyes widened and I let out a tiny squeak of surprise which I hoped he hadn't heard. I then jumped up and walked away from the scene of the crime. He may have been crazy, all that talking to himself and all, but I didn't want him to think I was some sort of... well, I don't know what it looked like, but it felt incriminating. I resolved to look like I was doing something in the kitchen. I had to hand it to him; it wasn't often that I didn't have to clean up something for all of the first five minutes. Usually, I didn't need to pretend that I had been doing something I had not been doing at all, because I would be cleaning up whatever clutter he had made.
Entering the kitchen, I decided that my best excuse would be to make a cup of coffee. Yes, that was a good alibi. I hadn't been daydreaming in his room, because I had been in the kitchen the whole time, concocting some highly caffeinated beverage— wait a minute! Was 'caffeinated' even a word? Well, there was certainly 'decaffeinated', so it made sense that 'caffeinated' would be the opposite of it, but it didn't sound like it was really a word. I had certainly never heard someone say that a drink was 'caffeinated'. Or had I?
I heard someone behind me and whirled around, shaken out of my thoughts.
He was standing in the doorway, looking as surprised as I felt. He started saying something apologetic, but I didn't try to listen for any words I might know or recognise. I was staring him right in the eyes, and I didn't want to look away. After what seemed like hours (but couldn't have been, because he would certainly have left if hours had passed), I looked away and took in the fact that his eyes were in a face, that face was on a head, that head was on a neck, and that neck was connected to a body, which was connected to limbs and such.
He wasn't very tall, but not short. I was a little less than a head shorter than him, but I had been told I was tall. He leaned with a sort of graceful ease against the doorframe, trying to say something I would be able to interpret. He was not perfectly thin, just skimming the top of being chubby. His hands were trying to help along his words, but I could not tell if he was doing a good job at getting the message across, because I was coming dangerously close to examining his eyes.
In his face there was a mix of emotions: sadness, fear, anger, a tiny bit of happiness, and that sort of hope that makes one click their tongue and shake their head, saying, 'Poor guy', the sort of hope that is so strong that you know something terrible must have happened for it to be created, and in that way it was a sort of pathetic hope, too. And then, beneath this layer of feelings, there was weariness. Anyone who looked close enough could tell that he had seen things he didn't need or even want to see, learned things he wanted to be ignorant of, and lived through days where he wished to do nothing more than crawl back into bed, pull a pillow over his head, and stop living entirely.
And then I was staring into his eyes again. I couldn't help it. They were a dark, dark brown but they seemed to have a sort of warmth, like melted chocolate. I felt I was going to melt, just standing there, my hands grasping the counter behind me, as if for support.
I knew I was staring too long when he cleared his throat. I blushed and looked down, then remembered why I was there in the first place. I lifted the cup and held it toward him, trying to show him I was offering it.
"Oh, uh..." He smiled and shrugged and said something quickly and quietly. I smiled back a bit shyly and handed him the mug. He reached out to take it and, in a very polite and humble way, took care not to have his hand over mine when he took it from me. I was very grateful, because I felt sure that I would have dropped the mug otherwise.
I smiled again and watched him walk out. Then, seeing no more work to be done, I walked to the washroom, where it was certain I could have privacy and reflected on the events that had just taken place. I put a hand on my chest and breathed deeply like someone in a movie would, then pushed my hair back from my face. It wasn't necessary, as the short front of my hair that had once been a horrifying fringe (I still wonder how certain people can look glamorous with bangs and what I did to deserve the defect of looking hideous with them) was tucked neatly behind my ears the whole time.
Oh, what was happening to me? I was sitting in the toilet, mortified, because I had just given a man a cup of coffee. I was breathing deeply with a hand over my chest! I was pushing back hair that didn't need to be pushed back! If I wasn't careful, I was going to have a crush on this man, Jamie Bennett as he called himself. In fact, if I continued on like this I would be well on my way to falling in love with him!
I gasped at this, and it turned into something that sounded like a sob, but no tears came to my eyes. Good God, I might as well have been in love with him already!
Don't be stupid, I scolded myself. You hardly know him. It'll pass. It's all because of those stupid eyes, but the moment he reveals himself to be an idiot, you'll get over it.
Oh, how I loved that little voice. I never heard it again, but it was wonderful to hear some sense in my head, even if it was for just a moment.
I took another deep breath, and made the following list in my head:
Pros:-Lovely eyes.
-Seems to like me (not that much, obviously).
-Can fold clothes.
-Does not make huge mess immediately.
Cons:
-Is most definitely an idiot (whether or not a nice idiot is undecided still).
-Is possibly deceiving me with his way of dressing.
-If not deceiving me, then is not very good at picking out clothes.
-Speaks to himself (total nutcase)
I smiled to myself. Yes, this would do for now. I was in control of the situation already. My smile widened and I strode out of the washroom feeling like I ruled the world.
Upon hearing the rhythmic tapping of keys, I poked my head around the doorway to the room the sound was coming from. He was seated in front of the typewriter I had seen but not really noticed when I first stepped inside. My smile disappeared as I watched him, supposedly being himself because I was sure he was not aware of me. He was chewing his lower lip in thought, then a look of realization crossed his face and the slow tapping started up again as he typed out his idea. His next action confirmed my earlier assumption that he did not know he was being observed.
He jumped slightly when he saw me, and laughed at himself. My mouth twitched into a smile, and I mumbled an apology, slowly backing out of the room. I sighed as I left the room, but stopped half-way through when I realized I had another con to add to the list:
-Types slower than me
After that, I had no more even remotely romantic thoughts for the rest of the day. And later I would think back on those unromantic thoughts, felling very sort indeed for Mr Bennett.