NOTES: Darcy's POV. The SWEETEST chapter so far— honestly made me grin like an idiot while I wrote it. Also, as a special treat, its a looong one :) Enjoy! 🌸

~Vincent

PS. Some of yall have been asking about Lizzy's parents, and Ill have to warn you to hold onto your curiosity for A while— it won't be explained for a while, when it becomes necessary. Until then, enjoy the fluff— and stop your worrying, you worry-worms! 💗

William stared for one second, two seconds, at the girl who had apparently crawled her way out of bed and to his room, in the middle of the night. Then it hit him that she was laying on the floor, bloody and bandaged, and he was just standing there. A scowl materialized on his face.

"What are you doing out of bed?" He said in an almost accusing voice.

Lizzy shrugged by ducking her head at an angle. "Dunno. Bored. Wanted to see you."

Darcy bit his lip at that. He.. he had wanted to see her too… But at the risk of her health..? WAIT— the longer she took to heal, the longer he could be around her! Yes, he was a genius!

His face split into a smile, and he pushed back the door. "Come on in."

"Wow, that's spooky of you," Lizzy giggled. She crawled her way into his bedroom, still on her elbows, and collapsed on the carpet. "And WOW am I tired."

Darcy shut the door behind her. "Oh yeah? But didn't you just.. sit in bed all day?"

"Well, yes," she acknowledged, "But also I have a great big hole in my knee. I have an excuse."

He wrung his hands. "Did you get the books I left for you?"

"I did! But… I wanted some actual conversation. You understand: entertainment." Lizzy lifted her arms to flap them in his direction. "So go on then! Entertain me!"

Darcy had to think for a moment. What about him was entertaining? Then, in a shy voice, the statement coming across as more of a question, he said, "I… can lick my elbow."

Lizzy's autumnal eyes went wide. "NO."

"Mhm," Darcy nodded, a bit more confidently. "Because I can pop my shoulder in…" he demonstrated, and there was a sickening noise as his bones jolted inwards, "And LICK MY ELBOW."

He did so, and Lizzy applauded. "Grossly incredible and incredibly gross!" She laughed, still clapping, "You should enter a talent show."

"Alright," he giggled, only turning slightly red. "Now your turn!"

"For entertainment? Hmmnnuhmm…" Lizzy tapped at her chin then grinned. "Oh. Watch this."

Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, the small girl brought her fingers up to her face, donned an expression akin to the statues of Ancient Rome, and… flipped her eyelids inside out.

Darcy screamed out in horrified delight.

Then he clapped a hand over his mouth when he realized what he'd done.

Lizzy seemed to realize it at the same moment— the infant laughter coming out still born as her mouth formed a hollow cave of teeth and silence. There were footsteps in the hall, quick ones. Lizzy grabbed a heavy fur blanket from the edge of his bed, and threw it over herself just in time. The door rattled, the burst open.

"What?!" Mrs. Reynolds cried, racing into the room with a fistful of skirts. "What's wrong? Who's dying?!"

She stopped when she saw William Darcy, standing in the middle of the room in his nightclothes, looking perfectly healthy and not covered in blood. She put a hand to her chest.

"Ohmylord," she said in one breath, "What happened?! I heard a scream and I- What happened?"

Darcy's eyes darted around the room. "Um. I… I, uh… had a nightmare."

Mrs. Reynolds' breathing still hadn't slowed down, but she managed to still wheeze out, "You what?"

"Had— I had a nightmare," Darcy reaffirmed. Then he paused, panicking at the way Mrs. Reynolds was still standing there, probably not believing him. He needed to be more convincing!

"And I wet the bed," he added quickly.

There was a snicker from down by his feet. Darcy subtly kicked the fur blanket to remind it to stay quiet. It yelped softly, then went still again.

Mrs. Reynolds' eyes traveled first from Darcy's face, then down to the floor, then to the crisp dry sheets covering his bed. She raised a tired eyebrow.

"I see," she said after a while. A smirk was tugging at the wrinkles on either side of her mouth. "Well. I hope your nightmare doesn't keep you up the rest of the night— or at the very least, I hope you manage to stay quiet."

"I will," Darcy grimaced, feeling thoroughly embarrassed.

Mrs. Reynolds gave the room a pretend once-over, then nodded and left. As soon as the door closed, Lizzy threw off the covers and grinned up at him. "Ooooooh," she teased, "You wet the beeeeed."

"Oh hush," he chuckled, looking at her with fond exasperation.

Lizzy giggled. "How is it that you sound simultaneously like a proper child AND a bent-over old codger who still worries about catching plague?"

"You are very rude," Darcy informed her.

"And you are very easy to make fun of," Lizzy informed him, with a smile.

He really liked her smile. He wanted to make it happen over and over again, so that her face never went slack or pale— Was that.. a normal thing for friends?

Darcy decided to ask her. "Do friends always act like we do?"

Lizzy tilted her head, and from her place on the floor, it looked like her short brown hair was being dragged along by her scalp. "I don't really know," she admitted after a pause, "My other friends I've known since I was a little baby. You, I've just met just now."

"Who are your other friends?"

She rolled her eyes upwards in thought. "Hmmm.. There's… Charlotte Lucas. She's nice. And my little sister Jane, though she's only just now gotten fun to talk to. Aaaand… oh! My father, of course."

"You're friends with your father?" He asked in utter confusion.

"Yes of course!" Lizzy smiled. "He's the smartest person I know, we spend all day with each other 'cause he's always in the library and I really like books (thank you by the way for the gift)... an' he makes me laugh, and compliments my drawings!"

"Oh." Darcy struggled to think of a time when his father— the great man that he was— had ever spent all day with him. Then he shook his head, dispelling the thought and choosing to latch onto something else. "Wait, you draw?"

"Mhhmmm," she hummed. "Mostly pictures of flowers and cats— but I'm working on people too. Want me to show you?"

"Sure." Darcy sat down on the floor, his legs crossed under him. "Can you draw me?"

"I can try..? Might not be very good, though."

"That's alright." He smiled at her shyly. "Can I draw you, while you draw me?"

Lizzy agreed that sounded like a fine plan. Darcy fetched some paper and colored inks from his studying desk, and they set about drawing each other in silence. It was nice, especially because (top of the fact Darcy didn't have to worry about saying the right thing to her anymore) he got to watch how Lizzy's eyes glowed amber in the moonlight, the warm honey color completely immune to the night time's silvery shade.

After a while, Lizzy laid her paper down. "Done," she announced proudly. "Wanna see?"

He did want to see. And what he saw made him laugh out loud. "You made my hair, like, twice as tall as my head!"

"That's because it is!" Lizzy defended. "Well. Nearly."

Darcy passed a hand over his head, grinning at her with his eyebrows raised. "And… I'm fairly certain that my fingers don't look quite that much like sausages, don't you agree?"

"Oh, shove off, you," she huffed. "Let's have a see at yours, shall we?"

As quickly as he could, Darcy hid the paper behind his back. "Oh no, I- I'm not quite finished with it."

"Balderdash!" Lizzy exclaimed with inhuman zeal. He shushed her."Balderdash," she said in a lower voice. "I showed you mine. There's no way it's as bad as all that, now is there?"

He couldn't very well argue with that. So, reluctantly, he handed over his drawing. Lizzy took it from him, and spent a few agonizing minutes just staring at it. Darcy wasn't really sure why he was holding his breath.

After a while: "You made my eyes quite big, haven't you."

He let out the breath in a sigh. "Yes.. I.. I suppose I did."

Lizzy let the paper drop to the floor, and her eyes followed it down. "But you made me pretty well." He stopped, and looked at her with his heart in his throat. She continued, "You're good at drawing, William. I mean— look at how you did my ears! And my hair? You got the reflective part of it down in a snap!"

She grinned up at him with shining features. "Thank you for making this. I really like it, William."

"I, uhm, well," he stammered, unable to stop his dimples from making an appearance, "I.. really like to draw."

"So I can see," Lizzy tapped the paper, then looked up at him quizzically. "Why didn't you say so? I would have tried a lot harder on mine if I knew how good you were."

He ducked his head, and fiddled with a loose string of his nightclothes. "I… My father says that real men aren't… Says that artists are soft pansies. And I don't want to disappoint him, you know?"

"I know," she nodded. She reached up, and put a hand on his knee. "But I don't think being soft is a bad thing, William. I like it when people are soft."

He felt himself blush. "I… thanks." He smiled at her slowly, letting his eyes crinkle.

Lizzy abruptly yanked her hand away, and jerked her eyes up to the ceiling. There was a red tomato-skin sheen on her cheeks. "You know what? Actually, being soft can be good and bad. It's both."

"Oh," Darcy pushed his eyebrows together. "Alright."

Her amber-brown eyes strayed back to him for a second before snapping away again. "William?" She asked, in a soft voice.

"Yes?"

"Do you think I actually.. would have died today? If.. if you weren't there?"

"I.. don't know," he admitted after a second's thought. "Maybe."

Lizzy's voice was very small, and very hushed; a cat's mewl, curled up in her throat. "I'm glad you were there, William."

He half smiled. "Me too. I.. I'm very glad I met you, Lizzy… I always wanted a friend."

"Well then," she said, finally looking at him. "I'll be the very best friend, as payment. The bestest friend in the whole wide world."

"I'd like that," Darcy smiled. "So long as I can be the second best friend, in the whole wide world."

She considered his proposal. Then her face broke apart into a smile more beautiful than the dawn. "Alright," Lizzy said. "Second best friend it is."

After that, their conversation drifted into other subjects. What Lizzy's cat might be doing right now, why the sky was the color it was, and how exactly it was decided when children were old enough not to be called children anymore. They debated and laughed long into the night, until their voices dwindled to whispers, and the moon had trotted well towards the horizon.

At that point, Darcy decided it was time for bed. Unfortunately, he and Lizzy couldn't agree where bed should be.

"It'll be fine!" Darcy insisted in a low voice. "No one will care!"

"But," Lizzy objected, "didn't the maid say your father said you weren't allowed in my room? I'm.. fairly sure that would extend to me sleeping in yours."

"No one will even know," he said, pleadingly. "You can hide under the covers if anyone comes in— which they won't!"

"William…"

"Lizzy…"

She gave him a disapproving look, uncannily similar to the ones he had gotten from the maid just a few hours earlier. "You know I'm right. If your father catches me out of bed, and 'specially in YOUR room, he'll toss me out of the house! You know he would!"

"No.. he wouldn't…," Darcy mumbled (with obvious uncertainty).

"He would, and then we wouldn't be able to keep talking, now would we?" He sighed heavily, and Lizzy grinned triumphantly at the sign of surrender. "Alright. Now that's settled… I'm going back to my room."

"Wait!" Darcy stopped her, desperate not to let the night end. "Don't crawl back; you'll hurt yourself. I… I'll carry you."

Lizzy ceased her gradual rise up to her elbows and stared at him incredulously. "You? Carry me?"

"What?" He puffed up his chest, "Don't think I can?"

"No," she said. "I don't think you can."

He scowled at her with eyebrows raised. Then he got to his feet, surging with that intense determination that comes with proving someone wrong. He grabbed Lizzy first under her arms, then, grunting with the effort, reached around and held her legs in the other hand.

She helpfully wrapped her hands around his neck and, not so helpfully, began distracting him by yawning like a kitten, and putting her head against his scrawny chest.

She still smelled like honey, and her hair was so, so soft.

Darcy stumbled, and she yelped in fright. Luckily though, he didn't fall, and made it the rest of the way to her room without any further mishaps (partially from the concentration on his own shame, rather than their proximity).

He laid her gently down on the bed, and mimicked how his nurse used to tuck him in at night. Lizzy wriggled down until the covers were up to her chin. She grinned at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Goodnight, William."

He didn't say goodnight back. For some reason, there was a lump in his throat. Instead, he just jabbed his head downwards in a nod, and walked slowly backwards to the door. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

By the time he was in the hallway, she seemed to already be asleep, her breathing dwindling down to a deep murmur in her chest. Darcy was just as tired as she was, but… he may have waited in that hallway, where the door was still cracked open so he could see in, for a few minutes more.

Then, he walked back to his room, and toppled into bed. The whole night through, he dreamed of darkness, and the faint smell of honey that lingered on his shirt.