A/N—Late chapter is late, sorry. But I think I finally figured out a good sleep/writing schedule (since it has been made abundantly clear that I absolutely cannot write during the daytime) so hopefully my updates will be more regular from here on out. This chap was edited by my good friend Alex (thank you!). :]

Day 5

William awoke from what could possibly have been the strangest dream he'd had in a long time.

In his dream, he'd found himself in what he knew was Pemberley Enterprises, but what looked more like his old high school. He'd wandered the empty halls and corridors, peering into silent classrooms and making his way steadily toward something he couldn't put a name to.

He then found himself in the gym, which was much larger than he remembered. Underneath one of the basketball hoops stood George Wickham, looking calm and collected, and not at all surprised to see Will. George then spoke, but Will couldn't remember exactly what he said; he only knew that it irked him. George challenged William to a race, which William accepted with a sort of eager anticipation.

As they ran, William felt strangely light, as if he were just a bystander within his own body, watching himself run through eyes that, at the same time, were and were not his own. He nearly made it to the far wall—he didn't know exactly how far George was behind him, if he was behind him at all—when the sprinklers went off.

Will gazed up at them with a sense of terror. Then, he looked down to find the gym flooding. He sloshed messily to the door, but couldn't seem to open it, and the water rose far too quickly for his comfort. Before he knew it, he was being pressed against the high ceiling, the available oxygen being smothered by raging liquid. He took one last large gulp of air and dove under, vainly trying to find some way out before he ran out of breath.

He couldn't see anything. The water was dark and murky and panic rose in his chest. Instinctively, he took a breath, water filling his lungs until he was sure they were about to burst, and he was shocked to find that he did not drown. He inhaled and exhaled and was immensely relieved and surprised, but he allowed himself to drift, drift, drift right on, out of one of the large windows, and into a grand room, beautifully furnished with a golden and maroon color scheme. He stood up and looked around.

A child sat in a dark back corner, looking sad and emaciated, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Will approached him and tried to joke with him, but he would not laugh. The child kept his head down and refused to look at Will for more than a few seconds.

Then, Lizzy appeared beside him. Will greeted her stiffly and she rolled her eyes at him before turning her attention to the child.

"Come on," she said, and took his hand. Will watched them with curiosity as the boy stood and smiled. They began to speak. Every few sentences were punctuated with a laugh or a smile, and they seemed to be having a grand time.

And then there was some stuff about flying walruses and being in a video game or something.

He didn't really remember much after that.

"We were invited over for dinner."

He'd happened upon Charles in the East Wing ballroom when Charles had given the blow. The fairer-haired man had been peering at the décor with the air of one assessing the value of a piece of fine art.

Sigh. More socialization. Will thought vacations were supposed to be for relaxing and enjoying oneself. So far, this vacation had been about neither.

"By who?" he asked.

"The Bennets."

He nearly swore. That family had practically become a constant fixture in his life. Sure, Jane and Lizzy were… good company, he supposed, but the others he did not exactly enjoy spending time with. Charles continued.

"Mrs. Bennet said she felt like she needed to thank us for our hospitality—"

"You mean, thank you for your hospitality—"

"—when Jane was sick and Lizzy came to visit, so she's making a special meal just for us."

William sighed.

"Is Caroline coming?"

"Probably not," a female voice answered from behind one of the large curtains. Caroline's head peeped out. "I might be going to a musical with Erik as a field trip of sorts, to see how singers perform onstage. That is, of course, if his prized student decides to stick to her word and not show." The last part was said under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." She went back to appraising the view outside the grand windows, deciding if it were fine enough for this section of the house to host part of the festivities planned for the end of the month.

This alleviated Will's fears somewhat. Caroline plus the Bennets equaled a bloody mess, in Will's mind. The only thing more painful than trying (and failing) to make small talk with complete strangers was watching Caroline Bingley interact with the Bennet family. The possibility that she might not attend was a great relief.

"Do I have to come?"

"Do you have an excuse not to come?"

"Maybe."

"You have to come."

"But I'm not the one who was generous and hospitable. That was all you."

"It would be rude for only me to go when they're expecting a party of three. You know the saying, 'Two out of three ain't bad'?"

"Isn't that from a song?"

"It would be easier to understand if one person were missing because they had a previous engagement than if all but one were missing."

"Well, when you put it that way…"

"Great! I knew you'd come to your senses. Besides, I knew you wouldn't want to, you know… seem terribly rude, especially in front of Lizzy…"

"Alright, alright. I get it. I'll go."

"And you'll enjoy it, I promise you, Will."

"Right. Do I get anything if you're wrong?"

"Disapproval."

"Now that's not fair."

"Life's not fair, William."

"Coming from Charles Bingley! I think that's the most pessimistic thing I've ever heard you say."

"Sorry about that. Anyway, want to help me plan this party?"

"No thanks."

"Your loss."

"I'll just go cry in a corner, then."

"Have fun!"

"Will do."

"Charles! We are so glad to see you! Oh, and you, too, Mr. Darcy."

Mrs. Bennet's strange greeting did little to alter either man's mood. Charles would be his perfectly charming, unaffected self. William would be distinctly uneasy. He shifted, and thus revealed the third member of their party. Mrs. Bennet caught sight of her and fawned.

"Oh, Caroline, I did not see you there! How well you look! I'm so glad you could make it; I understood you had other engagements."

Carline had the good grace not to frown, but her brittle smile could not exactly be called polite. The matron paid this no mind, however, and took their coats, inviting them to "make themselves at home" and assuring them "dinner will be served promptly!" The three found themselves ushered into the living room, and there they met the five lovely faces of the daughters Bennet.

The two youngest, Kitty and Lydia, chatted with each other, completely oblivious to the visitors (except, of course, for the moments they snuck suggestive glances at the two men) as they gleefully reveled in celebrity gossip. Mary, the middle child, smiled at them briefly upon their entrance, and then went back to studying an intricate piano score. The elder two, in contrast, rose to greet them with smiles and good-wishes. Jane even gave Charles a hug.

If William had any lingering doubts about Jane's feelings toward Charles, they were done away with when he observed her behavior as she greeted the group. He'd watched as recognition crossed her face at the sight of his friend, followed by a warm glow coming to her eyes as she approached him. After Charles and Jane had hugged, she'd turned to William with a friendly smile and a distinct lack of that special warmth.

He found himself smiling back.

This was all well and good, but, call him selfish, he wanted to see how Lizzy would react to him. Some small part inside him hoped that she would look at him that way, that she would have that special look of homecoming in her eyes when he turned to her, but alas! She was only mildly friendly.

They were invited to sit, and so they did. Jane, Charles, and Lizzy struck up an easy conversation, Caroline providing testy input now and then. When William was addressed, he spoke, but for the most part he was silent, content to listen to their easy banter.

Throughout the exchange, William noticed that Lizzy seemed quieter than usual, less boisterous. She kept shooting him curious glances filled with a mixture of thoughtfulness, doubt, and distrust. This mystified him. After she had looked his way for about the fortieth time, William blurted, "Are you alright, Elizabeth?"

She seemed started at his address. Jane, Charles, and Caroline sent him confused looks.

"I'm… fine, thank you," she answered to William's complete dissatisfaction. He frowned slightly.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

Her brows rose. Instead of denying his claim, she countered it.

"I could ask you the same thing."

William felt his cheeks grow hot, but he couldn't tell if it showed or not. Was a man with so stirring an emotion as lo—infatuation not supposed to seal covert glances at his belo—the object of said infatuation?

He was saved from replying when Mrs. Bennet's voice rang out, barely suppressing what could only be described as giddiness.

"Dinner is served!"

The two youngest flounced out of the room first, followed by the two older Bennets and the Bingley party. Mary lagged behind; during her sisters' chat, she'd swapped the piano score for a riveting collection of philosophical essays and was loathe to interrupt her reading for something so trivial as food.

The dinner table was handsomely set with a variety of succulent dishes, all of which were created by Mrs. Bennet herself. If there was one thing the woman prided herself on, it was her cooking. She refused to hire a cook, even though the family had the means to do so.

Mr. Bennet joined them at the table with a newspaper in hand and when everyone was happily situated the guests making exclamations about the delicious food that, although dictated by politeness, were altogether truthful and sincere, Mrs. Bennet began to speak.

"Now, Charles, you know the reason we've asked you here," she began.

"Oh, please," Charles said hastily, "you don't need to thank us for anything! Really!"

"But you took care of poor Jane for an entire week! And you put up with Lizzy for just as long, too. You weren't too troublesome, were you, dear?"

"It was no trouble at all. We quite enjoyed the company," Charles assured her, even as Will frowned at Mrs. Bennet's comment about her daughter. William glanced at Elizabeth and found her composure compromised. She recovered beautifully, however.

"Well, you must admit, I can be quite a handful sometimes," she acknowledged teasingly, garnering a chuckle from behind the newspaper at the head of the table. Without ceremony, Lizzy pinned William to his seat with her eyes. "Isn't that right, Mr. Darcy?"

For half a second, he simply stared at her. He saw the familiar flash of challenge in her eyes, brightening them to a shade of brilliance that made his breath catch. He was getting better with his reactions, though, and quickly took the bait.

"I'm afraid so," he remarked gravely. What most of the people at the table did not catch was the amused glint in his eyes directed toward Elizabeth to let her know he was jesting. "But," he continued, allowing a small smile that could almost be called a smirk to grace his features, "in no way does that detract from the excellence of her company."

He focused on his plate in order to clock out the others' reactions. He was going out on a limb, for sure. Walking on thin ice. Walking a thin tightrope. Treading dangerous water. Running out into oncoming traffic.

Getting off topic with his analogies.

He focused on his plate, and therefore missed the confused looks most of the dinner-goers were giving him. The poor creatures had not the slightest ability to read Will, and so he proved to be quite strange to them, with his widely varying moods around them and whatnot. None of them, save Charles—but why did Jane have a small, knowing smile on her face?—could guess that was pretty much as close as William Darcy could and would get to flirting.

Most of them decided it was a sort of back-handed compliment. Mr. Bennet, in contrast, was vastly pleased. He understood perfectly.

"We are just very grateful," Mrs. Bennet finished after recovering from Darcy's comment. That was when her youngest daughter chose to speak to Charles.

"So, we heard you were, like, throwing a party?"

Charles brightened.

"Yes," he declared firmly. "On November 30th. We've just started to plan, but it's going to be a smash, I can see it already!"

Kitty and Lydia giggled.

"So, like, are we invited?"

"Of course!" he assured them. "All of you. We'd be devastated if you couldn't come."

"Of course," Caroline added with a tight smile, "it will be a formal event. Some of the most influential people in town will be attending."

William knew for a fact that they hadn't even thought up the guest list yet, and that was Caroline's way of simultaneously gloating and saying 'either don't show up or be on your best behavior, or else you will be shunned forevermore.' That was not what he was focusing on, though. A formal event? If he wasn't over this little… fancy by then—which he hoped he would be, but, with a sense of dread, didn't think it likely—what was he to do? He couldn't exactly attend and/or host a formal party wearing a blue baseball cap and tuxedo. How would he hide that… thing above his head?

He caught Lizzy glancing at him again with a thoughtful and somewhat serious countenance, and wondered at how she seemed to draw him in with every look, every expression she made.

And then, he thought, just for a moment—well, maybe he shouldn't.

Well into the feast, several small, isolated conversations developed amongst the diners. William kept mostly to himself, as was his wont. He was too busy worrying about Caroline picking a fight and wondering when this business would be over with to participate much in conversation. He was conscious enough of the others, however, to feel a set of eyes boring into him after a while. He glanced up and was met with the deceptively calm gaze of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He lifted a brow. She decided it was invitation enough to speak.

"You once told me, Mr. Darcy," she began, emphasizing his name as was her custom, "that you hold terrible grudges." Her look was penetrating.

"Yeah…" he answered, his face speaking of his confusion.

"Well…" She appeared to be choosing her words carefully. "You're careful to guard against making hasty judgments of other people, yes?"

"Of course!" he said, his surprise showing plainly. If there was only one aspect of his character he could claim, it would be that. He would never try to judge, assess, or discriminate someone unfairly. He always gave people the benefit of the doubt.

Where was this coming from, anyway?

"Why do you ask?"

She smiled slightly.

"I'm just trying to make you out."

He took in a forkful of his meal.

"And how is that working out for you?"

She sipped some of her drink.

"You, sir, continue to be a walking enigma."

His brow creased faintly. Either she meant he was mysterious, which was good (he thought), or confusing, which was bad and not so very flattering to hear, considering she was his first romantic interest… ever.

"Is that a good or bad thing?"

He toyed with his food.

"I've yet to decide."

He went back to worrying.

"I mean," she continued, "what I've heard and what I've seen have been pretty much all over the map."

Heard? He chewed his food more slowly, suspicion creeping into his being.

"What, exactly, have you heard?"

She smiled, but it was frighteningly un-Lizzy-like.

"Oh, well, I met this guy yesterday in town—said he knew you—George Wickham? Ring any bells?"

His expression darkened and he chewed his steak with much more energy than was strictly necessary.

"Yeah," she continued. "Nice guy. And boy, did he have some stories!"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure he's full of stories." William's voice was low and threatening, his eyes as hard as granite. He took a deep, slow breath in an effort to calm himself. When he spoke again, his voice was firm, but lost the smoldering intensity it had before. "I suggest you stay away from him. He's not someone you should hang out with."

Her brows shot upward, successfully showing that she couldn't believe he had the audacity to dictate who her friends were.

"I have the right to spend time with whomever I choose, thank you."

"No, I didn't—" He sighed. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just trying to warn you. George Wickham is not a good person."

She stared him down until he dropped his gaze and stabbed at his food.

"Your mother really is a good cook," he said gruffly, effectively ending the tense exchange.

They had fallen out of his pocket.

The Bingley party had been getting ready to leave after retiring to the living room for light conversation when dinner had finished. That is when it happened.

William had meant to take his cell phone out of his pocket to check the time, quite forgetting that they were even there, and they slid onto the floor as he pulled the mobile device out. He stared at them in horror.

When he had woken up in the morning, he had seen the Sweet Hearts brochures (he had taken to calling them that in his mind) on the desk in his room and realized that he'd never stopped to read them the day before. He subsequently folded them up and put them in his pocket for future reference and promptly and completely forgot about them. He was reminded of them now, though, oh was he reminded of them!

And, of course, the people he wanted least of all to see them had seen them.

At least the entire Bennet clan hadn't witnessed it—after dinner, Kitty and Lydia had disappeared and Mary had retired to the piano in another room on the other side of the house. Mr. Bennet had gone straight to his library, and Mrs. Bennet was in the process of wrapping up some dessert for them to take back to Netherfield. But, of course, Jane was there. Caroline was there.

Oh, God, Lizzy was there.

She was the one to bend down and pick them up, even. William was too mortified to do anything but stand there. Her eyebrows quirked as she read the titles.

"What are these?" she asked with the suggestive tone one would use when discovering naughty magazines beneath one's best friend's bed. She flipped through them, scanning their contents.

"It's—they're—uh—well—research," William lied smoothly. "For—uh, research and resources for Pemberley Enterprises—ah—over the summer, we, uh, hired a lot of, uh, teens—admin assistants and interns, you know—this has been getting to be, ah, quite a problem—creating air traffic, if you will—can I have those back?"

Lizzy humored him, but with an air of utter disbelief.

William Alexander Darcy was not a very good liar. That was part of the reason he usually stayed away from it.

"I'll, uh, meet you at the car," he told Charles and Caroline. "Thanks for the dinner," he said, addressing the present Bennets. "And tell your mom the, uh, food was excellent."

He was gone faster than a cheetah being chased by another cheetah.

Lizzy shook her head.

"What is wrong with that man?"

Jane lifted her eyes heavenward before reprimanding her sister.

"Lizzy!"

The ride back home was stiff and uncomfortable. The radio was silent and Charles was fidgeting at the wheel because of the tense quiet. William stared straight ahead, a stricken look on his face, for about half the trip. The two men in front received waves of negativity from Caroline in the backseat—much more than would have been deemed necessary for someone who claimed only dislike toward the family they'd just socialized with.

It was Charles who broke the silence.

"So."

No one responded.

"That was terrible," Will finally squeezed out. Charles grimaced.

"I'm sorry, Will."

"Oh, I know," Caroline agreed, completely misunderstanding Will's statement. She put her unquestioning and implicit trust in Mr. Darcy. She did not even think to question his story. "Did you see the younger two? Completely absorbed in themselves and their petty gossip—" They might have laughed if they were feeling better; Caroline disapproving someone else for being self-absorbent and gossipy? "—and the middle girl, I forget her name—reading! At the table! When there were guests! She was nearly as bad as her father, who did the same thing, but at least she was discreet about it! It was as if he were flaunting what a bad host he was! And the food!"

Needless to say, the trip back to Netherfield was highly pleasant, indeed.