William leans back against the front door of his sedan; ankles crossed, hands in his pockets, as he considers the entrance to Smuggler's Cove. Standing outside a pirate themed bar in the Fillmore District at 1 am wasn't his first choice for the evening, but it could be worse.
And it's not as if it was completely unexpected.
Lizzie had called him around 9 pm to say girls' night was going better than planned and to not wait up. An hour later, Lydia sent him a picture of a blister and several texts about why winding Lombard Street is the, "worst thingeverrr" in heels. He was already lacing up his shoes when Gigi called at midnight asking to take him up on his chauffeur offer.
It all began with the Bennet sisters being in the same city for the first time in six months. Lydia dubbed it a night of celebration, or as she told William, "It's girls' night, Darcinator, no boys allowed." Then she threw a Wii remote in his lap and started another round of Just Dance.
Then Charlotte took the night off and Gigi made a special trip up north and between the five of them he was just glad he didn't have to drive across any bridges to Oakland, or all the way to Santa Cruz, or any number of places much worse than standing where he is.
He yawns and checks his watch. It's well past his usual bedtime, but he doesn't care about that so much tonight. The unseasonably warm spring evening has kept the fog from rolling through the city and warmth radiates from the pavement. San Francisco is a far cry from the city that never sleeps, but the weather has coaxed people out on the streets later than usual. William is content, overcome by the sense of being at home in his own city, waiting for Lizzie Bennet to complete the feeling.
He glances back at the entrance, wonders if he should send another text when his phone rings and Lydia's name lights across the screen.
"Hey Darce," she shouts over music that sounds vaguely nautical. "Your girlfriend is holding us up."
Lydia must have turned the phone toward Lizzie. William can hear her say something about historical accuracy and movie stereotypes followed by several other voices disagreeing.
"She won't leave until the bartenders admit their pirate flag is wrong. Might I remind you, this is who you're dating."
He relaxes back into the car and chuckles lightly.
"Well historically speaking, pirates rarely, if ever, flew the Jolly Roger."
"Oh my god, nerds!" she shouts before hanging up on him.
William can't help but grin. He's grown accustom to the Bennet family's teasing over the past year and can give just as well as he gets. Or at least he's getting better at it.
Winding up Lydia has become a particularly favorite pastime. He isn't his usual protective brother around her; Lizzie has that territory well-covered, which means William fills a different role. He gets to be the dorky older brother who embarrasses her with his strange clothes and general weirdness (her words, not his).
It helps that these interactions never fail to make Lizzie laugh. Every time he makes Lydia roll her eyes or drop her face into her hands, she laughs in William's favorite way. He's not even sure if it sounds different from any other time, but it has something to do with the fact that he's responsible for it. Making Lizzie laugh feels like a gift he never thought he would receive, a novelty that never fades.
Inebriated Lizzie is another novelty that has yet to fade. William has rarely seen her drunk, the few instances have usually meant he's been equally gone and his memory of those nights is a bit foggy. Most nights out, she enjoys a tall stout or a whiskey neat followed by a shot of something stronger if the night demands it.
And in these moments she's Lizzie turned up to 11. Judgments can still come quick, but, more importantly, so does laughter, affection, and honesty. An appreciation for aspects of William's figure has been a common theme. He's learned that Lizzie is particularly fond of "Dapper Darcy". A term she coined one night soon after they started dating, the same night he discovered new advantages to wearing suspenders.
That might explain why he's out here in a waistcoat and dress pants in the middle of the night. He debates over the newsie cap in his back pocket before taking it out and pulling it over his head.
A large group walks past with a few familiar faces: A web developer he consulted with for an up and coming start-up, the others he recognizes from various networking events in the city. The developer raises his hand in a confused wave and William nods his head, touching his hat lightly in salute.
He can hear the rumor mill now: Pemberley Digital CEO spends off hours running car service. It's funny how much that might have bothered him two years ago. Today the thought just makes him laugh as he pockets the information to share with Lizzie later.
The entrance to Smuggler's Cove swings open and William steps away from the car, smoothing his waist coat. The nautical music from the phone blasts loudly into the street as the five women pour out onto the sidewalk, the music cutting off when the door shuts behind them.
As soon as Lydia gets outside, she kicks off her heels and Jane picks them up from behind her. Gigi giggles at something on Charlotte's phone and Lizzie…Lizzie is draped in a Jolly Roger flag, grinning triumphantly.
He grins back and shakes his head as Lizzie walks toward Lydia, arms outstretched. Lydia rolls her eyes and leans into her older sister.
"Okay dork, you were right, the bartenders were wrong and the internet is a wealth of information. Now can we go home already?"
Lizzie smiles and nods as Lydia makes a hobbled beeline for the back of Darcy's car.
"Thanks for the ride Darce, now open, open, open," she chants as he presses the unlock button on his keys.
There's a chorus of tired thank yous as the Gigi and Charlotte clamber in behind Lydia, Jane gives his hand a quick squeeze before helping negotiate seating arrangements.
And then there's Lizzie walking toward him like the cat who caught the canary, one hand holding the Jolly Roger flag over her shoulder with a crooked finger. He can't help if it's cliché to say she takes his breath away.
She places her hand on his chest and smiles.
"Good evening Dapper Darcy."
No, it's not cliché. Not if it's the actual, honest to god, physical truth of the matter; a novelty that has yet to fade away.