Once back at Pemberley, Darcy set his laptop on his desk, then made his way to Lizzie's office. It was still hers, kept vacant in case she needed to return to finish her independent study. He had been selfish to hope for that, he knew, for the timeline for her thesis and graduation would be tight after taking time off for her sister. Nevertheless, he had felt a renewed sense of loss this morning when she mentioned planning her last independent study.
He closed the door of her office and, as had become his custom when memories and longing drew him here, stood for a few minutes looking about him. Nothing of hers remained, for Gigi had volunteered to pack and send on the things she'd left here and at the apartment. Gigi too must have hoped for her return, for she'd left the stools Lizzie used for filming here instead of returning them to the prop department.
Darcy slowly walked over and sank onto the stool closest to the door. His gaze flicked to where her camera had been, then rested on the other stool. At length, he sighed. Staring at her stool would not conjure her presence on it, smiling and witty and teasing; nor could it tell him what had really happened all the times they sat together in front of her camera. Lizzie alone could tell him that, but calling her now was out of the question. He could not bear to hear her reiterate the words from her video that were currently smarting in his chest, and even if he was inclined toward such masochism, only a brute would force such a conversation upon a woman who had clearly stated that she had nothing further to say.
"William Darcy is a force of nature." The phrase made him sound remote, unpredictable, unknowable. At one time, he would have been amused and a touch gratified to hear himself described thus. Even in earlier, happier days, he had not enjoyed socializing, and of his few friends only Bing and, at first, Wickham had cared and been tenacious enough to keep the friendship alive when his life was consumed by the responsibility of raising his baby sister and running Pemberley Digital. As for the latter, he had found "it's lonely at the top" another all-too-true cliché. As much as he valued his employees and associates, he had preferred, aside from Fitz, to keep his own counsel. He had prided himself on being selective in his friends, in those few people he allowed into his heart.
Then Lizzie had come, a force of nature in her own right, tearing through his defenses and effortlessly capturing his heart. And then he had watched sixty videos, had heard her say that he probably had to pay people to be his friends, that he was "purposely dooming himself to be alone for life." For a man so recently rejected, who had lost his parents and his former best friend and had nearly lost his sister as well, her words had seemed to portend an appalling future.
He had changed since then. The exertions of several months had produced new habits in him, habits of looking for merit and common ground in others instead of assuming he would find none, of attempting to show consideration to everyone he met rather than just those he deemed worthy. He would always be reserved—even if he wished it, no amount of effort would transplant Bing or Fitz's personality into him—but the "pride, arrogance, and selfishness" that had isolated him and that Lizzie had so abhorred were, he hoped, being replaced by more honorable attitudes.
He had changed, and yet Lizzie, brave, indomitable Lizzie, didn't dare to call him because she thought him a "force of nature." Could she really see him that way? All his efforts at Pemberley to show her the man he had become—had they truly accomplished so little? Was he so hopelessly inept at relating to this woman that not even wearing a newsie hat or a flower or an afro wig could make him approachable in her eyes?
"I was unaware of your feelings towards me." "You were unaware? Then why don't you watch my videos?" Lizzie's words last fall had served as a challenge to leave off fixating on his own emotional response to her and try instead to see himself and their interactions from her point of view. He had watched her videos to discover how thoroughly she hated him and why and to fall ever more deeply in love with her; to gain hope that her feelings toward him had changed and to see that hope dwindle when his mistakes with Wickham threatened to destroy her sister. He had now to watch her videos again, this time likely to discover how baseless his hopes had always been.
Resolutely, he pulled out his phone and navigated to her Pemberley videos. Perhaps he was a masochist after all.
Lizzie was ashamed of her videos. That was the first unwelcome fact to present itself. Not ashamed in general, but as they related to him. In a way, this represented progress. Prior to the disaster at Collins & Collins, she hadn't hesitated to tell her viewers of her hatred for him. She had immediately regretted telling him of her videos, but only because she feared he would sue her in retaliation. Since coming to Pemberley—since reading his letter even—she seemed to regret some of the actual content she'd posted about him. She had been mortified when Gigi suggested that his employees had seen her videos, and she had been leery of becoming friends with the sister of the man she had disparaged. He had seen her uncertainty but had hesitated to address it directly, doubting whether either of them was ready for a candid discussion about the past.
"He's a guy I used to complain about on my videos." He had hoped that telling her he still watched her videos and agreeing to appear in them would ease her doubts. For a time, Lizzie had seemed to respond to his indirect assurances, playfully recalling her old "newsie" taunt during "Corporate Interview." Unfortunately, his blunder while playing Gigi in costume theater had undercut the progress he'd made, making Lizzie believe then and now that he resented her past criticisms.
Darcy stared over at the window, a muscle in his jaw working in his dismay. Lizzie's videos were so much more than a thesis project to her. She invested herself in them, revealing her strengths and faults and vulnerabilities in a way most people, himself included, would find terrifying. The videos showed how unique and creative she was, but instead of helping her see her talent, he had inspired only her shame.
When at last he returned his attention to her videos, what he found dismayed him even more.
Lizzie habitually expected the worst from him. When they first met at Pemberley, she had thought him upset by her presence. That was understandable, given the circumstances, but that was not the only example. He watched "Hyper-Mediation in New Media" again, struck this time by the courage it had evidently taken to ask him to help with her video. She had explained her costume theater idea doubtingly, as if expecting him to burst forth in mockery at any moment. "Whydidn'tyoutellBingaboutmyvideos" had become a single word in her agitation, and she had assumed he would rebuke her for revealing the truth about "Batman's" "cave" money. Later, she had anticipated his fury for daring to post Gigi's revelation about Wickham. Even after they had spent an entire day together touring the city, she had been uncertain if he would agree to be filmed for "Corporate Interview."
Time and again, she had expected his disapproval, his dismissal, his anger even. What had he said or done to make her doubt him?
He played the videos again, this time focusing on himself. It was no use. He was unequal to the task of watching himself and trying to guess what she could read in him. He should have recognized her misconception, though—he had, in individual instances, and had been glad for the opportunity to prove himself better than her expectations, but not until now had he realized the full extent of it.
Darcy remained locked in painful thoughts for some minutes. At length, he stood and moved to the window, the momentary stiffness in his back a reminder of how long he'd sat motionless on the stool.
Reflection brought him no comfort, only a greater certainty of his failure with Lizzie. He could not wonder that she didn't comprehend him, not when the events of today proved how abysmally he had failed to comprehend her. He had 93 videos' worth of her expressions and conversations to aid him, for all the good it did.
He pushed away from the window and resumed his seat. How quickly he had forgotten what he had learned from seeing himself portrayed in costume theater! Lizzie's face when imitating him had taken on a rigidity, her scowl matching her hard, expressionless voice. She had found him unknowable then, and—he drew a shuddering breath as the truth lacerated his heart—despite her willingness in San Francisco to see him differently, she still found him unknowable now.
Darcy set his phone on her stool and bent nearly double, his hands on his face as he released both his breath and his hopes. They were not friends. He was a force of nature, a guy she used to complain about in her videos. There was nothing more to say about him.