Carters Bar… Why did it exist? It was just so… what was the word he used earlier… small? He went though , ever more grudgingly after Bing told him that Lizzie would be there. He didn't have a reason to hate her, so he had no excuse when Bing asked him if he was coming. He went. The car ride over was pleasant, Caroline sat next to him in an impossibly short skirt, squished in the middle, practically sitting in his lap. Caroline always made Darcy a little uncomfortable. There were almost at the bar.

Time to turn on Arse-Mode. He readied himself. Words on the tip of his tongue. And then he saw him. Wickham. How he had the audacity to show his face near here Darcy never knew, but as much as he wanted to stay and watch from afar, Georges face was so readily available to rearrange. One Day. Not Today. He said to himself. What he said to himself every time he saw the bastard.

Wickham knew he had the upper hand. Darcy could let alone look at him, let alone have a fight with him.

He looked at Lizzie regretfully, and turned to leave, excusing himself before giving a long heated glare to Wickham. At least he hoped it was heated. But just before he turned and left, Darcy was sure of it, in his eyes. Something… Understanding. He knew. The Bastard knew of his feelings towards Lizzie.

He was screwed.

Clenching his hands into fists, Darcy left the bar to get some fresh, Wickham-free air. If only Caroline didn't follow him around as much as her pungent perfume seemed to.