By All Accounts, Today was a Disaster

When your day ends with your head in a toilet and no one to hold your hair back, it is safe to assume you've just endured the worst twenty-four hours in history.

Such was the case with Lizzie Bennet.

With a groan she lifted her spinning head from the toilet bowl and chose to ignore the bit of vomit in her hair just for the moment, because slumping against the cool bathroom wall was of higher priority.

Today would have gone much better if someone had just punched her in the face before she walked into Will Darcy's office. What the hell was she thinking? Yes, Mister Rich and Powerful business man, you knocked me up after one night together – yes, I am a paradigm of truthfulness. What is this term 'gold-digger' you speak of? Honestly, she couldn't blame that big, fat jerk for being – well, a big, fat jerk. Lizzie knew she was dropping the bomb of all bombs on a guy who was total stranger and it wasn't as if she expected him to believe her.

She did (quite stupidly) however, expect him to be a little nicer about it.

The second the word "whore" found its way out of his mouth, Lizzie administered a well placed slap across his spoiled cheek; locked at the knees she was not, but that fact didn't make her a big ho. The hit had stunned him into complete silence and she was able to finish the rest of this ugly business without further interruption. The date and time of her next doctor's appointment was scrawled across a blank page in the open appointment book on his desk and Lizzie added "It's being taken care of. I just thought you had a right to know" as an afterthought before slamming the door behind her.

Then after waiting nearly an hour for a bus (because $1.25 in your pocket makes cab drivers kill themselves laughing) Lizzie finally arrived to her cramped apartment just off of Santa Monica and promptly emptied the contents of her stomach.

"Lizard, are you in there?" There was a light knock upon the bathroom door and Lizzie instantly felt a thousand times better.

She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'm here."

The door creaked open enough to allow a blonde head and a furrowed brow to peek inside. "Are you okay? Are you…decent?"

That bit made Lizzie giggle – clearly all of the modest genes in the womb had been gobbled up by her big sister. "What's your definition of 'decent'?" she asked jokingly as Jane stepped into the room wearing a worried expression.

"Oh, Lizzie…"

"I vomited," Lizzie stated simply. "In my hair."

"I see," Jane said and took a seat on the edge of the tub.

"Do you think my hair will smell like pizza and orange juice?" Lizzie asked, letting her head slump against the side of the commode. "That's what it tastes like coming up, so…"

"Wanna talk about it?"

Since they were very young Jane had possessed an uncanny ability to be able to spot a problem no matter how much bull shit Lizzie put up to block her. Maybe this amazing skill was just an inherent part of what made Jane, Jane. Or, maybe it was a testament to just how close the sisters are.

Jane Abigail Bennet was born exactly six years, four months, three days and two hours before her sister Elizabeth. She was goodness and light personified – golden blonde hair, soft green eyes, and a smile that was made up of happy things like hugs and puppies. Jane never cried. She always shared her Barbies and made room in the sandbox for everyone. She never swore. She never burped, or picked her nose, or scratched her butt in public. And when things such as puberty and prom dates reared their ugly heads, she unknowingly became the bane of every girl's existence thanks to the added bonus of being unbelievably gorgeous.

Jane was responsible, dependable, and successful at the age of twenty-seven (currently being considered for partner at her law firm). And if she wasn't so goddamn honest to goodness kindhearted, Lizzie would hate her guts.

You see, Elizabeth Michelle Bennet had gotten all of the leftovers. She got the mess of red hair and the dark brown eyes. She was a colicy baby. She once gave a boy a bloody nose for daring to lay a finger on her Ninja Turtle. She could swear in five different languages and burp the alphabet backwards. And though, quite pretty in her own right, she spent her prom night smoking pot underneath the bleachers with a couple of guys from a rival school.

Lizzie could define responsible, dependable, and successful, but actually being those things was another story. She was an actress who was currently finding more work as a waitress than on any screen or stage, and she was living with her perfectly perfect sister.

Again, if Janie wasn't so goddamn honest to goodness…

"What are the chances of you just letting me be if I say no?" Lizzie said with a crooked smile on her face.

"About slim-to-none," Jane replied with a smile of her own. Realization suddenly dawning on her, her green eyes went wide. "You found him?!"

A nod. "I found him."

"And you told him?!"

"I told him."

Jane gasped. "How did it go?"

Lizzie chuckled humorlessly. "Janie – there's vomit in my hair."

Her face fell. "Oh god, Lizzie. I'm so…"

"No, no," Lizzie shook her head with a sniff and wiped at the corners of her mouth, "it could've been a hell of a lot worse. So, I've told him. He's informed. I've done my civic duty and now there's nothing else to worry about."

Silently, Jane climbed to her feet. "Get over here, kid," she said bending down to turn on the tub's faucet.

Lizzie obeyed, crawling across the tiled floor on her knees and then stuck her head underneath the warm water.

"Forget this Darcy guy," Jane said in her best supportive big-sister voice as she squeezed apple shampoo into her hand. "He's an awful jerk. You don't need him."

"I don't, but that kick to my kidneys says someone else here might," Lizzie shouted over the sound of running water.

"You can do this without him, Lizzie. You've got me and you've got Charlotte…"

"Whose bright idea it was to go clubbing that night."

"She feels really bad about that."

"I'll bet."

Somewhere in between the conditioner and the fourth lather, the doorbell rang. Lizzie offered to get the door while Jane was busy rounding up the sort of dvds that go great with a carton of Ben and Jerry's.

Yep, it didn't matter that they were the complete anthisesis of each other. It didn't matter that Jane could fall in shit and come up smelling like roses, or that Lizzie had a bit of 'perpetual fuck up' in her. They got each other. Completely and totally. And wouldn't change a thing.

When she turned the knob, the last thing she expected to see was Will Darcy looking the very picture of uncomfortable on her front porch. But, there he was – hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans and a scowl on his face.

He loudly cleared his throat. "Lizzie."

She returned his scowl. "Darcy."

"I…" he began and paused for a second to cock his head to the side. "Can I come in?"

"No," she quickly replied.

"Okay," he sighed heavily, "you have every right to be upset with me, but can we stop being childish for just a minute?"

"Childish?!" Her eyes flashed red.

He held up a hand to stop her. "I'm not here to start World War III; I just came to discuss business."

"Business?"

"Yes." Darcy nodded. "I have a proposition for you, Ms. Bennet that I think will serve both of our interests and solve the matter at hand."

Curiously, Lizzie folded her arms over her chest. "And this miracle solution would be…?"

"Marry me."

Author's Note: Christ on a cracker what a response! I really wasn't expecting that, so thank you to everyone for your kind words. I'm glad you guys are wanting to see more of this. Stick around, it's gonna be a fun ride.