Author's Note: I always thought things would have gone considerably smoother in P&P if Bingley had told Darcy to "fuck off" when it came to Jane :). Also, there are a couple transitions from past to present and vice versa – they're denoted with xx's instead of a chunk of italics. I wanted it to be smooth, but please let me know if it reads choppy or if you have any suggestions for a way I could improve that when I edit this.

Haha, and one last note, it was strangely hard for me to keep it clean in this chapter, but I did my best. Hopefully, no one is offended.


Damn You Look Good and I'm Drunk

"You wanna dance?"

When the conversation lulled and her friend (…what's her face, Cheryl? No? Charo? Probably not, but whatever – couldn't remember, couldn't dredge up enough give-a-care to even try) left to, quote "go get her dance on" end quote, Darcy decidedly sank within himself.

The alcohol coursing through his system, was busy massaging the more reflective parts of his mind forcing an unwanted, good and hard look at all of his broken bits and the demons that hung around in the fragments. He was sloshed enough to admit that he was terribly, achingly lonely. It was a hilarious feeling to have considering the fact he was almost never alone these days. Georgie was still in town, entertaining thoughts of giving up Exeter for a school on the west coast (he'd never let her, of course). Mrs. Reyes had all but moved in after his father's funeral. The burning wreckage that was he and Eva only served to give her more of an incentive to stay and shove huevos rancheros down his throat. Richard, Maggie, and the kids or a combination of the four, dropped by almost daily, Charlie as well – with his heinous sisters in tow.

The company, however much adored, wasn't what he wanted – who he wanted. His father's death left a gaping whole that only widened with Wickham and Eva's betrayal, and Darcy was trying to repair it as best he could.

"Hello, earth to…oh crap, what was your name again?"

It was kind of like filling the Grand Canyon one bucket of sand at a time, absolutely fruitless. He'd never been very good at picking healthy coping mechanisms anyway so drinking and screwing his way back to some semblance of self seemed as good an idea as any. Besides, this method did have its benefits: some alcoholic beverages tasted like liquid candy going down, and he never had to waste more than two sentences to see a girl naked…except for, maybe, tonight.

This girl, this Lizzie, was different. Okay, so her club-going outfit was clearly from Target, she drank like a fish, she swore far too much, and from the looks of (Cheryl? Charo?) she had tragic taste in friends. Even if he were one of those sad fuckers who actually believed an atmosphere ripe with mojitos and the Soulja Boy dance made the best conditions for finding the love of your life, he would never consider Lizzie. Though very witty and certainly beautiful, she was obviously a girl of meager means – probably an actress for Christ's sake – seriously dating her was out of the question. However, a burning desire to find out if the 'curtains' matched the 'carpet' would not allow him to rule out a casual fling.

Lizzie seemed to have no idea who he was and that was always good. Also, maybe it was the lighting, but there was something about her eyes. Far be it from him to wax poetic about anyone, never mind a stranger, it was just…this pair of eyes was oddly comforting…

Those eyes were also looking at him expectantly with a slightly annoyed edge. Oh, damn. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" he sputtered, hoping the strobe lights concealed his blush.

Looking genuinely concerned, Lizzie asked, "Are you okay? I mean, you've been staring at that Corona for about ten minutes now and it didn't seem as if you were contemplating the hops."

"No, I'm fine," Darcy shook his head. "I just didn't hear you."

"Oh," she attempted to perk up but failed rather miserably and Darcy almost apologized for allowing his shit mood to rub off on others. "I was asking if you wanted to dance."

"God, no!" the words shot past his lips before he could think, and he cringed his way through another apology. "I didn't mean it like that…"

"It's cool, I'll just be limping back to my bell tower now," she said smiling crookedly.

"I don't dance," he laughed. "Not even a little; my parents, though, exceptional people were very, very white and lacked anything resembling rhythm."

She eyed him curiously and moved her chair closer to his. "Oh, okay I get it."

Darcy raised a brow. "…Get what, exactly?"

"This is as much your scene as it is mine only you're pushy-friend free. So, you don't dance and you probably don't enjoy paying eight dollars per beer, but you're here for a purpose; you're here cause it's easy, right? I mean, look at you – if that Omega watch wasn't a gold digger homing beacon you'd still have the bonus of being hands down, the best looking guy in the room. Hell, I bet your smile is capable of snapping off a bra from thirty miles away."

Laughing loudly, Darcy found himself inching nearer to Lizzie. "Are you implying that I've come here tonight with less than honorable intentions?"

"All I'm saying," Lizzie began as she took a sip of her tequila sunrise, "is that in an everyday world without all of the strobe lights and hipster crap, you are probably a very good man. I think you may be a good man, but tonight and definitely right now – because you're kinda staring down my shirt – you are not full of good man intentions." She finished off her drink and added with a shrug, "But, that's okay because my own intentions for the night took a turn at skanky like an hour ago."

He smiled, and put his lips to her ear. "I only dance if forced, Lizzie."

xx

Lizzie stirring in her sleep provided the break Darcy needed from his own mind; the sudden onset of memories of that night dissolved as he gazed down at the woman currently using his lap for a pillow.

She'd fallen asleep during The Wiggles leaving him all alone with early morning TV programming and memories he'd rather have at bay. He didn't regret the events or actions instead it was his own thought process that left him wincing. How could he have ever thought, even for a second, that she wasn't good enough for the likes of him? He really was a colossal snob sometimes.

Lizzie's eyes flickered open to meet his and she stretched lazily making sure to curl her bare toes into the couch cushions. "Have you gone Edward Cullen on me?" she asked with a tired grin.

"Edward Cullen?"

Pulling herself into a more upright position, she gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "My little sister's literary boyfriend," she chuckled, "he's a bit of a watcher – total creeper when you think about it."

Darcy's expression remained puzzled. "Lydia has a literary boyfriend?"

That earned him a full on guffaw, complete with snorts, and when Lizzie managed to find her breath she said, "It's adorable that you think Lydia would read for fun. No, no he belongs to Mary." Still giggling she pressed her forehead to Darcy's shoulder. "Sorry, I just imagined an entire wedding decorated by Hot Topic."

Her smile wavered when she was met with Darcy's rather serious looking face. "What's the matter?" She tilted her head. "God, I hope you didn't continue to watch The Wiggles on my behalf because I'm not letting our child anywhere near that. I dreamt that I gave birth to four grown men in brightly colored shirts…"

Wordlessly he placed his hands on her cheeks and kissed her. Slowly his lips moved with hers – not playful as usual, but gentle with much to convey. Darcy pulled away but his hands remained. "I have no regrets when it comes to you," he stated simply. "I just needed you to know that. And for as long as you want me, I will do everything that I can to be good enough for you; I'm really glad that you ended up in my life, Lizzie, I only wish it had of been sooner. It might've been, if I were a smarter man."

His earnestness, like a lot of his actions these days, caught her off guard. The sheer vulnerability that shone in his eyes would have normally been enough to shake her if it had not been accompanied by the weight of a certain unspoken phrase. She knew he wouldn't say it now. Those words would remain safely locked behind his teeth until he felt she was ready to hear them.

Still, Lizzie struggled to find her voice. "It was me who never called, remember?" she told him softly with an attempt at levity.

"Yes, but it was me who gave you the business card with the fake number on it." His smile turning to laughter off of her look, he added, "Don't hate the player, hate the game."

"My, my, weren't you a well prepared asshole," she scoffed. "And see at the time I wondered why I kept getting Peking Express in Escondido when I dialed that number. Jane was right it had nothing to do with how hard I mashed the buttons."

He cringed and Lizzie patted the top of his head. "It's okay, Darcy; that was the day I trekked all the way down to your office in the rain."

"I deserved way more than a slap that day."

"You did," she nodded, "and that's why Charlotte placed a call to her cousin in Louisiana. Nikki's into voodoo and she swore she'd give you a permanent case of whiskey dick – just a drop of alcohol is supposed to do it, you don't even have to be drunk…"

Darcy choked. "You are joking, right?!"

Lizzie merely smiled, albeit evilly, and rose to her feet. "How long was I out for? We're totally wasting the day!"

"Lizzie…you weren't serious, yes…?"

"I'm gonna go take a shower," she said completely ignoring his panicked questions. "You should probably change into something less business-y while I'm gone."

"Lizzie!"

And with that, she practically danced her way out of the room.

Her gaze traveled from her reflection in the bathroom mirror, to the tube of lipstick in her hand, and back again. Cherry Passion #95 had been such a horrid color on her, and besides, she'd fished it off of a clearance rack at Walgreen's once upon a time ago – it wasn't as if she were sacrificing one of the god's of Sephora or anything. Now, leaning rather uncomfortably over the sink, face closer to the glass, Lizzie began scrawling:

Reasons Why I Shouldn't Like Darcy

Lacks certain delicate brain to mouth communication

EXAMPLE A: "I don't know why you're complaining about not being able to see your feet, Lizzie. It's not like you spent the last six months eating your weight in cheetos. Wait, oh god, don't cry that was supposed to make you feel better!"

Is a total snob

EXAMPLE B: "I really hope you were joking when you picked out that Will Ferrell movie"

EXAMPLE C: "I'm just saying, I've known Charles for years and he falls so easily, and Jane's polite to be sure, but I just don't see her feelings for him. Is it wrong that I think he should be absolutely sure about her before getting in too deep? Especially when your family comes with the package…can you put the shoe down? I'm only being honest"

Likes metal, without the irony.

Is a meddler

EXAMPLE D: "Okay, so maybe I suggested to Charlie that he and Jane should take a break. If it makes you feel better, he told me to fuck off"

EXAMPLE E: "Give me just a minute; I'm finishing up some college apps for Georgie. What? It's for her own good."

…

Lizzie took a second to step back, examine her handy work and run over the myriad of irritating character flaws that made up her 'husband', and then the bathroom door creaked open. Startled, she turned to find Darcy's furrowed brow peeking around the corner.

"Lizzie, I…"

"Forgot how to knock?" she snapped.

Upon seeing she was fully dressed, he entered the room. "I didn't hear the shower running, what are you doing?"

Awkwardly she shrugged and rolled down the tube of lipstick. "I, uh well sometimes…" she stumbled as Darcy eyed the mirror with an unreadable expression.

"There's nothing wrong with liking metal," he said flatly.

"I get this strange compulsion to make lists. It's only when I have a big decision ahead of me or maybe something in my life has changed. I, guess it's my way of reconciling a part of myself – making that decision a little less scary. I did one about why I shouldn't pursue acting, why I shouldn't move in with Jane, why I shouldn't have a baby…"

"And, do you always write them on bathroom mirrors?"

"Oh," she chuckled, "no, see I have to write them down and I was already in here without a pen and paper. Don't worry, I'll clean it off." Lizzie ran a nervous hand through her red locks. "I'm so sorry, Darcy. You weren't supposed to see this."

Darcy was ramrod straight, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Oh, I see," he said in clipped voice.

"Because number five would've been, 'too sensitive and jumps to conclusions'."

"So, this is your opinion of me?"

"Yes," Lizzie nodded with a smile, grabbing the bottom of his oxford and pulling him closer. "You are absolutely all of these things, on top of being selfless, loyal, caring, hilarious, sexy – you have no idea how goddamn hard it is for me to be under the same roof with you! All I do all day is struggle to not combust while you manage to look at me as if I'm the only girl in the world and still be cool and disarming." She gestured towards the mirror, "This was just my really childish way of accepting the fact that I'm falling for the very man I swore to loathe for all eternity."

"Five Reasons Why I Shouldn't Like Lizzie Bennet, by Will Darcy," he quoted as the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, "One: she's a waitress posing as an actress." Darcy placed a kiss on her forehead. "Two: she's middle class," he said kissing the tip of her nose. "Three: her mother and younger sisters are beyond ridiculous." His lips pressed against her cheek. "Four: she hits very hard," he chuckled in her ear before taking the lobe between his teeth. "Five," he whispered as his mouth moved to the smooth skin of her neck, "she's so fucking stubborn and I think she hates me so it's pointless to pine away for her." He added after a pause, "I also make lists, but I like to scribble them on my meeting notes. It pisses Denny off."

With her arms now wrapped around his waist, she pouted. "There's nothing wrong with being middle class."

Darcy pointed at the mirror just over Lizzie's shoulder. "Reason number two," he laughed as he bent down to finally capture her lips.

xx

"Do you make a habit of whisking strange women away to your house? I'm curious, because this really isn't a norm for me," Lizzie found herself babbling while Darcy worked on the buttons to her blouse. "I mean, I know I made that whole spiel about having skanky intentions, but I'm really not, you know…a skank."

At the sight of her front-clasping bra he lifted his head and met her eyes with an amused expression, and a raised eyebrow. "Wow, that's convenient."

Mortified, she groaned and put her hands over her face. "Supreme laziness does not equal skanky."

He grinned, leaning in to kiss her. "I'll take your word for it."

"No, really!" Lizzie now propped herself up on the bed effectively leaving Darcy hovering mid-pucker. "There's such a production involved with putting on a bra that I would rather just cut to the chase, and you never answered my question."

"I wouldn't call it a habit and you're not that strange." He hitched her legs up around his waist, a smug smile forming on his lips at the playful yelp his action elicited from her. "I have a question for you; do you talk, as a rule, while having sex?"

"Absolutely not," she shook her head, "I prefer to be totally silent and stiff as a board. I'll just close my eyes and recite the Declaration of Independence in my head." Darcy laughed at that and once again attempted to kiss her only to be again thwarted by Lizzie's desire to talk, "Last question, I promise…"

"Jesus, aren't you an inquisitive one," he sighed.

Lizzie smiled sweetly. "You do have a condom, right?"

"Of course," he told her as he reached across the bed to yank open the nightstand drawer. What greeted him was an empty box of Durex with a lone wrapper crumpled in the corner. Oh, that was just fucking wonderful. Normally, Darcy would have sucked it up and made the mood-killing trip down to the nearest drugstore, but the picture Lizzie painted – top undone, skirt haphazardly bunched up, and he between her thighs, was having strange affects on his judgment skills.

Whatever, he was an experienced guy that knew his body and he wouldn't let things get too far.

Darcy's utterance of "Nothing to worry about" was the last sentence that didn't contain the words 'oh', 'yes', and 'god', that would pass between the two for the rest of the night.

xx

"Oh, god!" Lizzie cried out and slapped her hands over her eyes.

"What – what's wrong?" Darcy jumped, having been startled back to his present situation with Elizabeth. It was funny; the two of them had seemed to move from the relatively cramped quarters of her bathroom, to the expanse of her bedroom quickly and without missing a beat.

It was also funny that it took a mere glimpse at a bra that clasped in the front to jog his memory.

"You think I'm hideous, don't you? That's why you stopped," she sniffed clearly holding back the flood her out-of-whack hormones were ready to unleash on him.

Darcy's eyes widened. "No! Lizzie, you're gorgeous! I just…"

"I'm fat."

"Yo, Lizzie, get your butt down here! I'm starving!"

"Is that…Charlotte?" he asked with a look and was treated to the sound of snorting snot in return.

"Oh, I forgot about Charlotte," she sobbed. "We're supposed to have lunch and you're not supposed to be here today."

"Lizzie! Hello! If I catch you sleeping at one in the afternoon, I swear to God, I'm dipping your hand warm water and sharpie-ing 'balls' on your forehead, I mean it!"

"How did she get in the gate…and subsequently into my house?"

"I gave her the pass code and a key; I fall asleep a lot more easily these days and I didn't want her waiting around…and now she has to wait around, because I haven't even showered yet, and you're mad, aren't you? I can tell that you are!"

Lizzie was teetering on the edge of hysterical and Darcy had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Her emotions these days were a veritable rollercoaster and he was sure a giggle would end with the nearest object being thrown at his head.

He gently wiped her face with the sleeve of his shirt. "I'm not mad, sweetheart. C'mon, stop crying; I'll go and keep Charlotte company while you take a shower, okay?"

She loudly sniffed. "Okay."

"Oh hey, Darcy!" Charlotte greeted him from her rather relaxed position on his couch. She absently munched on a bowl of dry Lucky Charms – apparently, Lizzie's milk-less cereal habit was rubbing off. "I didn't know you were here."

"I took the day off."

She nodded. "Sorry for barging in, but I'm supposed to have lunch with your reluctant wife this afternoon…"

"I know; she's upstairs getting ready."

Eyeing him closely, Charlotte's lips twisted into a huge smile. "Although, I'm beginning to question just how reluctant she is nowadays," she popped a marshmallow into her mouth, "you missed a button by the way."