Chapter Text
Elizabeth Bennet is in no way, not at all, none whatsoever, a weak woman. She is categorically well known for being quite the opposite, actually. When Collins was harassing both her and Jane, who told him to get lost once for all? Lizzie. When Lydia was falling head first for that scumbag Wickham, who snapped her out of it? Lizzie. And when Jane managed to sprain her ankle and get trapped in a blizzard at Charles’ house, who trudged through the raging snow to rescue her from the vulture that is Caroline Bingley? Lizzie did.
No, Lizzie prides herself on being assuredly strong. Everyone around her comes to her when they need honest advice, or someone to blackmail a conniving ex boyfriend, or just punch someone in the throat. There’s just one obstacle standing in her way on her journey to becoming the single, independent and powerful woman she’s destined to become.
Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Darcy, or ‘Fitz’ as she so affectionately calls him (just to wind him up), is so irking and smug and handsome that it makes Lizzie want to scream. She first met him at a charity gala that Jane, being the completely selfless angel she is, organised in aid of orphaned chimpanzees (or something, Lizzie always gets too drunk at these things to remember). He stood there, stoically judging every little peasant that came into his peripheral vision, and he called Lizzie not that fit whilst she stood mere metres away from him. Now Lizzie knows that she isn’t as beautiful as Jane, but maybe standing in the shadow of Jane for her whole life meant that that comment hurt her pride a little bit, seeing as it came from one sour, but handsome, stranger. In a later altercation that night Lizzie had handed his arse to him on a plate when he asked her, a mocking tone to his voice, what inspires love then, if you’re an expert, in our frankly loveless generation? To which Lizzie replied: a bit of dancing does the trick, I find, even if your dancing partner is ‘not that fit’. He blinked once, studied his drink intently for a second, and asked to be excused another second later. Victory, Lizzie smirked to herself.
Darcy has plagued her existence ever since. Every time they meet, she feels her pride bubbling up inside her which means she can never be the bigger person in their arguments, ever, and Darcy revels in it. And plus, she has to strain her neck so hard just to look into his very deep and piercing eyes that she’s not sure how much longer she can keep this up. Unless she invests in a personal masseuse.
She’s too prideful to admit that he was right about Wickham, that he is and was nob and that she’s sorry for ever doubting him. She still kicks herself for that. They were standing outside a pub, Bingley having dragged both of them there, when Darcy revealed to her the history he, and his sister Georgie, had with Wickham. When Darcy told her that Wickham had basically jumped on her at a party and it was pure luck that Darcy managed to find her in time Lizzie felt sick to her stomach. And her little sister thought herself in love with the twat! To be honest, Lizzie credits Darcy for saving Lydia from that relationship, having only just found out that Darcy knocked on Wickham’s door one night and told him that if he didn’t make himself scarce his little sister and himself would be pressing charges for assault. It meant that even if he didn’t go to prison he would damn sure lose his job as some second rate television presenter for some day time telly show. Between that and Lizzie telling Lydia to put on her big girl pants and tell that boy to go and fuck himself, Lizzie thinks that she may be the female incarnation of Jeremy Kyle.
Darcy is a snobby as Lizzie is hot tempered. He always looks down on her family whether he admits it or not, and he even broke up Jane and Charles for a bit because he thought that Jane was a gold digger. Jane! Darling Jane, who cried when her cat killed a bird, and then cried harder because she felt bad for shouting at her cat. As if Jane was after Charles for his money. Lizzie was still seething about that. Luckily, Jane and Charles were much too in love to let Darcy’s meddling get in their way, and with some careful prompting from Lizzie and a reluctant Darcy they got back together in no time. And Lizzie had an excuse to kick Darcy in the shin. Darcy had apologised after that, and Lizzie accepted it because she found there wasn’t much else to do when she was staring into his eyes that were nothing but sincere. But Lizzie would never tell him that.
One day, Lizzie is idly hanging around Charles’ house on a hot saturday in July when he suggests they all take a trip up to his family’s cottage in the Lake District. Because of course Charles has a cottage in the Lake District. Lizzie readily agrees; she’s been dying to get out of London since her friend Emma announced her engagement to George and Lizzie has been wallowing in her loneliness for the majority of the summer thus far. Jane agrees next, needing to take some time off from writing her dissertation and Darcy is next to follow suit because his aunt is coming to town and he needs an excuse not to have to see her. So it’s decided: the four will head off to the Lake District for a couple of days and Lizzie will try not to choke slam Darcy when he ultimately says something that will have her reeling. She’ll also try not to throw up a little in her mouth when she sees Jane and Charles being so sickeningly in love. Seems like Lizzie’s loneliness is bound to follow her wherever she goes. Oh, and Fitzwilliam Darcy.