Chapter Text
Thunder cracked outside as Lizzie and Darcy rushed inside of the old cabin after Darcy’s fumbling with the key finally amounted to something. The chatter of their teeth was the only sound that echoed around them as they stood, completely soaked.
Their breathing was ragged as they quickly shed off their coats and the next layer of their clothes, hanging them up to dry on the nearby coat rack. The storm had appeared out of nowhere, and after spending the day walking around Pemberley, getting lost, running into each other, and trying to avoid the thunderstorm, they were exhausted. It was Darcy’s quick thinking in remembering the cabin so close to where they currently stood, but it took shaking off the initial shock and questioning of how they both were caught out in the storm to remember it in the first place.
Standing in the doorway, panting slightly from all the running, Lizzie began to wring out her hair. Darcy brushed away his sleeves, shaking off any remaining water droplets, and running his hand through his hair to keep it from sticking to his forehead. The cabin was clean and nice— obviously cared for— but the whole place was dark and freezing cold. A musky smell enveloped them both from the age of the cabin itself and the heaviness from the rain pouring down outside. The dark, wooden furniture was modern but worn from use and oddly cozy— something Lizzy didn’t expect compared to the luxury of Pemberley.
“I can’t believe you have a cabin in the same area as your estate,” Lizzie said, twisting her neck and taking in the place around her and she shook out her hair.
“It’s a family cabin. Gigi and I used to come out here a lot as children,” Darcy said as if it was an explanation, flipping on the one and only light switch in the whole cabin from the looks of it. He was talking more, Lizzie noted. Not an extreme amount, but there was more conversation between them than ever before.
“So. Does this happen a lot?” Lizzie asked, trying to break the silence.
Darcy quirked an eyebrow.
“You know. Having to wait out the storm in this cabin?”
The corners of Darcy’s mouth turned upwards. “No, not that often. Truth be told, I haven’t been out here in years, but I think Georgiana visits.”
“Ah. I see.”
“To clear her mind. She enjoys the fresh air.”
“Makes sense. There’s plenty of it here.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Lizzie flipped her hair over to her other shoulder, giving it another good wringing before catching Darcy’s eyes. He stared back at her, making an expression that Lizzie tried to read, but as soon as she parted her lips to speak, it disappeared.
“I’ll start a fire,” Darcy said, sliding off his muddy boots before walking over to the fireplace to place the dry logs into the hearth. “There’s some blankets in the cabinet over there.”
“Sure,” Lizzie responded, anxious to do something, anything, at this point. Did William Darcy really know how to make a fire? She was too stunned and too cold to ask. Choosing to grab the thing that would immediate warmth, she grabbed the blankets from the cabinet and hurried back, not wanting to miss a moment of actual William Darcy actually knowing how to start an actual fire. Actually.
She was shocked that this place still ran on wood and not gas heating, but it seemed like everything she had been learning about Darcy since coming to Pemberley was turning out to be yet another surprise to her.
Lizzie returned with the blankets, passing one to Darcy and wrapping herself in the other. Sure enough, the rich and snobby Darcy did, in fact, know how to start a fire. Slowly, warmth began to creep up Lizzie’s face as the small flames slowly grew inside of the fireplace, finally thawing out her muscles which had gone rigid from the cold. Both sat in silence as the fire cracked before them. Lizzie slipped off her wet socks and set them next to Darcy’s at the foot of the fire so that they could dry off with the heat. The fireplace was small, and the whole cabin was beautiful, but it was much more quaint than the rest of the Pemberley estate. It was cozy, and getting warmer by the second, two things she never thought she would associate with William Darcy.
And now, she sat only inches away from that very same person, trying to dry up by the fire.
“I’m—”
“So—”
They both started, making eye contact before immediately turning away.
“—I’m sorry about all this—”
“—The rain came so suddenly—”
Lizzie broke off into a light laugh as Darcy smiled and turned back to the fire. They stared at floating embers, the crackling wood being the only sound between them.
“I wonder if the rain will ever let up,” Lizzie finally said, wiggling her toes to get some feeling back into them.
“Perhaps later, but I’m sure it will be fine. Georgiana will probably call wondering where we are soon enough.”
“Probably.”
More silence.
Lizzie was so keenly aware of how cold she still was, but she couldn’t help but wonder why her face was already heating up. Thinking for a moment, she turned to Darcy about to say something before jumping at a crack of lightning and the following crash thunder, knocking into his shoulder and stiffening at both the sound and the contact.
“Sorry! Sorry. I didn’t expect that,” she said, wondering why she was nervous and why she was apologizing. She never apologized so easily or got scared at lightning, but she was too aware of every little thing around her.
“It’s okay,” Darcy said, clearing his throat as he tried to focus on the height of the flames in the fireplace and not how Lizzie didn't seem to move back to her original distance way from him.
'Was he getting a cold? No, he couldn’t be. We were only out there for a second,' she thought, completely unsure of what to make of his intense gaze into the fire.
“You can use the bathroom to shower. I’ll get you some clothes. Georgiana always has some out here," Darcy said.
“No, that’s okay. I’m already imposing.”
“You could never be an imposition.”
Lizzie stared up at Darcy with wide eyes as his intense gaze was now redirected at her. He looked at her with an honest sincerity that made it feel as if he had stated some fact of life. Lizzie's eyes kept flicking back and forth while Darcy's remained even and steady. She opened her mouth to say something but found no words to fill the space between them until the recollection of his confession resurfaced in her mind— followed by everything that was said and done after it. She laughed bitterly in her head at the thought that those feelings ever could have lasted and how long ago those days were. She was the first to break the look they were sharing.
“Thank you,” she said, turning to face the fire again.
“Of course,” Darcy said with a small smile, or with what looked to be a smile in that Darcy-way she had come to know. That was three smiles in the few moments they had been here— not that Lizzie was counting or anything.
“Here,” Darcy started, standing up and offering Lizzie his hand, which Lizzie reflexively grabbed and immediately let go of as she came to her full height, trying to ignore the electricity that jolted up her arm and how quickly Darcy moved to hold his hands behind him.
“There should be towels in the bathroom. It’s the door right over there. I’ll place the clothes outside the door.” With a nod, he disappeared down the hallway. Lizzie stood there, looking down at her hand and wondering how his had already been so warm despite being out in the cold before walking into the bathroom and taking a long, and much needed, shower.
Darcy found himself standing by the now shut door of a spare bedroom, staring at his own hand, opening and closing his fingers a few times. It was reflexive. It was… Natural. Waving it off, he immediately set off to find some spare clothes.
A little while later, Lizzie had shut off the water and wrapped herself in a towel, opening up the door a crack to find the neat pile of clothes on the floor. They were snug on her, but she would have worn anything at that point if it meant getting out of her soaking wet clothes. She quickly put them on and wrapped her hair in the towel before emerging, finding Darcy still sitting on the floor and typing away on his phone. She couldn’t help but admire how the firelight hit his features. Through all of her annoyance, she had forgotten how handsome he really was with his regal bone structure, but the light made him look softer, warmer, or had he always been that way? She couldn’t tell anymore. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Her towel slowly slid off of her head, and fumbling, Lizzie managed to catch it with one hand before it hit the floor, but the noise alerted Darcy who shoved his phone back into his pocket and stood up again.
“Did you enjoy your shower?” Darcy started, mentally scolding himself for the awkward sentence. He could already hear Fitz in his head teasing him for being ‘So smooth. Not.’
“Uh. Yeah. The water was great. You should go too. Maybe it will thaw you out,” Lizzie said with a smile before realizing what she had said. “Wait! I mean, not like that! I mean, maybe I would have meant that before, you know, before I got to know you, but I just meant from the cold and the rain. Not because of you. Just... your feet must be cold, and we can’t have that,” she said, staring up at Darcy wide eyed and mortified. ‘Smooth, Lizzie. Really smooth,’ she thought, wondering why she even cared about being smooth in the first place. It was just Darcy.
A funny look crossed Darcy’s face. “Yes. Well, I’m sure my feet thank you for your consideration. I’ll do just that.”
“Great. Awesome.”
“Yes.”
Silence. But this time, it felt different.
Lizzie started up at Darcy, and Darcy looked down at Lizzie. They both felt so unguarded here in this tiny cabin. It wasn’t the big and beautiful Pemberley estate, but it wasn’t anything like Lizzie’s home back with her family. This was somewhere between them. Somewhere between where she started and he ended. Lizzie found her shoulders relaxing as the light flickered across Darcy’s face, and Darcy couldn’t help but admire the color of Lizzie’s hair, brilliant and glowing despite still dripping with water.
“Before I forget,” Darcy started, moving back slightly to pull out his phone, leaving Lizzie to wonder how they had gotten so close in the first place, “Gigi texted asking where we were. I said we were together and got caught in the weather but made it to the cabin. The storm should pass by tomorrow, so it looks like we will be here for the night.”
“Oh really?” Lizzie said, playful suspicion laced through her voice.
“Yes. She mentioned that the cabin was fully stocked and filled with anything we needed. Apparently she had been here fairly recently.”
“I see,” Lizzie started, trying to picture what must have been going through Georgiana’s mind after reading her brother’s messages, no doubt thoroughly amused with their current situation. “Well… You should hop in the shower before the hot water disappears.”
“Yes. I’ll be back,” Darcy said, tucking away his phone and giving her a nod.
Lizzie watched him leave, mentally scolding herself before flopping her towel back onto her head and having it drape over her face. What was she doing? Here she was, in a cabin, alone, with William Darcy and acting like… well, she didn’t even know what she was acting like! This Darcy was different from the one she met so long ago. This Darcy felt comfortable, he cared for his sister, he smiled, he made jokes, he laughed, he was… different. But that couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be two different people at two different times or two different places. So what did that mean? And why couldn’t she stop thinking about it? Lizzie’s mind raced as she slowly peeled the towel off of her head and draped it around her shoulders. If there was one thing that could distract her, it was making some hot chocolate. There had to be some stashed away somewhere in this cabin, and she was determined for it to be the only thing in her mind.
Just as she found to mugs for the prepared hot chocolate, Lizzie heard the shower turn off. Grabbing both handles, Lizzie walked over to the door of the bathroom, waiting for it to open, and ignored the pull of nerves in her stomach. Why the hell were they there in the first place? ‘This is William Darcy, and you’re Lizzie Fucking Bennet. Get it togeth— oh no.’
The door swung open to a very shirtless and a very damp Darcy wearing nothing but a towel who met her shocked eyes with his very own.
“I. Uh. I just... Made us some hot chocolate.”
“I can see that.”
“Uh-huh.”
After a moment, Darcy tried to blink away his stupor and began looking directly at the hot chocolate in her hands. “I forgot my clothes.”
“I can see that,” Lizzie responded, letting her gaze drag over his toned body before immediately snapping back to his eyes. “I’ll just... Go over there.”
Darcy nodded as Lizzie slowly turned to the side, allowing him to move, while focusing her own gaze to the same mugs of hot chocolate in her hands. Darcy lingered in the doorway for a beat, forcing Lizzie’s eyes back up to his. He parted his lips as if he were to say something before making his way to the bedroom leaving Lizzie to wonder what was left unsaid for the second time.
Taking a large swig from her mug— wishing she had found something to spike it with after that mess— Lizzie sat back down on the floor by the fire, placing Darcy’s mug on the side and trying to convince herself that the warmth on her face was because of the flames and nothing more.
Darcy found himself resting against the closed bedroom door, chin tucked into his neck, and rubbing his face repeatedly, trying to shake away the feelings he had been denying since the moment he confessed them. This was not the time nor the place, and Lizzie had made it clear that day that she did not reciprocate his own desires. He would respect that. He would always respect her. But, God, did she make it hard not to fall deeper in love with her. The flash of her eyes as they sat by the fire, as if they could read and analyze every crack and break in his façade was enough to make him feel like he would burst into flames. He could see the gears spinning in her head, reading between every word he said and uncovering truths he tried to hide— or lies he had forced himself to believe were truths. She could unravel him in a way no one else could, and it was frustrating and liberating all at once.
Throwing on some old, tightly fitting clothes from his youth, Darcy made his way back to the living room. Seeing that Lizzie was sitting on the floor, despite the assortment of chairs and couches around her, he took up the space next to her, scooping up the warm mug in his hands.
They sat together, listening to the fireplace crackling. The light cast a warm glow on both of them. Darcy eyes went back to Lizzie's hair, which looked as if it was glowing from within under the moving light, and he wondered if she ever noticed the magic that it created.
“So,” Lizzie started, breaking the silence and taking a sip of the hot chocolate, “No chance of us going back tonight, huh?”
“Unfortunately not. The storm won’t pass until morning, but we should be back in time for brunch tomorrow at the main house,” Darcy responded, taking a sip from the mug. It felt nice to warm up from the inside, but it was even nicer to think that they were sharing this together— even though he could never say that to her.
“Brunch, huh,” Lizzie said, giving a breathy laugh before going back to her mug.
A puzzled look crossed Darcy’s face as he turned to face her, crossing one of his legs in front of him to get into a comfortable position. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Lizzie raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a look from the corner of her eye before putting the mug down and turning fully to face him, crosslegged. “You know what it means. You’re rich, of course you have brunch all of the time. It can’t just be breakfast or lunch, it just has to be something as fancy as brunch.”
Darcy returned her look, the corners of his mouth pulling up. “I’m sure you do brunch with your family as well. Most people do over the weekends. It’s a weekend.”
“Sure, but your brunch is at ‘the main house’,” Lizzie said, using air quotes for emphasis. “And it’s probably something super extravagant like a full course spread of everything you get at a restaurant.”
“Are you said you don’t eat breakfast and lunch foods at brunch at your home?” Darcy asked.
“No. I’m saying that weekends are different. Brunch is boxed pancake mix and the chocolate chips with whatever fruit is left in the fridge and attacking the leftovers if we’re feeling up for it.”
“Boxed pancake mix with chocolate chips, huh,” Darcy said, turning his head to the fire and smiling while taking a full sip from his mug.
“Yes-huh! Are you saying you have never had chocolate chips in your pancakes before?” Lizzie asked, ready to defend her food choices to the bitter end.
“No. I’m saying that you haven’t lived until you’ve had chocolate chip waffles fresh from the waffle iron.”
Lizzie’s jaw dropped a fraction, unable to process his words. “Waffle iron? You’re telling me you know how to use one of those things? You?”
Darcy didn’t meet Lizzie’s eyes, looking thoughtfully into the fire. “Georgiana and I were home alone quite often as children. We weren’t able to do much between the many activities and extra lessons we were signed up for, but having brunch together over weekends was our way of being together. My mother and father were away often, so it was just the two of us most of the time.” Darcy paused, finding himself deep in thought before catching Lizzie’s gaze as a signal to continue. “Georgiana wanted rainbow waffles one day, so I drove into town, bought a waffle iron, and we made them together… And burned every one we made.” Darcy laughed, “But we ate them all anyways. We made it our weekend brunch tradition after that.”
Something in Lizzie stirred as she knit her eyebrows together. She couldn’t tell if it was the story or the firelight, but before she realized it, her hand reached out towards Darcy’s and hovered for a moment as she contemplated taking his hand. But she immediately retracted it— the sudden movement did not go unnoticed by Darcy. Lizzie cleared her throat, “So. You and Gigi have always been really close, huh.”
Lizzie hadn’t meant it as a question, but she saw something dark flicker through Darcy’s eyes before they turned to her. “Yes," Darcy started. "For the most part...” he stopped. He wasn’t sure how much he could say, how much he wanted to say. Part of him wanted to tell her the world, and it would be so easy. He wanted to share everything about himself with her, but he couldn’t.
Part of him wanted to keep her away from the things he experienced. She didn’t need his burdens on her own. Another part of him remembered that she didn’t care for him in the way he did for her, and Darcy would respect that. “There was a time where… I didn’t think it. But it passed. Well, you know. When George demanded more money from me after my father died, and when he began to manipulate Georgiana, and…” He trailed off, his eyes swimming between his memories and the present moment. “She means everything to me,” Darcy replied, staring directly into Lizzie’s eyes. His gaze was captivating, but not aggressive. They had seen and experienced so much, but Lizzie could tell that whatever thoughts or emotions were going through his head were sincere.
Her mind immediately flashed to Darcy’s letter.
Georgiana. George. She remembered the intimacy that Darcy’s letter carried, but she hadn’t considered just how much his and Georgiana’s relationship had to suffer all because of that sleazy, slimy human being. Her hand gripped her mug trying to channel her frustration into something before the image of Georgiana’s face came to mind. That smiling, happy, funny girl who was strange in the most endearing way. A flash of anger began to boil within her at the thought of seeing such a wonderful person so broken all because of that horrible man’s greed and selfishness. She felt sick at the thought of the time George and Lizzie were together— at her even entertaining the idea of being together.
“She feels the same way too, you know. I could tell. She looks up to you a lot,” Lizzie finally responded, letting her fingers relax.
Darcy nodded, silently turning back to the fire. He was grateful for her care in listening to him and didn’t regret mentioning it to her. He didn’t feel as if he overstepped his own boundaries by speaking, and he was glad that he could have told that to her. He was glad he told her everything. No one needed a George Wickham in their lives— especially not Georgiana or Lizzie. But more than that, he was glad to have told her. Fitz and Bing had heard plenty of the events and always reassured him that he was doing the right thing even when he didn't ask— they knew how to read him even if he didn't offer the words. But hearing it from Lizzie, someone who didn't have a history of friendship or kindness to fall back on, made those words feel definitive. He held onto his guilt of those events for longer than he'd ever admit. Should he have done more? Should he have stopped it sooner, before things got bad? But Georgiana was her own person, and he never wanted to stifle her for the sake of some overwhelming sense of responsibility he felt as her older brother— as the only family they had left in the world. He found comfort in Gigi feeling safe enough with him to disclose the events that happened between George and her, which carried him through what he thought was the end of George in his life or in the lives of the people around him. Hearing Lizzie's words felt like the continued reassurance that he hadn't failed his family, that Georgiana was truly safe and happy again.
Lizzie also returned back to the fire, thinking about her relationship with her sisters and their loud, never silent house. She wondered if they all cared for each other in the same way that Georgiana and Darcy did. Things had been different in the house. Jane was out and busy with work most of the time, and Lydia was doing who knows what at this point while away on vacation. While Mary kept to her studies and Kitty to her dozens of extracurricular activities, Lizzie tried to remember the last time she checked in with any of them and came up short. A twinge of hurt entered her heart as she realized it had been a while since she last checked up on any of them, but with her own studies and work, she knew it would have been hard to find the time. At least, that’s what she told herself as she downed the last of the hot chocolate in her cup, staring at the remnants that settled to the bottom. She knew she had to check up on them. She knew she did. Things had gotten so chaotic in her own life, she forgot to pay attention to the people around her. After the storm passed, she decided, she'd say her goodbyes after the lunch she promised she'd have with Gigi and head back home to check up on everyone.
Moments passed in silence until Lizzie stifled a yawn, turning her head to the side as she did. “You’re tired,” Darcy asked in that typical Darcy-esque way where every question is a statement. Lizzie rolled her eyes at the thought, mentally noting to start making a tally of every time he did it.
“Yes. A bit. It’s been a long day exploring the area and then running out of the rain,” she said, setting her mug off to the side. “I noticed only one of the room’s beds were made up, so I’ll just take the couch. You take the bed.”
“No, I can take the couch. Like you said, it was a long day and I don’t mind,” Darcy said, taking both empty cups in his hand over to the sink.
Lizzie scoffed, burying her shock of seeing Darcy washing dishes under the matter at hand. “Ha-ha, nice try. I’m sure the entire ‘Darcy empire’ would fall apart if the boss woke up from a crick in his neck. It’s fine. I’ll take the couch.”
Darcy turned to Lizzie, wiping his hands off on a dish towel, throwing it over his shoulder once he was done, and crossing his arms. “It won’t. I assure you. I don’t mind.”
“Well, I’m not taking the bed.”
“Then neither will I.”
They both stared directly at each other, stubbornness and determination sparking between them before Lizzie, broke their look, got up from her spot, and walked over to the linen cabinet Darcy had pulled the towels from and grabbed the stack of blankets below them. Darcy looked on incredulously, seeing how natural it was for her to move around the cabin as freely as she did and how easy it was for her to break off— not win, he pointedly noted in his head— their argument as she made up a bed on the sofa for herself.
An idea sparked into Darcy’s mind, which he immediately regretted upon its impact, but he knew Lizzie at this point, and he knew himself. They were too stubborn to let down either of their positions. Since they had to stay in the same space for an entire night, there was no harm in offering at the very least.
“What if we both shared the bed? It would be the most efficient,” Darcy asked, keeping his gaze steady on Lizzie’s reaction, not daring to move once the words came out of his mouth.
Lizzie stopped making her makeshift bed, hands hovering over the blanket she was smoothing out. Her face was shrouded by her still damp hair, leaving Darcy in a complete mystery over how his question hit her. He regretted it— he regretted it, but he couldn't take those words back. They were already said and there they remained, hanging in the air, waiting for her signal to move. What could she possibly be thinking of him in this moment— that he was a creep who just offered something so vile that it could not be given a response? That he was the last person in the world that she would sleep with— though she had already made that abundantly clear in her response to him so many months ago. But things had changed between them, hadn't they? Not much, but he felt that there was something different between them. If not friendship, at least... something? He tried to stifle the hope that played in his heart, but the alarmingly loud silence in the room did the work for him. The moment between them became thick and heavy with anticipation as Darcy clasped his hands behind his back, masking his fidgeting fingers from view.
After a beat, Lizzie straightened up and turned to look at Darcy. “Okay,” she replied, scooping up the blankets before making her way over to the bedroom in question.
“O-Okay?” Darcy asked incredulously, rushing after her and attempting to mask it though his long strides as he caught up to her.
“Yeah. Okay. Like I said, I don’t need the entire Darcy company after me for their boss not getting a good night’s sleep. And I’m tired. Sleep is good,” was all Lizzie responded as she fluffed up her pillow on what Darcy saw as her side of the bed now.
‘Her side of the bed,’ Darcy thought, turning around and busing himself with grabbing another blanket to avoid her seeing his expression. He knew that he was the one to suggest it, and she clearly was comfortable with the idea, but he couldn’t help but feel so embarrassed that it was his idea in the first place. After all, he was still in love with her, and while he would always respect her boundaries and her feelings, he couldn’t deny whatever cosmic force was laughing at him to make it so that he was going to be sleeping so closely beside the woman he confessed his feelings towards all night long.
Lizzie, on the other hand, was overjoyed to be sleeping on a bed. At least this way they would both be comfortable. She had spent most of her childhood taking the couch or floor during sleepovers, family vacations, and more, so any chance she got to be respectful and still take a bed was always fair game. Lizzie contentedly smiled and plopped down on the bed, making herself cozy and comfortable and taking over much of the surface area that blended into their unspoken halves. Snuggling up under the covers, she turned to Darcy— who was still standing— and frowned. “Are you not going to sleep? I promise I don’t have cooties if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Yes. I mean— no. Not cooties,” Darcy responded, immediately knocked out of his daze. A funny expression crossing his face as he turned to look at her. Somehow her silly joke instantly calmed his nerves as he crossed back to the bed.
But for Lizzie, it was only now that she processed just how tight Darcy’s shirt was— and how fit he was. Did he really look like that under all those formal and well tailored clothes? She always thought he was rich enough for them to be tailored to mask anything he wanted them to mask, but now seeing him in a thin sleep shirt, it seemed like all he ever wore was a second skin. A warmth spread over her face again that she quickly dismissed and covered her face up to her nose. She was not feeling whatever she was feeling, and that was that. There also was no way that Darcy still could feel anything more for her or still have maintained any of those feelings he may have told her months ago. She contorted her face as she cringed from her harsh words they had exchanged and all the things she yelled about— especially about that slimeball George Wickham. But those words were already said and there was no way she could change that fact. There was nothing left to do except move on and accept their relationship for what it was.
… Or for what it lacked? Lizzie’s mind raced with what ifs and what is before she found herself swimming her own thoughts and old memories.
Darcy tucked himself into the bed and faced the ceiling, keeping his eyes on the grain of the wood that traced over the vaulted ceilings. Lizzie felt the heat that radiated off of Darcy’s body and resisted the urge to get closer than she already was. Still facing sideways, she watched the rise and fall of his chest, seeing how his shirt stretched and strained with each breath, and she immediately started to shrink further beneath the covers, trying to ignore her painful awareness of every little movement that flashed across her eyes— the fall of a stray lock of hair across his forehead, the moving wrinkles of the blankets as they adjusted to the two new bodies that occupied them.
“I haven’t been in a bed with someone since my last girlfriend,” she blurted out, trying to distract from her own feelings and focusing too much on Darcy’s chest.
Shocked at the sentence, Darcy turned his head to look at Lizzie who was only visible by the top of her head, her hair splayed out across her pillow, and the eyes that seemed to peer into Darcy’s soul every time they caught him. “Oh?” was all he responded with, interested in what she said, confused as to what prompted the statement, but secretly welcome to learning more about her.
“Yeah… We broke up forever ago, but we used to sleep in the same bed every night. My boyfriend before her hated sleeping in the same bed. He got too hot too easily he said, but…” Lizzie trailed off, falling deep into thought before whispering out, “I think it was so he didn’t feel guilty… About cheating on me.”
Darcy was shocked by her openness. Lizzie didn’t seem like one to share something like this so easily, and the idea that she had felt enough… something towards him to even consider talking about that with him? Darcy didn’t want to pass up this moment of learning more about her— or any moment that she would give so freely. So he turned over slightly in the bed, tucking an arm under his head as a pillow, never breaking eye contact with her downwards turned eyes that were fixed on the sliver of empty space between them, as a signal to continue her story— even if she didn’t see it. He was upset that anyone would hurt her and make her feel unloved— that someone could be unable to see what an incredible person they had been with the whole time.
“My ex-girlfriend really helped me through it. She reminded me that I was okay and there was nothing wrong with me. She was great. But things don’t always work out, you know? Life happens.” Lizzie stopped, falling back into her memories before looking back up and meeting Darcy’s gaze. “We’re still friends, and she’s lovely. She has a new girlfriend who’s really funny and nice. I’m just glad for the time we spent together.”
“People can always teach us things about ourselves that we would never had expected or known before,” Darcy said.
“Yeah,” Lizzie said, bringing her full face from out of the covers. She met his eyes, looking for… something. Some thread of mockery or amusement or something she could argue with him about but came up short. There was nothing there except dark pupils staring back at her and sincerity.
“And that guy was an ass,” Darcy said, “He was a jackass, and you deserve better.”
“I know,” Lizzie said, letting a breathy laugh out and looking away, letting her eyes close. “Now. I know that now. It sucks to have learned it that way, but I’m glad I learned it.”
Darcy nodded, letting himself relax further into the bed. He frowned, wondering how he could have misjudged her so completely in the beginning. Her hard work, her persistence, her dedication and ability to keep moving forward and move on despite all that life threw at her, it was all so admirable.
And she was flawed— all that stubbornness and quick to judge attitude, no wonder he had such a soured first impression of her. But soon enough he realized that all of those layers of protection were built up over her fearsome devotion to her family and to herself. Lizzie was someone who didn’t need anyone’s approval because she was satisfied and content with herself. It was amazing.
It was Lizzie.
Darcy let his eyes settle on the pile of wrinkles in the sheets between them. His mind swam with endless things he could say to her, not letting it stay on one thought for too long. But soon enough, his mouth began to move before he could register it, furrowing his brow once his mind caught up with his voice.
“It’s astonishing, the effect people have on us and on our lives— no matter how little or how large it may have been. Something as small as a kind word or a supportive glance could have the most profound impact on our days— on our lives— and we can’t even notice it even when it’s right there, unfolding in front of us. But soon enough, that smile or word or glance turns into something that keeps you going in your most difficult days and darkest nights. And it becomes impossible to articulate a word of thanks or gratitude because how can you say thank you for something you didn’t see until you were right in the middle of it. A small labor that opened the curtains for you to—”
Darcy looked up, but was only met with closed eyes and a snoring Lizzie.
He breathed out, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment over his long, rambling speech, letting the rest of the sentence die on his lips. ‘Perhaps this is for the best,’ he thought. He laid there for a few moments, the tension in his body releasing as he finally allowed himself to relax into the bed.
He paused for a beat before opening his eyes again, looking on Lizzie’s sleeping face. She didn’t know how much she changed him for the better, but if this was to be their final moment together, their final meeting before she left his life, and he hers, then so be it.
This would be their moment. No money, no fighting, no snobbery, no propriety, no bad first impressions.
There were only two people lying in a bed as the night drifted away.