Chapter Text
It was the perfect June day—a Saturday made for a backyard party, really, and this one looked poised to go down in the books as the greatest backyard party of all their lives… if you could call the grounds of a gated estate a “backyard,” which Lizzie somewhat doubted. Mrs. Bennet had now spoken the words “Jane’s fiancé, Mr. Bing Lee” so many times that it seemed she may have finally accepted his decision to pursue a non-medical career. Of course that was easier for Mrs. Bennet to do on a day like today—she was almost apoplectic with her glee over the opportunity to greet her friends at an engagement party that showed off both Bing and the Netherfield estate at the same time. Lizzie drifted away from the crowd near the barbecue, needing to establish enough distance between herself and her mother that she wouldn’t continue to be splattered by her Mrs. Bennet’s overflowing happiness.
Jane and Bing looked so happy. Mr. Bennet looked happy as well—Hawaiian shirt and all. The previous evening he had given Bing an HO-scale model train starter set and a handshake and called him “son.” Bing had been unable to find any words. Mr. Bennet had gruffly apologized for the pipe smoke which he alleged to be the reason that his and Bing’s eyes would not stop watering, and for the rest of the evening Bing had carried the train engine in the hand that wasn’t holding Jane’s. Everything was perfect, everyone was happy, and Lizzie was decidedly a part of ‘everyone.’
Lizzie might be feeling unsettled. That was okay. A person could be a bit unsettled and still be happy. After all, so much was changing. But in a happy way, she reminded herself. Jane and Bing were engaged. Excellent news. Very happy. After all the agonizing rewrites, Lizzie had completed and turned in the final draft of her thesis two days earlier. Her grad school classmates had finished in April, but still. Lizzie was now on track to receive her degree in July, and considering everything that had happened, that was great news. Lizzie Bennet, almost done with her degree. Good news. Happy news.
Lydia had started volunteering at an animal shelter with Mary and though Lizzie still couldn’t truly wrap her head around the idea that Lydia was voluntarily cleaning litter boxes and kennels, Lydia seemed to be finding new fulfillment and confidence in the opportunity to help. Lydia was definitely recovering. Smiling more, laughing more, and on two occasions Lizzie and Mary had successfully dragged her to Carter’s on karaoke night and made fools of themselves, which Lydia had mostly enjoyed. All of these things were evidence of change, but they were happy things. Everything is happy, everyone is happy, Lizzie reminded herself again.
Lizzie leaned against the house and scanned the crowd near the pool, then the area surrounding the volleyball net. No Lydia. Also no Darcy. (Not that it mattered.) Was Lydia okay? (Had Darcy already left?) Lizzie knew Lydia (and Darcy) would instinctively avoid the area near the barbecue where Mrs. Bennet continued to gush to her friends. Where else would Lydia (or anyone else) go? Brow wrinkling, Lizzie turned toward the patio doors and saw him.
~~~~~
He was not certain how many minutes he had been standing in the doorway watching her when she turned toward him. William Darcy did his best not to flinch when Lizzie met his eyes, but he had started marking time toward this day before Bing had even proposed to Jane Bennet, so it was impossible to deny that he was feeling somewhat keyed up.
Standing away from the door, he addressed her. “Lizzie… I… uh… hello,” he finished lamely.
Lizzie simply stared at him with a tiny attempt at a smile on her surprised face. He was an idiot.
Darcy looked at his feet while his mind raced for a safe topic. What could he say to her? They had barely spoken simple hellos to one another the previous day when Lizzie had dropped by Netherfield to discuss last-minute party details with Jane.
Before her internship at Pemberley, Darcy would have had to assume that Lizzie did not ever want to have another conversation with him again—or even be in the same room, for that matter. But before her untimely departure from the Pemberley placement it had almost seemed that she might consider Darcy a friend. She had definitely not seemed inclined to avoid him. Of course that was before--
“Darcy.”
His head snapped up and he focused himself on the present.
Lizzie moved toward him, still looking a bit surprised and uncomfortable. “Hi,” she managed, with a weak smile.
She looked up at him uncertainly as he tried to find something to say to her that was at once both safe and not boring. Easier said than done. He had nothing.
“I didn’t see you there,” Lizzie continued, now settling against the double-door frame on the side opposite him. “I take it you, uh, decided to hide out rather than be harassed into the semi-drunk ping pong competition our younger sisters wanted?”
Now it was Darcy’s turn to look surprised. “Did they suggest that?”
Lizzie’s face flushed and she bit her lip. Not resuming eye contact, she muttered, “Yeah” in a somewhat strained voice but did not explain any further.
Darcy had known that today would be his chance to talk to Lizzie and try to find the closure he clearly could not move forward without, but now that the chance had arrived his brain and mouth seemed completely disconnected. Or possibly his emotions simply refused to allow his brain to take steps towards closure.
Say something! he told himself. Something safe and not boring. The most basic of greetings slid from his grasp as he began to feel increasingly desperate. She was going to think that he didn’t want to see her—that he didn’t have anything to say—because he was just looking at her, unable to say anything. Truthfully, he was filled to overflowing by all the things he wanted to say to her, but while he was fairly certain that the ensuing conversation would not be remotely boring, it would also be far from safe.
Was that a flicker of trepidation on her face? Speak, idiot! How long had he been standing here staring at her?
“It’s nice to see you again--” burst forth just as her eyes flicked away and she started,
“It’s nice to see you.”
Her eyes came back to his and they both laughed uncomfortably.
Huh. Well. Jinxed again.
“Lizzie,” he said gently, taking a step toward her, “I, uh, I wanted to say—“
“No, don’t. It’s okay.” The words burst out seemingly against her will, but she sounded more resigned than irritated. “It’s okay, Wil—Darcy.” Lizzie sounded like the words were choking her, and Darcy didn’t even know what she was trying to say. She shook her head a little, cleared her throat, and tried again, no longer even trying to meet his eyes. “Don’t.”
“Lizzie?” he closed the distance, needing to know if the tears in her voice were the only tears, and desperately trying to understand what she was telling him—and if there were anything he could do to make her feel better about it.
His hand reached for her chin of its own volition—he certainly would never have done it intentionally when he was so unsure of where he stood with this woman. She trembled a bit but allowed him to tilt her head back so that he could look her in the eyes and confirm the sheen of tears. “Lizzie, what is it you don’t want me to do? I’ll do my best, but I don’t know what you need from me right now.”
At his last words she jerked her head to the side and looked out toward the lawn again. He dropped his hand and waited, completely baffled. After a long moment of silence, she lowered her face to her hands and while rubbing at her temples mumbled, “Nothing. It’s nothing, I don’t need anything. Never mind.”
Something in her tone more than in her words pushed Darcy’s buttons. She didn’t sound like she thought there was nothing he might be able to do for her. She sounded like she didn’t think he should bother. Inhaling sharply, he launched into speech without thinking further. “No. Whatever it is, it is not nothing. You said, ‘Don’t.’ Don’t what, Lizzie?” His voice choked a bit on the last word and in a broken voice he added, “Can’t we even talk?”
Her hands came away from her face and her eyes darted up to meet his. What was she thinking or feeling? Surprise? Hurt? Confusion? The only thing he felt certain of was her surprise. She said nothing, but was studying his face now as though it held its own secrets.
Uncomfortable, Darcy folded his arms tightly across his chest and looked out on the yard where Bing stood close to Jane, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. Jane’s head rested on Bing’s shoulder and they were surrounded by happy friends and family. Guests chatted idly in the background eating, drinking, laughing, and enjoying the party. Was Darcy’s presence preventing Lizzie from being a part of that?
Steeling himself to turn back to her and apologize, Darcy was completely unprepared for Lizzie’s touch on his arm and reflexively flung it outward. She jumped back with a squeak, face reddening.
Idiot. He was definitely an idiot. Thankfully, Lizzie’s quick movement had prevented him from actually hitting her, but he had come awfully close. He looked straight down at his feet, chin tucked, and muttered, “I’m sorry. Buggy programming. I apologize.”
Lizzie snorted at his attempted joke, and he looked her in the eye and tried again. “I am sorry. I’m a bit… tense… I guess.”
She smiled wryly and replied, “I know the feeling,” then added, “I’m sorry I startled you.” She inhaled deeply, pursed her lips, and then said, “Yes. Yes, we can talk. We should talk.”
At that, Darcy was reminded of the resolution he had been making when her hand had touched his arm. “Lizzie, I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk. I don’t want to force you to stay here and talk to me.”
Lizzie raised her eyebrows in amusement at this and replied, “Force me? You don’t need to worry about that one, Darce. You could never make me do something I didn’t want to do.” She smirked at him, and the smile seemed to drain the tension from the air around them.
“No. Clearly not,” he agreed, meeting her smirk with his own. She was sassing him. It was like they were back at Pemberley again. He held her look for a second too long, and it felt as though something inside had started to burn.
Forcing himself to move away from her, Darcy moved from the doorway into the room, grabbed a chair and flipping it backwards, seated himself, then folded his arms across the top of the chair back and settled his chin on them. Looking up at Lizzie, he decided to pursue a thread from the past that insistently wove itself into whatever present conversation they might have.
“Lizzie. I would not want to force you to talk to me and—“ he quirked a half-smile at her as she prepared to reiterate her earlier point, “—I know you would not stand for that anyway. But…” he trailed to a stop for a moment while searching for a way to ask the important question without being insensitive.
“Lizzie? When we first knew each other you were kind enough to speak to me on a few occasions when you would have preferred not to.” He waited a beat and then continued, “I mean, there is evidence that you did not wish to speak with me, but you were polite enough to do so anyway. So…”
“Polite enough?” she said, with disbelief. “I was polite enough? Are you… I don’t… Ugh!” she turned away from him and leaned her forehead against the doorframe. “It isn’t politeness if later you mock the person in front of several thousand people, Darcy.” She tapped her forehead against the doorframe a few times in frustration and Darcy came to his feet, unsure of how she might react if he tried to stop her.
Lizzie saw his movement, laid the side of her face against the doorframe, looked him in the eye and added, “I was horrible to you. I was horrible about you. The whole thing was horrible.” Darcy carefully resumed his seat, still watching her. She closed her eyes, turned to face the doorframe again, and in a small, almost wistful voice said, “I’m so sorry for the videos. I was a fool. Can’t you forgive me?”
Darcy was at her side before he knew he’d stood back up. “Lizzie.” He touched her shoulder lightly, but she kept her face averted. “Lizzie, I have.” She shook her head slightly but gave no other response. He put his hand more firmly on her shoulder, spreading his fingers, willing her to feel a connection and hear what he was trying to say.
“I don’t hold that against you, Lizzie. I didn’t mean it to sound that way.” She sighed deeply and maintained her communion with the doorframe. Darcy dropped his hand and tried another tack. “I wasn’t… I just… it’s not about the videos. It’s about you and me.”
At this, Lizzie raised her head and looked at him, questioning. Darcy moved back to stand next to the chair again and his hands moved quickly from tapping the top of it to clenching it in a stranglehold as he groped for words. “I hope I have learned some things since then, Lizzie.” He hazarded a look at her and found that she was still watching him. “So yes, I do want to talk to you. But one of the things I have learned is that you have every right to not want to have a conversation with me. And I will respect that this time.”
They looked at each other for a long charged moment before Darcy looked away. In a carefully flat voice he spoke again. “Okay. Well. I probably should go do some work, then.”
“No!” Lizzie almost shouted the word, and for an instant Darcy thought it might have turned him to stone. He looked at her, feeling nearly the same sense of bafflement and hope that he’d experienced near the beginning of this conversation, and waited.
“I do want to have a conversation with you,” she said. “I definitely do.” She smiled a little, then returned to self-consciousness and bit her lip. “I mean… I guess we’re already having one… although for two people who apparently want to talk to each other, we seem to be struggling.” She darted a glance at him and he nodded his agreement somewhat ruefully.
“When you think about it,” Lizzie continued, warming to the chance to analyze their lacking conversational skills while putting off the actual conversation, “It’s sort of amazing.” Darcy watched her, not sure what she meant. A tiny smile bloomed on her lips, then she laughed aloud.
“Darcy, do you realize how far we have come? I mean, you’ve seen episode 60—well, actually I hope you haven’t—but you lived it! After all the yelling and misunderstanding in our first real conversation, here we are today, unable to communicate because we’re so determined not to hurt each other’s feelings.” She gave him a full-blown grin and as he smiled back he felt hope take root and choke his doubts into silence.
Lizzie had used the word, “we” to describe the two of them, and Darcy was more certain than ever that he wanted that to become the standard. He tried it, “We have definitely made progress, Lizzie.”
She smirked and rejoined, “Well, progress in some things—not in this conv—“
“Lizzie!” Lydia was practically upon them before either of them realized she was approaching. “Lizzie, you nerd! I have only been looking for you forever. Are you deaf now? Mom has been yelling your name for, like, a year. She wants to take a big family pic with Bing out by the fountain. Also? The party is outside, you loser. I don’t know why—“
Lydia practically skidded to a halt as she caught sight of Darcy, seated a few feet inside the door. Turning her focus back to Lizzie, a speculative smile bloomed on Lydia’s face, but she restrained herself from saying more than an expressive, “Oh. Sorry.”
Flicking a saucy glance of “Oh, really?” at Darcy, Lydia resumed, “Seriously, sis. Move your butt—it is fountain family picture time!” As Lydia grabbed one of Lizzie’s hands she added in with a shudder, “No way is this situation going to benefit from Mom finding you here herself. Come on.”
As Lydia began to pull her away, Lizzie shot Darcy a look of regret. He attempted to look understanding and supportive right up until Lydia glanced back at him, grinned, and said, “Don’t worry Darce-face. I’ll return her when we’re done.”
At that, Darcy’s face turned red, Lizzie’s eyes widened, and she yanked Lydia forward. They took off at a run. Darcy watched them go and tried to decide if his feeling that progress had just been made was real or imagined.