Chapter Text
Years later, after it was all in the past and just a story to be told at family gatherings, Lizzie would insist that it had all started with a coincidence. Although people tended not to believe her, throughout the years, she remained adamant on one fact:
She hadn't meant to pry. Really.
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It was just that she was feeling lonely. William had been gone on yet another business trip to Chicago, the third one in the span of six weeks, and since Lizzie woke up that morning to an empty bed and a piercing headache that made her want to duck her head into a bucket full of ice water (which probably wouldn't help the headache at all, but you know, the thought felt good...), she was feeling kind of cranky and in desperate need of some comfort.
So, naturally, that meant going through her boyfriend's closet in order to find that one college hoodie he only ever wore when the responsibilities weighing on his shoulders became too heavy and he needed to just be young for a day. (Which usually meant staying in bed until three and never putting on real pants. Or any pants at all.)
She is trying to figure out just how pathetic it would be to just call him and ask for it, when the tip of her left pinky skims something so soft that there is no doubt in her mind as to what it is. Between layers and layers of stiff dress shirts, an old sweater worn soft by years of snuggling does have the tendency to stand out.
Triumphantly, she tugs it out from the far end of the shelf and immediately wraps herself in it. When she pulls it over her head, she sighs contentedly, enveloped in the familiar scent of him. It's entirely too big on her, almost reaching her knees, but whatever, that just means no need for pants today.
She carefully rearranges his shirts back into what she assumes to be his manner of organization and trots back to the kitchen to get another cup of tea for a lazy afternoon of Disney movies on the couch. As she stares out at the rainy city, waiting for the water to boil, she stuffs her freezing hands into the front pocket of the sweater, only to stop cold when her fingers touch something hard.
And … velvety?!
Her body goes into shock mode before her mind can even begin to process her findings, her hammering pulse deafening in her ears and definitely not helping with the headache.
She freezes on the spot, doesn't dare move her fingers an inch. It's not before the kettle's shrill whistle that she regains some semblance of power over her movements.
Her fingers close over the small object and gingerly pull it into her line of sight.
She takes a steadying breath when she goes to open what she accurately assumed to be a jewelry box.
The breath in her lungs whooshes out of her all at once, making her struggle for air.
William Darcy, you cannot be serious.
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“Lizzie, calm down. Don't make a big deal out of this.”
Lizzie just groans and keeps on pacing the length of the kitchen.
“But it is a big deal!” she exclaims, throwing the hand that's not currently plastering the phone to her ear in the air for emphasis.
Charlotte sighs and Lizzie can practically hear her best friend rolling her eyes at her through the phone.
“You don't know that. It could just be his mother's ring that he's had for years. You said it looked kind of old and antique...”
Not to mention gorgeous...The thought shoots through her mind unbidden and Lizzie quickly shakes her head, dismissing it.
“Why on earth would he keep that hidden in his sweatshirt instead of his mother's old jewelry box with the rest of it?”
Charlotte seems to ponder this for a moment, so Lizzie starts opening up cupboards at random, on a quest to find something crunchy to alleviate some stress with. She grumbles at the range of options before her. Organic cereal is not going to cut it, damn it! She really ought to make him buy the sugary, crispy kind one of these days.
“Fair enough. Maybe Gigi put it there in hopes of you finding it and Darcy proposing out of embarrassment?”, Charlotte giggles, not even trying to hide her obvious amusement at Lizzie's current state of distress.
Lizzie snorts and reaches for some almonds. “Even for Gigi, that seems a bit...convoluted. However, if my mother had access to this apartment...” Shuddering, Lizzie decides to leave that particular train of thought unfinished. Her head is still pounding.
“Well, maybe it's not even yours. Maybe it was meant for someone else but it didn't work out and now he doesn't want to look at it anymore?” Charlotte supplies and Lizzie stops mid-chew.
Well, now that just sounds plain... wrong.
She bites at the ragged edge of her thumbnail and taps her foot against the restlessness that starts in her toes and works its way up to her heart at the thought.
However much she fears the ring being hers, she finds that she fears it not being hers much more.
Lizzie struggles to find words but Charlotte being Charlotte, she can read everything Lizzie is too afraid to admit in the silence that hangs between them.
“Would it really be the worst thing, Lizzie?”
Charlotte speaks tentatively, softly, but Lizzie still startles at her words.
“We haven't even had our first anniversary, Charlotte. That's not...”
“How you planned it?”
Lizzie picks at a loose thread on William's shirt instead of answering, but Charlotte knows anyway.
“Lizzie, just because some things don't work out the way you think they're supposed to, that doesn't mean it's not the way they're meant to be.”
Lizzie wiggles her toes and bites at her nail. Charlotte sighs.
“Just...put the ring away and try not to think about it too much, okay? I'm sure it doesn't even mean anything right now.”
Lizzie nods and mumbles a quick goodbye to her bestie, then hangs up.
She curls up on the bed, engulfed in the scent of Will's sweater, puts the closed box on the nightstand and lets it stare at her for the rest of the night.
The next morning, she gingerly wraps it back up in the sweater and stuffs it as far back into the closet as it will go.
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Lizzie knows Charlotte is probably right, so she gives not thinking about it her best try.
She doesn't think about it when she comes back from work two days later to an apartment smelling deliciously of grilled steak and the bizarre picture ofWilliam Darcy, back from his trip a day early, barefoot and humming along to Taylor Swift playing on the radio while chopping carrots.
She doesn't think about it when, a week before Christmas, William defiantly picks up the phone to ask her mother for an additional place setting for Gigi, because as much as it thrills him to be spending Christmas with Lizzie for the first time, he has never been apart from his sister on this holiday and he is not about to start now.
She certainly doesn't think about it when she finds him huffing in the living room, sweating and cursing while trying to move his enormous couch; the coffee table and the rug already piled up neatly against the wall next to the TV in preparation of Lydia's much anticipated visit to San Francisco.
(He promised her top-notch sock sliding conditions and William Darcy is nothing if not true to his words.)
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Charlotte's voice chanting “...and Lizzie Bennet is in denial “ keeps playing on repeat in her mind at night, mere seconds before she falls asleep and when she awakens to a blur of white silk and pink roses, thinking about it seems inevitable.
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She spends Valentine's day in a curious mix of anticipation and dread. She can't really help thinking about it then.
She tenses up every time he reaches into his pockets and by the end of the night, he has noticed her skittishness and she is starting to get irritated by the frequency with which he checks his phone or the watch she now knows he keeps in his pocket at all times.
Later that night, she takes her sweet time undressing him and feels almost lightheaded with relief at the absence of anything box-shaped in the pockets of the dark grey suit he wore to dinner.
Other than that, when she listens to his slowing heart beat under her ear in bed later, she has a hard time putting her finger on the myriad of emotions keeping her from sleep.
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By the time their one year anniversary rolls around, she barely thinks of anything else.
For the last week, she has been biting her nails so hard that she is seriously considering getting a manicure for a second before she resolutely dismisses the thought. Better to keep any further encouragements to a minimum.
(One of the main reasons why Lizzie is so terribly afraid of William proposing is the way her mind shuts down when confronted with actually having to come up with an answer. She calls Charlotte in a frenzy a week before their anniversary, hoping her rational reasoning can pull her back from the ledge of insanity she is precariously balancing on:
“How do I tell him not yet without him breaking up with me?”
The silence that follows makes Lizzie ponder if maybe this conversation would be better suited for Jane, but then, she decides, she doesn't need to be cuddled right now. Blunt honesty is what she needs and that is one thing you can always count on Charlotte to provide.
“I don't think you can.”
Honest and to the point.
“That man has wanted to marry you since...hell, probably before he knew you called him a robot for the world to see. I don't think he's going to recover from another rejection.”
The truth stares Lizzie right in the face and however much she wants to just close her eyes and deny it, terrifying as it is, she forces herself to stare right back.
Because, if she's being honest with herself, no matter how much she fears driving him away by saying no, what she fears the most is saying yes out of desperation and hurting him more in the process.)
So although she makes an effort to look nice for him, she consciously avoids wearing anything that holds a special meaning for them (most importantly: anything green and lacey) and covers her fingers up with rings she lends from Gigi that are way too glitzy for her taste. William looks mildly curious at her unusual choice of jewelry, but seems to think better about commenting on it and instead whispers words of adoration into her hair as he walks her to the car.
At dinner, Lizzie blatantly refuses anything served in a champagne glass and, to William's obvious amusement, instead orders a Gin Martini.
(She absolutely hates it and the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips tells her that it shows, but she downs the glass with as much grace as she can muster and he doesn't say a word.)
For dessert, she tries to decide which treat is least likely to have a diamond ring baked into it and although she desperately craves the chocolate soufflé, she settles on the crème brulée instead, hoping that no-one in their right mind would expect her to don a ring that has just literally gone up in flames.
She is right, of course, and the crème really is tasty, but as she enviously sneaks a glance at William savoring every bite of the chocolate souffle he had no reason to refuse, she grips her spoon a little tighter and thinks:This is getting ridiculous.
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After that, Lizzie decides that the craziness has to stop. There is only so much she is willing to give and, god damn it, she draws the line at chocolate.
Anyway, she figures, with all of those special occasions presented to him on a silver platter, if he had planned on proposing somewhere in the near future, he would have done it by now, so she puts the thought out of her mind and instead concentrates on getting her company off the ground.
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Work is grueling and exhilarating, exhausting and fascinating, and it takes up most of her waking time, so it's a few months before the ring that lays buried at the back of the closet crosses Lizzie's mind again.
She has just wrapped on a project and is floating home on a cloud of happiness and exhaustion, so she wants nothing more than to jump her boyfriend as soon as she steps foot in their apartment, but the look of surprise he gives her when she rounds the corner into the living room pulls her up short.
He looks mildly embarrassed and makes a half-hearted attempt at covering up his laptop screen before he sighs and gives up a fraction of a second later.
“Sorry, you weren't supposed to see this”, he explains apologetically while he lowers his hands back to his lap.
Lizzie blinks once, twice, takes a step forward and stops, confused.
He is looking at engagement rings. Currently there are two pictures pulled up on the screen, very beautiful, delicate rings with gold bands, one with a single round-cut diamond, the other with more of a tear-drop shape, embedded within several smaller stones.
The picture that presents herself is pretty self-explanatory, but she struggles with it anyway.
“Wha-...is tha-...uh..” she sputters pathetically, then clamps her mouth shut.
Why would he be looking at rings? He already has the perfect one picked out and hidden in the next room!
Her ears are buzzing.
William looks concerned as he waits for Lizzie to find her words:
“I don't...why...?”
The ability to string words together to form a coherent sentence seems to have eluded her, so she decides against speaking and instead just looks at him, confusion and a hint of panic painfully visible on her face.
William just stares at her for a minute, dumbfounded, then chuckles mirthlessly and visibly deflates.
“Wow. That's...nice. Bing asked me for my opinion on which ring to buy. For Jane. So...no need to panic.”
He quickly minimizes the pictures and stares at his hands for a moment.
“But good to know where you stand.”
He glances up at her at that and she thinks she sees a glimmer of disappointment in his eyes before he stands up and moves to the kitchen.
Lizzie opens her mouth desperately but no words come out.
She wants to wipe the frown off his face, reassure him somehow, but she stops and closes her mouth when she realizes she doesn't know what to tell him.
She doesn't know where she stands, exactly, but she knows it's not yet where he needs her to be.
So instead, she tells him the only thing she knows with absolute certainty to be true.
She walks up behind him, wraps her arms around his middle from behind and presses her face between his shoulder blades.
“I love you”, she murmurs into his shirt.
She doesn't say it nearly as much as he does, so she isn't exactly surprised at the way his muscles soften almost immediately at her confession.
“And I'm sorry, you just caught me off guard.”
At that, he turns around in her arms and presses a light kiss to the top of her head.
“It's okay”, he sighs and for a moment, she feels like there is more that he's not saying but then he puts on a happy face, takes her hand and tugs her over to the computer still buzzing on the coffee table.
“Now that you already know, how about you help poor Bing out?”
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When Jane visits six weeks later with a big rock on her finger and a soft smile permanently tugging at her lips, Lizzie can't help the twinge of envy at the easiness with which her sister opens her heart to happiness and heartbreak alike.
“Are you happy?” she whispers into the dark that night, her freezing feet tucked against Jane's warm calves.
The sisters had declared their need for an old-fashioned slumber party at dinner earlier and Lizzie had called up Fitz to take their men out for a night on the town.
At the question, Jane's hands stop braiding Lizzie's hair for a moment and she sighs.
“Happier than I ever thought possible. How could I not be? I found the man I want to spend the rest of my life with and now I get to start.”
Jane's voice is full of emotions and she grabs Lizzie's hand under the blankets and squeezes it tight.
“But you must know how I feel,right? You found him too.”
She says it with so much conviction that Lizzie's eyes start to sting.
She wants to tell her big sister that although her mind agrees, she's afraid her heart might never be ready to take the leap.
But the words won't come, so instead she squeezes back really tight and stares unblinkingly into the darkness.
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Yes, envy seems like the appropriate word.
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