Twenty Months

by Alicia Rogers

  Darcy's indifferent expression was split with a wide, boyish smile that instantly made her laugh.

  Chapter 23

  The Church of Hot Addiction (month three cont'd)

  "Good morning, Sarah!"

  It was the sound of his chipper voice on the other end of the line that had done her in completely. Sarah had come to expect certain constants from Mr. Darcy in the nine months she'd spent in his employment and chipper was nowhere near the vicinity – chipper, as a matter of fact, was more like in Yemen.

  It was the melancholy and infinite sadness of Fitzwilliam Marcus Darcy that admittedly made her feel loads better about her life in those moments when she found herself alone and prone to irritating meditations on her existence. If her sister was being a know-it-all pain in the ass, or if her mother was yet again speechifying on why her current loser boyfriend was in fact, a loser, it was okay. At least she was nowhere near as broken and beaten as Mr. Darcy, and that was something.

  Then the great disaster with Danny Wickham happened. Just when Sarah thought she couldn't hit a bottom so low that eating her feelings wouldn't even be an option anymore, Mr. Darcy was suddenly happy?! Stupidly happy?!

  Habit dictated that the man should walk into the room, trudge past her desk with a scowl and the very essence of "I'd rather be dipped in acid" wafting off his person. So, it was a shock of epic, heart attack proportions when he began greeting her and striking up chats. He smiled for Christ's sake, and didn't order her to hold all of his calls.

  It was as depressing as it was bizarre.

  Here was Darcy, her barometer for "well, thank Jesus it doesn't suck that bad", practically bouncing off the walls, and she wanted to be happy for him. Desperately, so; but she was still silly enough to call Danny every other day with the hopes he'd pick up and when she wasn't, she was busy making herself sick over all of the information on Mr. Darcy she'd dropped. Seeing her boss so blissful put a big, ole' halt on her plan to come clean to him – yeah, she didn't want to risk her job, but the thought of harshing Darcy's buzz was almost too painful to bear.

  "Good morning, Mr. Darcy," Sarah replied as cheerily as she could muster.

  Mr. Darcy was taking the day off and told her to do the same (despite the multitude of things she needed to schedule and pick up for him), and as Sarah hung up the phone to begin packing up her belongings, the decision to hold her tongue on the subject of Mr. Wickham was firm.

  * * *

  Darcy tucked the cell phone into his pocket and turned his attention back to the very scene that had inspired his decision to call out of work that day. Lizzie was currently busting a move in their kitchen; earbuds shoved in securely and the volume on maximum, she had absolutely no idea her dance routine had an audience…that is until she turned around to grab a cereal bowl from the cabinet.

  "Holy shit!" Lizzie screeched and practically jumped ten feet in the air. Darcy was doubled over with laughter by the time she finally got her bearings, and she yanked the buds out of her ears. "You need a collar with a bell on it," she said frowning.

  "Aw," he began, his laughter subsiding, "you still wouldn't have heard me."

  "So embarrassing…" Lizzie muttered as she headed for the cabinet, "I thought you'd left for work."

  "I took the day off." he grinned.

  "Oh, wonderful," was her sarcastic reply and Darcy chuckled, "You'll live down the fact that you like Cobra Starship one day. I'm sure of it."

  Glancing over her shoulder, Lizzie quirked a brow, "You should not know that band."

  "I have a seventeen year old, hipster sister."

  "…Who you barely see because she lives on the other side of the country," she snorted, "nice try."

  "I…liked Snakes on a Plane," he offered and Lizzie laughed. "I am allowed at least one guilty pleasure – tell Richard and I'll kill you."

  She nodded. "Your secret's safe with me."

  Darcy hung back against the kitchen entrance, arms casually folded and gaze decidedly fixed on Lizzie as she poured out a bowl of Lucky Charms for herself. Sensing she was being stared at, she faced him. "What are you doing?"

  The smile that snaked its way onto his lips was quite lascivious. "Waiting on you to get over here."

  Blushing furiously, Lizzie made her way over to him – dry cereal in hand. "You've seriously got to stop doing that."

  "Doing what?" His was now the picture of innocence.

  "I've found that most men," she popped a marshmallow into her mouth, "use all of their smooth moves with a girl from the beginning. When you go from being awkward to smooth, it's super disconcerting."

  Darcy shrugged. "I'm not like most men."

  "I'm realizing this." Lizzie smiled and tapped her lips with her forefinger. "I believe you owe me one for that little display earlier; there's no way that wasn't adorable."

  Laughing, he straightened himself up and looked her directly in the eye. "When you least expect it – all day I owe you."

  In her experience with men (see: Archie the Thief, Danny the Meth lab Technician, and Nate the Drummer), Lizzie had never come across someone who had the ability to send her from one extreme to the other with seemingly no middle ground. Now that Darcy wasn't specializing in new and interesting ways to piss her off, it appeared as though he were aiming to get her heart to pound so hard it broke through her chest. Lizzie was suddenly all palpitations and sweaty palms; if she had a seventh period to attend, 'Mrs. Elizabeth Michelle Darcy' would have been doodled in every margin of every notebook she owned.

  Disconcerting was most definitely the right word.

  She held his gaze and exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Very, smooth."

  Grinning, Darcy followed her out of the kitchen. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me for the rest of the day," he told her, flopping down on the couch. "So, Lizzie, what is it that you do while I'm gone?"

  Shoveling a handful of cereal in her mouth, she said, "For starters I'm going to have to cancel the party."

  "Ha, ha," Darcy rolled his eyes. With a sideways look he added, "Do you want some milk for that?"

  "Oh, god no." Lizzie shook her head. "Milk and I have become mortal enemies as of late; this is better, no gross consequences."

  He pulled a face. "I…kinda hate that I asked."

  Having commandeered the television remote, Lizzie furiously flipped through the channels until she landed on Nickelodeon and without a word she kicked back against a very confused Darcy.

  "You…" he started hesitantly and scratched his head, "watch Dora the Explorer while I'm gone?"

  "Only for the past couple days," she plainly stated.

  "Sorry," he snickered, "I thought it was your twenty-seconded and not your second birthday coming up."

  "Hey, our child is going to be eating this stuff up which means while you're off being a figurehead, I'm going to be stuck with creepy puppets and cartoons all day. I've gotta know what I'm up against."

  "You're conditioning?" he asked, clearly amused.

  "Darcy, I've reached the point to where I can't see my feet," Lizzie sighed, "it's time for a little preparedness."

  "Preparedness? You sound like Smokey the Bear."

  "Oh, you have no idea!" she said enthusiastically. "I've been thinking about diaper genies and buggy bouncers, and crib mobiles that light up and play music versus those that don't, adding an intercom to the baby's room, possible themes for the baby's room, whether or not we should go ahead and get those little plastic outlet cover thingies or wait until the actual crawling – threat of electrocution stage…"

  He listened intently to Lizzie's giddy ramble finding it all absolutely amazing. It wasn't so long ago that the mere mention of the word 'baby' sent her scrambling in the other direction; sure they had had conversations, but those were few and far in between, and despite the now basketball size of her stomach, Lizzie seemed content with ignoring the existence of the very thing that had brought them together. Now she was talking excitedly about onesies and he had to admit it w
as infectious.

  "….These thoughts just came out of nowhere. Seriously, I woke up and it was like my entire brain had been consumed by 'baby'. I don't even know what a diaper genie is, but I think we need one."

  Darcy pressed his nose to her hair. "I will fill this entire house with diaper genies if you want me to."

  She giggled, "I bet you say that to all the girls."

  "You wouldn't believe how often it works." Lips now hovering near Lizzie's ear, Darcy said, "You're going to have to think of something to do after Dora's rousing adventure is over. It's all up to you; I'm completely at your disposal, Elizabeth."

  Lizzie nearly forgot how to swallow as his words and their many connotations rang throughout her head.

  Disconcerting was the perfect way to describe it.

  Chapter 24

  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 a 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: