A/N: back with my awkward beans! hope you're staying safe! and thank you for the support!

3/6 (but probably 8?)

"All right, which one do you think is better?"

Mary stares at the screen with perfect blankness. She brings the phone closer to her face and narrows her eyes, in an effort to detect variation.

"Err, they look like…two roughly identical blocks of wood?"

"Ha! See, that's an easy mistake to make for non-connoisseurs, but the block on the left is real teak and the block on the right is fake teak. Notice the long grains and plain sewing on the left block."

Mary hums and hems politely, turning the phone upside down, trying to follow the long grains.

"So this is what you learn in Interior Design?"

"Among other things, but furniture is a big deal," Georgiana says in a tone that verges on the sacrosanct. Her lovely face caves in a little. "Oh, but I'm boring you stiff, aren't I?"

Mary quickly shakes her head. "Not at all. I love learning about wood."

Georgiana titters. "It's been so long since we talked, I forgot how funny you can be."

Mary blushes and smiles uneasily. The truth is, she hardly ever plans on saying anything funny. It just comes out that way. But she doesn't mind it when Georgiana points it out, because Georgiana is sweet enough to think Mary is funny on purpose.

"We should've done this sooner. I'm sorry we didn't catch up earlier," Georgiana says, biting the inside of her cheek. "I really wanted to write you, but…I wasn't sure how things were on your end."

Mary nods. They're careful not to name the divorce. "I know what you mean. I wasn't sure about your end either. I'm glad we can finally put…all of that behind us."

Georgiana smiles. "We should meet in person. My brother shouldn't be the only one who gets to see you."

Mary tries not to grimace. Naturally, Darcy told her about their dinner. It must have been an amusing story. And yet Mary herself still hasn't found the courage to tell Lizzy about it. She knows she's being silly. It's really not a big a deal, is it? But she can't stand disappointing her big sister, and she knows Lizzy would mind, judging from the text she got from her during that unfortunate dinner.

"Tell him I'm sorry for being poor company," Mary says, absent-mindedly.

"Are you joking? He's the perpetual grump! You were lovely, I'm sure," Georgiana protests loyally. "In fact, he did say he was glad not to eat alone for one night."

Mary snorts. That's a high compliment coming from Darcy, she supposes. But it does make her wonder if he's really that lonely. Well, it's none of her business.

Georgiana pulls her back from her thoughts. "Okay, I have a few more designs to show you. Ready to move on to crown moldings?"

Mary nods, eager to put the subject of Darcy behind her.

But in fact, it's difficult to ignore the subject when she receives a rather solemn email from him the following week.

Dear Mary,

I apologize for not having written sooner. As I recall, we were supposed to establish a meeting regarding the Lambton collection. I am passing through Hertford next Wednesday and I was wondering if that would be a convenient time to take a look at the Hertford library inventory.

Looking forward to hearing from you soon,

William Darcy

P.S. Georgiana is delighted that you are speaking again.

Mary taps her cheek as she goes over the scant sentences once more. Very polite and succinct, with a personal touch at the end. It must be a chore to him to try to sound "friendly". She should know; she often runs into trouble when she writes to the readers of Hertford Library.

But how to get out of this obligation? He's taken it for granted that they are meeting. Her only job is to confirm the date. It's maddening, yet he is being perfectly amiable, and she can't go back on a promise. It would be too socially burdensome. Ugh.

She writes him back, uncertain of what tone to adopt or how formal she should be with her ex-brother-in-law. Much like him, she's not very good at this.

Dear Mr. Darcy,

I would be happy to meet on Wednesday at your convenience. Let me know the exact time so I may clear my schedule.

Yours,

Mary Bennet

When he doesn't write back for two days she almost hopes that he's changed his mind. It slipped her mind entirely that she gave him her phone number, so she is quite startled when she receives a text message instead.

Hello, Mary. Would 11 AM be all right for you on Wednesday? W.D.

Mary experiences a small degree of whiplash. To go from painfully worded emails to casual texting is strange.

She spends a good ten minutes coming up with a reply.

Hello. Yes, 11 would be fine!

Mary deletes the exclamation point, then puts it back, then deletes it, then puts it back again. Annoyed with herself, she hits send. And instantly regrets it. She sounds way too enthusiastic.

His reply is prompt.

Great. Shall I meet you in front of the library building?

Mary can't remember the last time she saw the word "shall" in a text message. Probably never.

Yes, meet you in front at 11.

That's settled then, thank you.

Should she thank him back? No, that would be stupid. But replying with a "see you there!" would be equally stupid. Perhaps she's fussing too much, but Darcy makes her feel as if she were at a young ladies' boarding school and she's just spilt tea on the new pinafore.

She's about to put the phone aside – the safest answer is no answer – when another text message pings on her screen.

And please don't call me Mr. Darcy.

Mary blinks.

She waits, but he doesn't tell her what she should call him instead.

Her stomach is in knots. The thick, nautical kind. She has not been this nervous since her university interviews. Mary sees him walking up the paved incline to the entrance. His expression is set, but absent. The suit he's wearing makes him look like a government official who is going to fine her entire department for improper indexing.

"I hope I'm not late," he says gruffly as he comes up to her, wind ruffling his hair.

Mary squints. "Oh, no, I'm early."

"Shall we…"

"Yes, let's go in."

She leads him past the front desks, waving furtive hellos to her coworkers who do not mind her, but are more interested in the tall, stern-faced gentleman following her.

Mary tries to see her workplace through his eyes. The inside looks a lot less impressive than the outside. Everything has been modernized and made to look clean and scholastic rather than fusty and old-age. The library belongs to the young now, and she's glad about that, but she does miss the timeworn veneer. Luckily, today she's taking Darcy down to the basement, to what used to be the old section.

They pause as a group of school children is corralled into one of the reading rooms by a harried form teacher.

Darcy leans forward slightly. "Busy day?"

Mary looks at him. "No. Those are just children."

Darcy eyebrows knit and the corner of his mouth twitches. "I gathered."

"Oh, I mean, it's a normal day. There are always children running about," she adds, tugging at the collar of her blouse and sweater combo.

A young woman dashes past to hand Mary the pass she needs for the basement and winks at her. Mary's stomach sinks a little. That's Moira who works in the young adults section. She's going to be curious. She'll want details. And how is she going to explain Darcy to her? Somehow, the truth is weirder than whatever Moira's thinking.

Mary leads him down a narrow corridor, past the newspaper section, past a few sliding-door offices, past the break room, then down a short flight of stairs to an entirely separate corridor. She keeps ahead of him, mumbling half-audible descriptions of the library, which he neither acknowledges nor seems to resent. She feels like a tour guide.

Finally, she steps through a door and they arrive at the old cage elevator.

Mary points to it. "We still have one of these. It's the only way to get down there. Well, not the only way, but the stairs are currently being redone."

Darcy shrugs. "I don't mind. I rather like it. Very Art Nouveau."

"Me too. I mean yes, Art Nouveau."

She unlocks the door and pulls at the crisscrossed metal railing until it slides open. They both step inside. Mary slides the railing back in place and busies herself with locking the chain. It's not that her fingers are slippery or that she's nervous; it's that she's always had a bit of trouble with the lock.

Darcy's arm suddenly comes up from behind. "May I try?"

Mary pulls out her elbow, rattling the lock, and hits him straight in the solar plexus.

The sound is appalling. It brings to mind young children snapping blocks of wood in martial arts.

Darcy staggers.

She whirls around, horrified. "Oh God, I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?"

Darcy wheezes slightly, hand on chest, quite literally breathless.

"That's – a strong - hook – you have there."

"Do you need to sit down?" she asks, crestfallen. "Should I fetch some water?"

Darcy coughs and it's mixed with laughter, which takes her aback.

He exhales. "You're not that good."

Mary moves her hands aimlessly. "I'm so sorry. I'm not a violent person, I swear."

"I didn't think you were," he says, looking at her archly, but she recognizes a bit of humor there. "May I try the lock now?"

She smiles sheepishly and steps back, leaning against the railing and resisting the urge to put her head in her hands.

Darcy manages to lock the chain in no time. He presses the levers and the old elevator comes to life, rattling in a dignified fashion, slowly sinking in the bowels of the basement.

Darcy stands opposite her, arms folded, looking a little red from the excitement.

"I believe the last time I was hit like that was boarding school."

Mary absorbs the tidbit. She ducks her head. "Kids can be cruel."

"Oh, I hit back. We all did. Getting a beating is not the cruelest thing, by far." There's still something of a smile on his lips, but he realizes he may have said too much, and his face closes in on itself, becoming anonymous, the way she's seen people on the elevator do.

Mary thinks about the strange event of standing in this cage elevator with him.

She doesn't want him to feel bad, so she offers something in return. "I wanted to go to boarding school when I was little but we couldn't afford it and my parents thought it was too posh anyway. They thought I'd get ideas."

Darcy unfolds his arms an inch. He shrugs. "They were right. You do get ideas."

Mary smiles, looking at her feet.

They go down in silence.