Verisimilitude: (noun) The quality of appearing to be true or real; the property of resembling reality

William Darcy did not make excuses.

Even as a child, he would confess to his actions, no matter the consequences.

"I broke the window because George bet I couldn't throw farther than him."

"I gave the dog my cauliflower because I hate cauliflower and I think they look like dead trees."

"I told Gigi Santa wasn't real because he's not. I didn't know she'd cry."

But he found himself making more and more excuses as time went on, for some reason.

He began using a corner office on the third floor, even though his office on the fifth floor was much larger and had a better view of the city. When his assistant asked why, he could only say, "I… find a change of pace on occasion helps… challenge the mind."

His assistant raised an eyebrow, having spent the last five years learning the immutability of Darcy's routine. When Darcy offered no more explanation, the assistant resigned himself to this abnormality and asked when he should bring Mr. Darcy's files down to his newer office. As they talked, Darcy felt a large amount of relief that his "reason" had been accepted.

He also became more reluctant to travel. While a trip to New York would have normally been accepted as part of a CEO's duties, he decided that joining the meeting remotely would be a great opportunity to test the newest version of their video communication software.

Every time he walked down the hall, he glanced at the small office that was being used by Elizabeth Bennet. Sometimes he could hear her talking to herself, or maybe her camera, and sometimes he swore he could hear her singing.

He instinctively scanned every room for a dark redhead as soon as he entered, regardless of where he was. So when he actually saw a redhead wandering down the hallway, he paused for a moment to see if it was really her. But of course it was. The way she dressed, the way she walked, the movement of her hair was too ingrained in Darcy's skull to pretend she was anyone besides Lizzie Bennet.

When she turned and saw him, he watched her face flicker with surprise, then hesitation, and then she bit her lip and nodded, as if deciding something. She headed for him, and it took a considerable amount of effort to keep his pace the same.

Not too slow, else she'll think I don't want to see her.

Not too fast, or she'll know how much I want to see her.

Oh God, since when was walking so difficult?

Thankfully, they met at the intersection of halls outside her office and stopped simultaneously.

"Lizzie," he started in what he hoped was a normal voice. "May I help you?"

"I'm looking for your sister."

He tried to stifle the feeling of disappointment and focus on the fact that Lizzie and Gigi seemed to be on good enough terms to seek each other out voluntarily.

"She's at tennis practice," he explained. When Lizzie looked down and pursed her lips, he couldn't help but ask, "Do you need something?"

"Um…" She glanced down at her office, then back up at him. "Maybe?" She responded uncertainly.

Before he knew it, he was following the girl of his dreams back into the room where his sister had trapped them together just a week ago. Part of his mind was recounting that experience as another part commented on how very nicely those boots accented her legs and how her dress brought out the blue in her eyes when he realized that she was talking.

"… this thing that I started doing to act out conversations with people I didn't want to be on camera or to know about these videos, like my mother and Catherine De Bourgh, and anyways I call it costume theater."

"Yes, I am… familiar with it." He shot her a quick look and saw her wince in realization that he was one of the more commonly portrayed caricatures in her videos.

"Sorry." She mumbled softly.

"No, it's… alright." He amended, trying to let her know that he now understood why she had thought of him that way, and that he had put much effort into improving his social interactions with strangers; not so much for the strangers' benefit as for his own, in hopes that by self-improvement, he could give Lizzie a new way to think of him.

During his long silent monologue, he realized Lizzie was waiting for some sort of response.

"So, you'll do it?" She asked, disbelief poorly hidden in her features.

He took a breath, then tried to clarify exactly was expected of him in this exercise.

"Who would you need me to, ah, portray?"

He knew he would be a poor choice for Bing or Fitz, or God-forbid George. He had a hard enough time voicing his own thoughts clearly. Seeing things from another point of view was… difficult for him. But he was trying. Trying so very, very hard.

"You, actually." She answered, surprising him.

His eyes flicked to the camera, wondering if there was a catch to this. "And you would be playing…?"

"Me."

Darcy blinked, then smiled a little. "That would certainly make the costumes easier to obtain." He observed dryly, raising his eyebrows at the camera.

Lizzie rolled her eyes and looked down at her hands.

"Look, there's this theory about levels of mediation in media," As she explained more about her particular subject of learning, she started becoming more animated, " that says it's possible for artificiality to both remind the audience that what they're seeing is a construction, while at the same time, adding to their level of immersion. I thought…" She stopped gesturing and shook her head. "Forget it. It's stupid."

And then Darcy realized that she believed he was mocking her, when nothing could be further from the truth.

"You thought," he continued her sentence in hopes that she would see that he, in fact, did understand what she was trying to attain with this concept. "that costume theater as ourselves would remind the audience that this isn't a conversation we would naturally have, but because of that, the obviously constructed nature of the scene would, by its very artificiality, create its own sense of…" and because he found that staring into Lizzie's eyes made him feel almost poetical, he ended with, "verisimilitude."

Lizzie blinked at him, spared a look at the camera, then turned back to him in disbelief. "Have you taken Dr. Gardiner's seminar on Interactive Media?"

Darcy found that he could not look away from those eyes. "No, but I am a fan of her work," he sort-of lied. Truth was, he had taken great pains to find out how she came to shadow Pemberley, which led to discovering she was finishing her thesis under Dr. Gardiner, which in turn resulted in learning anything he could about Lizzie's chosen potential profession. He pretended for a while that it was to help Pemberley improve its own field of interactive media, but sitting next to her in this room forced him to admit the real reason.

He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted to make her smile, make her laugh. He wanted to surprise her.

God, he was so in love.

"So… you'll do it?" Lizzie queried again, still uncertain.

Inspiration struck. He wanted to surprise her, after all.

He nodded to himself, then told her, "Just a moment. Excuse me."

Her puzzled gaze followed him out, and it took great effort to not look back. He reached his office and opened the drawer that contained his extra ties and bowties, in case he needed to change his neckwear during the day. He hadn't worn any bowties since he had given her the letter after his disastrous encounter with Lizzie in November. And there, on the coat rack, was the newsie cap that he had worn that one time to that one wedding, and now represented him in all of Lizzie's costume theater.

Darcy took a breath then donned the cap and a red bowtie. No matter what the situation, it was a chance for him to talk to Lizzie Bennet and convince her that he wasn't the stuck-up jerk she had met last April. Or over the summer. Or in the fall.

As he walked back into the room, he was gratified to see Lizzie's jaw drop open. She turned her look of shock to the camera, and he bit back a smile that he had actually stunned Lizzie speechless.

"It was the closest I could find on short notice." He remarked, knowing that Gigi was going to tease him mercilessly for joking with Lizzie Bennet. Twice.

With an expression that clearly read, 'well, alright then', Lizzie reached over and grabbed her plaid shirt.

"Is there any kind of script for this?" He asked as she shrugged on her garment.

"Nope. I figured we'd wing it." Lizzie replied in clipped tones.

Suddenly he wondered if this was such a good idea after all. After a moment of discomfort, he pulled himself together. "Okay."

There were a few seconds of silence as Darcy wondered what he had gotten himself into.

Then, in one breath, as if she was removing a dam from a reservoir, she asked "Why didn't you tell Bing about my videos?"

Well. That wasn't the costume theater he was expecting. Very aware that this was one of the reasons she had said meant she could never love him, he tried to answer simply.

"I didn't think it was my place. You've respected my confidences, after all."

She turned to him with furrowed brows. "Really? What about when Charlotte and I-"

"If I knew a Darvid, perhaps he would feel differently." He glanced at the lens, then back to Lizzie. He didn't mind her telling that part of the letter. The fact that she had kept what he had said about Gigi secret meant far more to him. She helped protect Gigi, and that gesture went a long way with him.

"I… sort of, thought you would tell him." Her voice was a mixture of anger and disappointment.

"Would you want your best friend to see you confess to meddling in his affairs?" He questioned back. He had been trying to help Bing, despite what Lizzie thought. And what Bing would probably think if he ever found the videos.

"I think he knows you meddle in his affairs."

Looking back, maybe Bing did know, and just trusted his friends to know when to meddle.

"Perhaps." But even if he wanted to change the past, he couldn't. "But by your own admission, Jane has moved on with her life."

Lizzie stared at her lap. "That's true."

Darcy couldn't help but recount the reason he had listed during their meeting at Collins & Collins, albeit in a gentler phrase. "And if Bing truly felt a strong attachment, would he have been so easily parted from her?"

Raising her gaze to the heavens in frustration, Lizzie argued, "Isn't finding happiness hard enough? Why is it your job, or my job, or anyone else's job to test the strength of their relationship?"

He had to think about that for a moment, then tilted his head as he tried to prove his point in a non-arrogant way.

"If Bing were to learn the true nature of Jane's feelings and seek her out… do you think she would take him back?"

Lizzie hesitated. "I'm honestly not sure."

"Then perhaps meddling, even with the best of intentions, would only cause them both more pain."

She looked up at him, her voice soft. "Do you think Bing still cares about Jane?"

And because this wasn't verisimilitude, because he wanted to talk to her as himself, because he wanted to give an honest answer, he took off his hat before he spoke.

"I think… you should ask him."

And because maybe, just maybe, he wasn't talking about Bing.

Her eyes met his; uncertain, confused, dark and endless. Staring into those eyes always brought his confession from November back to his lips.

Lizzie Bennet, I am in love with you.

Catching himself, he forced his gaze down to the newsie cap in his hands.

"Was – how was that? Was that alright?" Lizzie was the only one who could turn the always eloquent William Darcy into a stuttering fool.

Jumping as if his change of tone had shocked her, Lizzie peeked at the camera and quickly divested herself of her shirt.

"Yes. Thank you. Very helpful." She muttered, looking everywhere but him.

Trying his best to not sound heartbroken at his first honest conversation with her being described as 'helpful', Darcy managed to say, "Oh. Good. Um… is there anything else?"

"No, that's all. I – I know you're busy." And there was a hint of the awkward tone she had used when Gigi had forced them to talk a week ago.

Stifling the surprising amount of disappointment at yet another gentle rejection, Darcy fidgeted a little before nodding and replying, "Very well."

He got up to leave, and couldn't help but look at her one more time, taking her in like a last breath before plunging back into the Lizzie-less expanse.

And there were no excuses to make. He still loved her – but more deeply, more passionately, more desperately than before. Any attempt to deny it would not even have a semblance of verisimilitude.

He loved Elizabeth Bennet for the same reason the sun shone – there was no way he could not.