Army Of Two

A/N: Short drabble about Elizabeth and Darcy on the zombie graveyard. Inspired by the Olly Murs song 'Army of two'.

As they started chopping at zombie hands that rose from the ground, Mr Darcy took time to think about the woman at his side. She had saved him from an almost certain death and was here by his side, helping him defeat zombies. It was almost surreal, but Darcy was completely happy about it. In fact, they made quite a team; the two of them had killed so many that there was hardly any movement left. As they walked away from the 'zombie graveyard', as Elizabeth had called it, Mr Darcy offered her his arm. She looked at it, stunned for a second, then accepted and looped her arm through his. As they walked, they stayed silent, thinking through the many events of the day.

As they neared the soldiers encampment, Elizabeth grew stiff and sniffed slightly. Looking down at the woman by his side, Darcy noticed that she had bowed her head and that her hand had tightened on the sleeve of his coat. "Miss Bennet, whatever is the matter?" he asked, slightly concerned. In all the time he had known her, Mr Darcy had never known Elizabeth Bennet to look so downhearted and lost. He walked through the camp over to a small beacon of fire on the outskirts of it, so as to give her some slight privacy. "Miss Bennet, what possible cause would the two of you have for leaving Hertfordshire and entering into the Inbetween?" Darcy asked her.

She raised her head and took a deep breath, then looked at him with a straight face. "If adventures will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek them abroad." He wasn't fooled by her wit, and she knew that. She looked down at the ground, then at the fire. "We had no choice." Darcy waited for her to explain. It did not take long. "Wickham has run off with Lydia." she told him all in one breath. He tried to keep a straight face at the news; he should have warned the entire neighbourhood as soon as he knew the man was there! "He's taken her to where his zombie aristocrats congregate." Elizabeth's voice bought him back to the present. "St. Lazarus." Darcy was at loss for what to do. Tell her the truth and risk her getting drawn into Wickham's waiting hands? Or tell her a lie and rescue her sister for her?

He went with the latter option. "St. Lazarus?" he questioned. She nodded. He felt a pang at what he was about to tell her, and didn't know if he could. He went ahead. "I know it well. I saw it raised to the ground, five days ago." He heard Elizabeth gasp in horror, and he immediately hated himself. It was like lying to Bingley, she was a fighting partner, a warrior. He also loved her so much that he was struggling not to tell her the truth to comfort her. "Your sister couldn't have possibly survived." He saw her eyes glisten with tears as she turned away from him. He ached to comfort her; to put his arm around her or pull her to him and hold her against him. Instead, he offered words. "I am profoundly sorry for your loss." A quite sniffle broke his heart; it almost shattered his resolve to lie to her and not hold her.

They had been the perfect team, and something had to happen to screw it up, he thought ruefully. Oh well. At least they were good at fighting together, for an army of two.