Unwanted Attractions

Note: I do not own any of the characters unless I make someone up. But other than that all the characters belong to Jane Austen, so, no suing.

Oh, please be civil with your reviews, you're not barbarians-hopefully-so try to be good 'civilized' people. Thank you.

Old habits die hard, right, well that would be true for the man lying in bed at six in the morning mentally preparing himself for the tiring day of plane traveling. He seriously didn't want to jump onto that plane and take off for some no-name country town for business and to help his friend decide to make a purchase on a house.

How hard was it to make a purchase on a house? If you like it and it's well within your income, you buy it. At least that was Fitzwilliam Darcy's opinion on the matter, but what did he know of purchasing land when he inherited his home?

There was a knock on the door.

"Enter," grunted Darcy, he really didn't want to get out of bed.

The door opened and entered an elderly, grandfather like man with a balding head and gray-white hair. "Mr. Darcy, I just called the airport for you sir and your flight is on schedule. Do you require any assistance this morning sir?"

"Just with my pants, Reynolds, as you well know," groaned Darcy, pushing himself into a sitting position using his arms. "Okay, so maybe I do need your help."

With a small smile, Mr. Reynolds positioned a chair by the bed and then grasped his employer under the armpits. "On three. One, two, three," Mr. Reynolds counted down and on 'three' he hefted Darcy out of bed and onto the chair.

"Thank you," Darcy muttered, getting himself situated. "Am I all packed to leave?"

"Indeed you are sir; everything is downstairs being loaded into the car as we speak. My wife does request that you eat something before you leave though and take with you something to eat on the plane," Mr. Reynolds stated as he opened the closet and selected some comfortable jeans for his boss to wear. "How are these, sir?"

"Those will do," nodded Darcy as he wheeled his way to the window. It's been ten years and you still need assistance some days. That is pathetic Fitz, what would your father say? With a sigh, Darcy closed his eyes before they could glance at the photograph sitting on his desk.

No more of this, he decided, you must focus on the work ahead of you and the advice you can give to Charles, even if it turns out that he does not require any at all.

It was an everyday occurrence, well, almost everyday occurrence when she had class. She had just gotten back from her morning classes and now she had to go straight to work, problem was she was going to be late all due to the fact that she couldn't find her shoe.

"Dad, have you seen my shoe?" Elizabeth Bennet cried as she dashed about the multipurpose room that was often used as a computer, music, video game, and book room. The room was the last place that she could recall taking off her shoes.

"Dad, help me out here," she implored as she checked under the computer desk, behind the television, and under the desk that had the printer.

The man who had been sitting on the couch reading 'Wizard and Glass', part of Stephen King's 'The Dark Tower' series, kicked at something that had been lying beside his foot.

Looking down at the object Elizabeth gave her father a grateful look as she picked up her shoe. Sitting down beside her father, Lizzie slipped on her shoe and leaned to give her father a kiss on the cheek.

"Whatever would I do without you?" she asked, getting up.

"Go to work shoeless or wearing mismatched shoes," her father replied with a teasing smile.

"It could have been a new fashion statement," Lizzie returned as she dashed down the hallway, through the living room, and out the door. "Bye mom, see you later," she called out as she passed by an older woman with blond-gray hair.

"Elizabeth!" the woman cried out after the young woman, but Lizzie ignored her as she got on her bike and pedaled down the street as fast as she could.

"I can still make it," she told herself as she sped down the street and went right through a stop sign.

As Lizzie pedaled down the street and up the next, then down the next she saw a car pulled next to the curb half a block ahead of her. No one got into the car but rather it seemed to be waiting for someone; someone pricy from the looks of the black car with tinted windows all around.

"Wow," Lizzie breathed as she passed the car, gawking at it a bit too long to notice the woman coming out of the store carrying a couple bags of dry cleaned clothes.

When Elizabeth did take her eyes off of the vehicle she barely had time to jerk her bike to the side, barely missing the woman that she nearly ran into. It took a lot of control and the tires squealed a bit before it completely tipped over, slamming Elizabeth into the ground.

"Ow," she groaned, putting a hand to her aching head that she was certain was going to have a bruise. Getting up, Elizabeth picked up her bike and got back on without turning around to see the other person. "Sorry about that!" Liz cried out before pedaling off to work.

"Insolent girl," scoffed the woman, gathering up her dry cleaning, but Lizzie hadn't heard it for she was half a block away from the woman.

Well this is just great, Elizabeth thought foully. Just run her over Liz, yeah that is real smart, next time don't gawk at the car no matter how out of place it may look. This reproof, Lizzie knew, would only last for the time it took her to get to the doors of her work, which would be in a matter of minutes as she flew down a hill.

Hills were always great to ride down on a bike because gravity did all the work and Elizabeth just had to sit there maintaining her balance. It was easy enough and there was no hard work to it. How great was that?

In front of her work, Elizabeth dismounted her bike and carried it up the stairs; she didn't want to bother taking the long way around just to roll her bike up the handicap ramp. Now, came the hard part, holding the only working door open as she moved the bike inside…the one task that Elizabeth truly loathed to do since it could be nearly impossible on some days, and judging by how things were going that day, it just might be one of those days.

Or at least it would have been if the door hadn't been opened by Elizabeth's coworker and best friend, Charlotte Lucas, the daughter of the store owner. Lizzie would have thanked Charlotte for her assistance if her friend hadn't reminded her that she was going to be late in a matter of seconds.

"You better hurry up before your marked late, you know how my dad feels about that," Charlotte winked at Lizzie as she pushed the back into the store.

"Thanks for the warning," Liz muttered a bit sarcastically, which surprised her a bit; Lizzie didn't think herself capable of sarcasm after that near accident and after biking there as fast as she could, but as with most things in life, she was proven wrong.

Smiling a bit at her friend's obvious foul mood, Charlotte took hold of the bike, once it and Elizabeth were through the door, and gestured to the back room door. "Go punch in and I'll watch your ride," she assured.

Elizabeth would have kissed her friend if she knew that she would be late if she had. So, handing the bike of to her best friend, Lizzie dashed into the back room, grabbed her time card, and quickly punched it.

"I made it," she sighed in relief, resting her head against the punch machine. Slowly a grin crept across her features. "Yeah, that's right!" she cheered. "I made it! I'm on time! Take that you stupid clock! Yeah!"

Calming down from her pumped up, victorious rejoicing, Elizabeth slipped her time card into its slot and returned to the front to find her bike waiting for her at the counter and her friend holding back a grin.

"That's right, I'm on time!" Lizzie told her, doing a little victory dance before grabbing her bike and taking it into the back, leaving a laughing Charlotte behind.

Darcy wheeled his way through the airport to the carousals where his luggage would soon be moving around on, but that was not what he was in search of. No, Darcy was scanning the crowds for his friend Charles Bingley, an old friend of his that he had met in college while studying for his business and English degree.

Charles was supposed to pick Darcy up from the airport and take him to this new house that Bingley was interested in buying. It amazed Darcy that Charles relied so much upon his opinion, sometimes too much.

"Darcy, there you are!" came Charles' unmistakable voice from behind Darcy.

Spinning around in his wheelchair, Darcy got his first sight of his old friend. He had not seen Charles for six months since Charles had gone to Africa to lend his support and help to orphanages and AIDS facilities, much to Caroline's dismay, as Darcy heard.

"Charles, it's good to see you again," Darcy returned with a grin of his own, holding out his hand for his friend to shake.

Bingley took Darcy's hand and gave it a hearty shake, "Same to you old man, same to you. Come now, how was your flight?" That was the one question that Darcy had been hoping to avoid, but, alas, it had to be asked. "That bad, eh?" Was it that obvious?

"Yes, let's just say that I am not very eager to get back on another plane in a long while," Darcy replied.

"Well, how does ten days sound to you? That is how long this business you have here will take right?" Charles asked in confirmation as he picked up a brown leather bag with Darcy's trademark nametag on it.

"No, the business portion should take me no more than a couple of days and then I shall be free to do with my time as I please," Darcy corrected, taking the bag and placing it on his lap then pointing at another bag that belonged to him.

Picking up the other bag, Charles turned to his friend with a wide grin. "Good, then we'll have some time to catch up and go around meeting some of the locals," he pointed out, causing Darcy to groan. "Oh come now man, it can't be all that horrible! It is a small enough town and very accessible for anyone to move around in, plus the people are extremely nice."

"You mean the ones you have spoken to so far," grumbled Darcy as he followed Charles out to the car that awaited them.

"Well yes, but I figure that almost everyone there are perfectly polite and good natured."

Rolling his eyes a bit, Darcy refrained from commenting how the manners of a few do not reflect the manners of the many. Instead he just simply inquired, "How far is this town? Shall we be traveling half way across the state?"

Charles laughed as he put Darcy's bags into the trunk, then came around the side and opened the door. "No, but we have a good thirty miles to drive through before we get to the house. So, relax."

Lifting himself into the backseat of the car, Darcy saw that the person in the front passenger seat was none other than Charles' younger sister, Caroline Bingley. Mentally, Darcy cringed a bit but visibly he just offered her a nod of acknowledgement before turning to Charles and saying, "No chance of relaxation."

Bingley just laughed as he closed the door and folded up the wheelchair to store in the trunk.

This is going to be longer than what I anticipated, Darcy thought. He leaned back into the seat as Caroline began her questioning of his work, sister, and house. Longer, indeed.