So, I don't normally write in this style, obviously, and it's a bit of a departure for me, so I'm sorry if I disappointed you, or if you were expecting something different. Firstly, it's in third-person, and I tried to limit the details to things you can see or perceive with as little perspective/psychology as possible because this story is supposed to be the story equivalent of an actual episode. So it's meant to be in episode form as if you are actually watching it. If this site allowed script formatting, I would've tried that... Sadly, I cannot put all of Ashley Clement's wonderful facial expressions or tones/voices into words, so some imagination is required.

Secondly, and importantly for you fans of the show who don't want to be spoiled (although, I mean, REALLY?!), this fic probably contains SPOILERS. Lots of them. I'll say it again: SPOILERS AHOY. So if you don't want to know what's going to come in the future, you are A. in the wrong category, and B. feel free to stop reading now. Or, C. the book or movies can help you understand better.

Now, mind you, I can't say exactly which ones until we actually get to this part of the story line, because so far a lot of it is informed guesswork, and me imagining the most probable things that can happen, but I can fill in enough blanks for it to be plausible, and if you have any questions about what happened in this story universe, feel free to ask me via PM or reviews. But yeah, this story CONTAINS a conversation that must predictably ensue, albeit probably not exactly in this way. I know that when it happens in canon, it'll shoot my little version here to hell, but, hey, might as well do it first, right? There's only so many ways you can adapt it, after all, so we'll probably end up saying some of the same things, give or take. Also, I'm sorry if either Lizzie or Darcy seem out of character, but it was a bit of a challenge getting in the gist of the entire conversation, adapting it to modern language and responses, and working out how they're gonna get there, much less trying to keep Lizzie and a character we have never actually seen in character. Hopefully it's the perfect mixture of romantic and insulting.

Ironically I wrote my first and second LBD fic intending to avoid such pivotal events, and this was the one fic I didn't want to write. With the possible exception of the letter. I didn't want to write that one either. Clearly that did not last. I was bored at a bus stop, and out of some perversity, this idea was born... and then further developed in Econ class. And I decided, well, why should I be intimidated by this any longer? Ain't nothing to it but to do it. I dithered about whether or not I should post this for a while, and I've actually had this up on Doc Manager for, like, two days and tweaked it a little before I decided that I should just stop waiting and give you something LBD-related to entertain yourselves with on Wednesday (if a certain gentleman's abs and pectorals haven't already kept you plenty occupied with the replay button). So here we are.

Anyway, in order to write this chapter, I informed and inspired myself by watching as many different versions of this scene in the adaptations of it as I could. So both BBC miniseries, the 2005 movie, the 1940 movie, the Mormon one, and Bride and Prejudice. And quite a bit of it is inspired by the book, for obvious reasons. There were things about each one that I liked (though I took less from the miniseries because they're pretty faithful to the book), so this chapter is informed by shades of all of that and is meant to parallel both that and, more importantly, the book. It's faithful to the books' content though not language, and the structure is a bit different, but eh... Anyway, I hope you enjoy my little attempt at it, and here's hoping the writers' blow us away, slash that we get to actually see it and whatnot.

Finally, I don't own the wonderful LBD, obviously, nor do I own any of Jane Austen's wonderful characters or the quote from her at the beginning. I pale before Jane's pedestal, truly, and hope that I don't shame her too much by borrowing her characters.

Reviews are highly appreciated, and, no, before you ask, I am not going to do a follow-up or try and do Darcy's response. Also, people, seriously, go out there and write some LBD fics of your own! If you have an idea... what's stopping you? DO IT. This is where I'd begin to apply the peer pressure, a la Lydia, but I think I shall leave that to others. Enjoy!

"He spoke well; but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed; and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than of pride. His sense of her inferiority — of its being a degradation — of the family obstacles which judgement had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.

In spite of her deeply-rooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man's affection, and though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he was to receive; till, roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she lost all compassion in anger."

- Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 34.

A distressed Lizzie appears in front of the camera. She is wearing that familiar plaid shirt and jeans, her hair in a lazy and messy ponytail. She also wearing her favorite pair of silver earrings. Her eyes are red-rimmed and a bit bloodshot, and she looks paler and somewhat more fragile. Lizzie is wearing make-up, but her distraction shows through. She means to speak immediately, trying to adopt a brave smile for the camera, but her smile falters. She pauses, licking her lips, and then takes a deep breath and begins to speak. "I... don't know what to feel about what I'm going to show you." She realizes as she says it that it's true, and the uncertainty scares her, jolts her.

Lizzie frowns and looks off-side, momentarily lost in her thoughts before snapping back to the camera and audience with an apologetic expression. "I'm still trying wrap my head around it. For a while I even debated whether or not I should show you this..." Her eyes cut to the side as if remembering before quickly flashing back to the front. She is playing with her fingers, and there is something nervous and almost hesitant about her expression. "Things got pretty intense and... personal." Her voice is tight, her face very determinedly lacking expression. She continues, taking a deep breath and looking determined, "But I am all about honesty. And, really, I couldn't explain it if I tried. There are... no words. You kinda have to see it to believe it." She tries to smile, but it wavers and ultimately falls. Then she says, in her typical quick intro voice, "My name is Lizzie Bennet and up is down and black is white and-" She falters here, taking a breath, uncertain of what to say next. She pauses like this for just a moment before shaking her head and looking down, ashamed. "I-I can't even say it." Her face is grim but inexplicably vulnerable-looking.

Cut to the credits, theme music playing. The screen flashes black and then opens once more to a seated Lizzie Bennet, though this one is taking up less of the frame. This time, however, her hair is down, and she is wearing a rather low-cut emerald green dress with a forest green cardigan over it, in addition to her favorite necklace. She looks different, calmer, and is carrying herself straighter. This Lizzie is prepared to be shooting a video.

She seems to be in a fairly good mood, though she also seems a bit agitated. "So, as you know I'm visiting my lovely best friend Charlotte, and I've been having more fun than I expected." Lizzie smiles distractedly, her expression softening. "I forgot how much I missed her." She shakes her head, her expression changing into something a bit edgier. "Even in spite of being here with Ricky Collins and Darcy and Catherine the Great. So basically all my favorite people," she continues dryly, pulling a face. She says the first name with a touch of exasperation, as usual, the second with the perfunctory amount of venom, again as is customary, and the third in an affected and faintly pompous tone. "All of my favorite people to talk to at one dinner party. Over and over," she manages tightly, her fingers curling as a somewhat crazed look passes over her face. "I can't decide if they're having a contest to see who can backhandedly insult me the most or if they're competing to see who can be the most obnoxiously prideful and condescending." She gives the camera a blank, unimpressed expression, shrugging. "So far it's a tie, but Catherine makes Darcy seem like a peach."

Lizzie shakes her head, snapping herself out of her unpleasant thoughts. The long face vanishes. "Anyway, enough about that. I went for a walk by myself today because Charlotte's busy with work, and I didn't want Ricky to talk my ear off... and I ran into Dick, you know, Darcy's cousin and polar opposite. So not a dick," she explains. She says it in a way that indicates that she is evidently fond of Dick. Lizzie's vaguely smiling expression fades into mild exasperation. "We get to talking, and, for some reason, he decided to start singing Darcy's praises. I only brought up Darcy because I was hoping to hear some embarrassing childhood stories... but Dick was laying it on so heavily that I almost mistook him for Ricky Collins." Lizzie rolls her eyes and pulls a face at the camera.

Lizzie starts gesticulating bigger and more rapidly. "He started telling me about how Darcy's always looking out for his friends, and I asked him for an example because clearly I can't understand how Darcy even has any friends. And Dick tells me about this friend of Darcy's who'd been in love with this girl." Lizzie gives the camera a significant look, her expression darkening. She continues in a tone that is clearly what Dick, and presumably Darcy, told said friend, verbatim, "She didn't feel the same, and it was distracting him from his goals... not to mention that her family was "completely insane and a total embarrassment." Oh, and just in case that wasn't enough reason, apparently she also might've been using him for his money." Heavy sarcasm covers her voice, and she uses airquotes. She is slowly growing more angry by the moment as indicated by the rising color in her cheeks.

She swallows, taking a deep breath to calm herself, and goes on, "Warning bells are going off in my head by this point, and I have this sinking sensation that I know exactly which friend of Darcy's Dick's talking about." Lizzie gives the camera a look so pointed that it's obvious exactly which friend she's talking about. She raises her brows. "Because, let's face it... Darcy just doesn't have very many friends."

Her voice is biting. "Naturally Darcy, great friend that he is, swoops in and talks his friend into leaving the girl. Just. Like. That." Lizzie shakes her head, scowl deepening. "I don't know which is worse... what Darcy did, or the fact that his friend actually listened," she says, disgusted, making it clear that she has lost some measure of respect for Bing. "Consider your future, Darcy said, and think about what's best for you. A little time, and you'll get over her because you weren't really that into her anyway," she continues, aping his language, expression, and even his voice without the usual props. Her jaw tightens. Her fingers curl and uncurl wildly in rage. "Because Darcy knows best, right?" Lizzie spits with blistering sarcasm, all in one breath, "He sees all and knows all, including what's in your heart, so of course he sees fit to interfere in his friends' love lives without asking like the older brother they never wanted!"

She sucks in a breath, ready to continue ranting about Darcy, but the moment is interrupted by two short, sharp knocks on the door. There is a kind of softness and hesitance to the knocks. Lizzie, who had previously been getting more irate and animated as she spoke, brightens and breaks out into a smile. "Charlotte must be back early," she informs the camera, all smiles. Lizzie raises her voice, addressing the door but not looking at it, "Come on in and say hi!"

The infamous William Darcy stumbles into frame instead of Charlotte. He is a tall, handsome man, fresh-faced and clean-cut, with dark brown hair and light eyes framed with dark lashes. He is dressed surprisingly formally, wearing a brightly-colored wool pea coat with the buttons undone, a green plaid scarf wound artfully around his neck over a blue-green sweater. A hat is visible, hanging out of the front pocket of said coat. He looks around the room like a stranger in a strange land, silently judging and taking inventory of Charlotte's guest bedroom and Lizzie's belongings. There is an agitation in the way his gaze darts around the room and in the restless way he carries himself. "Um, hi." His voice is somber.

Lizzie whirls around, eyes widening, at the sound of the deep and familiar male voice. She falls off her chair and nearly falls to the floor but manages to catch herself. Darcy takes a few steps forward, almost reaching out to steady her, but retracting his hand at the last minute. A flustered Lizzie straightens, now standing, and casts a furtive glance at the camera. "Darcy!" Her voice is almost an octave higher. "What are you doing here? In my bedroom," she continues incredulously, stepping back so that her back is to the camera, partially blocking him, though the audience doesn't miss the clearly panicked expression on her face in profile. "I'm, uh, kind of in the middle of something here..."

Darcy does not take the hint, if he even realizes that it's a brush-off. He grabs Lizzie's forearm, staring at her intently. Suddenly he has eyes for nothing but her, as if nothing exists in the room but the two of them. "I hope you're feeling better. Charlotte said you weren't feeling well, and that that was why you didn't come to dinner with us," he asks softly, clearly concerned. The words spill out of him hurriedly; he has clearly come all this way to see her. "We missed you." He gives her an intense, smoldering look that clearly conveys he means "I" not "we." Naturally, as with anything that may possibly display Darcy in a positive or sympathetic light, Lizzie fails to notice (albeit unintentionally).

Lizzie nods, eying him strangely, a bit put off at his seeming concern. "I am. I just had a headache, but I'm fine now. Thanks for asking," she says politely, finding it more of a strain than usual to be civil with him. Darcy nods back, seeming reassured and a bit relieved, but he does not let go of her arm, even when Lizzie shoots him a pointed look. She is clearly waiting for him to leave.

The tension rises as they stand there in silence. Lizzie looks uncomfortable, already drawing away from him, squirming a little. "Elizabeth, I have to tell you something. It can't wait," he proclaims in a low and strangely urgent voice. It is not a voice that leaves any room for questions or protests. Lizzie freezes for an instant when he says her entire first name.

Lizzie backs up, slipping out of his grasp and swallowing hard. "Um, okay. Shoot," she says, quietly trying to regain her composure and pretend as if nothing's amiss, as if he didn't just catch her in the middle of a video... and had he heard any of what she was saying about him? Her gaze briefly flicks to the camera and back again. After all, she can probably edit this likely pointless conversation out of the video later. There is a long silence, and Darcy restlessly moves around the room, going on and off screen and back again, trying to work up the courage to say something. Lizzie's eyes follow him, a curious look on her face. Whatever he has to say seems important.

Darcy shakes his limbs, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists, pacing with an agitated expression, for about a minute, though it seems to stretch on endlessly. Then, very suddenly, Darcy stops and pivots to face Lizzie. He takes a deep breath, and his voice comes out heavily, almost breathless as if he's been running. "I... I realize that we haven't known each other very long, and we don't know each other as well as we'd like to." Lizzie's brows shoot up at the remark, but she remains staring at him blankly, expectantly. "And what I'm about to say is completely crazy, and I may have lost my mind to even be saying it, but I, uh, can't help myself. And I need you to know," Darcy continues. Lizzie's eyes widen further.

He pauses briefly, swallowing hard and then taking Lizzie's hands in his own gently. Lizzie tenses at his touch but is too stunned to draw back. "You are the most enchanting and frustrating woman I have ever met," he said with a chuckle, picking up her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of her palm. His lips linger against her skin for a few moments, and Lizzie is too frozen with disbelief to do anything. "You have bewitched me," he added a moment later in that same, low, warm voice, bringing her other hand up to his mouth and kissing it too. His eyes remain on hers the entire time, his expression strangely intimate, like a caress. Lizzie is stiff and tries to avert his gaze, clearly uncomfortable with the intensity of the moment but still paralyzed.

"Strangely, everything about you only attracts me more." Darcy brings that hand, her left hand, over to the side of his face and rubs it against his cheek. His eyelids briefly flutter closed as he enjoys the feel of her skin on his, and it is all Lizzie can do to stare at him. "And I can't get you out of my head, no matter how hard I've tried," Darcy continues, eyes opening. He brought her hand down, away from his face, but he maintained a firm grip on her hands. "I have struggled with... these feelings..." He looks down, saying the word in a pinched away, as if still distinctly uncomfortable with the whole idea of it, even as his thumb brushes over the back of Lizzie's hand in a way that makes her shiver. "...For months, but I can fight it no longer."

His gaze darts back up to hers, and he takes a half a step forward. Lizzie swallows hard, very wary of what is to come next. "I must tell you how ardently I admire and... l-l-love you." It takes a while because the word sticks in his throat, but it finally comes out, and his entire being seems somehow lighter. His shoulders lift as if a great weight has been removed from them, and his face suddenly seems open in a way it never was before.

A reddening Lizzie gapes at him, speechless. She has not only not expected this, as Darcy seems to think, but she has never even seen this happening even in her wildest dreams or nightmares. She opens her mouth as if to speak, and, though her lips move, no words seem to come out. "You love me," Lizzie repeats dimly. It still hasn't sunken in yet. Darcy nods, and Lizzie stares at him, or, rather, the empty space just off to his right in mute horror. "You love me?" she asks a second time, unseeing. Darcy nods again, more vigorously this time, though his grip on her hands loosens. Lizzie's eyes close for a moment, and her hand goes up to touch her head as if she has a headache. "You love me?!" she asks, raising her voice in disbelief. She's having trouble formulating thoughts right now.

Darcy is very serious, but when is he not? The expression on his face is still remarkably open, but tighter, even as he smiles. His smile had widened a little with every recitation of his feelings on her part. "Yes." He fixes his eyes on her and stares for a moment, but Lizzie is looking beyond him, still uncomprehending, and doesn't see it. She can't believe any of this is really happening; it feels like a trick or a dream or something else totally unreal. Then Darcy takes a few steps forwards, quickly closing the gap between them. He slides a hand across her cheek, smoothing over her cheekbone and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, and then leans in to kiss her, tenderly at first. His eyes immediately slide shut, but Lizzie is unresponsive and wide-eyed.

Then there is a jump cut to a split second of them kissing with a bit more aggression (and, seemingly, tongue) before Lizzie regains her senses, opens her eyes, and pushes Darcy away. A somewhat substantial amount of time has passed, probably a few minutes. Lizzie's back is now pressed against the closed door, Darcy in front of her, his body dwarfing hers. Her hair is noticeably disheveled, falling into her face, and their clothes are somewhat rumpled. Both are breathing hard, and Lizzie has to push Darcy with a bit more force to get them to properly separate. "What the hell... was that?" Lizzie mumbles raggedly, trying to be angry, though it comes out more incredulous and awestruck because of her breathlessness.

She darts around Darcy, away from the door where she had been more or less pinned, once more front and center, trying to catch her breath but not daring to look at him. Once in front, she adjusts her sweater, still flushing, and tries to fix her hair. Her lips are noticeably swollen, her lipstick smeared, and her eyes feverishly bright. Darcy grins behind her, looking self-satisfied and particularly confident, licking his lips and turning to follow her. His scarf hangs loosely around his neck, his coat pushed back from his shoulders. His lips are decorated faintly with traces of a familiar gloss. His eyes are still a bit heavy-lidded, and he gazes at Lizzie for a moment in silence before continuing.

His gaze is the possessive one of a man who is assured of his prize. "You must be surprised... We are so very different. Your tastes and choices in life are so very different from mine, and we care about completely different things, and we would make no sense at all as a couple," he continues rapidly. Lizzie nods hesitantly, the look on her face betraying that she agrees with him on these counts but still doesn't entirely know where he's going with this. Darcy shakes his head before going on with a bit of a rueful smile, "You're unsuitable and immature and entirely wrong for me... not to mention what my family, friends, and shareholders will think of this and how choosing you will affect my life and my work... Logically I know all of this, but I can't seem make myself stop feeling this way." Lizzie stiffens, subtly moving away from him, the look on her face unreadable.

She is turning pale now, growing more composed. "I have suffered for months, trying to deny my desires. I have never been so conflicted, so confused about what I should do in my entire life!" The ghost of a smile passes across Lizzie's face; Darcy is becoming increasingly more emotional, his voice and gestures particularly animated, a confidence and growing stridency in his words. "So many sleepless nights I spent weighing my duties to my family and company against the strength of my feelings... I came here for the sole purpose of seeing you, Lizzie," he says, reaching for Lizzie's shoulder, his expression softening.

She tries to surreptitiously shrug out of his grip, but Darcy holds fast. She starts to frown, glancing pointedly at the hand. "And, now, when I think about all my objections, all I can see are your eyes... and you're worth it, all of it!" Darcy declares passionately. Darcy grins, moving in closer, reaching for her face, but Lizzie backs up and evades him, looking decidedly flustered. Darcy's smile falls a fraction, but he keeps talking, in raptures. "I never imagined myself with someone like you, but now that I've met you, I can't see myself with anyone else," he murmured, once again leaning in. He reaches down and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind her ear tenderly, his fingers lingering a few moments to brush her cheek. His expression is that of a man utterly besotted, a slave to his own feelings.

Shooting periodic shy glances over at her, he leans down a bit further to whisper in her ear, "I can... I can even see myself... marrying you someday, Lizzie." His voice is barely audible over the sound of Lizzie's breathing. Lizzie turns even more white if at all possible as Darcy says this, and she gapes at him for a good moment. Darcy takes her right hand again. "So, please, Lizzie, end my agony... Say you'll be my girlfriend," he entreats finally, eying her hopefully.

It takes Lizzie a few seconds just to process everything. Snatches of various words and phrases are running through her head—I love you, marrying you someday, girlfriend, different, struggled, bewitched, crazy, frustrating, suffering—it's all too much, and it makes her head spin. She's a bit dizzy from it all and still reeling. For Darcy, the silence drags on for what seems like a virtual eternity. And then Lizzie looks up at Darcy, watching her, and she sees the galling certainty in his expression, as if he doesn't think there's any reason why she can possibly say no to him, and Darcy's probably gotten everything he's ever wanted in life, and for all his talk of suffering, she doubts he's ever really suffered a day or known true pain. In that moment, everything about him revolts, and all of the pretty words have evaporated, leaving only the ugly ones and their unfortunate implications.

So she waits a little longer, 'til the words come, just to make him sweat a little, and then she lets the anger take her where it will. There is, really, only one word, but, as much as she means to say it, that is not what first comes out. She shakes her head, backing away from him and his grip, standing so that she's just out of his reach. "You don't love me, Darcy. You don't even know me, and I certainly don't know you."

Darcy frowns, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Did you hear any of what I just said? I have loved you for months, Elizabeth. I know what I feel." He takes care to stress this word, lacing his fingers together and twisting them nervously. His face betrays little anxiety, however. He opens his mouth as if to go on, to continue speaking of his love and feelings, but Lizzie cuts him off, unwilling to listen to more, to be paralyzed in a state of shock, almost entranced at his words.

"Oh, I heard you just fine. I'm just not sure what you described was love," Lizzie says in a voice as sharp as a razors edge. Darcy straightens, his frown deepening in further befuddlement, but she doesn't answer this unspoken question. She cranes her neck to look up at Darcy, briefly meeting his stare with a burning intensity of her own. "What did you expect me to say, Darcy? Thank you?" she asks, throwing up her arms. "I never wanted you to like me, and I never thought you did. I'm sorry to hurt you and crush your hopes... I certainly never set out to make you fall for me, and if I'd known, I would've done anything in my power to avoid causing you all that pain, struggle, and suffering." Each word drops as a bomb, one after the other, impressing him with the force of her bitterness.

Lizzie forces a mocking smile. She almost reaches out to pat him on the shoulder mockingly but manages to hold herself back. "I'm sure that time and distance will ease your wounds, especially since we never have to see each other again after this moment. All of your objections will more than help you get over me, I'm sure, and all your reservations will be great comfort when you think about what you're missing out on. Trust me, Darcy, I'm really not worth all that trouble anyway, and I would so hate to make any part of your life more... difficult and frustrating," she continues, her every word dripping with self-effacing mockery, still forcing herself to smile. She's trying to echo the very words Darcy had supposedly said to Bing to talk him out of loving her sister and wonders if he even remembers them.

Darcy, who has been resting against the stool Lizzie had previously been occupying, pales. He immediately shifts away from the stool, surprise and resentment flickering across his face. The struggle and strain of maintaining his poker face is visible in the tightness of his features, and Darcy, like Lizzie before him, will not open his mouth and speak until he has mastered himself. The moment of silence, that moment of waiting for him to speak, puts Lizzie further on her guard. He does not approach her, does not dare to come close, but holds himself back. "I told you everything that was on my mind, and you expect me to be satisfied with that? What kind of explanation is that? You not feeling the same is one thing, but, tell me, is there some particular reason why you rejected me with so little attempt at civility?" he says after a while in a voice that is just a bit too calm to be believed. "Not that it matters," he adds bitterly a moment later.

She scoffs, pointing at him. "Why don't you tell me why you chose to insult and offend me when confessing your supposed love? You chose to tell me you liked me against your will, reason, values, taste, and character... Am I forgetting any?" she replies. "Who does that?!" she adds a moment later, casting a fleeting glance back at the camera as she again throws her hands in the air, making a face. Then she turns back to Darcy, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Darcy's gaze falls briefly to her chest, but if Lizzie notices, she says nothing. "And you really don't understand why I wasn't thrilled at your little declaration?" she says sarcastically, fixing him with a look.

The more she speaks, the angrier she gets and the more out of control she feels. Lizzie takes a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heartbeat. "But that's just the icing on the cake. I have other reasons. You know I do." She stares him down levelly. "If I had feelings for you, not that I ever would or could, but even if I did, or if I was even indifferent towards you... How could I ever be with someone who helped break my sister's heart?" she demands, shaking her head slightly. Her bottom lip trembles a little at the thought of poor Jane.

Darcy stiffens at her allegation but does not deny it. He looks for a moment like he wants to say something, looking almost chagrined, but he doesn't interrupt her. "I have every reason to think the worst of you. My sister is a good person, and she and Bing were so happy together... Don't try to tell me that you weren't the little voice whispering in Bing's ear telling him that Jane didn't feel the same way, that he should just leave and forget about her. Put it all behind him and think about his future. You're the one who talked him out of having a long-distance relationship. You're the reason why they aren't together!"

She pauses for a moment, partly to catch her breath and partly to observe his reaction. He seems perfectly calm, breathing easy, his face untouched by any emotion so deep as regret or remorse, though she might've seen a flicker of something sad pass across his face. She gives him an indignant look, eyes narrowing, to which Darcy responds with a somewhat incredulous expression that is clearly put on, almost like he can't believe what she is suggesting, that it is all without merit.

Lizzie's nostrils flare, and she takes a step forward. "And, you know what's worse?" she begins, disgust heavy in her voice, growing louder, "My sister actually defended you whenever anyone had something bad to say about you. She tried to tell me you were just misunderstood, that you were trying to be nice, that maybe you were a different person deep down... she tried to convince me that you were actually a decent guy, gave you more credit than you deserved... and this how you repay her?!" The worst thing is that Lizzie knows her sister probably wouldn't even blame Darcy for this if she knew, probably wouldn't even be mad; she'd still be saying that he was a nice guy. "She cried her eyes out every night for a week after Bing left, did you know that?"

Jane had, unfortunately, been right about one thing; Darcy was, apparently, into her.

Guilt passes over Darcy's face at Lizzie's words, and he looks down, suitably ashamed but not wholly chastened. "Are you denying it, Darcy?" Lizzie repeats, her voice turning shrill.

His response is surprisingly tranquil. He shrugs and then replies, almost nonchalantly, "I'm not denying it. I did everything I could to keep them apart, and I'd do it again. Bing is my best friend, and I didn't want to see him hurt. I've looked out for him and his interests more than I have for myself." A fire burns in Darcy's gaze, though, a fierce determination to protect that Lizzie recognizes. Her shoulders slump faintly as she partially concedes him this point, that is, up until he went and insulted her.

Her eyes flash, and she takes a step nearer to him, her face contorting in rage. "You really are every bit as bad as I thought you were... But it isn't just that. I knew what kind of man you were long before that." Darcy's brows shoot up, silently challenging her to tell him what type of man he is. "I should've seen it coming," she muttered ruefully, looking at the ground. Even she hasn't wanted to think such awful things of him as she does now.

She seems to be faltering and is quiet in thought for a moment before her eyes widen in epiphany, and she seizes upon the half-formed idea that has just come into her head. "What about what you did to George, huh? How do you defend and explain that? How do you rationalize that, Darcy? Were you "looking out" for him too? Did he just not understand your master plan for him?" she continues accusingly, challenging him though this addition of George is little more than an afterthought. She is throwing everything she has at Darcy because she has no reason not to lay all of her cards on the table, not when he has insulted her so much. She's well aware that Darcy is bringing out the worst in her but doesn't care. "Why do you always have to be in control of everything?"

For his part, Darcy is largely silent, simultaneously admiring the way anger animates her features and simultaneously hating himself for it. He clenches his jaw at the sound of his old enemy's name. Of course Wickham has gotten to her with his lies and half-truths... and, what's worse, she's believed them! "George Wickham?" He spits the name, disgust marring his features. "You're very interested in his business, aren't you?" Darcy snaps, his cheeks reddening faintly in irritation and jealousy.

Lizzie's answering flush makes Darcy's jaw tighten even further. His expression begins to darken, to turn almost pained. She does not deign, however, to acknowledge the implication in his words. George Wickham is a bit of a sensitive subject with her now. "Who wouldn't be? Who wouldn't feel sorry for him after all he's been through?" she asks in a deliberately calm voice. She takes another step forward, uncrossing her arms and poking him in the chest to punctuate each statement. Darcy only flinches the first time. "You hurt him, made his life difficult, robbed him of what was rightfully his... You've done everything you possibly can to ruin his life! All because you were jealous! How pathetic is that? Darcy doesn't have enough of Daddy's love and attention, so you take it out on George?!" Lizzie sneers, shaking her head at him in revulsion.

Darcy goes very still at these familiar and still hurtful accusations. There is more truth to them than Lizzie knows. His hands clench into furious fists at his sides. "Oh, he told you about what I did to him, did he? How I ruined his life? Yes, his pain has been great indeed," he continues sarcastically, his voice heavy with contempt. He is silent on the latter, more insulting part. He and Lizzie have moved closer to the camera, and they are now standing a bit more than a foot apart, staring at each other.

"That's really all you can say? After everything you've done, you still have the nerve to treat him with sarcasm? To not feel any remorse for your actions?" cried Lizzie with energy, staring up at him with an indicting gaze.

Darcy halves the distance between them with one step, his expression more blazing rage than hurt. "And this is your opinion of me! That's what kind of man you think I am?! Thank you for explaining it so fully. By your account, my faults are grave indeed! But maybe you might've overlooked all that if I didn't hurt your pride by being honest about my feelings."

"My pride?!" Lizzie interrupts indignantly. She gives the camera an incredulous look; William Darcy is daring to lecture her on pride?

Darcy continues speaking as if she has not said a word, "If I had pretended not to have any second thoughts about the idea of a relationship with you, if I'd hid my struggles, if I made it seem like this was all in the heat of the moment... that I was blinded to your flaws by your beauty, by love... maybe you'd have given me a different answer." He shakes his head, looking down at her contemptuously, as if he's lost respect for her. "I thought you were the sort of woman who appreciated honesty."

Lizzie's lips form into a thin white line as she glowers up at him, looking for all the world like she actually wants to injure him and is so very close to doing so. She scoffs again in sheer disbelief at his nerve, but Darcy once again prevents her from speaking. His face is largely expressionless now, though it is clear this is taking a great deal out of him. "I'm not a liar or a flatterer. I'm not ashamed of what I said. It was the truth, even if you didn't like to hear it." Lizzie's eyes narrow, and she looks ready to argue with him, stepping into his space.

Darcy runs a shaky hand through his hair; the only sign that he is less than fully composed. He drags the same hand down his face, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose. "Could you expect me not to be embarrassed around the trainwreck that is your family? Your sister's a hot, shallow mess who dresses like a fourteen-year-old prostitute, and I've personally seen her try to play Whack-a-Mole with no less than six men on three separate occasions... including myself. Your mother is manipulative, ridiculous, and a horrible gossip, not to mention chronically incapable of living within your means... and your father, what? He just looks the other way, mocking his family and digging you all in deeper? It is no small thing for me to willingly associate with people so beneath me," Darcy snarls, his face contorting into an ugly sneer.

For a moment Lizzie just gapes, unable to say anything, stricken by the truth and shock of his words: her own worst thoughts reflected back at her. Lizzie has never been this furious in her entire life. Her entire body is taut like a wire; if it were actually possible, steam would presently be coming out of her ears. All that being said, however, Lizzie is trying frantically to maintain what is left of her composure to avoid devolving into a big emotional mess in front of Darcy. She is this close to losing it, and she can feel her grip slipping.

She's of half a mind to just slap him and order him out of the room, but she takes a deep breath first, closing her eyes and counting to five, her lips mouthing the numbers. She doesn't touch Darcy at all, though they're standing close enough now that he is only a few inches from her fingers. Lizzie shakes her head at him. "You are so wrong, Darcy, on so many levels, that you have absolutely no idea. The way you chose to tell me didn't do you any favors, but it did prevent me from actually feeling sorry for you, like I would've if you'd acted like a decent human being or at least been less of an asshole!" Her voice is resolute but it too, shakes a little, from rage and strain.

Lizzie sees Darcy start at this, sees his eyes widen faintly, watches a look of embarrassment and offense spread slowly across his face as he realizes the impact of his words. He hangs his head but says nothing. For a moment she falters, uncertain of what to say next, which of his many points to counter or address. Darcy has never been a man of many words, and this is the longest and most real conversation they have ever had. "You couldn't have asked me in any way that would've even made me consider saying yes," she continues disgustedly.

Whatever Darcy has been expecting, it certainly wasn't this. His expression is all astonishment and incredulity (with a healthy dose of mortification, and Lizzie's lips briefly curve upwards in satisfaction at seeing it, at having finally cowed Darcy's infamous pride. Straightening up to her full height and holding her head up high, she goes on, "From the very beginning—no, from just about the first moment—of our entire acquaintance, your manners... or lack thereof, your arrogance, your pride, your snobbery and condecension, and your selfish disdain for others... everything about you, really... made me hate you as I never thought I could hate another human being." She starts out calm but finds herself near shouting by the end as she pauses to take a well-needed breath.

Darcy winces at the word, eyes shutting briefly, but Lizzie doesn't notice, too caught up in giving him the dressing down he deserves and taking a bit of pleasure in it. She takes a half-step forward, wanting to hurt him, to twist the knife a little deeper, not that she's thinking consciously anymore. She makes sure their eyes meet when she delivers these last blows. "I could never in a million years see myself with you. I didn't know you a week before I felt that you were the last man in the world—no, the universe!—I could ever be prevailed on to date!" Lizzie snaps, raising her voice and making sure to enunciate each word so he'll hear her just fine. She's panting, sucking in great gulps of air when she finishes, practically hyperventilating.

Darcy stares at her for a moment in utter silence, swaying a little. He's wearing his best pokerface, though his shoulders have slumped, and he looks in every sense defeated. He continues to stare with an intensity so hot that it makes Lizzie's eyes burn. That's when she realizes how very close they are, when she sees his eyes drop to the lips that are still swollen, still reddened from his mouth covering hers. He smiles for a second at the memory, swaying forward almost like he's going to do something. Lizzie waits there too, watching, uncertain as to whether or not he'll dare to close the distance sometime. She doesn't know whether or not she wants him to make it. She has no energy left to fight, and neither does Darcy. It is so very late at night, after all, and they both should've gone to sleep earlier; that would've been better than this.

Darcy himself looks suitably disheveled, both from earlier and the evident emotional upheaval he's undergone in the past few minutes. Lizzie blinks a few times and then a few more, but she's been blinking almost frantically since saying that statement. The both of them are breathing heavy, clearly still agitated, but everything has been said and now hangs between and over them like a burial shroud.

His voice is low and quiet and breaks the moment of silence (as well as their stare) unexpectedly. "You've said more than enough, Elizabeth. I understand you perfectly." Lizzie smiles ironically; Darcy finally understands her, but he is still a mystery to her. His tone is formal, and he looks down, disappointed, his face twisting into a bitter expression. "This was a mistake," he mumbles almost to himself, in a voice so low the camera barely picks it up, frowning at his own stupidity. He slides his hands back into his pockets. For a moment he looks at her like he wants to reach out and touch her, to press her hand or pat her shoulder, but his hands stay in his pockets. "Forgive me for having taken up so much of your time." His voice is little more than a rasp, an empty husk of words now turned meaningless.

He looks fully chastened, drained of all the frustration and hot words so now there is nothing left but disappointment and sorrow on a very somber face, making him seem far older than his years. With some difficulty, he tears his somewhat glassy eyes away from her and turns to leave abruptly. "Goodbye." Lizzie surprises herself by opening the door for him and seeing him out, clearly in a daze. Darcy looks at her one last time over her shoulder, but by then Lizzie is shutting the door.

She shuts the door behind her, inhaling a breath that rattles through her as she rests her back against the door. She stares blankly into space before a moment, but then her eyes come back up to the camera. "What. The. Eff?!" She touches her lips disbelievingly. Her eyes are watering dangerously, her bottom lip trembling even as she swallows hard, trying desperately to seem composed. She looks shaken, vulnerable, and strangely young as she crosses her arms over her chest protectively, hugging her sweater. Then her knees give way, and she sinks, no, slides, down the door until she's mostly out-of-frame. Just the top of her head and a little more is visible.

She leans back against the door, breathing deeply, but she doesn't cry until Darcy leaves. Lizzie bangs her head against the door once, twice, three times, resting her fingers on her forehead, her thumbs on her cheeks. "Did that actually happen?" she asks herself in disbelief. A few moments later, a door slams in the distance; it's probably Darcy leaving like a bat out of hell.

Her head drops down into her hands, causing her hair to slide over her face like a curtain, obscuring her face from view. After a moment, we see Lizzie's shoulders start to shake and hear the beginnings of rasping, gasping sobs. Ugly tears, no doubt. Another substantial jump-cut, and Lizzie is now getting up, pushing her hair out of her face, and heading towards the camera. She locks the door as she uses it to help herself stand, clearly not up to facing Charlotte. We see one close-up of Lizzie's face, which is blotchy and tear-streaked, her eye make-up hopelessly smeared and smudged. The tip of her nose is red as she sniffles, and her lips seem more chapped. There is even a substantial flash of cleavage as she reaches over miserably to turn the camera off, and the screen instantly fades to black.

The credits and theme roll. The clip for the previous video shows Lizzie and Maria Lu, both in costume, acting out a scene from a dinner party. Lizzie is wearing her hair in a big, messy updo and is draped with big, flashy costume jewelry and a fake fur stole or blanket. Maria is wearing Lizzie's plaid shirt and desperately trying not to burst into laughter at Lizzie's impression of a self-important older woman. Astonishingly, the clip for the next video shows a very formal-looking and composed Darcy talking directly and seriously to the camera.

Then the screen fades to black, and the episode ends.