you and i have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead

After the initial furor that succeeds Lizzie's announcement that William is going to stay for dinner, Mrs Bennet practically forces him into the seat at the head of the table and although Lizzie silently appeals to her father to remedy the situation the older man merely smiles, his eyes twinkling at her.

They eat chicken and drink wine and the Bennet parents (and Lydia) invent a new game that involves quizzing their dinner guest about almost everything under the sun, as well as offering sporadic reprieves of the grilling in the form of embarrassing (or entertaining, depending on who you were) anecdotes about Lizzie's childhood. Awkwardness tinges the meal, but there's genuine laughter and Darcy manages to prove his wit and when they're just finishing up the course, their plates down to dregs of food, he catches Lizzie's eye and she can read so much in that one look. Yes, her mother may be a little crazy and is refusing to call him by his first name despite many pleas to do so, and yes, Lydia is back to bordering on inappropriate with her euphemisms, and yes, Kitty attempting to steal food from his plate was a force he was not anticipating on having to reckon with, but he's here and he's happy and it's good.

Lizzie looks back down at her food with a smirk at that look, a buzz of contentment settling against her ribcage.

"So, what do your parents do, Mr Darcy?" Mrs Bennet asks, as a beat of silence draws out for just a little too long. Her wine glass is held high, almost level with her face. Her fingers curl around the stem, her pinky finger the one exception; it juts out and Lizzie has to resist the urge to roll her eyes at the ridiculousness of both her mother's question and pose that she's striking.

Then, she remembers.

The color drains from her face and she has to force herself to put her knife and fork down gently, because dropping them completely may ruin all semblance of etiquette that this dinner has managed to retain.

"Mom," is the warning that Lizzie gives, but her mother always expects such a reaction from her middle daughter and has perfected the art of ignoring it, thus rendering herself oblivious to the fact that the warning isn't to prevent her from being too overbearing but rather to prevent her from wading in over her head.

Lizzie had researched Pemberley before she had gone to shadow the company and it didn't take a lot of clicking on the website to locate a page dedicated to William and Anne Darcy. She'd visited the Memorial Hall, seen the plaque on the wall that proclaimed their names and the date that they died. It was a piece of information that she'd absorbed early on in her visit to San Francisco, another piece of information that had allowed her to see William F. Darcy from a different angle, in a different shade of light, but it hadn't been something that had been mentioned by either of them, nor by Gigi or Fitz. When Lizzie had been a visitor, an intern, a maybe-almost-friend, she hadn't felt as though she had the right to ask prying questions about life-changing events.

She's no longer any of those things, and that brings both excitement and anxiety to her chest in equal amounts. That one day she might earn the chance to hear the stories of the Darcy family tree is what she wants, almost more than anything, but she's aware that there'll be difficult moments woven through the tales. She's aware that she'll probably have to take his hand, shed some tears, experience an evening wherein she just wants to hold him close and never let go because (and he knows this better than anyone) life is short, too short.

She's not prepared to delve into those difficult moments here in front of her family during their first meal all together.

"You don't have to answe -"

Darcy shakes his head. His shoulders slumped infinitesimally at the initial question and Lizzie watches as he rolls them back to perfect posture and prepares to answer. "Unfortunately, my parents are..." - he pauses and Lizzie isn't sure he's going to carry on; she sits forward in her chair and begins to formulate a change of topic to make things easier, but then he lifts his gaze to meet hers and says the words that she knew he was going to say but that she has never heard him say up until now, and it takes her breath away for a fraction of a second because it's real and although she knew it was real before, now it's really real and she just wants to hug him because this should have been a conversation that they first had on their own, but her family is here and they're watching intently and - "...they died."

There's silence.

"Good one, Mom," Lydia mutters.

She can't completely wipe away her annoyance with her mother for asking the question in the first place, but Lizzie is almost proud of the Bennet matriarch in that moment. In an instant the theatrics, the pretenses, the ridiculous mannerisms are gone. On her face is a genuine look of sympathy, in her eyes is a growing realization that this man has had a life far more difficult than she first presumed. Her pinky finger is now curled in with the rest of her digits.

"I am sorry, Mr Darcy. I had no ide -"

William cuts her off with a protest. "You didn't know, Mrs Bennet. It isn't something I tend to... advertise."

"Of course it isn't! I just -"

"She wouldn't have brought it up if she had known," Lizzie interjects firmly. "And we won't bring it up again now that we do know, will we?"

Darcy sighs. "Lizzie, I don't min -"

"It's okay, you shouldn't have to talk about it if you don't want -"

"I certainly don't mind talking about my paren -"

"It's really rather personal -"

"Lizzie." This voice comes from her father, who has remained characteristically contemplative throughout the meal, only offering up slight teasing odds and ends when the mood takes him. The seriousness that has crept into his tone now takes her by surprise and she ceases her attempts to alleviate the tension in order to look at him. "Your boyfriend seems to have his own voice."

She blinks at the word boyfriend, her gaze instantly sliding to William to gauge his reaction.

As ever, he doesn't reveal much in his facial expression, but she can sense how painfully aware he is that the attention is piled upon his shoulders again. He clears his throat and averts his stare down at his plate. "I don't mind talking about my parents, Mrs Bennet. It was a long time ago."

It's hardly surprising that while he's given his blessing for the conversation to continue none of the people gathered around the table want to be the first to throw themselves back into it. Even Lizzie's mother, although clearly desperate to hear the full story, is holding back. It will have to be information offered rather than information procured.

"They, uh..." He falters over his words and although this is something that he tends to do rather a lot when in Lizzie's company, Lizzie notes that he has never done it quite like this.

Normally, he weighs up the value of each piece of vocabulary before speaking. He articulates himself well, holds himself proudly, and because Lizzie brings out a nervousness in him his carefulness with words is usually because he wants to impress. That isn't the case here and now and it's strange how even though she's certainly no expert in the ways of William Darcy, Lizzie can tell that this is new territory when it comes to their conversations. He's not hoping to impress. He's not nervous. He's stumbling over what to say because for once he doesn't have the words.

She wonders for a second if he's ever done this before, if this is a conversation he's ever had with anyone before - girlfriend's family or otherwise. All evidence would suggest not.

She just wants to tell him to stop, that it's alright, that he doesn't need to share this with them here. But she doesn't.

When he continues, he addresses the food on his plate - or that's where he's looking (though Lizzie would hazard a guess that what he's seeing is something far removed from the Bennet family dining room). "They got into a car accident. They were on a business trip, they were driving in the dark and..."

It's the first time Lizzie has heard any of this, even the most basic of facts of the event. She didn't know why or how or when or where and even though he's only answered a few of those questions Lizzie can't help but invent moments to fill what hasn't been said.

The obvious questions seep through first. How did William find out? Was he alone? Was he with Gigi? Did someone call him, or did someone visit to bear the bad news in person? She imagines the two siblings finding out, clutching onto one another like they were buoys in the ocean attempting to stay afloat. Gigi cries. Does William cry?

Once the gates have been opened for those thoughts, more morbid ones begin to surface. Did they die instantly? Did they get to say goodbye? Maybe William had to make a decision to turn off the life support. A hazy image of a funeral wavers in Lizzie's mind. Will has on a suit that's slightly too big, his tie is crooked, he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I am sorry, Mr Darcy." Her mother's voice snaps her back to the moment, away from her overactive imagination. "How... how old were you?"

William finally lifts his gaze to meet that of Mrs Bennet, his facial expression clouded and difficult to read. "I was a month away from turning twenty. My sister was thirteen. It was a long time ag - I'm sorry. Would you just excuse -"

He doesn't finish the question - does he have to? - but pushes his chair back and nods once, practically fleeing the room.

Lizzie remains rooted to her seat for a few of the moments that succeed his exit, her lips parted slightly, her eyes wider than usual. Her mind is racing with the questions she has about everything and she feels as though she needs to put the world on pause for a few minutes while she collects her thoughts, categorizes them, files them away in an order that makes sense and will allow her to call back on them when the time is right for asking those sorts of things.

In the end it's Lydia that puts things into perspective. A hard kick to the shin from under the table drags her gaze from the now empty doorway to her red-headed sister, who is frowning. "What are you still sitting there for, loser? He's not going to want any of the rest of us to go in and ask if he's alright."

"What do I say?" Lizzie asks rather pathetically, before she even thinks about it.

Lydia rolls her eyes, her mother makes an exaggerated hmm-ing sound, her father just watches her. No one moves to provide solid advice and she makes a mental note to thank them for that later, but that doesn't stop her from standing up and retracing Darcy's steps out of the room.

He's standing in the den, his hands in the pockets of his pants, looking out of the window at the pinkening sky. She knows that he hears her approach though she doesn't quite know how; when she reaches him, when she skates her fingertips over his back, when she presses her cheek into his shoulder and sighs, none of it elicits a reaction of surprise. It's like he's been waiting. She hopes that she didn't take too long.

"I'm sorry," she mutters.

"For what?"

"My mother," she says immediately, and then, quieter: "And your parents."

He drops his gaze from the view outside the window and looks down. "It was a long time ago."

"That doesn't change anything. I don't believe it does anyway. They're your parents and you're allowed to hurt for as long as it hurts."

"I don't have time for it to hurt."

"That's ridiculous."

"I had to take over the company. I had to look after Gigi. I had to finish college. I..."

"Are you telling me that you haven't had time in the past eight years to mourn your parents?"

"Of course not. I - I grieved. But it has been eight years. The grieving process is over."

Lizzie shakes her head. "There's no law that says that. The grieving process takes as long as you need it to take, William. Nobody would judge you."

He doesn't respond, but keeps his gaze fixed on the reddening clouds in the sky.

She wants to offer to listen - no. She wants to tell him to talk. Maybe not today, maybe not now, but she wants to let him know that one day she'll sit and he'll talk and he'll can shed some of that heavy fog that surrounds the memories of his mom and dad because she'll listen and she'll smile at the appropriate moments and cry at all the painful ones and he won't have to carry that weight anymore. Because that's part of being in a relationship, isn't it? Sharing some of that load.

She doesn't though. It feels too demanding, too presumptuous for a relationship that has been official for just over twenty-four hours.

William hasn't told his sister everything. Lizzie hasn't called Jane yet. Her viewers have only seen his torso on their screens; they know nothing of what happened next. She feels as though she has to be cautious, walking on tiptoes in fear of heavy footfalls rocking the structure of this brand new... thing that they're working on.

"You've done brilliantly, you know."

He looks at her now, his brow creased in slight confusion. "What do you mean?"

"You stepped up. You did everything."

"I had to."

"Would you have..." She trails off, wrinkling her nose. "Sorry. That would have been a stupid question."

"What was it?"

"I was... No."

He quirks an eyebrow.

"I was going to ask if you would have wanted a choice. But of course you would have. You'd have wanted the choice that would bring back your parents."

"I suppose, in a way, I was given a choice. Not in regard to their deaths, of course, but in how I wanted to proceed."

"What do you mean?"

"I could have signed the company over. I could have sold it. I could have told Gigi to go and live with Aunt Catherine. I could have stayed at Harvard instead of transferring to Stanford, finished my studies on the East Coast, moved at my own pace. I did have that choice. But it didn't feel appropriate."

"It didn't feel appropriate?"

"My father's company being run by someone else? My sister not being under my care? It didn't feel like it would be the right choice for anybody. So I transferred and I adapted. But I had a choice. And although things were by no means perfect, there isn't an awful lot that I would do differently."

"There are a few things that you would do differently?"

He pauses for a second, mulling the question over before he settles on his answer. "Perhaps slight things. I might have treated Gigi slightly differently, been less overprotective. In a perfect world I would have realized all of my character flaws before I came to Netherfield last summer so that the scene at Collins and Collins could have been prevented -"

Lizzie shakes her head at this, interjecting before he can finish. "That scene... was not one of my proudest moments and I'm sure when I look back on it for my thesis... But we're here now. Who was it that said 'I may not have gone where I intended to go but I think I've ended up where I needed to be'?"

William smiles, nodding as he angles his body towards hers. "Someone very wise, no doubt."

The dinner in the other room remains forgotten. They stand and stare out of the window, but neither of them are drinking in the scene that lies before them. Their thoughts are scattered elsewhere - hers to the future, of all the things they have left to say, and his in the past, of all the things he never got to.

"I'm sorry." She says again, at length.

"I know." He takes his left hand out of his pocket and loops it around her, behind her waist, finding her left hand and weaving their fingers together. "Me too."

This one was really difficult to write. On more than one occasion I thought about skipping it, leaving it until later, but the setting wouldn't have made much sense if I'd left it until later. As a result, it's not exactly how I wanted it, but if I re-read and alter and add anymore I think I'll go crazy...