A/N: I'm delighted to share the beginning of this wild ride with you. Obviously this sequel isn't based on anything but my own thoughts, so if you'd prefer to stick with the more canon Fixing on the Hour, I totally understand! I'm writing from inspiration here, and we'll see how slowly or quickly that turns to actual plot. Thanks for all your support.

This is going to contain mature topics, just as FoTH did-I'll be sure to give warnings when necessary.

Chapter 1

"There are such beings in the world, perhaps one in a thousand, as the creature you and I should think perfection, where grace and spirit are united to worth, where the manners are equal to the heart and understanding." – Jane Austen, letter to her niece Fanny Knight

i.

"You can open your eyes now," Bing said, guiding her towards the mirror

Darcy had never been one for gasping. Instead, now, she was perfectly silent. The last time she had worn white—oh, but what did it matter? Never before had there been yards of lustrous silk and tulle. She lifted a hand that barely seemed like her own and reached, almost trembling, to lay her fingers against the strands of her mother's pearls—the only familiar thing she had.

Bing, of course, was beaming. She was in dark red—Eli had been strangely insistent on the color red being part of all this—and her curls were romantically swept up. Bing was beaming, and Bing was also starting to cry.

"Bing," Darcy said, rather desperately. Bing must not cry. Bing must not do anything so dangerously close to a rush of emotion, not when Darcy was teetering on an edge that she did not want to see.

"You're just so beautiful," Bing said, dabbing at her cheeks with the heels of her hands. "Ugh, thank goodness we used waterproof mascara." She beckoned to the photographer, and Darcy tried not to wince under a few more swift flashes.

"That's lovely," Bing nodded fervently. "These candid moments—Darcy, you're going to treasure them!"

Darcy nodded. Her breath was coming a little short.

Bing bustled about the hotel suite, snatching up Darcy's bouquet—red roses—and her own. "These are so much heavier than they look!"

Darcy put a hand on her chest. "Bing," she said, distinctly, "Would you—go get me some water? Please?"

Bing stopped short and looked at her. Her brows drew together but she didn't crush Darcy's finery with a sudden embrace as she normally did. "Yes," she said. "I'll go get you something."

She left, and took the photographer with her. Darcy looked around the room—too beautiful and impersonal, all prestige and no presence. Then she collapsed onto the nearest chair.

Her dress would be wrinkled. But that wouldn't matter, would it, if she couldn't even breathe?

Get up, her own voice snapped inside her. Get up, you can't do this now. You can't break down now. Not you. You're not the one who does this. Certainly not twenty minutes before you're supposed to get married.

Bing wasn't coming back. Darcy stood up and had to sit down again. She was panicking. This was a panic attack, one of those shameful, ugly, tearing things that had haunted her teenage years, after—and now, now, now—

There were tears starting in her eyes. Her heart was beating out of her chest and this just wasn't like her. She was in love. She had never been more in love than every new morning, every new day, knowing that Eli was hers forever.

No. This is something wrong with you. The diamond on her finger winked up at her; a modest diamond, all Eli could afford. She loved it because it was small, because it was a reminder that he gave to her all the things her own wealth could never give—perhaps even salvation from this, the binding, cloying chaos that seemed to be her own internal revenge for happiness.

Bing wasn't coming back. In a moment, Darcy realized why; Bing had sent someone else in her stead.

Specifically, someone who was going to be her husband in less than twenty minutes.

He didn't say anything for a moment, but she heard his step outside the door. She had it memorized, that easy walk of his. If his tuxedo trousers had pockets, no doubt he had his hands in them, elbows cocked, effortless.

Eli said, "Can I come in?"

"No!" Darcy said, and it was hoarse and rather sharp. She didn't want to sound weepy. Dammit, if her mascara started running, waterproof or no—what was happening to her? This was the happiest day of her life, and she was nearly on the floor, in tears.

"No?" Eli sounded taken aback.

"It's—tradition." Darcy sniffed. "I'm in my dress."

"Ah."

The bodice boning was too tight, bands of iron around her ribs. Darcy ran a hand over her throat, finger and thumb pressing at the points of tension beneath her jaw. "I love you," she said. "But I—I don't know what's happening to me."

"You only have to look at two people," Eli said. He could be gentle, and he was, now. She heard a shift; he was pressed against the door. "It's just me and Fitz. You look at Fitz, and then you just walk, and walk, and look at me."

"I'm not getting cold feet."

"How could you." There was a smile in his voice—she loved that smile, that voice. "You're marrying me."

"I can't seem to stand up," Darcy whispered. Weakness, all weakness. He hadn't seen this side of her, really, until now. "Eli, I think you're making—"

"Can I come in if I close my eyes?"

"You'd cheat."

"You wound me." The doorknob was turning.

"Eli!"

"You need," Eli said, nudging the toe of his shoe through the door, "To be kissed. That seems the only ready solution."

"I'm a mess," Darcy said. "You shouldn't marry me. You should marry Bing."

"James would be—very distressed by that turn of events." A pause. "As would I. Bing is—what's the phrase…a ray of sunshine. Turns out I want the storm cloud."

"The storm cloud is ruining her dress," Darcy retorted. She sniffed again, a little too loudly.

"I'm really coming in," Eli said.

"Wait!" That had Darcy on her feet, and oh, clever boy, he'd gotten that out of her. She wasn't shaky anymore, because she had a purpose. Before he could round the corner of the door, she had a hand stretched out. "I'm covering your eyes, because I don't trust you not to look."

Eli shut his eyes obediently under her fingers, but she still had half the effect of his rakish grin. "This really matters to you, doesn't it?" His arm came around her waist, holding her. Holding her up. "It certainly feels like a very lovely dress," he said, his hand moving lightly over her back. His voice dropped lower. "Though I'm much more interested in what's underneath."

"Just kiss me," Darcy said.

"I can't see, remember?"

"I'll guide you." Just like that, her voice had softened, and all the demons gone. Silenced, even for a moment. She lifted her chin, and with her other hand, the one that wasn't covering his eyes, she tugged him towards her. His hair was more orderly than usual, and she caught a whiff of that expensive cologne Fitz had pointed him towards. It was intoxicating.

Darcy kissed him, hard.

"Just what the doctor ordered," Bing said cheerily, reentering the room. "Now, come on, Eli. You have to get to the church first."

"It's right across the street," Eli protested, as Darcy pulled away and he reluctantly stopped kissing her. "Good God, Lee. Don't be a spartan. Just another moment—"

"Away with you!" Bing said. Bing, imperious. Darcy felt a laugh, unimaginable five minutes ago, rising in her. Bing and Eli together could set her right, if nothing could. Bing grabbed Eli's shoulders and turned him about-face, then pushed him out the door, while he continued to protest.

"Let's go meet Fitz," she said, and now she reached for Darcy, with all the warmth and understanding that made her what she was. "Come on."

Fitz was in the hotel lobby. When Darcy descended the main staircase, he cheered.

"Dorothy Jane," he said. He only called her that on state occasions. "You look like an angel, but I know better than to call you one."

"Didn't you just?" Darcy said. Bing, holding the bouquets, telegraphed nothing—even Fitz would not know that Darcy had been on the verge of an anxious breakdown just a moment before.

"Did I? You're the lawyer," Fitz said, and offered her his arm.

"No, Fitz," Bing said, overflowing with glee. "She's not a lawyer today."

ii.

"What did you do to your tie?" James asked. "Five minutes, Eli."

"First of all, you're being very—school-teacherish. And second, I didn't do anything to my tie." Eli tilted his head back so that James could adjust it properly, and then smiled wickedly. "That was all my future wife. Wanted to be sure my mouth still worked correctly, before we make it official."

James just shook his head. "Try to keep it together for the Mass, dude."

"Yes," Eli said. "Thanks, that looks right again. Well, hopefully I look good enough for God." He smiled, a little more wryly. Bennetts never placed much stock in religion, but Darcy did, so he was trying.

James smiled. Beamed, really. He and Bing shared that particular trait. "You look great," he said. "Eli, I just wanted to say—no, wait, let me say it, I'm so happy for you. You deserve this more than any of us. You deserve to have this big, glitzy wedding with her, because she loves you, and—"

"I'd really just rather you hugged me," Eli said. "But thank you. You know I don't really deserve it, and you know that Darcy is more—everything than I can ever be, and yet here I am. Having to fix my tie."

James ran a hand over his eyes.

"Better now than during the toast," Eli said, and they walked into the cathedral together.

Afterwards, of course, he would pretend to remember the artistry of the arches, the grandeur and the gold. But that day, none of it mattered.

Nothing was without flaw. Their lives, brought together, were built stronger by pain. Eli had spent a good deal of time, in a past life, thinking about the end of the world. At the beginning, now, he found that things still had to be carried. His family, in borrowed suits, looked small and out of the place in the front row, a keen reminder that he was out of place, here in this city.

But he wasn't here for a place.

Music, Darcy had told him, had color as well as sound for her. He didn't see the world that way himself, but there was something shimmering in the air when the organ swelled around them. And there was more than something in his chest when she came into view.

Darcy didn't look like any other bride. She was still grave, even stern, but only around the edges. All in white, with Fitz beaming beside her, Eli was overcome. He was a writer, but this could not be written. No talent, no tongue could shape this, which was enough for itself.

And, God love her, she was nervous. He could tell that from a mile (an aisle) away. She had been nervous when he kissed her with his eyes closed—his Darcy, as sharp and hard as steel to everyone else, was secretly capable of breaking.

If he'd had the right kind of father, no doubt that would be something he'd learned. That it was his duty, to keep her safe from the edges inside her. But he didn't have that kind of father. He'd learned from other teachers, and not before Darcy had been hurt.

He didn't deserve her. He'd meant that, when he said it to James. But Fitz was smiling at him, and so was George, from the front pew, and James was beside him, and Darcy—

Darcy loved him. As she came closer, he saw her face relax a little, and she smiled.

He wanted to kiss her, then. He wanted to take her away, where she wouldn't have to be under the eyes of the world, even though she was stronger in the face of that world than anyone he'd ever known.

But then again, there was the small matter of vows and rings and bells first.

It wasn't any tradition he knew of, but when she stood close enough, Eli reached out, took her hand, and didn't let go.

For a glad hour, he didn't have to think of his father, no doubt, grumbling and plotting by turns behind him, or the bitterness in his mother's eyes. He couldn't think of being fearful of the future; the present was enough, surrounding him, beside him, hand in his.

He said "I do," when it was his turn, but it almost seemed unnecessary. How could everyone not already know?

There was a wide glow of happiness around them. Outside it was late afternoon; the golden hours. They were in a city that was far too much for him, surrounded by a crowd far above his station. But Darcy was his wife, and Darcy was in his arms.

"I love you," he said. "That's what that whole thing was just about, right?"

"Legally, morally, or practically?"

"Truthfully," he said, and he kissed her again, on the church steps, in full view of the world.