Thanks so much for your reviews!

It has been a little over a month since I updated, but that was due to a raging case of holiday overtime

and writer's block halfway through the chapter

But!

Now that holidays are over, my schedule is back to normal

So

I bring to you:

Chapter 4

Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: If I owned Pride and Prejudice, I'd have had Mary propose to Collins right after Elizabeth rejected him. Since this did not happen...you get the gist.

"Did you see? Nicholas Darcy is at the track meet!" Tammy stood at the side of the track, sipping some Coca Cola from a bottle that was supposed to be holding my water. She was dressed in a horrifically odd sundress of red, green, and grey plaid with shoes that matched almost perfectly. It was revolting. I think that's why she wore it though. It was her great-grandmother's dress from the forties, and though it was almost considered a relic, it was a good piece of history to publicize for the town. Sometimes, you had to show the other townsfolk that you still had roots in the ground, otherwise the old bitties would start speculating on when you'd up and elope with some city Yankee boy from the north. It really killed the dating scene in town if everyone thought that you were a flight risk. I'd never worried about things like that before because I had Jane to do all of the kissing up and small chat for me, but for someone like Tammy whose mom was from –of all places to be from –California, she had to show that she took more after her daddy than her mammy.

I looked up from my stretches and scowled at her, more to make a point than to show true anger before I looked back down and pressed my hands into the rubbery track. My hamstrings sung with relief at loosening them a little more, and I stood up and twisted my core, relishing in the small pop that my back gave.

"So?" I asked, twisting the other way and attempting to pop my back once more. As I turned my head, my eyes briefly scanned the bleachers, finding my family first and then Nicholas Darcy second. He was pretty easy to find. Though he'd made some friends, Darcy was still a dark cloud in Barnesville. He was sitting in a group of other eighth grade jocks, but it was like he was distant, somehow set apart from them. He was dressed the same –even his hairstyle was the same gel-induced horror that all of the boys liked. And yet…his clothes were somehow nicer. His back was somewhat straighter. His posture was more refined, more…arrogant.

And he was staring right at me.

I scowled at him to make some kind of a point, and then I turned to see my family to make it look like I hadn't been staring at him. My dad sat with a book in hand and a straw hat to protect his skull from the sun. Mom sat next to him, ever the nicely dressed woman in a modest floral sundress and strappy sandals. Her own hat was tilted back so that she could better see everyone around her, her mouth moving a mile a minute as she turned and began whispering in Jane's ear, no doubt about Tammy's horror of a dress. Jane's head was ducked down modestly.

Oh, Jane. She really was a gem.

"So? He's staring at you, Leez! He's staring right at you. He's not even making some kind of show or nothin' about it! Justin just pointed out Sarah and her whore of a friend Samantha, but Nick is staring at you. Isn't that…how would I say…" Tammy tried to ponder up some word to represent her feelings on the matter, and I decided that her dreams would have to come to a squelching halt.

"Creepy?" I suggested, lifting my leg back and catching it with my hand, stretching it out slowly and carefully to loosen it up. I slid my fingers over the track spikes, touching each one out of habit. So far, I'd won every race when I'd touched each spike, and I wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

It's only weird if it doesn't work.

"Not creepy! It's so not creepy." Tammy finished her Coke and tossed the water bottle to the side, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "It's like…brooding. You remember that Twilight book that my sister lent me?"

"The one with the sparkly vampire?" I frowned, not sure why her thought had jumped to that book. I let my foot drop and I lifted the other one, stretching it as well.

"Yes! Edward! It was so romantic! But I think that's what I mean! Nick is so…brooding…so tortured looking. Like Edward!" She beamed as she made the connection, and I grimaced.

"…I don't think romantic is what I'd describe Edward Cullen as. I think I'd describe him as creepy. Like Nick Darcy." I ignored Tammy's gasp of indignation as I carefully touched each spike on my other foot and let it drop slowly, looking at the clock. I had ten minutes before I had to be at the racing block, and I looked at my coach and nodded to show her that I was paying attention. There was no way that I was going to lose.

"Maybe you should go and talk to him? For good luck?"

"I think I'd rather go and take a jump into the Okefenokee Swamp." I squatted and jumped experimentally, pleased to feel my legs moving through the action with no issue. I was officially warmed up and ready to go. Adrenaline was making my blood begin to race.

"Good luck, Aleze." I jerked my head to the side to see Darcy leaning against the opposite side of the fence, watching me solemnly. I looked at Tammy, but she was absolutely no use; she grinned in a discomforting way that made my adrenaline spike.

"I don't need luck." I replied, swinging my arms slowly. Darcy looked thoughtful for a moment before he nodded.

"No, you're very talented. I'm sure you'll do well enough on your own skill." I glanced at Tammy once more, but she was all smiles and twinkling eyes, and I knew I'd lost her. She was probably imagining Darcy as that tortured Cullen character she loved so much.

"Thanks, I guess."

"I've noticed that when it's something people really care about, they excel whether they mean to or not. Their passion is stronger than any skill." Darcy's usual scowl adorned his face, and he studied his hands intently, as if he found them lacking something.

"I don't know about that. Hannah Fletcher is really passionate about beating me, but I won't let that happen." I glanced over where Hannah Fletcher was busy lacing up her fancy new spikes, as if that'd help her. Realizing that I was staring, she looked up and, quite professionally, stuck her tongue out.

"I guess your passion is stronger."

"I guess,"

"Well! Aleze may be an awkward conversationalist, but I think now she's going to have to eat her words!" Tammy grinned and motioned to the clock, and I turned to see that it was time to step up. I leaned down and touched my fingers to the tips of my toes, just to be safe, and I shrugged the tension out of my shoulders.

"See you at the finish line." I said to Tammy, grinning. I could see Darcy staring at me out of my peripheral vision, but I was careful to not have to look him in the eye. With a confidence that I wasn't totally convinced of, I walked over to my coach and listened to her last minute prepping before I walked over to my spot, crunching down into my starting position as naturally as breathing.

Everything cleared away from my vision. All that I could see was a tunnel that took me from the start to the finish. I was aware of my smooth, even breathing and I was aware of my heart pounding strongly in my chest. There was the count, and then the faint pop of the gun shooting a blank. Before my brain could register it, I was already off of the blocks and sprinting as fast as my legs could fly, marveling at how they moved without me having to tell them to. My breath came in slowly, and I exhaled as I pounded down the track, unaware of anyone beside of me or behind me. All that I could see was the finish. The goal. The thing that I'd been trained for.

It was over before it'd truly begun, and it took an extra second or so for me to stop. I could hear people cheering as my name was called, but all that I could see was Tammy at the finish line, jumping up and down in her hideous plaid wedges and screaming at the top of her lungs. As my tunnel vision cleared and I took in a shuddering breath, I could also see Nicholas Darcy, seated in the stands, part of the crowd and yet not part of the crowd, watching me with the weirdest expression on his face that I'd ever seen.

Yeah, it was still creepy.

It was a letter. A crisp, white letter that seemed so clean and perfect, I wondered vaguely if he had ironed it to keep it so stiff. I could almost see him starching it, just to amuse myself, but thinking of him was painful. Before I had realized it, my hand was at the bump on my stomach, reminding me of why I shouldn't think about him. It was wrong to think about him. Why, you ask? It felt like someone was ripping my heart out through my mouth, that's why. My throat closed up on its own accord.

But who writes a letter? Writing was for those who were too dedicated for e-mail, too specific for text, and has a lack of balls for a face to face meeting. Stiff like the smooth, perfect letter in front of me. Who writes letters anyway?

He does. Nick writes letters.

I want to open it. I want to rip off the covering of it and smell his cologne that I know will be there. He leans over things while he writes you see, and it's like a part of him just bleeds in with the white sheets of paper. I love his letters. This one though… I'm not sure about this one. This letter makes the bump I'm carrying twinge uncomfortably.

I'm so stupid sometimes.

"Just open it." I goad myself out loud, knowing I'm alone in the house. Mom had dragged dad to the Harvest Festival, and Jane was no doubt meeting up with her date there as well. Kitty, Mary, and Lydia were visiting our grandparents, the last I'd checked up on them. My mind was distracted, leaping from place to place in an effort to stop myself from thinking about the damned letter that was wavering in my vision.

But I'm thinking about it anyway.

I reach for the letter, my hands shaking. I can't help but shake; I remember every word he's ever said, every sentence he's ever written. Alright, I know that's not true, but it feels like it. It feels like I could quote his interactions with me, as though I were writing a novel. I haven't seen him since that day at school, but I've thought about him. Stupid, right? Pathetic, I know. I don't want to want him, I don't want to think about him, need him… love him…

Savagely, I rip the top of the starched envelope open, tearing off the return address, knowing I wouldn't respond. It was probably false anyway. Why would he give me a return address? Stupid. He was always stupid. He was always mine.

No, not always. I wanted him to be, but no. I'm wrong.

The letter is long, longer than his other letters. His cursive is pretty and looped like he had all the time in the world to write this stupid thing. He probably did. His father was so rich, he could buy time if needed. He's Mr. Rich Boy, not a care in the world. Not like me. I feel my hand on the bump again. Stupid, silly me.

Please don't think this is how I want things to end. I laugh out loud at this. If there was ever someone that was the King of Awkward, it was Nicholas Darcy. He may have not wanted it to end like that, but that's what he was getting. As if he could change what he'd said? As if he could come back and continue on like he hadn't abandoned me? Even if he did come crawling back, I'd never take him back. I bite my tongue, forcing myself to believe that to be true.

You haven't really given me time to explain myself, like usual. Yes, yes I have. You just don't listen. What part of, "I'M PREGNANT!" is there to misinterpret? There's no misunderstanding when I've missed two periods. And twenty tests later, the green yes sign isn't turning any redder. Sorry. I wish. I really, really, really do wish.

But I want to say this to you: I love you. It may not seem like this now… I know you're shaking your head in disgust and disbelief… but please. Believe me. I throw the letter down onto the table in my anger, and it takes several seconds to attempt to calm down. Once I feel that I'm not going to do anyone any physical damage, I pick it up again.

If there's anything in this world that you can know for a fact, it's that I am irrevocably in love with you. Even if everyone else is telling you that I don't, and even if the sky is falling down…know that I love you. I laugh again, but it's a bitter laugh. Tears threaten to spill over, so I stare up into the light so that they painstakingly fade away.

I want to come back for you. I want to take you away somewhere, just you and I. I just…can't. I know that you're in pain…I understand how you feel. You really don't know. I can't believe he's writing this. I can't believe he's trying to explain to me why he's the way he is. Like he could help being horrible and abandoning? No, he can't help it. But I can help this.

Savagely, I tear the letter up before I can finish it, watching the starched white paper fall between my fingers onto a crisp white linoleum floor. I can't help him, but I can help myself. I turn and walk out of the room.

"I'll have a pint." Aleze sat down on the bar stool unceremoniously and looked at the bartender with something akin to a grimace. Charlotte shook her head and sat down beside her.

"You're in a charming mood tonight, Aleze." She informed her with a teasing grin. Aleze attempted to reciprocate it, but she found that her lips stopped halfway and refused to lift up any more than they'd already risen. With a sigh, she rubbed her forehead and leaned her elbows on the counter, taking the pint when the bartender slid it to her and lifting it in thanks.

"It's been long week, Lotte. And playing backup for Jane's date with Charlie…isn't my ideal Friday night, either." She sipped the bitter brew, but the odd taste and stench of British beer had long since stopped being so surprising for her. The outskirts of Barnesville was famous for its moonshine, after all. If she could handle her classmates using that as their beverage of choice through high school, then a simple pint was nothing to her.

"You're a good sister to be backup. Has she texted?" Aleze watched as Charlotte quickly asked for some fruity cocktail, and she glanced at the black screen of her phone.

"No," she replied absentmindedly. "She texted to tell me that they arrived at the restaurant, but nothing since then."

"That's a good sign." Charlotte winked.

"I guess…I'm really happy for her. But I don't want people to think she's only working at MadAds for her boss. She's talented, and I won't have anyone questioning that."

"I don't think that they would. Alright, well, I do think that they would. Some of those chits are awful, you know? But she was working there long before Mr. Bingley ever showed up to our branch." Charlotte grabbed her drink and took a large gulp of it before telling the bartender, "keep the tab open, will you?"

"It's Charlie, not Mr. Bingley." Aleze reminded her with a grin.

"Right, right! Bottom line, if this date goes well…then who knows? He could sweep her off of her feet and right into a marriage. Then it doesn't matter if she met him while working because the lucky dog will never have to work again!" Charlotte's eyes were gleaming deviously, and Aleze shook her head, laughing.

"They're only on date one. I don't think that things will go well if we start planning their wedding so early." She took another drink from the mug and studied the pale coloring of the ale inside thoughtfully. In truth, it had been an incredibly long week. While she hadn't had to deal too much with Nicholas, he'd been there. Every time Aleze crept from her office, she felt as though there were a target glued to her back and someone was aiming at it. People would delay her long enough in the halls that she'd see him passing by with Charlie, and there would always be that one moment where his eyes would pass over her assessingly before looking away coldly, as if expecting something and finding nothing of interest.

Jeez, and the stares. Though she could find peace in her office without him, she'd had to have some close quartered moments with him where she would have to edit and correct the layouts for the campaign. While she could keep her eyes glued to the computer well enough, every time she looked away from her work she would see him staring at her. It made her skin prickle with a temper she'd thought that she had gotten rid of years ago, and it made her distinctly uncomfortable. It'd gotten to the point that she felt as though she was having to physically restrain herself from lashing out at him.

By the end of the week, Aleze felt mentally and physically drained. The amount of self-control that she'd used had sapped her, making her want to lay on the couch and watch bad television until Monday rolled around again. And yet, with Nicolette that wasn't a possibility. She couldn't show that kind of behavior around her. It wasn't fair. It was already painful enough to look at her own daughter and see the face of someone else, but it was another thing entirely to take it out on her. If she was home, she would need to be engaging and do something fun with her daughter. So when Jane asked that Aleze go into town to make sure she had a getaway in case things went wrong, Aleze happily called the energetic high school girl down the lane that was saving up for college by babysitting.

And so, here she was, spending the evening with Charlotte and a pub, waiting for things to potentially go very, very right with Jane and Charlie, or very, very wrong.

"I think we should at least consider the possibilities. Like you said, 'all it takes is some juiced up jock deciding that a girl is hot enough for him.'" Charlotte grinned and turned around on her stool to study the crowd contemplatively. Aleze winced.

"I did say that. But Jane is smart enough not to rush into anything."

"I think she should rush. Something that big cities have taught me, you bumpkin country girl, is that life moves fast. Feelings move fast. You know she's interested in him, and I know she's interested in him. The whole branch knows he's interested in her. But does he know? By the end of this date, if there isn't already a plan for a second date…then she's failed. She should show more attraction than she really feels, that way he stays interested." Charlotte sighed dismally. "Or else, he'll move along to a girl that's more animated and overbearing."

"It's country bumpkin, not bumpkin country." Aleze replied, rolling her eyes.

"Eh," Charlotte waved a hand dismissively. "You know what I meant!" Aleze bit her lip and took another long drink of her ale, turning around on her stool to people watch with Charlotte.

"Something that I've seen, in my country bumpkin life, is that when you move too fast, you forget that the moment you have to stop, the rest of the world catches up and slaps you in the face. Jane should just take it slow and make it through the first date before she decides on whether or not she should even go on a second one." Aleze could see Charlotte shaking her head out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored it. Truthfully, she really was worried about Jane and the potential of her getting serious with Bingley, but it was more than just worry of their moving too fast. A worm wriggled in her gut, and she tried to push the niggling apprehension of having to see Nicholas Darcy more than just in the workplace. She didn't know if her nerves could handle having to deal with him in a social setting.

"You're so cautious sometimes. I forget that you're only twenty-one." Charlotte teased laughingly, finishing her drink and waving for a second one. Aleze grinned dryly.

"More hesitant than you at your tender age of thirty." She retorted with a laugh. Charlotte slapped a hand over her heart dramatically and groaned, leaning back against the counter.

"Right in the heart! You're right…I'm an old maid. Maybe Charlie Bingley should stop this date with your sister and marry me instead."

"As if age matters." Aleze rolled her eyes and finished her drink, setting it back onto the counter. The bartender dutifully refilled it.

"It does, you know." Charlotte's lighthearted tone suddenly became serious, and Aleze looked over in surprise. Charlotte's eyebrows were furrowed, and her lips turned down in some sort of grave thought.

"I don't see how."

"Of course you wouldn't. You're only twenty-one –you're young! I mean, your story is amazing. You had a kid. You could have dropped out of school. You could have barely graduated high school and moved into a double-wide –is that what it's called?" At Aleze's amused nod, Charlotte plodded on. "Right then. You could have lived with your parents and died, old and bitter and a coke addict with a kid that would eventually repeat your life and die old and bitter, too. But you didn't. You had your kid, took classes over the summer and additional ones online and graduated a year early. That should be enough to show a great success story, right? But you didn't stop there, Aleze. You also took enough early college courses that you caught the eye of not only your stateside Universities, but you caught the eye of schools on our side of the pond, too. So you moved over here with your sister that was with you every step of the way and ended up graduating from King's with your degree in only three years instead of the usual four.

"And did you stop there? Bollocks, of course you didn't! Not only did you land an amazing job at MadAds, you climbed the managerial ladder up to the head of the Editing department in less than a year." Charlotte's voice was absolutely dismal as she stared into her drink and downed it without a second thought. Aleze felt a stab of guilt.

"It didn't hurt that out of the other two that applied, one ended up being fired for testing positive on the drug test, and the other had a nervous breakdown." Aleze grinned, nudging Charlotte lightly, but her friend didn't respond immediately. When she did, her eyes were glassy.

"Not only that, you did it while raising a child. And she's turning out to be a beautiful, beautiful girl, 'Leez. What sort of story do I have? I'm thirty. I haven't had a boyfriend in over a year or so, and I don't have any hope of a promotion anytime soon. I had what seemed to be the perfect life for marrying young, settling down and not having to work, but somehow it's all become so botched up that I don't think that I'll ever have the chance to have that life. They say, as you get older that the percentages of marriages drop drastically each year. And it's just…bloody well depressing." Charlotte's eyes dropped down to her fingers, and Aleze looked down to her own bare ring finger. It was painful to hear Charlotte talk like that, romanticizing her actions like she was someone to admire and look up to.

How would she feel to know that Aleze only did those things so that she could put her past behind her and find a place that Nicholas could never possibly see?

"Well, I haven't had a relationship in over five years." Aleze finally replied, glancing over at Charlotte, a small smile playing about her mouth. She was relieved when Charlotte smiled in return and sighed, turning back to face the bar with her back straight.

"Then let's have tonight be a night for the ladies! Our Jane is off romancing a man, but the two of us are single and have the entire evening for us! Another round?" Charlotte looked expectantly at the bartender and smiled flirtatiously, her grin positively curling as the bartender began mixing another drink.

"What are you thinking, Lotte?" Aleze asked warily, studying her friend's profile. Charlotte glanced over and winked.

"Let's have a bar crawl."

Lights were flashing, and music was pounding. From one moment to the next, Aleze could barely keep up, let alone understand everything that was going around her. She would blink, and suddenly they were at a completely different bar with different people and different drinks. The music was loud, the people were louder, and Charlotte was in her ear every step of the way, cheering them on. Aleze forgot why they were even cheering in the first place, but the alcohol in her stomach and the lightheaded feeling in her brain didn't allow her to dwell on it for too long. All that she knew was that the stress, anxiety and anger that she'd been feeling were peeled away like dead skin, and she was actually enjoying herself for the first time in what felt like years.

She wasn't sure when they transitioned from pubs to actual clubs, but next thing that she knew, she was on the dance floor with Charlotte and they were having a grand time. She was coherent enough to check the time and see a message from Jane saying that the date went well, and after several botched attempts she was able to send a message back saying that she was staying out with Charlotte for the night. She'd nearly dropped her phone when it buzzed in reply, but Charlotte managed to rescue it and that was the last that Aleze saw of the damn thing.

"Another round?" Charlotte shouted in her ear, grinning wildly. Aleze shrugged, but at Charlotte's hungry expression she began nodding along, following her to the bar and nudging around the crowd to get to the front.

"A long island iced tea?" Aleze requested, the words heavy on her tongue. Something about it was funny, and Charlotte nearly fell on top of her, laughing.

"You yanks and your tea!" Charlotte joked, waiting on her own drink. Aleze felt dizziness swirling through her veins, but confusion worked its way to the forefront of her mind.

"Wouldn't that be a British thing? We threw your tea into the ocean."

And then they were laughing and dancing on the floor, Aleze having no recollection of ever moving her feet in that direction.

At some point in the night, she had a vague idea that she should stop drinking so much, but it was hard to resist Charlotte's cries for more. Maybe it was the fact that once she'd started, she found that she didn't want to stop. Maybe it was the guilt that she'd been able to do well in her desires whereas Charlotte struggled with something she'd thought would have come easily. Maybe it was nice to just let the stress roll off of her like a wave and not come crashing back. Whatever it was, she just let the music, the booze, the laughter, and the people throw her whichever way without complaint until Charlotte made the mistake of having one shot too many.

"I think I'm gonna be sick." She slurred into Aleze's shoulder, her legs wobbling. Aleze could barely concentrate to understand what she was being told, but as Charlotte stumbled and painstakingly worked her way to the door, Aleze felt that it was her sovereign duty to follow her and make sure she got there alright.

And when she blinked, she found herself outside with Charlotte, patting her back comfortingly as her friend puked up the entire night's haul with fervor. A couple of people made faces of disgust as they walked by, but it was easy to ignore. It was easy not to focus on anything, really. Her mind was swirling too quickly for her to catch it and reel it in long enough to pay attention.

"Thanks for that, mate." Charlotte murmured once she was done, wiping her mouth and leaning against a trash bin. Aleze nodded along amiably, but then her head began swimming and swirling, and she had to stop nodding because all of the nodding was making her think that she was falling over.

"What are friends for?" She finally managed to say once the sidewalk stopped sliding by.

"They're for holding your bloody hair back as you're puking, that's what." Charlotte retorted, pulling a napkin from her mouth and wiping her mouth a little more thoroughly.

"That's what Tammy said back in high school. I remember, we went to this party that everyone that was anyone went to-"

"And you were invited?" Charlotte snickered and slumped down onto a bench beside the road, holding her stomach gently.

"Well, yeah, actually –actually, I was invited because someone liked me, though I didn't know at the time. But Tammy and I were invited, and we went to the party. She saw her ex-boyfriend making out with someone, and she just got so pissed that she started drinking a lot, you know? And I was mad because I realized why I'd been invited, and I'd gotten into a huge argument with-" Aleze stopped herself, her words stumbling past her lips and jamming into the air. Panicked, she sucked air back in in hopes to pull the words with them. She glanced at Charlotte, lips pursed.

"What?" Charlotte asked, clearly not realizing the catch in Aleze's story. She burped delicately and waved at Aleze to continue.

"Well, I'd gotten into an argument with some idiot, so I'm stomping around, trying to find Tammy, and she'd been out on the patio, puking into Mrs. Long's azaleas. Everyone was laughing and pointing, so I walked over and pushed them away and grabbed her hair. When she was done, she asked me what took so long." Aleze grinned and sat down, her trembling legs not really able to hold her up anymore.

"As she should have." Charlotte nodded along.

"Your welcome,"

"I did say thank you!"

"You did,"

"Was that not enough? Should I say it again? Thank you, A-"

"Aleze Bennett."

Aleze wasn't able to remember much of the evening. She couldn't have said how many pubs she visited and she couldn't have mentioned the number of drinks she had. But what she could remember was that when a cool, distinctly arrogant voice sounded from behind her, it wasn't a question when they said her name. It was a statement, a direct tone that said that the man speaking didn't have to question whether or not it was actually Aleze Bennett. He knew, and he was letting her know that he knew.

Or it could have been the alcohol saying that. At that moment, she wasn't entirely sure.

"Who's calling your name?" Charlotte turned around slowly, but Aleze already knew. Her skin was clammy, and she could feel that dread that always came creeping up whenever he spoke. It didn't help that the sidewalk was spinning again, but Aleze figured that it was because she was standing up and turning around too quickly, not because of the hateful, conceited man that was standing behind their bench.

"Mr. Darcy."

"Mr. Darcy!" Charlotte stood up and leaned against Aleze for support, smiling prettily. Her flushed skin, if possible, darkened.

"…I was just at dinner." He said, and his pale eyes stared Aleze down. Aleze nodded slowly, unsure as to why he was telling her this. Had she asked? She couldn't remember.

"We were just out having a few drinks! How about you join us?" Charlotte's voice rose an octave, and Aleze winced, whether at her voice or her suggestion, she couldn't say.

"…I…I suppose…" his voice trailed off uncomfortably, and the coil in Aleze's gut tightened.

"I need to go home." She blurted out, looking at Charlotte.

"You can go home after!"

"The drinks are on me. It will be my treat." Aleze glanced at Darcy's face as he spoke, and she let out a small bubble of uncomfortable, dizzying laughter.

"As much as I'd love a free drink, I do need to get home."

"Come on, Aleze, you can go home after!"

"No, I really need to get home now." Aleze glanced at Charlotte in what she hoped was a needy way, but she wasn't sure exactly the sort of expression her face was making. Why had she decided to go drinking? This was a bad, bad idea.

"Then at least let me take you home." His tone was purely professional and monotone. Charlotte let out a small wheeze of excitement, and Aleze felt her wrap an arm around her shoulder.

"That's nice of you, Mr. Darcy! It'll save money on the cab."

"I'm sure,"

Aleze wasn't sure exactly what happened, but somehow she found herself helping Charlotte into the back of some fancy luxury car and buckling her in, nearly falling over in the process. When she righted herself, she found that Darcy was already holding the passenger door open for her, and looking none too enthused about it.

"Thanks," she muttered, sliding in and buckling herself in. Darcy didn't reply, but she saw a slight jerk of his head in acknowledgement, and she sighed quietly to herself. If Jane didn't fall off of the bed laughing about her deciding to get smashing drunk, she was going to laugh about who they ran into while smashing drunk. She laughed quietly to herself.

"What's so funny?" Charlotte asked from the back.

"Just a saying my dad always said: 'if you're looking to avoid something, best bet that it's going to find you.'"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Nothing," she sighed.

Darcy slid into the driver's seat and started the car, glancing in the rear view mirror to look at Charlotte.

"Who lives closer?"

"I live about four blocks that way, and Aleze lives on Miller." Aleze was surprised that Charlotte remembered where she lived, let alone where her own home was. Maybe in puking her guts out into a trash bin, she wasn't so drunk anymore? Aleze debated whether or not she should also throw up, but as the car started moving, she quickly scratched the idea out of her mind. Things with Darcy were already unpleasantly tense; puking in his car would most certainly make it worse.

"If you need to throw up, I can unroll a window." Darcy's sudden statement startled her, and she turned her head to look at him. His brow was puckered in discomfort, and he reached to the panel beside him and pressed a button. Aleze heard the smooth sliding noise of the window rolling down, and the cool wind from outside brushed against her clammy neck.

"I'm not going to throw up." She stated firmly, laying her head against the door. Darcy grunted in acknowledgement. There was a moment of severely uncomfortable silence, and then,

"What were you doing on this side of the tracks, Mr. Darcy?" Charlotte piped up from the back. Aleze snuck a glance at Darcy and saw his jaw clench uncomfortably, as it often did when he was supremely bothered by something. Aleze could hazard a guess or two as to why he was bothered.

"I had a business dinner that ran late." He replied in his low, clipped tone.

"Until two in the morning?" Charlotte sounded incredulous.

"It did run late."

"Well, that must have been some really nice business." Was it Aleze's imagination, or did Charlotte sound suggestive and smug? She rubbed her head slowly to ease the tension. She must have been hearing things.

"I suppose,"

"This is a really nice car, too! Isn't it a nice car, Aleze?"

"It is," Aleze mumbled in reply.

"It's a Lincoln. From the states." There was a note of pride in his voice, as if he'd personally brought it over from the states himself. Aleze could guess a ball park salary, and deep down she knew he could have afforded to bring it over personally, if he wanted.

"From the states? What's with you yanks and having to have everything 'American made,' and 'American muscle'? We've got some decent cars here, too!"

"You said it yourself, Charlotte. It's a nice car." Aleze wanted to curl up and die.

"We're here." Was all that Darcy said.

"Right then! Thanks for the ride, Mr. Darcy. Have a good night, 'Leezy!" Charlotte stumbled out of the backseat of the car and leaned into the window of the passenger seat, grinning brightly. "We'll be back at the old grind on Monday morning, 8 o'clock sharp!" Aleze slumped down into her seat with a small grin, hardly able to stop herself. Charlotte was Charlotte and she wasn't going to ever apologize for that. As they pulled away, she leaned her head out of the window to make sure that Charlotte got inside safely, and to cool the heat that was rushing to her face and neck. Maybe she was about to puke.

"Miller, then? Which number?" Darcy sounded uncomfortable, and curt. Aleze pulled her head to reply, and then her head was hanging out of the car once more, enjoying the feeling of the wind in her face. If she was going to puke, she prayed that it was when Nicholas Darcy wasn't around.

"Is…Jane watching your daughter?" At his sudden question, Aleze looked back into the car and frowned, anger sparking.

"She is now. Earlier, there was a baby sitter." She replied reluctantly. At his slow nod, she shrugged and looked outside once more.

"That is good to hear."

"Yes," she agreed dryly.

"I didn't mean to be rude. I wouldn't suppose that you'd ever leave her alone at home, of course. I was just curious." There was an uncomfortable note in his voice, and Aleze noticed that his hands were clenching the steering wheel tightly, almost as if in an effort to grind it to dust.

"That's incredibly polite of you." Was all that she could think to say. When he didn't reply with another nosy question, she stuck her head out once more to let the wind cool the blood rushing to her cheeks, relief pouring through her bloodstream as she saw him pull up to her house slowly. With an energy she didn't know she had at such a late time at night, she unbuckled herself and flung her body out of the car, closing it and letting in a deep breath of fresh air.

"I'll walk you to the door." Darcy informed her, stepping out of the car as well.

"I think I'll manage from the sidewalk to the door, Mr. Darcy. Thank you, though. And thank you for the ride." Aleze glanced at him and then turned, walking towards the door with a purpose to her step. She was almost free. She was almost home. She could crawl into bed and wake up with a grueling hangover to remind her why she should never listen to Charlotte, and she wouldn't have to see Nicholas Darcy until Monday. Hell, if she was careful, Tuesday. She wasn't going to push her luck and hope for Wednesday, but there was still part of her that wanted to hope that something like that could happen. He would get back into his fancy luxury car and drive away, and maybe she wouldn't have to see him until Wednesday.

As she reached the door, she discovered that Jane had locked it, unsurprisingly. Jane was the cautious type that locked the doors, windows, and air vents at night. With a mumbled curse, she began digging through her purse in an attempt to locate her keys. Triumphantly, she pulled them out and stuck them into the door, relief bubbling up as freedom was near.

"Aleze."

She paused for a moment, and it was a moment too many. She glanced back and realized that Darcy was standing less than a foot away from her, and he looked to be in some sort of pain.

"Are you okay?"

"I need to…I need to speak with you." He frowned severally, as if the idea disgusted him.

"Mr. Darcy, I need to go to bed." Aleze shook her head as he opened his mouth to object, and she sighed. "Even if you had something incredibly important to say, I'm not in the right mindset to hear it. So thanks for the ride, and have a good night." His lips curled in on themselves, and he said nothing else. Triumphant once more, Aleze turned back and jammed the key into the lock, twisting it and opening the door, surprised to see Nicolette standing poised in the doorway, ready to open the door.

"Nico?" She questioned quietly.

"I heard voices, and I heard your voice, mummy. So I thought you lost your key." Nicolette's hair was a frizzy halo about her head, and her eyes were positively drowsy. Back behind her, the TV was buzzing quietly, a sure signal that Jane had spoiled Nicolette far too much with cartoons since Aleze wasn't there to put her foot down.

"I didn't lose my key, darling. See? Here it is." Aleze took the key from the door and stepped in, hanging it up on the hook as she did so. From behind her, she heard a strangled, gurgling noise that was about the equivalent of a drowning cat, and, incredulously, she turned around to see Darcy standing on the stoop, shell-shocked.

Aleze was tempted to say something incredibly biting and sarcastic, but stopped when she saw the look on his face. Nick became void of all movement and cruel facial expressions. His eyes became glassy, his face contorted into pain. Aleze was almost concerned when his hand flew to his chest, his breathing erratic. He wasn't looking at her though; he was looking past her. Turning slowly around, Aleze saw what he was staring at.

"Mummy, who is that?" Nicolette asked curiously, blue eyes matching the ones staring at her so painfully. She was frowning slightly, jutting her lip out and putting her hands on her hips, much like Aleze would, but the stare from a completely different face.

"Nicolette… this is Ni- Mr. Darcy." She hoped her words were slurred enough that Nicolette wouldn't be able to tell she had almost called him by his first name. Leaning back against the door, she held onto her breath, almost feeling faint. "He works with my boss." She continued to talk, not caring how stupid she sounded. Dazedly, she looked back at Nick.

He was staring at her strangely, half glaring but half pained, like it was a physical ailment to look at her. He was almost slack-jawed, and it was a little refreshing to see him speechless and idiotic looking for once. He didn't seem to mind the cool air or the awkward silence as he stared Nicolette down uncomfortably. Either that, or he knew and couldn't be bothered to care.

"Well, what's he doing here?" Niko asked bluntly, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow. Her dark curls were pulled away, but one glance at Nick told Aleze that he was comparing her to the both of them, taking in every detail he could. Why he wasn't saying anything, she didn't know. Didn't he want to explain himself? Or at least respond to Nicolette's question?

"He was giving me a ride home from the business dinner I had to go to." Aleze was surprised how easily she could lie to her daughter, but then again, she was also lying about who he really was. Surprised at how calm she was able to act, Aleze turned to say something to Nick when she was struck dumb, once again.

He was gone.

I'm running blindly; I can't see where I'm going. The pavement is disappearing beneath me like I'm running in mid-air. No matter how fast I run though, it all looks the same. All I can see is her face, her eyes, her hair, her lips, her-

And then the smaller one, with eyes just like mine, peering up at me suspiciously. Her eyes are almost intimidating; dark eyes that stare through someone, not at someone. How can I stay there long, looking at those eyes that accuse me without realizing it? How am I supposed to make things right, staring at the face of someone I should know and help raise and love, but can't? Why can't I?

I shouldn't care. I should have moved on years ago, and keep moving. But like my situation now, no matter how far I go, nothing changes.

Oh God, how am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to make this better? The way both of their stares mock me, one's very existence my fault. Why did she keep it? Why did she put herself through the pain of being alone, all of these years? Pure, agonizing guilt sweeps through me, and I'm almost knocked down by the thought of her being completely, utterly alone.

The way her shoulders stoop drive me crazy. Is she weighed down too much? Can she handle what's happened? How is she supposed to go on?

Her eyes. Eyes just like mine. Brooding, angry, confused and wary. My eyes, her hair, my nose, her mouth, her hair, my height. The girl is tall, taller than an average five year old. Did she know, the little girl with my eyes, that I celebrated her birthday every time it came around? No, she doesn't know. You could see it in her eyes, eyes like mine… she doesn't know me; not like she'd want to. If she did, what would she do? Does her mother know that I thought about her all the time? Does she know that I know the date of our daughter's birthday? That I wonder how happy they really are?

No, she can't know. If she did, I'd be able to see it. All I can see is hatred. All I can see are eyes like mine, staring up at me like I did when my father brought his first date home after mother died. Angry, confused, suspicious, hurt… oh God.

This is torture. Simple, pure torture.

They don't understand this. The way she looks at me; angry, challenging, fierce and proud… it's already tearing me apart. She acts like she never knew me… like she never knew I loved her… she can't think that, can she?

Of course she can. She has a new life. Did you see the way she looked at her daughter… my daughter…full of love and devotion. Nothing I could ever conceive the way she could. I didn't see her first smile; I didn't hear her first laugh. I didn't know the first time she spoke; I didn't help her chase away monsters under the bed.

In no way should I be able to look at her without feeling the way I feel. I shouldn't have to hear her cries in my ears as I run farther and farther away, but I still can. I can almost imagine her slumping to the floor, folding herself up and letting the tears fall. What am I doing? What have I done?

Why does she have to look like me? It was a mirror of a different life; I can't face it. It's like falling into the past and facing the future. I don't know how I'm supposed to see any one of them now.

I feel sick and twisted; what did I do to her? Part of me is screaming and falling farther and farther away, but the other is digging his heels into the ground, fighting with all of his will. I keep running, my feet hitting the pavement like a bass pounding the blood in my veins, rushing back and forth, reminding me with every step I take that she'll never be mine. Everything I've done is coming back to haunt me.

What am I even doing here? I hate it here, why is she the one to remind me that? I'm not ready for these obligations… neither was she. All I can see is caution and hesitance as she tries to explain just who I am. Who am I? A guy from work. Am I important? No, Nicolette, no he's not. Nicolette… a name like mine. Was it on purpose that she's named after me? Was it by accident that when I blink I see her eyes reflecting the look of utter shock on my face as I stare stupidly at the one thing I was never prepared to see?

What am I doing? Running farther, running faster, I must look like an utter idiot all dressed in fine clothing but sprinting like I'm scared of something.

Am I scared of something?

No, a Darcy can't be scared. It doesn't matter that her gaze alone scorches me; it doesn't matter if her daughter's… our daughter's eyes reflect my own. I'm not scared of what I've done.

Then why can't I stop running?

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