"We'll get you on the next flight out."

"No, no, I -"

"I insist."

Lizzie gives in, her sentence unfinished. Still, she can't stop the selfish thought from flitting across her mind: No, no, I don't want you to do that. I've never been on an airplane before, and I don't want my first time to be now, during something like this.

When Lizzie was young, family vacations had generally involved long and uncomfortable road trips to their aunt's house in Flagstaff. But she and her sisters daydreamed about fantasy trips to faraway places. They'd sit in the backyard during summer and describe long, luxurious itineraries to one another. Lizzie took them on safaris; Jane always picked Paris. Lydia changed her answer every time.

On the phone, Charlotte had said that no one could find her. Lydia could be anywhere right now. Maybe in another airport, in another line like this one, alone too.

"Excuse me, ma'am." A brassy TSA agent snaps Lizzie out of her reverie. "Ma'am, you need to take your shoes off before going through the security line."

Lizzie mumbles an apology. Unzips her boots. She should be taking in this experience, she thinks, living in the moment.

When her phone buzzes, she lunges for it.

William told me what happened. You OK?

Gigi. Lizzie feels a pang of guilt. The past few hours had blurred by, a rush to pack up her belongings while juggling phone calls with Charlotte, Dr. Gardiner, Jane. Even now, with nothing left to do but shuffle her way to the proper gate, Lizzie has trouble ordering her thoughts properly. She replies back: Yes. Thank you.

The next text arrives almost immediately. What are you going to do about the apartment you've been watching?

Shit. She hadn't thought about that. I don't know, Lizzie types.

She starts to add something else, but the agent interrupts her again, annoyed this time. "Ma'am, you can't take that through either."

Lizzie tosses her phone into a plastic bin, feeling panicked. She tries to strategize as she walks through the metal detector. Okay. The apartment keys are in her purse. But there's a spare hidden under a rock by the door. She could call the neighbors up... but where was that sheet of emergency numbers that the owners had given her? On the refrigerator door? In her temporary office at Pemberley?

She isn't any closer to a plan by the time she gets her belongings back, but by then Gigi's already responded.

Don't worry. We'll take care of it.

Lizzie stares at the little screen. Here she is, beholden to the Darcys for another favor. She knew she didn't deserve any of their kindness, couldn't size her gratitude down into text message length. In the end all she sends is: I'm very sorry I didn't get to say goodbye.

Lizzie has over an hour until the plane takes off, but she can't sit still.

She wanders into a bookstore near her gate. There are walls of glossy magazines, and it's somehow soothing to stand there and read through the titles: Sports Illustrated. Scientific American. Vanity Fair. Vogue.

After a few minutes, she starts to notice two female voices giggling nearby. "You ask her." "No, you ask her."

Then there's a tap on her shoulder.

"Excuse me?"

Lizzie turns around to find a pair of teenage girls peering at her. They're young, maybe fifteen. The one who tapped her has curly blonde hair and silver bangles running up both arms. Her friend, freckled and short, stands a few steps behind.

"Excuse me," the blonde says again. "Are you Lizzie Bennet?"

Lizzie's stomach sinks. "Yes," she says.

"Oh my god," the friend exclaims. "I knew it."

"We are such big fans of your show."

"What are you doing here? Are you done shadowing Pemberley already?"

"No way," the blonde one says. "She was at Collins and Collins for, like, twelve episodes. She definitely has at least a couple weeks left."

Lizzie's head spins. "Uh, no," she says. "Yeah, no, I'm on my way home."

The girls looked conspiratorially at one another. The way the blonde smirks, tossing her shiny ringlets over her shoulder... Lizzie can't help but be reminded a little of Lydia.

"We've been watching you since VidCon," the freckled one says. "Look, I even follow all you guys on Twitter!" She pulls something up on her phone and holds it out for Lizzie to see. Feeling sicker, Lizzie notices Charlotte's last few tweets at the top of the feed. thelizziebennet can't reach you anywhere. pls call me as soon as you can. emergency!

"Oh."

"What's Charlotte talking about, anyway?" freckles asks.

Lizzie shakes her head vigorously. "It's, uh, it's nothing."

"Can I, like, ask something?" the blonde says. "Is Darcy as cute in real life as he is on camera? I know you think he's a snob or whatever, but hello, you can totally tell he has a smoking hot body under those business clothes -"

"I have to go," Lizzie says. "Thank you for watching." And then she hides in the bathroom for twenty minutes with her head hanging in between her knees.

In spite of everything, she's still a little wowed when the plane finally takes off. The roar of the engines, the light pull on her body as the wheels leave the ground. San Francisco glittering beneath her, its people happily roaming the streets as if the world hadn't coming crashing down around her three hours ago.

It's a little scary, too, being so high up. On some intellectual level, Lizzie knows that flying is safe, but she can't help wondering what if. What if the plane crashed? What would happen? There'd be so much left unfinished: no graduate degree, her family saddled with her useless loans, her sister off with Wickham god knows where doing god knows what. No real impact on the world to speak of, save a few dozen YouTube videos. Never having done anything important. Never in love.

A totally unfinished life.

To distract herself, Lizzie pulls out her laptop. Still has to put out a video tomorrow, even though all she's got is the mess of footage from this morning. She doesn't particularly want to broadcast this embarrassing moment of confusion and pain, but there's nothing else to do about it. It's not like she can film on the plane, or take time away from being with her family tonight to shoot something new.

And, she reminds herself, remembering the girls by the magazine rack, it's not like Lydia's video is going to remain a secret for long.

She plugs her headphones in and checks out what she's got.

There she is, prattling on about the new phone. Then Darcy wanders into the frame. As he sits beside her, he does this unnatural motion with his hand, pulling it across his chest. He seems so damn uncomfortable all the time. You'd be uncomfortable too, says the voice in the back of her head, if you had to make conversation with someone who so obviously hated your guts. If you'd been publicly humiliated for the ridiculous delight of teenage girls with silver bracelets up and down their arms.

And here's when he starts to ask her about the theatre. For some reason, Lizzie just... can't watch this part right now. She fast forwards to the part where she finally picks up the phone.

At the time, Lizzie had been so caught up in listening to Charlotte that she didn't notice anything going on around her. Now she has the luxury of studying Darcy's reactions to each moment: his obvious displeasure when she first answers, his eyes darting to the side when she mentions George's name.

She watches him comfort her as she falls apart. Had he really leaned in close and touched her back like that? It seems so long ago now.

"Darcy. Thank you."

"There will be a car downstairs for you in five minutes."

She pauses, plays that part back again.

"Darcy. Thank you."

"There will be a car downstairs for you in five minutes."

What the hell was going through his mind in that moment? Lizzie has always considered herself a good judge of character, but she's realized over her time at Pemberley that she has no idea how to read Darcy. One minute he can barely get his words out around her; the next his arm is on her shoulder. One minute again and he's cool and crisp and formal. All politeness as he's and running out the door.

He doesn't even say goodbye.

Who could blame him? He's the CEO of a respected company. It's one thing to be mocked in some nobody's glorified diary; maybe he could get over that. It's another thing entirely to get mixed up in the pornographic dealings of minor internet stars. He has a reputation xx to protect, employees' jobs to think about, a family legacy to uphold.

No wonder be couldn't wait to get out the door. "There will be a car downstairs for you in five minutes." Maybe Lizzie can't always tell what Darcy is thinking, but she has a pretty good idea of whats going through his head now. It means, it's time for you to go back to your embarrassing family. It means, okay, I think we're done here. It means she's probably never going to see him again.

The plane lands. She takes a taxi back to the house. When she gets there, Jane is waiting in the doorway, wearing a gauzy blue dress Lizzie's never seen before. She looks beautiful.

They hug for a long time, saying nothing. Finally, Lizzie asks, "Where's Mom?"

"She's upstairs resting," Jane says. "You can imagine how hard this has been on her. But it will be so good for her to see you."

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner."

"No, don't say that. Unfortunately, I don't think there's much right now that either of us can do."

"I'm just glad I'm finally home."

"How was Pemberley?" Jane asks, and just then it hits Lizzie how little they've spoken recently. For the last few weeks, they've been playing a prolonged game of phone tag: Jane calls when Lizzie's at Fitz's apartment, Lizzie calls when Jane really needs to finish things up for a show. In fact, aside from one chocolate chip cookie care package and a few miss you! texts, they've barely interacted for the entire month. It's the first time in years - maybe for the first time in forever - that Jane has no idea what's been going on inside Lizzie's head.

"It was fine."

"Just fine?"

Lizzie closes her eyes for a second, and the memory of this morning suddenly washes up: Darcy leaning in, all warm low voice and hand sliding down her back, all ticklish shock rushing straight up her spine. Those clear green eyes.

"Yeah," Lizzie says. "You know."