Chapter 1

Posted on Monday, 1 November 2004

January, present year

Will glanced at the cork bulletin board on his way up to the counter, sweeping his eyes quickly across the rows of plastic cards clipped to it. Some of them were hanging facing the opposite direction, the nickel-plated clip obscuring the photographed face on the card. He didn't see hers on the board, but then again he couldn't be absolutely sure - he could have been mistaken. He checked to make sure that no one was paying attention to him; all of student workers behind the counter were occupied with other people, so he figured it was safe to take another quick, unobtrusive look.

Leaning across the counter, he reached out a hand to flip over one of the plastic cards, but stopped midair when someone coughed discreetly. Will turned to his left and was surprised to see a person standing in front of him. Caught, red-handed. He succeeded in keeping the embarrassed blush from creeping into his cheeks as he withdrew his wandering hand and tucked it into his pocket.

"If you're looking for Liz, she isn't here today." The guy behind the counter grinned.

Will shrugged his shoulder, trying to play off his inspection of the bulletin board. "Liz who?"

"Liz Bennet."

"What makes you think I was looking for her?"

Richard - as his nametag read - offered him a smirk and then leant down on the counter. His overly inquisitive nature had him giving Will a look, inviting him to confide in him. Richard lowered his voice to a whisper. "Is it true she slapped you and threw a can of soda in your face? Because it's happened to me before, and let me tell you it's not pleasant."

"What are you talking about?" Will asked, perplexed.

"The fight you had with Liz, obviously. What else would I be talking about?"

"You heard about it?"

"Dude. Everyone heard." He grinned again.

Will didn't know how to respond, so he didn't try. He fumbled for his wallet and pulled out his student I.D. Crap. This is perfect.

"The usual?" Richard asked, scanning the barcode on the card.

"Yeah. Filters, too."

"No problem." He handed him a small stack of equipment. "See you in a few hours."

Will shifted the strap of the messenger bag on his shoulders so he could get a good grip on the easel. Just don't drop anything, he thought; it was the same thought that ran through his head every time he walked from the lobby into the darkroom, no matter how routine it had become over the years. Three and a half years at Rosings University, and he still couldn't shake off his little quirk of a mantra.

Maneuvering with familiar ease, Will made his way to his favorite workstation located on the far wall. The main darkroom was not a particularly large and spacious area, but it was bigger than most universities', boasting of twenty-five workstations with top-of-the-line equipment. There was a separate, smaller darkroom adjoining the main darkroom - reserved for the use of upper classmen with access to both black-and-white and color printing chemistry - but Will preferred working in the larger room.

Normally, if he were presented with the choice of being crammed in the same room with a lot of people as opposed to a few people, he would of course choose the room with the least amount of occupants. However, in this instance, he liked being among people of his own kind - the eager photo enthusiasts. The excitement and buzz of the lower classmen, some of whom were using the darkroom for the first time, always seemed to lift his spirit because they reminded him of what he had felt like his first day in Intro to Photography 1A. The same surge of creativity and exhilaration that had filled his veins on the first day of class freshman year still ran through him now, years later. Though, of late, the passion had dwindled to a lesser degree.

Don't think about that now, he thought with frustration. Concentrate on your work.

He laid out his equipment on the workbench, like he always did. Some people called him anal, but he liked everything to be just so; it was easier to work knowing that if he needed something, he'd know exactly where to find it. Will retrieved the black plastic storage binder from his messenger bag, and then tucked the bag underneath the workbench at his station. He flipped through the pages of plastic sleeves that housed his negatives, feeling suddenly a drop in his mood. The reminder that he still had work to do, despite his completely insipid and dulled state of mind, did not sit well with him. How was he supposed to be brilliant and creative when all he wanted to do was go back to bed, sleep, and forget everything that had happened in the past month?

His portfolio was almost done. But, to a perfectionist like Will, "almost" didn't count for anything in his book. It was nearing the middle of January, and he still needed to find one more shot to include in the portfolio for his graduate school application. Finding the first nineteen had been hard enough. He remembered, a few months back, poring through the stacks of archival storage binders he had in his apartment, amassing a small pile of prints before eliminating them one by one until he whittled the group down to nineteen.

He had been ambitious at the time, trying to get a large chunk of his portfolio and application done before January hit and it was crunch time. Now, as the deadline for graduate school applications drew near, Will was glad that he had spent the first semester of his senior year refining his protocols, printing and reprinting his final choices until they met his unbelievably high standards. Making slides of his final prints had been an easy last step.

All I need is one more shot. One really great print.

He knew that shot could make or break his portfolio. One weak, wishy-washy print and that would stick out in the minds of the application reviewers, instead of his nineteen other prints.

Before winter break, he had thought he would take advantage of his trip to New York City over the holidays to get his final shot. But, a week after returning back home, he knew that his rolls of film were filled with junk. Sure, he had captured several nice shots of the city frosted in swirling snow, but he felt somewhat cold inside thinking about them. Visually beautiful photographs of the city's best features wouldn't cut it. Will remembered trudging through the city, always feeling at the back of his mind this oppressive weight. He had not been truly inspired by anything during his visit; all he could think about was what had happened the week before break.

Liz... How could I have been so stupid?

Realizing that he wasn't going to be able to work on his portfolio given his current mood, he packed away his materials and collected the equipment. Returning to the lobby, he set the checked-out equipment on the counter in front of Richard.

"That was quick," Richard said with some surprise. Less than ten minutes had passed since Will had disappeared into the darkroom. Normally when upperclassmen checked into the darkroom, they didn't reappear until hours later. "Forget something?"

"I need a developing kit instead." He stuck his hand into the front pocket of his bag and felt for the rolls of film. If he wasn't going to get any proper work done for his portfolio, he might as well spend his time developing rolls he had shot but hadn't had time to get to yet. Will thought that maybe he had stuck some of his NYC rolls in his bag, but he couldn't remember with complete certainty. "With a four-reel developing tank."

"Okay, sure." Richard handed him a white plastic bin filled with film developing equipment. "You okay, man?" He couldn't help but notice the agitated expression on Will's face.

"I'm fine," Will mumbled as he turned down the side hallway. He stepped into the nearest empty room and shut the door. Laying out his equipment, he flipped off the light and felt for the first cartridge and the can-opener. He popped off the bottom of the cartridge, and then poked a finger through the top, pushing out the little roll of film.

He loved the little nuances of the whole process. He loved how the naked roll of film felt weighty and important in his palm. He loved feeding the film into the reel, loved the feel of the metal reel spinning in his hands, the satisfying clink of the loaded metal reels as he stacked them into the tank.

But sometimes the confined, completely light-less room felt suffocating. Will thought of another time, at the beginning of the fall semester, when he hadn't felt suffocated at all being enclosed in that small space.

September, previous year

"You're very kind to go through all this trouble." She backed into the wall, creating enough space for him to squeeze in and close the door behind him.

"It's not a big deal. Charles said that Jane mentioned you were having some difficulties...?"

Liz blushed and pulled out a cartridge of film from her pocket and set it on the table. "I'm usually so good at these types of things. I feel like such a dork."

"Don't worry about it," Will assured her. "This is your first photo class, right?"

"Yeah." She watched curiously as he set out the equipment. Everything was lined up in a certain order that must have made some sort of sense to him. She struggled to hide her amused grin - unsure whether or not it would offend him. "I'm all thumbs when it comes to loading the reels."

Will gave his handiwork a once over, making sure that he hadn't missed anything. "It takes practice, that's all. Have you tried using film aprons? They're a lot easier to manipulate."

"My professor doesn't want us taking shortcuts."

"Here." He handed her a metal reel and a test roll of exposed film. "Show me how you're doing it. Close your eyes."

Liz started to laugh, until she realized he was being serious.

"You won't be able to see with the lights off anyway, so you need to get used to doing it without seeing anything."

"I know, I know. I just feel a little self-conscious with you here." She shut her eyes, took a cleansing breath, and began.

It was hard to concentrate knowing Will Darcy was watching her. The Will Darcy. She had heard of him ever since freshman year, not only because his family had made a sizeable donation to Rosings' School of Fine Arts, but also because he was a very talented artist in his own right.

Though they both studied in the same school and had taken many of the same core classes, their paths had never really crossed until that summer. Jane, Liz's sister, had started dating Will's oldest friend, Charles Bingley, in July. And sure enough, come mid-August, Liz abruptly found herself in the illustrious company of Will at a family barbeque.

Her first impression of him had not been favorable. He was entirely too full of himself - but she could imagine that being a virtual living legend on campus could go to one's head. The entire afternoon he had brooded in his own little corner of the Bennet's backyard, hardly speaking to anyone unless he was spoken to first - and only then was it brief, one or two-worded replies.

Oh, how his disdainful silence had grated on her nerves. It wasn't until a few meetings later that she discovered that his reticence was due more to shyness than pride. She no longer disliked him, but she didn't much like him either. They co-existed in the same social circles now, talking when they needed to, but even then it was very little.

Liz didn't understand him. But then, it was hard to understand someone with whom she had never had a real conversation.

"There, that wasn't too bad," Will spoke quietly. She opened her eyes in surprise; she had forgotten that she wasn't alone and that she was in the middle of loading a reel. Her fingers, she noted with some amazement, had done the work all by themselves.

"You want to be careful when you're handling the film, though. If you feel the edges of the film sticking out in odd places or the film isn't pulling with the same give, then you've probably done something wrong. You just have to backtrack, unwind, and then rewind."

"O-okay," she said, faltering a little. She hadn't realized he had moved so close. Or that she would suddenly feel his presence so keenly. It was... unsettling.

"Take a good look at the table. Memorize how the equipment is set up. Can you visualize it in your head? Ready?"

"Yeah, sure."

Will turned away and flipped off the lights. "You can try it for real now."

January, present year

"Did you see his face?" Richard looked over at the pretty brunette who was flipping though a magazine. "It must have been really bad."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "It was worse. But he totally deserved it."

"Oh, I forgot you're friends with Liz." He walked over to her work area. "So you know any juicy details the rest of us don't know?"

"I'm full of juicy details." She laughed. "But don't think for a second, Richard, that you're getting anything out of me."

He tried his most charming smile - the smile that was usually guaranteed to make women swoon and bring them to heel - but she just looked at him.

"Well, you can't say I didn't try." He shrugged and sauntered back to his station.

In another thirty seconds he would drain the developing tank of stop bath and top it off with fresh fixer. Then, a little hypo clear and a long rinse in the water bath. Maybe I'll break for lunch. He'd have a good hour of free time after he hung his negatives in the film dryer.

He thought about dropping by the Advanced Art Studio to see if Charles was around, but maybe it was better that they didn't meet for a while. He wasn't sure if Charles had forgiven him for his interference. It had been done with the best of intentions - but then again, Cicero said it best when he proclaimed that the road to Hell was paved with good intentions.

It had been hubris on his part to think that he knew best. Will comforted himself that he had only been looking out for his friend, but it was a cold comfort indeed. He hadn't spoken to Charles or Jane since before break. Just as well, he thought, vigorously agitating the fixer. I'm in a crap mood, anyway. I'm no good for company.

"Hey. Georgiana said I'd find you here."

The voice startled him into losing his grip on the tank. It clattered noisily in the long, metal basin of the sink in the developing room.

"But I should have figured," Charles said, with a shrug of his shoulder.

Will looked at his friend in surprise. Charles Bingley was a combination of boyish good looks, youthful energy, and a winning personality. They had met as freshmen in high school, bonding over artistic aspirations and video games. But they had been so different from the start, that many people commented they couldn't understand their friendship. Sometimes Will couldn't understand it himself.

It was strange, he sometimes reflected, how Charles contained in abundance all the aspects of his character that he wished he had. Charles was a people-person who knew how to chat up anyone, make him or her comfortable, and make himself likeable. Will, for the most part, felt awkward in social situations. He didn't know why; it had always been that way. For most of his childhood he had been a bit of a loner, until he met Charles. They just meshed well as friends - and it was probably because they were so different that it worked.

"What're you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you, that's all." Charles smiled his good-natured smile. "We sort of left things in a bad place before break."

"Yeah." Will rubbed his wet hand on the stomach of his t-shirt, nervously. "About that... I never meant to get all Caroline and up in your business."

Charles snorted at the mention of his meddling sister. "Yeah, I know."

"Jane's a good girl."

"She's the best," Charles corrected. He handed him a Ziploc container of fresh-baked cookies.

"She made me cookies?" Will asked with confusion. "Why? I thought she would have hated me after those things I said."

"You didn't mean them, really. And Jane understands that. She knows you were only doing what you thought was right."

Will accepted that with uneasiness. It hadn't been his place, though. Since the summer, he had watched Charles and Jane grow closer and more serious. Or rather, he had seen in Charles a vivid change; in Jane, he had not detected much emotional response. Will could see that this time it was different for his friend. Charles - who had always been a gentle, friendly Romeo who fell quickly and easily in and out of love - had grown quite serious about Jane Bennet.

But Will had not observed in her any symptom of a deep and lasting regard for his friend. She had been lovely and cool, and to his eye she did not appear to be seriously in love with Charles. And as he had already been feeling anxious about losing his friend in a way he hadn't considered before, Will had become extremely vulnerable to the slightest suggestion in the negative about Jane (whom he now saw as a sort of threat to his life as he knew it).

It had only aggravated Will's concerns when rumors began to spread swiftly across campus early December that Noah Carter - just back from six-months of basic and advanced training for the U.S. Army - had been spotted having lunch with Jane in the Upper Commons. Noah and Jane had dated for three years before amicably ending their relationship a mere month before Charles had started dating her. Will was immediately on guard. More news of continued meetings between Jane and Noah had reached his ears over the next two weeks, and Will's suspicions grew.

It wasn't until a few days before winter break, when Charles mentioned that he was going to ask Jane to join him on a family skiing trip to Vail, that Will finally voiced his concern. Was it really the prudent thing to do? How well did they really know Jane? Was she using Charles? Did she love him, or did she only think of him as a rebound-boyfriend? And what about Noah Carter?

Will remembered that Charles had grown oddly quiet and reflective. For a second, he thought he'd gotten through to Charles, but his friend surprised him with a cutting remark. How dare Will make these statements, these accusations! He loved Jane, and she loved him - there was no doubt about it. And the fact that Will wasn't able to accept this made him question whether they were really friends at all.

Will had never seen Charles so angry; it had shocked him at first. Had he been so completely off the mark? Charles had stormed off and Will, confused and bewildered, had gone home. They hadn't spoken since that day almost a month ago.

"You should have punched me in the face that day." Will shrugged uncomfortably.

"Nah." Charles grinned. "And anyway, you know I'm a lover, not a fighter."

Will laughed despite himself. Charles had a way of breaking the ice and disarming even the most taciturn of people. They grinned at each other, both feeling a bit silly and relieved that the worst was over. He'd been forgiven, Will realized, feeling lighter than he had felt in a long while.

"You want to get lunch after you're finished here?" Charles asked.

"Sure," Will agreed. He picked up the developing tank and shook it some more. "I'll meet you in the main lobby at one."

He wanted to ask Charles if he had heard anything from Jane about Liz, but that seemed a little childish. He supposed if he really wished to know, he could always call Liz himself. But ever since she had publicly denounced him in the main lobby of the Fine Arts Complex a few days after their argument when he had cornered her and tried to reason with her, Will couldn't work up the nerve to call.

He comforted himself with the knowledge that he would see her on campus soon enough. Their meeting again was inevitable; it was only a manner of when and where.

And this time I'll be better prepared. I won't give her the chance to humiliate me again.

Chapter 2

Posted on Tuesday, 17 January 2006

January, present year

The heat radiating from the blazing fire in the center of the small room was enough to smother a person if she wasn't prepared for it. Luckily for Liz Bennet, countless hours spent in the furnace room in the past had made her an old pro. With the back of her hand she swiped off the sweat beading on her forehead, and then got back to what she loved best. Spinning the blowpipe in her hands, she rolled the heated gather against the marver until its surface smoothed out to her liking. She partially inflated the gather, creating the paraison, and kept the blowpipe spinning to fight gravity and help the molten glass keep its symmetrical shape. It was heavy and exacting work, but the end result was well worth the effort.

She put the paraison into the optic mold and blew lightly until the glass filled the space. Perfect. A friend she had met two summers ago through her apprenticeship at a Venetian glassworks had especially designed the mold for her, and she had been dying to use it all year. The deep turquoise glass picked up the intricate diamond pattern beautifully. She attached the pontil to the bottom of the vessel and detached the blowpipe with a quick strike of the file.

Just a little more. Liz set the molded glass into the glory hole to keep the glass hot. She took advantage of the free time to take a quick breather. Walking over to one of the half-opened windows, she delighted in the cool breeze blowing in from the west. It was a little past midday and she could just see the sun tipping over to her side of the sky. It felt wonderful to be back in school, to be working on her craft again. When she put her hands to good use, it took her mind off everything else.

I could stop by the darkroom after I'm finished and see if Charlotte's off work. But then I might run into Will ... She furrowed her brow. Wait a minute, what do I care if I see him or not? Will is not my problem. If I happen to run into him, I'll deal with it; and if I don't, even better.

"Woolgathering?" Jane's familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

"The heat was making my mind wander." Liz turned toward her sister with a smile. "What's up?"

"I wanted to see if you'd changed your mind about joining Charles and me for lunch. We're heading over to Popovich's at the School of Business. Why don't you come with us? You're always saying how much you want to try it but never have the chance."

"I'd love to join you guys, I would. But like I said this morning, today's a pretty full day. I won't have time to break for a while."

"Well, I thought as much." Jane joined her at the window and handed her a paper bag. "Which is why I brought you lunch. I figured you wouldn't have time to remember to eat." She gave Liz a pointed look.

"You figured right." Liz grinned unabashedly, happily unearthing a roasted veggie calzone. "Ooh, holy sustenance. I am forever in your debt." She dipped into a playful curtsy.

Jane laughed and shook her head. Liz brightened at the sound, always pleased to see her older sister happy. They had been born ten minutes apart, one fair and one dark, but twins of the same heart. Jane had acquired their mother's elegant carriage, developing a graceful but somewhat slight figure. It boded well as her delicate smallness was conducive to her chosen career as a dancer. Liz, on the other hand, resembled their father; a tall and robust man, Liz had inherited much of his height and athletic build.

Liz noted that Jane was still wearing her wrap sweater and dancing pants. "I thought practice didn't start until next week."

"It doesn't, but I wanted to get in a few hours on my own."

"You work too hard."

Jane merely rolled her eyes. "Pot calling the kettle, my dear." She tugged lightly at her leotard, feeling the sweat starting to build. "I still don't understand how you manage to work in here day in and day out without melting."

"Sadly enough, I've become used to it." Liz grinned ruefully. "It's been almost five minutes; you can go now - you've suffered enough for today."

Her sister smiled in reply. "I'll see you at home. Don't forget to eat."

Liz regarded the calzone with a look of longing. "I won't. As soon as I'm finished with this piece, I'll have time for lunch."

Jane waved goodbye as she left the room. Liz, both anxious to finish her work and to eat, retrieved the nearly completed vessel from the glory hole. It would probably be another half an hour before the decorative handles were attached and shaped to her liking, before the pontil was sharply rapped and unsealed, and the finished glass piece was set into the annealing oven to cool. Then, maybe after, she'd see if Charlotte wanted to hang out - even if that meant she'd have to venture into enemy territory.

"Who am I kidding?" Liz muttered to herself. No matter how much she denied it, she was avoiding Will like the plague - and another confrontation, so soon after their last few meetings, was the last thing she needed. The real reason she didn't want to meet Jane and Charles for lunch was because she knew Will might be there, and she didn't want to see him.

I don't like this one bit. You're being immature, Liz Bennet, and it isn't like you. Where's your courage, your daring?

She sighed, dismayed. Her courage had deserted her sometime during winter break, when the full realization of what had occurred between them had settled like a dead weight in the pit of her stomach. How could she bear to look at him again, knowing that things would never be the same - that they would never be as they once were?

No, it was probably for the best that they did not meet again so soon. Liz wasn't sure if she could trust herself with him anymore, if she could depend on her reason and her resolve. She had been too easily led astray by his peculiar sense of charm; he had disarmed her with his unexpected kindness and made her believe that he was different, honorable - a person that she could like.

"But he's nothing but an interfering, two-faced jerk." Liz furiously jabbed the pontil into the glory hole. "And you're nothing but a fool for believing he wasn't."

It had more difficult than he had anticipated, sitting across from Jane and Charles at lunch and pretending that things were as they had been. It wasn't their fault; they'd both been easy with him, engaging him in conversation like they normally would have. In fact, if Will had been an outsider observing their little trio, he never would've suspected that for a few weeks a very real, very large rift had existed between him and his friend.

Jane smiled at him several times during the meal. He knew she had forgiven him, but he hadn't quite forgiven himself just yet.

And I know Liz hasn't forgiven me ... What was it she said? Oh, yeah: "There are some things you can never forgive nor forget, Will. And this is one of them."

Will approached the film dryer, feeling none of the usual excitement he felt when seeing his negatives for the first time. He had forgone a scan of his film pre-drying, instead deciding that he would wait until after lunch when he had more time for a thorough examination. He went through the motions without thinking, never suspecting that in the next few moments his world would be rocked in a startling real and personal way.

He cut the filmstrips into neat rows and slid them into plastic, negative archival sheets. With interest he did not feel, Will applied himself to surveying his work with a magnifying loupe.

The first roll was of Georgiana's quartet recital - before, during, and after their final performance of the fall semester. Will smiled to himself, particularly enjoying the frames where his sister beamed while holding an extraordinarily large bouquet of flowers. The second roll was one of the many he had shot last year for a photo essay on civil disobedience. He had stationed himself at an anti-war protest outside the Los Angeles Federal Building - his first time witnessing a rally of this sort - and he still couldn't believe the amount of people that showed up. It had been an interesting event to experience and capture on film. The third roll was from a commissioned shoot he had done for a theatre major. The fourth roll was much of the same, filled with headshots and full-length body shots of the student actress in various costumes.

If he hadn't been looking so carefully, he might have missed it. If he had shuffled the sheet of negatives with the others, assumed that it contained the same pointless shots as the one before it, he might have passed over the frames that would change the course of his immediate future.

"What the - ?"

He slid the sheet over the light box. It was hard to distinguish the face, since the highlights and the shadows were switched around, but he knew it was her. It has to be ... When was this? When did I take these?

Will searched his memory, until it lit upon that day in November. It had been the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and Liz had invited him and Georgiana to a potluck dinner at her and Jane's apartment. Will had originally meant to decline - he had two papers to write and an exam to study for - but Georgiana had looked at him with such hope in her eyes that he was hard-pressed to say "no." She knew Liz's friend, Charlotte, from Symphony Orchestra, had met Liz several times, and was eager to spend more time with both of them. Will was well aware that Georgiana had had a difficult time adjusting to her first year at Rosings University; it was hard enough being a freshman in a new school, but Georgiana's natural shyness contributed to her difficulties in making new friends. Nonetheless, he understood his sister well and knew that underneath her initial shyness was a friendly and vivacious person waiting to be let out.

So, on that Wednesday evening, Georgiana had brought homemade chocolate brownies. And Will had brought his camera.

November, previous year

"Your apartment is very ... bright."

Liz handed him a bottle of pale ale. "Thanks, I think."

The walls were painted a sweet midori green; it should have clashed with the vibrant magenta and shimmering purple accents, but it didn't. There was a long golden, straw colored couch along one side of the living room, flanked by oak and lacquered steel armchairs and richly colored floor pillows. Blown glass votives in a myriad of hues hung around the room. The combined effect of all the opposing elements was mysterious and exotic and wildly feminine - just like her.

"I take it Jane let you decorate," Will commented, mildly.

"Not so much let me, as much as I took over." She grinned. "I forgot you haven't been here before. It's funny because I was almost certain you had dropped by one time or another, but I guess not."

"We do seem to spend a lot of time at Charles's place," he pointed out.

"True." She looked over to the kitchen where Charles and Jane were cooking. "You'd think he would clean up once in a while. But I suppose it's better for the safety of Earth and its inhabitants that his place remains as it is." She was pleased when Will laughed. It was common knowledge that Charles was a packrat; his apartment was filled with an assortment of half-completed canvases, painting and drawing utensils, and various other riffraff he had collected throughout the years. Such that it was, the running joke was that if someone managed to clean Charles's apartment (without being emotionally scarred), it would signal the end of the world.

"Do you want the grand tour?" Liz gestured toward the rest of the apartment.

"Perhaps later." He nodded toward Jane, who was trying to get Liz's attention. "You might be a little busy in a moment."

She looked over her shoulder. "I should go before she burns something. You'll be fine hanging out here?"

"Sure."

"Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back later to check on you." She departed with a jaunty grin.

Will let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding. He watched as Liz join her sister in the kitchen, then purposely turned away and focused his attention on the commotion in the living room. It was useless to pine after her when she had no idea of his liking her in the first place. He berated himself for being foolish.

The dinner was more enjoyable than he had anticipated. The conversation was lively and spirited, and he had never seen Georgiana so happy and talkative amongst a group of virtual strangers. He also surprised himself; half of the time he didn't know what was coming out of his mouth, but from the reaction he received, whatever he was saying must have been agreeable to everyone else. Midway through the grilled pineapple chicken and the chorizo Spanish rice (the guests had a decided non-Thanksgiving, international flair) Will broke out the old Leica he carried around with him everywhere and snapped a few candids.

After dinner they gathered around the living room sofa, munching on brownies while chatting loudly. Charles had switched on the radio to one of the indie college stations, and something funky and eclectic bopped out of the loudspeakers.

Will settled himself on a floor pillow in the corner of the room. Sometimes, he thought to himself, it was easier to be out of the way during parties. Otherwise, he'd have to socialize with others, have to think of things to say - and Will was pretty sure he had exhausted his daily conversation quota during dinner. Across the room, he spotted Liz. She was speaking with Charlotte and another person whose name he couldn't recall. God, look at her. She suddenly laughed out loud, and it made his heart stutter for a second. He couldn't explain why; all he knew was there was something about Liz that captivated him.

Maybe it was because she was unlike any other woman he had met at Rosings. Since the summer when Charles and Jane had started dating, he and Liz had been thrown into each other's company so many times he couldn't recall their exact number of meetings. Sometimes they hung out with a large group of friends from school, but most often it had just been Will and Liz, Charles and Jane.

At first it had been a little awkward, the both of them feeling like third wheels because, unlike Charles and Jane, they weren't romantically involved. They had hardly known each other and weren't particularly keen on having to become friends. But, as time progressed, they had begun to enjoy each other's company. At least, for his part, Will had grown to like Liz more than he had ever expected.

He absentmindedly pointed his camera in her direction and started taking pictures. Someone had turned down the lights, and the lit candles around the room glowed like tiny stars, casting their soft light through colored glass and onto nearby objects. He thought that she seemed to glow, too - that the candlelight reflected in her eyes made them shine like diamonds ... or some other such nonsense. You are an infatuated, lovesick puppy. Get a grip on reality, man - you're beginning to make me ill.

He snapped the last picture with irritated frustration. Through the viewfinder he saw that Liz was looking directly at him now. Great. He lowered the camera into his lap. I refuse to be embarrassed, he thought, stubbornly.

He thought his picture-taking had annoyed her, and that she was approaching to tell him to stop, but she surprised him. She crossed over to his corner of the room and sat on a neighboring floor pillow. "Why are you sitting all the way over here?"

"I ... I don't know. You know I'm not really much of a conversationalist." He jerked his shoulder in what she recognized as the classic Darcy shrug.

"You seemed to be holding your own during dinner." She bumped his arm with her elbow in a friendly manner. "But I guess you've filled your quota for the day." What cheek! He couldn't help smiling in return, though, because it was exactly what he had been thinking.

"I'm having a wonderful time, though." Will felt he needed to clarify his position. "Tonight has been really great. Please don't think my reticence is a reflection on your party, or anything."

She raised her brow in what he recognized as the classic Bennet wry expression. "I know." She looked down to the camera resting lightly against his lower stomach. "Is that a Leica M6? Can I hold it?"

"Sure." Will handed it over to her. Strangely, it gave him a thrill to know that she held in her hands something that was such an integral part of himself.

She studied the camera with a practiced eye, slowly turning it in her hands and peering through the viewfinder. "This is a gorgeous specimen. And in great condition, too." She returned the camera to him. "You carry this with you all the time, don't you? I've never asked you about it. It must very special to you."

"It belonged to my father." He regarded the camera fondly. "He gave it to me when he noticed my interest in photography was turning serious."

"So you carry it around to be reminded of him."

"Yes, in part." He marveled at her perceptiveness. How was it that she seemed to understand him when so many others did not? "The other reason I carry it around is because I never know when there'll be something I want to capture on film, so it's better to be safe than sorry." Will turned the camera in his hands, mirroring her previous movements. He ran an appreciative finger around the shutter speed dial, tracing the numbers and beveled edges of the disc. "The camera is a part of me, really. It's as essential, as necessary to me as, for instance, my arm or my leg. I guess that sounds weird."

"I think it's lovely that you live for you art," Liz admired. "I saw some of your photos at the Lambton Gallery last weekend. Jane took me." She let the words hang in the air.

"I guess I should've invited you, huh?" he asked uncertainly. The relationship he shared with Liz (if one could call it that) was something entirely novel to him. He had never had a female friend before. Oh, he had several female acquaintances, certainly - generally students whom he would wave to on campus, with whom he could stop and have a quick word - but a girl who was a friend? A girl he could spend time with and be comfortable in her presence? (Well, almost comfortable, if you disregarded the whole liking her business.) It was a new concept he hadn't yet quite grasped. "I'm sorry. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to. And then I got caught up in other things, and it sort of slipped my mind to ask."

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Will. You can do better than that." When he opened his mouth to protest, she interrupted him, "I'm only teasing."

"I'll remember to ask next time," he promised.

Liz leaned back and rested against the wall. "See, if you had gone with me, you would have heard me praising your work to everyone in the gallery... The photographs were extraordinary, Will. Really."

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. It seemed to him that Liz possessed some weird ability to make him blush, and it was damned inconvenient. He tried not to let it bother him.

"There was one that I especially remember. It was in the back, by the installation pieces. You were looking off to the side of the frame, and behind you there were these massive oak trees and the sun was peaking through the tree branches."

"Self-portrait, Trabuco Canyon."

"Yes, exactly," she said with enthusiasm. "It was one of the most beautifully executed shots I've seen in a while. You have this way of capturing so much in one frame." Liz recalled feeling shaken, standing before the portrait. She had seen something in his face, such a stark loneliness in the way his shuttered eyes turned from the viewer. She wondered if he realized how much power his work had over people - if he knew how much his photographs revealed.

She hadn't expected to be touched like this, and it troubled her. When he didn't respond to her comment, she viewed it as an opportune moment to make a polite exit, to collect herself. "Well, it was nice talking to you, but I've got more mingling to do." Liz stood up and stretched. "I'll see you around."

Will watched her walk away. She was always doing that, walking away from him. You should have said something. Idiot. He wanted her to stay, wanted to find out her opinions about pieces she had seen, works that she loved and ones that she hated. He wanted to spend a quiet evening talking with her, making her laugh. Simply put, he wanted to know everything about her.

Wow, you're pathetic, he thought glumly.

January, present year

A tingling sensation spread throughout his body, starting from his chest, moving toward his fingertips and down into his toes. It would have startled him except he'd experienced it many times before. The tingling blossomed into a giddy, heady awareness, and Will could feel the muscles in his arms and legs tensing. It was almost unbearable, this sudden burning drive to do something, to create...

"Relax," he muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders to loosen the unexpected stiffness. The excitement of a new project always affected him in the same way. He felt like a runner on the verge of starting a marathon, like a parachutist about to jump out of the plane. The shot of adrenaline to his system produced the sudden alertness and barely contained energy that characterized his pre-project attitude.

Will knew that if he didn't stop himself now, his work would consume him. He forced himself to tuck the negative sheets into his bag. It wasn't just the anticipation of working that he was feeling; there was something else, something foreign and novel. He felt his throat tighten, and tried to ignore the swelling of emotion rising through him.

You're beginning to worry me.

He gave his head a frustrated shake to clear his mind. What he needed to do was start planning, to go about it a rational manner - instead of diving head first into whatever it was he was about to get himself into.

"Yeah, like that'll work." A small smile of amused disbelief crossed his face. Feeling marginally lighter than he had moments before, Will returned to the lobby counter to check-in the developing kit and collect his student ID. Lost in his thoughts, he exited the Pemberley East wing of the Fine Arts Complex with the vague intention of catching the last tram back to his apartment.

She considered the thirty or so art pieces before her, lined in an uncoordinated row on a long table near the back of the Advanced Art Studio. Charles had let her into the Netherfield South wing earlier that morning with a huge conspiratorial grin. He wasn't technically allowed to, but he let Liz store her various pieces in his allotted cabinet space and gave her free reign in the much coveted studio art room.

"I like that one over there, on the end," Jane commented from her seated vantage point.

Liz studied the hollow, translucent deep-sea blue disc. It stood almost sixteen inches tall, generously rounded like a flat, circular pebble balanced on its edge. A lighter teal suffused the center of each face, with ribbons of marigold wrapping around the entire piece. Distinctive basket weave patterns appeared on the surface - a different pattern for each of the colored glass sections. Oh, it had been such a pain blowing the piece and figuring out the logistics of coordinating patterned molds in a decisive irregular fashion, but she was glad now that she'd taken the time and effort to plan it all out and piece it together.

"That one alone took me about two weeks to finish," Liz said, remembering. "The furnace room felt like my own personal hell."

Jane laughed. "I know you loved every second of it. You can't fool me."

Liz turned to her with a huge grin.

"So, how are you choosing which pieces go into your portfolio?"

Liz shrugged. "I guess whichever ones I like best. I mean, I know it's supposed to be a big deal, and I'm supposed imagine myself in the place of the admissions committee and extract what I think they would want to see, etc. - but really, that's a lot of unnecessary trouble if you ask me." She faced her pieces again, running her eyes over their diverse forms. "I'm going with my gut feeling."

"That sounds like a good plan," Jane said, standing up. "Your instinct has never led you astray before."

As soon as the words left Jane's mouth, a niggling thought popped into Liz's head. But it has, Jane. She stamped down the thought, not wanting the reminiscence of last month's events to overwhelm her once more. She had spent enough time worrying over Will Darcy, over his actions and her actions, and what he had said, and what she had said back...

Enough. You spend entirely too much time thinking about him. Get over it.

"You're quiet," Jane commented. "Are you okay?"

Liz swept the feeling aside. "Yeah, I'm fine. You going to class now?"

Jane swung her book bag on her shoulder. "Trying to get rid of me?"

Liz rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Jane - I'm fine. You can leave."

"Somehow I don't believe you, but I'll let it go for now. I'm going to say goodbye to Charles, and then I'm going." Jane walked over to the door. "Don't forget to make time for lunch, or I'll hear about it."

Forty minutes later Charles found her crouched down, eye-level with one of her sculpted glass pieces.

"Did it make the cut?" he asked, curious.

"Unfortunately, no. It's one of my favorites, too." She rose from her position, wincing slightly as the muscles in her legs stretched. "But it's not one of my best. See, the stippling right there is a little sloppy, making the design indistinct. Oh well." She shrugged good-naturedly. "I'm finished though. Twenty glorious pieces ... It was a lot harder than I thought it would be."

Charles nodded, knowingly. "I picked out my paintings before winter break, so I wouldn't have to worry about it over vacation. I changed my mind about ten times before Will told me to stop agonizing over it - like he's one to talk." Charles chuckled. "He's more obsessed than usual about making his portfolio perfect."

Liz remained decidedly silent at the mention of Will's name. Charles, though not usually perceptive, picked up on it instantly. "Oh, I forgot."

"It doesn't matter. You can talk about him - it doesn't bother me."

Nearly everyone on campus had heard about their infamous confrontation. But the specific details were known only to a very select few. Suffice it to say, Will Darcy and Liz Bennet were not on speaking terms.

"You really should speak to him," Charles offered with a pat on her shoulder.

"There's no reason to do so," Liz replied, a whiff of annoyance in her tone. "So we're not the best of friends - big deal."

Charles, deciding it was useless to continue further, switched topics. "I don't know if I ever told you, but I really love your work." He circled the table, admiring the gleam of sunlight reflecting off the twenty glass art pieces.

"Thanks, Charles." She brushed the hair out of her eyes and stepped back to consider her work once more, for good measure. "All I need to do is hire someone to shoot slides for me. I'd do it myself, except I can't trust myself to do it right when it's something this important."

"I could ask Will to do it, as a favor to me," he said, after a moment.

Liz frowned. "No, thanks. I'm not accepting any favors from his sort."

He shook his head slightly. "You're too stubborn, Liz."

"Have you been discussing me with Jane?" she asked, accusation in her eyes.

"No," Charles lied with a smile. "Fine, if you're going to be obstinate about it, you can go check the bulletin board outside the Pemberley East lobby. Maybe someone's looking for some quick money."

"I'll do just that." She stuck her tongue out at him and began to make the short trek to the neighboring wing of the building. "Don't break anything," she added last minute, when she noticed Charles leaning a bit too close to the table.

He retracted his hand quickly, smiling sheepishly. "I wasn't going to touch it."

"Ha. That's what you said at Thanksgiving Potluck, before you sat on my favorite hand blown vase from Italy." She raised her brows threateningly. "Keep your mitts off."

"Okay, okay." Charles laughed and backed away.

Will pinned his last flyer up on the board outside the lobby counter. He knew full well that he didn't have to work to get money, but call him old-fashioned: he actually liked knowing that he earned the money he spent. Both of his parents had passed away the year before he started Rosings University - his mother from a long battle with breast cancer, and his father from a tragic car accident - and they had left him and Georgiana with sizeable trust funds that, until they were of age, provided only for their tuition and living expenses.

Their Aunt Catherine - whether out of love or duty, he did not know - supplied him and Georgiana with a modest allowance. Rather than spend it, Will put that money into a savings account to be used in the case of emergencies. It seemed wrong to use it, somehow - especially on frivolous items like special photo paper or new camera lenses - so he decided that anything else they wanted that wasn't provided for by their trust funds, he and Georgiana would have to pay for out of pocket.

Which meant he needed a quick, painless way to make fast cash. He didn't have the time or luxury to hold down a steady job with regular hours - though Georgiana did her part, working in the school library - so he relied on his skills as a photographer, shooting weddings, birthdays, and anniversary parties. Once in a while, he posted flyers on campus and picked up a few odd jobs shooting headshots or doing commercial work for up-and-coming student-run fashion labels.

A few seconds after Will pinned up his flyer and left, Richard watched as Liz strode purposefully to the board. He hid his smile as she tugged a contact tab off of Will's flyer and walked out of the lobby.

Chapter 3

Posted on Monday, 15 November 2004

January, present year

From: Liz Bennet < lben@rosings-u.edu >
To: wfd@rosings-u.edu
Subject: Regarding your flyer (photographer for hire)

Hey there. I saw your flyer up in Pemberley East. I would have phoned, but the number you listed was sort of smudged on the photocopy and I couldn't read it. Anyway, I was interested in possibly hiring you to shoot my graduate school application portfolio for the School of Fine Arts. Please reply ASAP with your availability and rates. Thank you.

Sincerely, Liz Bennet

Will reread the email for the third time. Liz wanted to hire him? She obviously doesn't know she's talking to me, he reasoned. He hadn't listed his name on the flyer, only his initials - the reason being that in previous years when he used to list his name, a few female students had "hired" him for completely bogus reasons. It seemed they thought he wouldn't see through their pretense and veiled attempts at flirtation.

The Darcy surname commanded respect and honor. And to many people, the old family name also meant money - which meant, Will Darcy was fair game in the eyes of scheming socialites.

Luckily for Will, he had managed pretty well to fend off the most zealous of the women. He had become adept at avoidance tactics and cutting conversations short. It was times like these that his natural reserve and brooding personality worked in his favor. In the face of his dark silence most people just gave up and left him alone.

Still, it didn't mean that a few foolhardy girls weren't apt to give it a go now and again, just to see if they could.

Liz would never do that, though, he mused. She wouldn't go out of her way to make him like her. She didn't seek his good opinion, didn't flirt or ply him with insincere flattery. Liz was simply herself: artless, irreverent and wonderful.

And she was wholly unaware how strongly she affected him.

I'll do it, Will thought. We've been avoiding each other since that day in December. She refused to talk to me then. Well, she won't have a chance to get away now. What the hell have I got to lose, anyway?

"Nothing," he said aloud, the word hanging in the air. He'd already screwed things up. It's not like she could hate me more than she already does. But knowing Liz, she'll probably find a way. A smile flitted momentarily to his face as he replied to her email.

From: wfd@rosings-u.edu
To: Liz Bennet < lben@rosings-u.edu >
Subject: Re: Regarding your flyer (photographer for hire)

Hello. The earliest I am available is tomorrow afternoon, from 1 to 6 PM. Your portfolio probably won't take more than two hours to shoot. My normal rate is $20 per hour, plus the cost of film and processing - which roughly comes to a total of $60. This may seem a little pricey, but I assure you I do good work. In fact, I will do the shoot free of charge, and if the final product comes up to your standards, you can reimburse me for my work. Otherwise, I can recommend a few other photographers. No harm, no foul. Let me know if this is acceptable to you.

Sincerely, WFD

Liz shot off a quick reply and closed down her email program just as she heard Jane entering the apartment. She could hear her sister humming gaily, which meant Jane was in a very good mood. Naturally, Liz's interest was piqued.

"What're you so happy about?" She leaned back in her desk chair so she could see out of her open bedroom door. Jane was turning pirouettes in the living room.

"Charles is taking me to The Barn for our six-month anniversary tonight."

The Barn was an ice-skating rink not far from campus that was (surprise) built in a refurbished, authentic late 19th century barn. Besides being inordinately large, it was bright red and stuck out like a sore thumb in the bustling suburban neighborhood bordering downtown.

Liz loved it. Just thinking about it elicited an amused grin.

"Broom hockey?" she asked.

Jane came down from demi-pointe and rested against the couch. "Yes, how did you know?"

"Weeknight plus college students plus The Barn equals broom hockey." Liz rolled her chair over to the door.

"I've never been before. Everyone says it's loads of fun."

"A bunch of sweaty college students freezing their butts off, trying to maneuver across the ice while wielding brooms - what could be more fun?" She laughed. "You'll have a great time. I didn't know Charles was so romantic and sentimental."

Jane rolled her eyes, smiling. "He sounded very excited about it, and he was so sweet when he asked if I wanted to go, that I couldn't say no. Anyway, I don't mind at all." She moved toward her bedroom.

"Change into something warm," Liz called out, snickering a little. She'd take toasty-warm to needlessly-freezing-your-butt-off any day. But then, she figured love made you do silly things.

It pleased Liz vastly to see her sister so happy and in love - especially considering all the drama Jane and Charles had gone through last month.

December, previous year

The slamming door was her first alert that something was wrong. Liz popped from her reclined position on her bed into a sitting position, straining to hear her sister from her bedroom.

"Jane?" she asked loudly. Liz could hear her moving through the apartment - hear the strained intakes of air and the little sounds of distress that filled her sister's silence. "Jane?" she repeated with alarm. She pushed herself off the bed and rushed to the open doorway.

Jane was slumped over on the couch, her face pale and wan. When she lifted her head and saw Liz, the tears she had been struggling to contain burst forth like water from a dam.

"What's wrong? What happened?" Liz searched frantically for a possible explanation for Jane's distress. "Did someone die? Who died? ... Oh my god, did something happen to Dad?" She bounded over to her sister's side.

"No - one - died," Jane gasped out between her sobs. "I-I... I - think - Charles - just..." Her voice broke off, as if what she was about to say was too horrible to be said aloud.

"Charles? Did Charles do something?" Anger spurted through Liz, instant and hot. "I am going to kill him."

"No - don't." Jane turned her face into the cushion and concentrated on her breathing. Liz sat next to her head, stroking her sister's hair in a soothing manner. It was a few minutes before Jane had herself under control.

"What happened?" Liz asked, softly now.

"We had an argument." Jane rolled over on her side. "I think he broke up with me."

"Why?" Liz was clearly surprised. Jane told her what had happened earlier that afternoon.

"It was nice seeing you again." Noah held the door open as she brushed by him to exit the building. "You're much too kind to be spending your lunch hour humoring an old boyfriend."

"I don't mind." Jane smiled. "I like your company."

"I'm glad to hear that." He winked playfully. "Otherwise, I'd start to feel real guilty about monopolizing your time."

She laughed. "Noah, I don't think you know the first thing about feeling guilty."

He clutched his heart theatrically. "Oh, how you wound me, Jane!"

"Stop." She swatted at him as he continued to pretend-struggle and fell to his knees in the very likeness of agony. "You're making a scene."

Noah jumped back to his feet with a grin. "Nothing doing." He looked around. "No one's even paying us any mind."

She studied him for a moment, holding his gaze for a good minute. He lifted his brows in question. "You're different now," she observed, her smile more guarded than before.

They began walking back toward the southwest side of campus where the fine arts and performing arts schools were located.

"How so?" Noah asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Jane shrugged. "You still try to be silly and fun, but there's something there, behind you eyes - something serious. I can see that you're trying to hide something from me, but I don't know what. Why don't you just tell me what it is?"

He looked away. "You were always so perceptive, Jane. Maybe too perceptive."

She touched his forearm to get his attention. "What is it? You can tell me."

Noah cleared his throat. "I'm being deployed in a few months."

"What?" she said with great concern. "But you just got back."

"I know. But the Army ... they say they need me, and that's that. I'll be stationed in Oakland for a few weeks before I start my tour of duty."

"Do you know where they're sending you?"

"Not yet." He looked resigned. "Don't worry Jane, I'll be fine."

She was not reassured. Though she did not love him in the same way she used to, she still cared for him deeply, as she did for everyone she knew. She moved toward him, and he enveloped her into a hug. "I'll miss you," he said, regret in his voice. "I still do. Sometimes I think that I was nuts to let you get away." He kissed her cheek sadly. "But you've already found someone else."

"I have." She leaned back so she could peer up into his face. "You'll find someone, too, in time."

"Excuse me." A voice interrupted them. They both turned to see Charles standing a few feet away from them. "But could you kindly unhand my girlfriend?"

"It was terrible, Liz. I don't know what came over him."

Liz prepared a mug of chamomile tea and handed it to her sister along with a small plate of shortbread biscuits. "Here you go."

"Thanks." Jane nibbled on a corner of a biscuit, feeling herself growing infinitely calmer with each passing minute. "It was strange. He pulled me away so we could talk in private. The look on his face - I've never seen it before. He was so angry and hurt."

"What did he say?" She sat down on her side of the couch.

"I can hardly remember now." Jane took a few deep breaths. "At the time, all I could hear was this loud buzzing in my ear, like it was a dream or something... He kept going on and on about how I was spending too much time with Noah and neglecting him. He said I should stop playing with his emotions, stop sneaking around and pretending that I loved him when I was still in love with Noah."

"That doesn't sound like Charles at all, though," Liz commented, confused. "Something must have happened - something we don't know about. Charles doesn't generally go around accusing people of things and blowing up in a temper. It just isn't his nature, you know?"

"I know." Jane sniffled. "But before I could get a word out, he stormed off. I don't know where he went. What should I do Liz?"

She offered her an ironic smile. "You're asking the wrong person, dear. What I know about relationships wouldn't fill a postage stamp... I guess the best thing would be to wait a little while, let him cool off. Then maybe you guys can discuss the whole thing rationally."

Knock, knock.

They looked at each other, eyes wide.

"You get it, please," Jane said. "Tell him I don't want to see him." She went into her bedroom, but left the door open.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, kno -

Liz quickly opened the front door, startling Charles who had been pounding on the door with no real idea that either of the Bennet sisters was at home.

"Oh, Liz." He looked miserable - in fact, he looked worse than Jane, if that was possible. She could tell that he had been crying, and her heartstrings felt a little tug of sympathy. "Is Jane home?"

She glanced over at Jane's open door, unsure as to what to do. Gently, she led him outside the apartment and shut the front door behind them. "Charles, she doesn't want to see you right now. You can understand why."

He wobbled unsteadily on his feet, seemingly overcome with despair. She grabbed his arm to steady him, catching the subtle smell of alcohol on his breath. "Charles?" she asked with concern. "Have you been drinking?"

"Only a little," he admitted, unhappily. "Not enough to get drunk, if that's what you mean."

"Maybe you should go home," Liz suggested. "You can come back tomorrow when you've pulled yourself together."

"No, I need to speak to Jane now. Please. I have to apologize, you don't understand..." Charles, dejected, gazed toward the door. "I screwed things up big time. And now she'll never know I love her."

He loves her? Well... that definitely changes things.

Going against her sister's wishes, Liz held open the door for Charles. "Go on," she said when he looked uncertain. "I'll say you pushed me down or something."

"Thanks, Liz, you're the best." He gave her brief hug before mentally steadying himself and walking into the apartment.

I really hope I did the right thing.

Not knowing what she was supposed to do, Liz settled down on the little stoop outside the front door to wait them out. After a good ten minutes had passed, she debated whether or not she had given them enough time. She was just about to knock on the front door when it opened.

Jane and Charles stood together, smiling and talking softly.

"Oh," Charles said, when he noticed Liz standing by the door. "I'll call you tomorrow," he said to Jane, and then kissed her on the cheek. He shot a grateful smile to Liz before walking down the steps and leaving.

"So?" Liz turned to her sister, curious.

Jane giggled. "He told me he loves me."

"I know that," Liz said, a little impatiently. "I mean, did he explain why he was acting all... weird?"

Jane rolled her eyes. She ushered Liz into the apartment before explaining. "Apparently just before he saw me with Noah, he and Will had had a huge argument, so he really wasn't angry at me at all. It was a big misunderstanding. Charles apologized and I forgave him."

"I see," Liz said, but not really. She followed Jane into her bedroom. "What did he and Will fight about?"

"Um," Jane hesitated. "I don't know if I should tell you."

Liz stiffened. "What? Why not?"

"Well..." She fussed with her bedcovers to stall for time.

"What?" Liz repeated.

Jane knew her sister well; as soon as Liz heard that someone - anyone - was disparaging Jane's character, she would respond with immediacy and ferocity. Liz had a quick-temper when it came to matters such as these, as evidenced by her gut-reaction when hearing that Charles (and Liz liked Charles) was the cause of Jane's hurt.

Consequently, she was loath to share with Liz what Charles had told her, especially as she had observed Liz and Will growing closer of late. At first they had both been reluctant to even acknowledge the other, but as the months passed, they had developed a friendly relationship. Granted, it was tenuous as best, but Jane saw the potential, and it pained her to know that her revelation could very well break the fragile bonds between two of the dearest people to her. Still, she knew her sister would not let her get away so easily without an answer.

"If I tell you, you have to promise me you won't do anything rash."

Liz's eyes narrowed. She didn't like making promises she knew she wouldn't keep, but she would do what she had to do. "Fine, I promise. What were they fighting about?"

"Me."

"They were fighting over you?" she asked, confused.

"Well, in a way." Jane proceeded to tell her what had transpired during the argument, of what hurtful and spiteful things Will had accused her.

Liz was momentarily shocked into silence. "Wh-what?!"

"Now Liz, I'm sure he didn't really mean it." Jane tried to smooth her sister's rising temper. This was a bad idea. I should have made something up.

"How could he - Of all the - " She was at a loss for words to properly express her outrage. She could hardly believe it, and yet the proof was before her. Jane would never lie about something as important as this. Will... She hadn't known someone she had only begun to like could wound her so deeply.

She pushed the stunned hurt aside and let the instinctive anger take over. It was easier, safer, to hide her confusion and pain with fury than to confront it. "That son of a... I have half a mind to find him right now and tear apart his pathetic person limb by limb!"

"Liz," Jane said urgently. "You promised me you wouldn't do anything."

"I did nothing of the sort," Liz brushed off her comment.

"Liz," her sister said pointedly.

Liz bit her lip to keep from herself from yelling. "Fine. I promise I won't hunt him down and squash him like the useless turd that he is."

"Thank you," Jane breathed in relief.

"But," Liz stopped in the doorway on her way out, "if he runs into me, I won't be held accountable for my actions." Liz walked into her own bedroom and quietly shut the door behind her. Inexplicably she could feel hot tears forming in her eyes. What a fine time to cry, she thought bitterly as she wiped away the few tears she had allowed to slip down her face.

She couldn't decide if she was truly surprised that Will had acted callously. Hadn't she initially thought him unfeeling and arrogant? So what if he had seemed to change before her eyes. So what if she had started to find him unexpectedly attractive. No, I shouldn't be surprised, Liz thought as she threw herself on her bed.

She was disappointed in him for proving to be exactly the type of person she had once assumed he was. But most of all, she was disappointed in herself for perhaps falling for him a bit too easily.

January, present year

It was half past noon. Liz flitted around the studio, making last minute checks on all her pieces. The photographer would be arriving soon to set up the camera and lighting equipment. Liz had replied to his second email late last night, confirming a meeting time and location. Oddly enough, her stomach had been filled with butterflies ever since she sent off that email. She attributed her uneasiness to feeling anxious about her portfolio being shot correctly. There was no other explanation for it.

She brushed the hair off her forehead. Her bangs were growing out and they were getting into her eyes. She moved over to a small mirror that hung in the corner of the room and tidily clipped back her hair with a bobby pin. While she was busy fussing, she was distracted from noticing the arrival of someone else.

Will stood in the middle of room, momentarily struck dumb by her presence. Oh, he had known that he would see her again, had tried to prepare himself for what he would say when he did. But seeing her now, he felt short of breath and robbed of his reason.

This was a mistake. You shouldn't have come here.

But you wanted to see her, needed to see her.

Stop it. You're being stupid. Just act naturally. Breathe.

He cleared his throat. Liz whipped her head toward him.

He wasn't aware that someone's face could switch from mild surprise to pronounced disgust in the span of a second.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, not even trying to hide her irritation.

He opened his mouth, but for the life of him he could not speak.

"Well?" She crossed her arms in front of herself. "I told Charles not to do me any favors."

"I-I - " He cleared his throat again. "I'm here because you hired me." He lifted his arms to show her his camera equipment. "Charles didn't ask me to do anything."

It took her about a minute before the truth dawned on her. "You? You're WFD?"

"The one and only." He gave a little shrug. Feeling much more like himself, Will strode over to her side of the room and set down his bags. How silly he had been to think that they would be able to discuss things rationally when it was obvious she hated him. He hadn't realized that she could still be so angry, especially since his interference came to nothing, and both Charles and Jane had already forgiven him for his unkind words. Will's previous determination deserted him with ridiculous ease. Momentarily unsteadied, he shrugged on the comfortable mantle of aloofness; it was an old defense mechanism he had employed successfully many times in the past.

"I can't believe it."

"Who'd you think you were emailing?" He began to set up the lights.

"Hey, stop doing that." She rushed over to block him from arranging his equipment. "I don't want you doing this... And to answer your question, I assumed WFD was one of the graduate students - Walter DeWitt or Winnie DiMarco or somebody. If I had known if was you, I wouldn't have hired you."

Well, that hurt. He felt his heart squeeze painfully, but paid no attention to it. "Be that as it may, you did hire me and I need the money. So let's get this finished, shall we?" He pulled out a tripod from his bag and started to adjust the height of the legs.

"No, we shall not." Liz glared at him. "And since when do you need any money? Aren't you loaded?"

He chose to ignore her question as he laid the illuminated flat panel on the pedestal. "There's a lot you don't know about me."

"Oh really?" She stepped back, clearly amused by his comment. "Well, what I do know is that you are an intervening, pompous jerk who clearly takes pleasure in the pain of others."

"Hardly," he bit out shortly. "Look, do you want to get this finished anytime soon, or do you want to stand there wasting my time?"

He had this look on his face - the one she hated, the one that made him appear like he was just barely tolerating her presence. Liz wanted nothing more than to wipe that superior expression off of his face - and preferably with a swift kick to his nether parts.

"Maybe you don't give a crap," he spoke when she hadn't responded. "But I do need the money - despite what you believe - and you need your portfolio shot. So let's be professional about the whole thing and get down to business. The sooner I start, the sooner I'm gone and out of your sight.

"What?" he asked, when she continued to stand silently in front of him, her arms crossed, and her eyes as hard as granite. "Do you need references? Do you want to see more examples of my work? I don't understand your hesitation." He was frustrated. She made him want to pull at his hair and scream. This isn't how this was supposed to go. "I assure you, I am more than qualified for the job."

"Fine," Liz spat out. He was here and she would deal with it. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing how his presence affected her anymore than she already did. She would be adult about this. She would be as indifferent and as emotionally detached as he seemed to be. "Fine, whatever. Do what you want - it's clear you're going to do it no matter what I say."

"Thank you," Will replied, a bit haughtily. "Now, what needs to be shot?"

"All those over there." She pointed at the group of glass pieces crowding the table. He moved toward them. "Mind you, don't break anything."

"I'll try not to." He managed to keep his tone mildly snide, despite feeling something altogether different. It was difficult putting up this unpleasant, arrogant front when he wanted nothing more than for her to smile at him again, for her to forgive him. This is her work, he thought, running his eyes lovingly over the glass sculptures and figurines. This is her passion. For a moment, he felt overcome with such pride, such joy... such awareness of her. It was like she was sharing something secret with him, something sacred that only he could feel and understand. It was the artist in him. He knew better than anyone else what her work meant to her - how it was an extension of her true self. Somehow, it was humbling. Beautiful.

"What did you say?" Liz asked, appearing next to him with one of her pieces in her arm.

"What?" He hadn't realized he had spoken aloud. "Nothing. Here, put that on the pedestal. I'll be ready in a minute."

She shrugged and walked away.

I wish I could tell you everything. Explain myself. He watched her retreating back. I wish it were easier than this. It had been an imprudent idea, accepting her job offer. He knew that now. There was no way she was ever going to give him the time of day. And there was no way he could ever apologize to her face. The words stuck in his throat, leaving his mouth dry and his heart brimming with tumultuous, unexpressed emotions.

He would cling to his damnable pride. It was the only thing she hadn't taken from him. It's probably better this way, anyway.

Chapter 4

Posted on Monday, 6 December 2004

January, present year

Why does he have to act like such a know-it-all?

Liz stood in the darkened corner of the studio and watched as Will shot the last of the slides. He was irritatingly efficient in his movements. He spent about five minutes with each piece, positioning it on the pedestal to his liking, adjusting the light tents until the right amount of diffused lighting fell in the right places, then shooting frame after frame. Every now and then she would interrupt and point out that he had the wrong side of the piece facing forward. Will would turn and glare at her, then he'd rotate the piece per her instructions and go back to his work.

She watched as the muscles in his tanned forearms contracted with his movements. Liz had a thing for guys with nice arms; it was one of her irrational quirks. It's a pity that such a sexy pair of forearms would be attached to that egotistical maniac. She very nearly sighed with regret, but caught herself in time.

"That's the last of it." Will straightened from his hunched-over position. He had taken to shooting some close-ups of her more extraordinary sculptures, having been captivated by the level of detail in her work. He walked over and flipped on the light switch. The sudden flood of light in the studio snapped Liz out of her musings. He pocketed the rolls of slide film he had taken. "I'll get these back to you as soon as possible. It might take a couple of days - though I do know someone who works at The Shutterbug in UV."

University Village - or UV as everyone called it - was a small shopping center located right across campus near a large section of student housing. "Don't worry about it. I can take care of it." She held out her hands for the rolls of film.

"Nonsense," Will replied simply. He finished packing up the rest of his gear. "I'll probably manage to get you a discount if I take it myself."

"At least let me pay you in advance." Liz rummaged through her backpack for her wallet.

"That wasn't our agreement," Will said as he swung his bags onto his shoulders. "Look, I'll call you in a few days to arrange a pick-up. See you." And without further ado he left.

"But you don't have my new number," Liz said aloud to the empty room.

It had been two days since the photo session. She wondered exactly what time frame he had meant by "a couple of days". She felt vaguely anxious knowing that slides of her work were out there, beyond her reach and sight. She wondered what he thought of her artwork. Did he like it? Did he think her an artist? Normally she could care less what he thought of her - but, in this respect, she was restless with curiosity.

The thing was, in spite of herself, in spite of not wanting to care about what Will thought, she did. Liz admired Will's talent. His artistry, his vision and dedication to his work were superb. If anything, she knew she could trust his judgment when it came to art. And a small part of her hoped that he would think as highly of her work as she thought of his.

She shifted the negative carrier in the condenser until the enlarged image lit up the baseboard. Centering the easel, she aligned it with the edges of the image and clicked off the lamp. It was an interesting process - she didn't deny it - but it grew increasingly tedious as the time wore on and she had nothing to show for it. Some days she was lucky and all her prints came out at the proper exposure. Other days she might as well have tossed her package of photo paper in the trash for all the good it did her.

Today was one of those days of the latter variety. She imagined that if she had any skill at all, she wouldn't be wasting her time and supplies like an idiot. But the more frustrated Liz became, the more determined she was to get something done.

She let out an aggravated growl when the test strip turned completely dark in the developer. A few of the nearby students glanced at her, but said nothing; they commiserated with her pain.

Perhaps I ought to call it a day. Liz dropped the scrap of paper into the trashcan and trudged back to her workbench to collect her things. Out of the blue, a long-forgotten memory surfaced in her mind.

October, previous year

She threw down the packet of photo paper none too gently and suppressed a huff of annoyance. No one paid her any mind, and she appreciated everyone's disinterest. This was not one of her best moments, and she was glad that no one who mattered to her was there to witness her tantrum.

"Need a little help?"

Liz nearly jumped. She pressed a hand to her racing heart. "You startled me! Don't sneak up on me like that."

Will nodded in acquiescence. "You really shouldn't toss your photo paper around like that," he chided, but she could hear the faint teasing in his voice. "It wrinkles the prints."

"I'll try to keep that in mind for future reference." She picked up the packet and made a big show of placing it gently on the shelf beneath her workbench. She patted the packet twice like it was a good dog, and Will found himself grinning at her absurdity.

"So, I noticed you were having some trouble," he said after a moment. "Want me to give it a try?"

"Sure, if you have time." She moved over so he had more room to work. "I didn't see you come in."

"I saw you come in." He pointed over to the far end of the darkroom. "I'm over there."

"Oh." She watched as he utilized the equipment with his infinite skill, making it look altogether much too easy. He lowered the enlarger's stage and locked it into place. With a deft twist of his wrist, he opened the aperture to the lowest setting and the negative's image spilled brightly onto the white baseboard. He peered through the grain focuser and turned the knob on the condenser until the image came into crystal-clear focus.

"Take a look." He tilted his head toward the focuser.

She did as he directed. "Very nice."

He set the focuser on another corner of the image. "Now look again."

Liz didn't even bother to question him. She had gotten used to his instruction in the darkroom, as he had helped her several times in the past month, and his eccentricities and bossiness did not bother her here; she was fully aware that he knew what he was doing. And yet, his extraordinary talent and ability to make it look so effortless never ceased to impress her. "It still looks sharp."

"I know." Will gave her a small smile. "It's very rare to come across a negative of this quality taken by a beginner photographer. You always want to check your negatives before you print. In this particular frame, you'll notice how all four corners of your image are equally sharp; this means that you were completely in focus when you exposed the film. Excellent work."

To her embarrassment, she felt a blush spread over her cheeks. Luckily, the darkroom's safelight and the condenser's light illuminating the baseboard were not bright enough to make the color on her face visible.

He continued to work, oblivious to the effect of his compliment. He studied the image for a few seconds, clicked close the aperture a few stops, and adjusted the timer before turning off the lamp. He exposed small sections of a scrap of photo paper to the light at regular three second intervals, moving his hand across the paper with each click of the button so that previously exposed sections would receive a little bit more light.

"That should about do it." Will tossed the test strip into the developer bin.

A long sink jutted out into the room, effectively splitting it into two. Three shallow bins of chemical solutions lined the basin. At the very end of the sink near the wall was a large bin filled with prints soaking in running water.

Liz stood opposite of him on the other side of the sink. The ventilation system built over the chemicals hummed softly as she watched him agitate the developer with a rubber-tipped pair of wooden tongs.

"F/8, fifteen seconds." He looked across the basin, watching her watch him.

Unsettled, her mind was slow to comprehend his words. "What?"

Will transferred the test strip into the stop bath bin. "F/8, fifteen seconds - give or take. I'm guessing the exposure time needed for your print." Using the tongs, he picked up the strip and set it into the fixer bin.

"How can you tell?" She moved down her side of the sink until she was parallel to him once more.

"When you've worked in the darkroom for as long as I have, you pick up on these things. All the nuances of printing become second nature - they become ingrained in your very being." He prodded the fixer chemicals with the tongs. "I suppose that sounds a little much."

"No, I understand." Liz smiled at him. "I feel the same when I'm working with glass."

He quickly rinsed the test strip in water and placed it on a plastic tray. They moved outside the darkroom so they could study it in natural light. The strip was a gradient of grays and blacks; each successive section was more intensely colored, ranging from a very light exposure at three seconds to a completely dark exposure at twenty-one seconds.

Will pointed to the fifth segment. "Fifteen seconds, just as I thought."

"Now how come I can't do that myself?" She took the tray from him to better study the strip.

"Most likely you're starting with an aperture that's too open. Moderate settings like f/5.6 or f/8 generally work quite well."

Liz sighed, slightly disillusioned by her own failure and his mortifyingly easy success.

"Come on, don't be discouraged," he said with sympathy. "Taking the pictures is the hard part. Without the thought and attention put into making your shots visually engaging, there would be nothing to capture the viewer's interest. I can already see from your work that you're putting a lot of consideration into your shots. The rest of this," he waved his hand airily in the direction of the darkroom, "it's just a process to be learned and a skill to be refined."

She raised her brows at him in disbelief. Will Darcy praising my work? It was almost too much to take in. She knew her pictures were amateurish at best. At one time, she might have believed his comments insincere, might have suspected that the reason he offered to assist her was to boost his own sense of superiority and self-importance. But, after these past few months of knowing him, she found it increasingly difficult to entertain mean-spirited thoughts of Will because, for all accounts and purposes, he was rather an okay guy.

Though, Liz didn't believe that he counted her amongst his dearest friends. So maybe he was humoring her for reasons unknown.

She wasn't sure what his motives were, really.

"You doubt me?" he asked when she failed to reply. "Come back into the darkroom. I'll show you just how good you are. You probably need to see it to believe it."

"Why are you helping me so much?" Liz asked, the curiosity eating at her.

Her question caught him off-guard. "What do you mean?"

"I know you spend a great deal of your darkroom time helping me out. And I know it must be bothersome to you especially when I'm taking you away from your own work. You really don't need to spend all this time with me if you have other pressing things to do, Will. I'll understand."

"You don't... like my help?" He looked confused and hurt, and Liz couldn't quite understand why.

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way. Your guidance has been invaluable, and it's because of it that I've improved so much since the start of the semester. I just don't want you to feel like you're obligated to help because your friend is dating my sister." When the wounded expression continued to remain on his face, she added, a bit lamely, "I didn't want you to be unnecessarily inconvenienced, that's all."

Will was quiet for a moment, and she thought she had offended him. He shook his head very slightly. "It's not an inconvenience at all." He turned and walked back into the darkroom, leaving her in the lobby. Great job, Liz. You had to open your big mouth.

"Well, are you coming in or not?" Will poked his head out of the doorway.

She looked at him in surprise. She hadn't thought he would want to help her, especially after she'd sounded so ungrateful just then. "Yeah, sure."

Maybe in a strange way, they were sort of friends. The notion sent a peculiar shiver up her spine. Maybe I'm losing my mind, too, she thought wryly as she followed after him.

January, present year

Someone tapped her shoulder. Liz whipped around, half-expecting him to be there. But it wasn't him. It was another student wanting to know if she was done with her workstation. She cleared her equipment and checked it back in at the lobby counter. Liz was sure that if Will had been in the darkroom today, she would have noticed, felt his presence somehow. Still, to be safe, she surveyed the cork bulletin board for his I.D. card - but she did not see it.

Strange how she both longed for and feared his presence at the same time. For the most part, whenever she was around him, she wasn't exactly sure if she enjoyed or disliked his company. Indeed, there were many a time she felt an irrational burst of irritation toward him - he seemed to have an uncanny ability to arouse her ire with little effort.

For example, several times in the early stages of their acquaintance, she'd caught him making minor, dismissive comments or sweeping generalizations about people and situations he knew nothing about. It had struck her as arrogant and condescending behavior. And no matter how much she had reminded herself that no one really could be that patronizing and that there was no reason for her to react, Liz couldn't resist dropping her own biting remarks (which generally brought about a quick resolution to the conversation at hand). She'd relished the befuddled, annoyed expression Will got on his face when she caught him saying things she perceived as outrageously wrong.

Yes, he certainly knew how to irritate her - but there were moments, too, when his presence wasn't at all unpleasant. Like when he'd stop to help when he noticed her having trouble in the darkroom, even though it was obvious he had other things to do. And when he was around other people, like Charles and Jane, she noticed that he transformed into a relatively likeable person - and it sometimes astounded her.

From the very beginning, she had had a preconception of who he was, and more often than not the "real" Will - the Will she had reluctantly grown to like and admire - defied that preconception.

Oh, his presence wasn't entirely unpleasant, but it wasn't pleasant either. At least, she wouldn't admit to anyone - including herself - that it was.

Why do I have to feel so confused about everything?

She couldn't explain her behavior toward him during the photo shoot. At first, she'd felt deceived: either Charles had gone behind her back and asked Will to help her even though she had expressly told him not to, or Will was playing some sort of devious trick on her. That feeling of deception had been soon replaced with outrage at Will's high-handed, imperious behavior. He'd swept into the room as if he owned it, and then in a blink of an eye, he'd gotten down to business without so much as acknowledging the fact that the last time they'd seen each other they had parted badly. And, while Liz's temper had wanted to rage as hotly as the fire in her furnace, Will had acted so... cool, so calm and controlled. He had betrayed nothing of his private emotions during the photo shoot. Even his anger, she'd noted with frustration, had a collected quality about it.

How could he act blasé about everything when she felt so much?

That entire afternoon had been fraught with tension, at least on her side. At times, it had felt like a whirlwind of emotions - the foremost being anger and disappointment - had descended upon her, wreaked havoc with her equanimity. It had pained her to witness firsthand that the coldness she had long ago seen him capable of - that she had accused him of - could be so easily directed at her person. The truth was, in her hearts of hearts, Liz liked Will. Just a little bit, she reminded herself petulantly. Okay, maybe a little more than that.

Because she had grown increasingly fond of him during the last few months of their acquaintance, Liz had begun to feel as if she understood the basic essence of who he was: He was proud, but with reason. He was passionate about his art, obsessive and diligent in his work ethic. He loved and cared for his sister, treated his friends with kindness. Although his actions were sometimes questionable, his underlying intentions were generally the best.

She realized now that she had been a little presumptuous in quickly dismissing him and his motives as intentionally callous. Will had his own reasons for acting the way he did, and while she disagreed with his meddling, Liz knew that he was never malicious without reason. Perhaps she had been hasty in denying him the opportunity to explain himself.

Jane and Charles were right: she was stubborn. Liz couldn't help herself.

She knew now that it had been wrong of her to accuse him of such unwarranted cruelty when they'd last argued. She would never forget how his face had drained of all color. He'd looked as though she had struck him across the face. And, though she had been tempted to do just that, the truth was that she was not one for committing actual physical violence upon another person.

If he would just admit that he had acted wrongly, she would admit that she had done the same. Ay, there's the rub. Liz would never admit any wrongdoing unless he went first - and as she was sure that Will would not lower himself to do anything of the kind either, it was pointless to worry herself over the subject.

"Too bad I was starting to like him," she said to herself. "I should try and erase him from my life."

However, that was easier said than done.

As it turned out, it had been pretty straightforward. He'd imagined scenarios upon scenarios of him breaking down over the phone and confessing anything and everything to her, begging her for her forgiveness while she laughed at him disdainfully. It was appalling how much her hatred of him affected him. He had been strangely relieved when he'd punched in her old phone number and had gotten a computer-automated message telling him the dialed number had been disconnected. The tight, burning anxiousness in his chest dissipated as he'd realized how stupidly he was acting.

With newly emerging confidence, Will had gotten her new number from Charles. And, when duly pressed for the reason why he wanted Liz's phone number, Will could not keep the events of that afternoon hidden from his friend any longer. So he'd told him about the photo shoot - and Charles had hooted in laugher. Hooted! That was really uncalled for, Will thought, drumming his fingers on the wooden table.

He had called her the night before. He had been polite with his words, gracious in his tone. Never did his voice reveal his chaotic inner emotions. Steely and confident, he had repeated to himself. She can't know what she does to you. That'd give her too much power.

But she did have a sort of power over him, whether she knew it or not. He couldn't remember ever being so preoccupied with one person in his life. Liz made him unsure of himself. She threw him off balance and kept him on his toes.

Will had never felt so emotionally unsettled by a woman before. He attributed his unease to the fact that Liz was unlike any other girl he had met: She didn't seem to find him attractive, she didn't employ any feminine wiles to capture his attention - she didn't even seem to like him all that much. Such inexplicable, contrary (to his mind) behavior drew him like a moth to a flame. He supposed his feelings were akin to wanting the unattainable; the more it seemed he couldn't have it, the more he wanted it. Still, the knowledge that his feelings stemmed from an involuntary reflex on his part did not make his feelings any less intense or real.

He thought back now to the photo shoot a few afternoons ago. Even though Will knew beforehand that he would see her again and had had ample time to prepare, he'd barely managed to keep his composure in her presence. He had tried to do the job he was hired for without making any obvious blunders, but it had been difficult acting normal under Liz's watchful eye. Her scrutiny made him self-conscious.

Will could feel himself becoming anxious all over again just thinking about that afternoon. His heart had raced during those two hours - the staccato beating so loudly in his mind he was sure she must have heard it, too - and a fine line of sweat had trickled down the back of his neck. When she had spoken to him, he hadn't been able to respond for fear of a tremor in his voice, a shift in his tone giving him away. Did she know what she did to him? Did she know how powerless he was? If there is a god in heaven, and you're listening, please don't clue her in. It's too pathetic.

They had spoken briefly on the phone the previous night and set up a meeting at the university's coffeehouse for this afternoon.

Will sipped at his café au lait and waited for her. The caffeine wasn't helping him with his nerves, but he needed something to do to take his mind off of her.

But his mind refused to relinquish its preoccupation. Even here, Will looked around and was reminded of her, of how she had smiled at him without reserve and talked with him as if she were interested in what he had to say.

December, previous year

Liz bid Charlotte farewell at the entrance of GroundZero. Her friend needed to go to the library, and nothing Liz said could convince Charlotte to spend the afternoon consuming sugary drinks and tasty bakery goods instead of doing research for a term paper.

She placed her order. As she waited by the counter for her drink, she glanced around the café for a familiar face. Her pulse unexpectedly jumped when her eyes lit upon a certain person sitting by himself in the corner of the room. The barista called her name and she retrieved the steaming mug of hot chocolate.

She hesitated briefly before making up her mind to seek him out. It wouldn't do to studiously avoid him as if she didn't know he was there.

"Fancy meeting you here," Liz said, by way of opening.

Will looked up from the book he was reading. "Liz," he said a bit dumbly, surprised that she was standing before him.

With a questioning expression, she nodded her head toward the empty chair across from him.

"Oh." He abruptly stood up. "Would you care to join me? Please, take a seat."

She gave him an odd, bemused look as she sat down. He was still standing - apparently baffled at her presence - until Liz raised her eyebrows and he got the hint to sit down as well.

"I hope I'm not intruding," she said after moment, now realizing that maybe he had been sitting alone for a reason. Maybe he wants to be alone. Or, worse, maybe he's waiting for someone else. Someone female.

"Not at all... I just didn't expect anyone, that's all." He cleared his throat. "You're looking well today." She was wearing her hair down in long, sweeping layers. Usually she wore it up, but he preferred her hair unbound and loose about her shoulders.

It's really quite sad that you pay attention to these sorts of things, he thought.

"Thanks." Liz felt herself color with a twinge of self-consciousness. "So, what are you reading?" she asked, deflecting his attention from herself.

He held up a worn copy of Persuasion.

"I didn't think you were one to read Jane Austen for fun," Liz teased, smiling.

"19th Century British Literature," Will replied. "Not for fun, but required reading - though I must say, it's not half bad. Austen has a canny way of stringing along sentences that display her wit to the best effect."

"You're enjoying it?" she asked, clearly astonished. "Most guys I know run away screaming when they have to read Austen for class."

"Ah, then I suppose the only conclusion to make is that I am not 'most guys.'" He shrugged his shoulder. "It's a good read, clever and funny. But I can see why most guys wouldn't find it interesting: not nearly enough fighting or killing."

She couldn't wipe the incredulous look off her face before he noticed.

"What?" Will asked.

"You're constantly a surprise, that's all," she commented, and then sipped quietly on her mug of hot chocolate.

He didn't know what she meant, but he assumed it was a compliment. "I meant to thank you, earlier, for having Georgiana and me at your Thanksgiving potluck last week. We had a great time."

"Any friends of Charles's are friends of mine," Liz responded graciously. Well, that sounded rude. Now he'll think you don't think of him as a friend, but just as a friend of a friend. Trying to regain ground, she quickly added, "Your sister is such a sweetheart. She's a freshman, right?"

"Yes. Georgiana's a music major; she plays the piano."

"I know. I've heard her practice a few times when I've gone down to the School of Music to meet a friend. She really is quite exquisite on the piano. She must have inherited her talent from your mother."

His eyes brightened at the mention of his mother. "You know of my mom?"

"Who doesn't?" She shot him a warm smile. "Anna Darcy was the principal keyboardist for the LA Philharmonic for nearly a decade. I saw her perform in a couple of chamber music concerts when I was in high school. Georgiana strongly reminds me of her... It must have been a great loss to you and your sister when your mother and father passed away."

Will found he could not utter a word in response and stared down at the wood grain paneling of the table. It had been a long time since he had talked about his parents with anyone. And now, within a space of a week, both of his parents had come up in his conversations with Liz. It still hurt to speak of them; their passing still felt so fresh in his heart and mind, as if time had barely passed since those two days when his carefree life had permanently changed to one of responsibility.

Yet, curiously enough, talking about his parents with Liz felt almost... okay. He was glad to be able to share them with her.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, noticing his silence. "I didn't mean to drag you down. I shouldn't have brought it up." She had glimpsed the pained expression on his face, even though he had tried to hide it, and felt it was prudent to switch to a safer topic. "So, how are your grad school apps coming along?"

He appreciated the change of subject and breathed in deeply before saying, "I'm about finished selecting my final portfolio to shoot. And you? Are you applying here?"

"Nowhere close to being finished. And yes, of course - Rosings is my home. I've already practically moved into the furnace room."

"I've always wondered what goes on in Longbourn West."

"Don't tell me you've never been to the West wing?!"

He enjoyed the look of stunned disbelief on her face. "Not once in my three plus years here. There's never been a need to traverse the short distance between Pemberley and Longbourn. It's all glass arts and sculpture over there, right?"

"Right." Her mouth was still agape. "This is an outrage, really. I can't believe you've never been inside Longbourn West. Your family donated money to have the Fine Arts Complex built! If your forebears knew of this travesty, I'm sure they would tan your hide."

Will chuckled at the image that popped in his head of a pack of his ancestors' ghosts whopping him with canes and various other walking aides. "There's never been a reason to go over there."

"Well, I'll give you a reason. Come by next week and I'll show you around," she invited.

"I wouldn't mind seeing this furnace room you're thinking about setting up house in," Will acknowledged with a grin.

"No problem. Maybe I can even teach you a thing or two about blowing glass."

"Although I know next to nothing about glass arts, I'm pretty sure I can catch on quickly." And just to needle her, he added, "It can't be that hard, right?"

Liz rolled her eyes. "You're excellent at blowing hot air, I'll give you that. Whether that helps you in the furnace room remains to be seen."

They grinned goofily at each other.

January, present year

"Hey... Sorry I'm late. Have you been waiting long?"

Will's reminiscence of past conversations was interrupted by Liz's timely appearance. He pulled himself together and consulted his watch. "Just a few minutes."

She sat down in the chair opposite him, and, unable to bear the suspense any longer, asked, "How'd they turn out?"

"Wonderfully." He retrieved two, small plastic cases from his bag. "You can trim some of the edges with silver Mylar tape, if you wish - though I don't think it is necessary. Other than that, everything is mounted and ready to go."

Liz set on the table a slide viewer she had borrowed from one of her friends. "Do you mind if I take a look? I can't wait any longer."

"Go right ahead." He slid the cases toward her.

Eager, she placed one of the cardboard-framed slides into the viewer. The image of the slide was illuminated and magnified to twice its size. Before her was a crystal clear picture of one of her finely rendered pieces: the set of glass baskets that had taken her weeks to finish.

The basket that formed the foundation of the piece was shaped like half a clamshell, turned up on its side to cup another basket blown to resemble an empty snail shell. Nestled within this second basket was another basket about the size of her fist - a dainty, bowl-like slip of a thing, charming in its seeming fragility. She had spent several days experimenting with gold chloride in the melts until she perfected the color she desired. Each basket was a deep, cranberry red; in the slide, they seemed to shine like rubies.

For a moment, Liz could see her work through new eyes - through his eyes. She was momentarily paralyzed by the elegance and ease with which he'd captured on film the fundamental spirit of her art. Look how the light caressed the curves of the trio of baskets, how the controlled play of shadows made the glass seem delicate and refined, and yet so robust in its form. She flipped quickly now through the slides, increasingly aware that his attention to detail unconsciously betrayed something that perhaps he hadn't meant for her to see. The slides were like a love song to her and her work.

Had he studied her art closely enough to see into her very soul? She felt suddenly naked and exposed.

His hand was unexpectedly upon hers, squeezing it in reassurance. "I know," Will said in a low voice, and Liz sensed that he did. She hadn't anticipated feeling so vulnerable. She began to realize that tears had formed in the corners of her eyes. How silly, she thought, to be emotionally cowed at such a time.

It seemed to her that he had looked inside her, and seen the very heart of her. How could he do that? How could someone she felt so personally and emotionally disconnected from see so much? Understand her so well?

"Thank you for doing this," Liz said.

Will was moved by her honest reaction. He didn't know what he would do if she started to cry.

"It was my pleasure." And that was the honest truth.

He let go of her hand. It had been a momentary aberration on his part to reach for her, as if he had the right to comfort her. He had long since given up that right when he had hurt her and her sister, no matter how unintentionally.

Remembering that, he found that he could no longer be in her presence. It was too hard. "I have to go," Will said as he rose.

"Wait. I haven't paid you yet." She tore her gaze from the slides and fumbled through her bag for her wallet.

"It isn't necessary." He didn't want her money, he realized. Even though he had told her differently, it hadn't been about the money. He'd needed to do this for her. And for himself.

Liz handed him sixty-dollars. "But it is to me."

Unwillingly, he tucked the bills into his pocket. They simply stared at each other for several seconds, unsure what to do next. They both knew there was something to be said, something on the tips of their tongues that needed to be articulated before they could move into the uncertain future - but neither would speak unless the other had spoken first.

I'm such a coward, he thought.

She bit her lip. I'm such a fool.

"I'll see you around," Will said, finally. She nodded awkwardly, adverting her eyes.

He left. I guess it was easier than I imagined, she thought as he passed through the doors.

It seemed he would erase himself from her life, without any effort on her part.

Chapter 5

Posted on Thursday, 16 December 2004

May, present year

Nearly three months passed without incident. The first week of May dawned hot and bright, and brought with it the sudden and desperate realization that finals were approaching. Students scattered like bugs into hiding, holing up in libraries and empty classrooms. Dorm halls were deserted, and nary a cheerful sound was heard on campus.

It was time to hunker down and prepare for the worst.

Luckily for Liz, none of her classes required a final examination. She had two papers - one for Art Theory, the other for Design Fundamentals - and a final project for her Computer Imaging course. Since all three assignments had been due some time ago, Liz spent the final weeks of her senior year in gluttonous leisure.

The semester passed so quickly, she reflected. And now the future lay before her, rife with doubt.

A thin, unopened envelope addressed to her in the university's letterhead lay upon the dining table. It was from the School of Fine Arts admissions office. Liz stared at it but made no move to open it.

"I'm home!" Jane exclaimed as she came through the front door. "Hey, there you are. I thought you might still be sleeping."

"Nope. I woke up awhile ago." Liz tipped back in her chair. "How was your last final?"

"Easier than I thought it would be." Jane walked past her, pushing the chair back forward until all four legs touched the floor. "Don't do that - you'll fall over." She settled into a neighboring seat. "I saw Charles on my way home. He invited us to dinner tonight, if you're up for it."

"That's fine by me." Liz handed her the envelope that had been lying on the table. "This arrived today."

"What... Oh, it came! Why haven't you opened it?"

"I don't know. I was waiting for you to come home."

"Well, they certainly are walking a fine line," Jane said as she studied the envelope. "I mean, the end-of-the-year Induction Exhibition is next week."

"One of the girls in my Art Theory class said that Admissions likes to send letters to Rosings' undergrads last, to up the feeling of suspense or something. I'm afraid to look, Jane. I'll admit it."

"You're not a coward, Liz. And I can't do this for you." She handed over the envelope. "You forced me to open my letter from SFB, remember? I didn't want to, but you made me do it, so now it's your turn to follow your own advice."

"You're right," Liz conceded reluctantly. "Here goes nothing." She kissed the letter for good luck, then slit open the top and read the enclosed missive. When the words refused to sink in, she reread them to make sure she hadn't accidentally suffered a brain aneurysm the first time around.

"Well?" Jane asked, worried by her sister's silence.

"I got in," Liz said faintly, grateful she'd been sitting when she read her letter. "They accepted me. I can't believe it."

Jane bounced out of her chair with enthusiasm. "Well of course they did! How could they not?" She pulled Liz from her seat and out of her stunned surprise, and they hugged and squealed in excitement, taking turns to twirl each other around the living room. "What a perfect end to the year, don't you think?"

The apartment telephone rang. "Hello?" Jane answered, breathless.

"Jane, honey - are you okay?"

"Charles! I'm so happy you called."

"Oh yes?" Charles asked, curious.

"The best thing just happened -"

"I got accepted into Rosings!" Liz shouted into the phone, doing her best imitation of a spinning top before happily plopping down on the couch. "Can you believe it?"

"Congratulations, Liz." Charles said warmly. "Well, this is excellent news. I was calling to confirm dinner for tonight. We were planning on celebrating the end of the school year - but now we'll be celebrating Liz's acceptance as well."

"That sounds wonderful." Jane scribbled a note. "Uh-huh. Okay, we'll see you at 7 PM. Bye."

Liz smiled beatifically from the couch. "Where are we off to tonight?"

Jane checked the slip of paper. "A small dinner party at Derbyshire Towers."

"I wonder who lives there." Liz scrunched her nose in thought. Derbyshire Towers was a luxury apartment complex and only the most well-to-do of the student body were able to afford the rent. Liz doubted she knew anyone who had enough money to live there; the artistic crowd at Rosings ran toward the more "starving artist" category.

"Will, perhaps?" Jane suggested.

The mention of his name made her heart stop unexpectedly. "What?"

"I'm only guessing."

"So Charles didn't mention Will specifically?"

Jane went into the kitchen. "No, I don't think so. Why?"

"No reason," Liz fibbed.

"You aren't avoiding him still, are you? I thought you guys made up months ago." Jane returned with a bottle of water.

"We didn't make up, per se. It was more of a truce," Liz explained, thinking back to the last time they had met. "Besides, I haven't spoken to him since January."

"All the more reason to go." Jane crossed over to the living room. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"I suppose you're right," Liz replied.

"Plus, you already promised Charles you'd go."

"Doesn't mean I have to. You can tell him I've developed a sudden headache, or something."

Jane shook her head. "No way. We're going to the party, and that's that. You deserve some fun. No more being cooped up in the apartment."

"Oh, alright. Fine." Liz walked over to her bedroom. "I'm taking a nap. Wake me up when it's time to go, okay?"

She curled up on the covers and tried to sort out her feelings. Was she happy at the prospect of seeing him in a few, short hours? Was she annoyed, frustrated, frightened? Did she even want to see him?

She imagined that she was still supposed to be angry with him. But the thing was, she wasn't. The quick, burning anger she had felt in December had burned out by the end of January. Charles and Jane were still together, despite Will's interference. How could she still stay mad when Charles and Jane - the ones who had the real right to be angry - had already forgiven Will and accepted his apologies?

Liz decided she was acting childish. So what if it was Will who was hosting the dinner party? She could go. It's not like he would care either way. And so maybe they had reached an impasse that afternoon in the café when he had brought her the slides. It didn't mean that they couldn't peacefully co-exist once again. After all, they had been in each other's company plenty of times before. Things would simply have to go back to normal - at least for one night.

Not bloody likely, she thought.

Just before she drifted off to sleep, Liz allowed herself to admit that there was a small part of her that was eager to see him again. She couldn't explain why. Perhaps, she decided, it was best to not even try.

December, previous year

She let the heat wash over her and took comfort in the familiarity of her surroundings. With unfocused eyes, Liz watched as the white-hot flames licked out of the open furnace doors. She hadn't been able to work properly all week. The chemicals weren't reacting correctly, the colored melts were coming out all wrong, and she had already ruined three vessels with her uncharacteristic forceful handling. Even now they were lined up on the open window's ledge, their misshapen glass forms standing there, silently reprimanding her for her carelessness.

You're wasting your time here. You obviously can't work when you're distracted.

But she didn't know of anywhere else she could go. If she stayed in the apartment, Jane would see that she was upset and would prod her for answers she did not wish to discuss. How could she explain to Jane what she herself hardly understood? Will had hurt her. She hadn't thought it possible, hadn't thought their relationship would ever reach the point where he would matter enough to be able to hurt her, but he had managed to do it. If he had taken a knife and stabbed her in the back, she doubted it would have surprised or hurt her any less.

So Liz was taking refuge in the only place she knew Will would not venture. Hadn't he once told her himself that he never went into the West wing of the Fine Arts Complex? Surely he wouldn't start dropping by all of the sudden?

There was a perfunctory knock on the doorframe behind her. "Come in," she said as she moved to set down the blowpipe.

"Liz?"

She spun around at the sound of his voice. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Will looked at her, puzzled. "You invited me last week, remember?"

She couldn't have been more floored if he had started talking to her in tongues. What was he, insane? How dare he show up, invade her private sanctuary as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened! "You have a lot of nerve coming here after what you did."

It took a moment before he realized what she was speaking of.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

"I-I..." he faltered.

"Save your words," she bit out, raising up the heavy blowpipe in unconscious threat.

Will hastily stepped back. "Liz - "

"I don't want to hear it, Will. I don't want to hear your lies and excuses." The blowpipe dropped to the concrete floor, the resounding crack sending a shiver up his spine. "You should leave before I call someone in here."

Stunned, he did as she demanded.

Liz stared at the empty doorway for a few minutes. She was conscious of her shaking hands and clasped them together, willing herself to regain control of her emotions.

Oh Will, how could you?

May, present year

For the first time in the longest while, Will felt a measure of relief. The semester was finished and all the hard work and long hours he had invested in his four years at Rosings University had paid off. Next year he would embark on his graduate school education at one of the finest artistic institutions in Southern California. The acceptance letter from Rosings had arrived the day before, prompting Georgiana to proclaim a party was in order.

He finished addressing the sealed envelope and placed it on the corner of his desk. The past few months had afforded him ample time to collect his thoughts in regards to Liz Bennet. They had reached an uncomfortable stalemate in January, and he couldn't live with himself if he never explained himself to her. Perhaps he couldn't face her in person, but he certainly could pen her a letter. It was better than nothing. The semester was over and maybe he would never see her again. He couldn't allow her to go without letting her know how sorry he was that he had messed up what he had once hoped would develop into a romantic relationship.

Now, all that remained was to figure out a way to get the letter into Liz's hands. He heard his sister turn on the music in the living room and set it aside for the rest of the evening. Georgiana, he knew, had worked hard to put this dinner together for him and he fully intended to give it his entire attention. He knew he had been distracted during the spring semester. When his mind hadn't been occupied with worry over graduate school admissions, more often than not, his thoughts had strayed toward thoughts of Liz, of what could have been.

Will wandered into the kitchen where his sister was making the last of the preparations. "You didn't have to do all of this. I could have helped."

"Nonsense." Georgiana stood by the sink. "This dinner is for you. Go relax in the living room or something."

"I'd rather be in here." He watched as she stopped to stir the saucepan on the stove. "Are you sure you don't need any help?"

She started scrubbing the tomatoes clean. "I think I've got it covered."

"I could toss the salad," he suggested.

She shook her head.

"Are you implying I can't even toss a salad?" Will asked, bemused.

Georgiana smiled. "Your words, not mine." Those who knew Will Darcy best knew he should not be allowed in the kitchen under any circumstance. "Look, if you're so eager to help, why don't you set the dishes."

"This is what I live with," he said to no one in particular. "No faith, no faith at all."

She stifled a laugh. Before Will could collect the dinnerware, the doorbell rang. "I'll get that. I'm pretty sure I'm capable of answering doors, thank you."

Charles bounded in as soon as the door was opened, a jolly grin on his face. "Caroline just told me over the phone. Congratulations, Will! Why didn't you say something earlier?" He heartily shook Will's hand.

"I don't know. It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Charles repeated in disbelief. "Now you're being modest. Caroline's source at the Fine Arts admissions office said only ten Rosings undergrads were accepted."

Will stuck his head into the hallway. "She didn't come with you?"

"Nope. She had a sorority thing she couldn't get out of. And believe me, she tried."

They walked back to the kitchen. Georgiana handed them a stack of plates and flatware. "Dinner will be ready in two minutes. Hop to it, guys."

"Nice to see you, too, Georgiana." Charles rolled his eyes.

Will pushed him out of the room. "She's on a mission to make this a memorable night. No time for joking, my friend. It's all very serious business."

"Oh, I see, I see." Charles attempted a sober expression, but when Georgiana came out of the kitchen to oversee their progress, he couldn't contain himself. She threw him a stern look. He managed to apologize between fits of laughter.

The doorbell rang again. Charles, hoping to escape Georgiana's wrath, ran to get it.

"You guys made it!" He swept Jane into a hug.

"Hey Jane." Will greeted, and then visibly started when Liz followed her sister through the front door. "Liz."

"I'm so glad both of you could come." Georgiana brushed by him to welcome them. "Here, set your things on the sofa." Will watched as she led them into the apartment.

Well, this is unexpected.

Dinner proceeded quite well, despite Will's discomfort and brooding silence. They feasted on baby greens, garlic shrimp pasta in white wine sauce, and crusty Italian bread. The company was very merry - excepting Will, who was never good at being merry in social situations anyway - and the night was declared a success.

After dinner they repaired to the living room to chat. To her guests' delight, Georgiana brought out an elaborate plate of fruit and cheese and a delicate pear tart.

"Will, why don't you bring out that Canadian icewine Aunt Catherine gave you for Christmas? It should pair very well with dessert."

He did as she asked and soon returned with a tray of cordial glasses and the chilled bottle of Inniskillin Georgiana had set aside earlier. He was pouring out the icewine when the topic of conversation turned to the impending year.

"What are your plans, Charles?" Georgiana asked politely.

"Well, since Jane is joining the corps next season for the San Francisco Ballet," he said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, "I've decided to take the San Francisco Art Institute up on their offer for a place in their MFA program."

Will started passing out the glasses.

"That's lovely, Charles. I didn't know you applied to SFAI." Liz patted his arm. "Congratulations."

"That's wonderful news." Georgiana smiled. "I know Will's too modest to mention it himself, but he received excellent news as well."

"Oh?" Jane asked with interest. Despite herself, Liz's attention was caught.

"He's been accepted at Rosings."

"Well, that's a happy coincidence," Jane beamed. "Liz found out today that she's been accepted into Rosings, too."

Before Liz could respond, she felt a splash of something cold seeping through the front of her shirt.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Will exclaimed worriedly. He set down the glass of icewine he had accidentally spilled on her. Smooth going, idiot. He dabbed at her shirt ineffectually with the paper towels Charles had grabbed from the kitchen. He stayed his hand - his face coloring with embarrassment - when he realized just what he was dabbing.

Liz might have done something, like shirked away from his touch, except that she'd entered into a momentary fit of stupor. The sound of his voice had surprised her more than the feel of her now wet shirt plastered to her skin. He had been so quiet all night that she had managed to almost forget he was there.

"You need to soak that before it stains. Come, I'll give you something to change into." Georgiana led her into one of the private rooms at the back of the apartment. "Will's bathroom is the only one that's working right now," she apologized. "I'll be back in a second with a fresh shirt."

And without further ado, Liz found herself in the last place on earth she thought she would ever be: Will Darcy's bedroom. Well, she thought, amused. This is a strange turn of events. Not above taking advantage of an interesting opportunity when it presented itself, she studied her surroundings with an inquisitive eye.

His living quarters were, she thought with some envy and disgust, meticulous and devoid of anything worth censure. His mahogany sleigh bed was topped with a slate blue duvet and two matching pillows. Colorful movie posters and black and white prints of widely ranging sizes and subjects covered the walls. Even his desk was neat and pleasing.

What's this? She wouldn't have paid the envelope any mind if it hadn't had her name printed on it so clearly. She picked it up to examine it, but when she heard footsteps approaching the door, Liz hastily stuck the letter into the back pocket of her jeans to rid herself of incriminating evidence.

Georgiana appeared with a clean t-shirt. "I hope this is okay."

Liz hoped she didn't look flustered or guilty of snooping. "It's great. I'll be out in a sec." She disappeared into the bathroom that joined the bedroom to change her top. In her rush to get back to the living room, she forgot to replace the letter she had inadvertently stolen.

December, previous year

He was unused to people being infuriated with him. Uneasy, yes, even intimidated and scared. But angry? It made him uneasy knowing that Liz, given a chance, would rip his guts out and stomp on his innards with glee. He waited a few days before he approached her again; he assumed those few days would be enough to bring her anger down to a manageable level. Oh, how wrong he was.

"Liz!" Will surfaced from the shadowy corner of the main lobby. He had been waiting for her all morning; he knew she would eventually have to cross the lobby on her way from Longbourn West to Pemberley East, and he planned on ambushing her.

She turned at his shout. "I'm not talking to you." She quickened her retreat.

"Wait! I want to explain - " He grabbed her arm to slow her down, and she instinctively pulled it out of his reach.

"Don't touch me! God, I can't even stand the sight of you right now."

"Well, too bad."

"Too bad?" she repeated. "I am astonished that you have the gall to approach me in public after what you said and did!"

Her overwhelming anger began to irritate him. Here he was, trying to make amends and she was being stubborn and unyielding. She's impossible! As always, when his temper got the best of him, Will lashed out. "And what did I say or do that so reprehensible? I was only trying to save my friend from furthering what I observed was an imprudent match. It was my duty as a friend to warn him of his possible naïveté and misjudgment."

Imprudent match? His duty? "You are unbelievable!" Liz spat out with loathing. "It's all about you, isn't it? What you think, what you observe, what you believe is right or wrong? Well let me tell you something, Will Darcy: Not everything is about you. Surprise! The world does not revolve around you and what you think. Charles and Jane's relationship is none your business and you had no right to interfere."

She was right. He knew that now, and yet he couldn't admit it because that would mean she'd won and he couldn't let her win. She had already taken too much from him - his control, his reason; he couldn't let her be right, too. "I beg to differ. Charles's welfare is very much my business. He's my best friend and like a brother to me. I was only looking out for his best interest."

"Incredible." Liz shook her head in disbelief. "Do you even hear what you're saying?"

"Do you?" he countered heatedly.

"I can't believe I thought we were friends. I don't know you at all. Who are you? Who is this cruel, heartless robot that goes around destroying innocent lives? How can you be so nonchalant about hurting someone I love more than anything? You know, there are some things you can never forgive nor forget, Will, and this is one of them. You really crossed the line." She shot him one last disgusted glance before she walked away. "I don't ever want to see you again."

He watched her leave, unaware of the many curious and startled stares of onlookers who had witnessed the altercation. He watched her go, feeling like his heart had broken into a million pieces and dissolved into nothingness, leaving him empty and utterly alone.

May, present year

Will tried to bury the painful memory that had resurfaced in his mind. What a time to be thinking of such things! As if he wasn't anxious enough. He nervously swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth and wiped his unusually sweaty hands on his slacks.

"Are you okay?" Georgiana asked. "You look a little funny."

"I'm fine." He batted her hands away when she tried to fix his tie.

She smirked. "I'm going to get you something to drink. You look like you need one."

He barely noticed when she left his side. His attention was focused solely on the front doors of the Lambton Gallery. Where is she? He fidgeted in his suit jacket, and then had to remind himself to behave.

He and Georgiana had arrived fifteen minutes early to Rosings's School of Fine Arts Induction Exhibition. It was a prestigious affair and the honor of his invitation, of his acceptance into his first-choice graduate school, had not been lost on him. But that wasn't the cause of his nerves. No, he was certain of himself and of his rightful place in this institution. What he wasn't sure of was currently hanging on the back wall of the gallery, blown up many times its original size.

I wonder if he's already here. Liz searched the front room of the gallery as she entered. She knew that Will's designated display area was toward the back of the gallery (when she had arranged her portfolio pieces the day before, she had seen his then-bare space blocked off by ropes) but she thought that he might wander the gallery and tour the other exhibits. Please, let me find him.

Jane had headed straight off to the reception table to fetch them something to eat, and Liz was left alone with the butterflies in her stomach. She compulsively clutched her purse to her side. Inside her bag was the letter that contained the very lines that had been playing through her mind for nearly a week.

Dear Liz,

Please don't throw away this letter before you read it. I know that is a lot to ask, but I hope you will grant me this small favor. In return, I will concede that you were right: I should never have meddled in Charles and Jane's relationship. I don't know why I did it At the time, I truly had convinced myself I was doing the right thing. By December, I could see that Charles was deeply in love with your sister, and though I did not observe any obvious signs from her that she returned his regard to the same extent (which I have come to realize is simply a part of her gentle nature, and in no way detracts from the ferventness or depth of her emotions), that wasn't the only reason why I was compelled to get involved.

You see, I was scared. You are probably scoffing as you read this, which is entirely your prerogative, but it's the truth. I developed this irrational fear that Jane was going to take away my friend, and this fear clung to me like a shroud of impending disaster. Charles and I have been friends since high school, and he was perhaps the first person outside of my family that I really connected with and could trust. To think that someone could take him away was frightening.

Perhaps you can understand. Have you ever felt a little apprehensive that your sister, your twin, your best friend, might one day be deeply connected to someone that was not yourself? And that in doing so, you would be replaced? If you ever have - if only for the briefest second - then maybe you can understand why it was so easy for me to think so badly about your sister, why it was so easy for me to want to have a reason to separate her from Charles...

But I see now that I was being jealous and self-serving in reacting as I did. More, I've since learned that instead of losing a friend I've gained a friend. Your sister is an incredible and generous person, and I'm glad Charles found her.

As for us... I like you, Liz. I still do. At one time I had hope that you would someday find yourself liking me back, in that way. But I see now that it is too late and that I have caused irreparable damage to our relationship. It is something I deeply regret.

Nonetheless, I have apologized to your sister and my friend, and they have forgiven me. I hope that, in time, after reading this letter, you may find it in you to forgive me as well.

Best wishes for you health and happiness.

WFD

There he is. She spotted him through the crowd; his back was turned to her and he was speaking with another student. His arm gestures were animated and he appeared to be wholly involved in the discussion. I'll come back later, she thought as she began to move away. But, before she could, her eyes scanned over the wall behind him, and she could not help but see the enormous print that dominated the space. She let out a sharp gasp.

It was her... her face. Clearly it was a candid photograph that she did not know she had been posing for at the time it was taken, otherwise she would have remembered. Her face filled the frame, frozen in an expression of merriment. Shadows played with the curves of her cheeks, hiding much of her in darkness. And yet there were flickers of light that cast a mysterious glow to the entire photograph. She realized she looked... vibrant. Effervescent and engaging and alive with humor. Was that how he saw her? Was that part of why he liked her?

Liz felt her cheeks flushing with color. She looked back at Will and found him watching her, a closed expression on his face. She wanted to call out his name, but her throat felt suddenly tight. He watched her for several more moments and then turned to disappear through a side exit out of the room. His departure set her in motion; she followed him into a side room of the gallery, and when he was nowhere to be seen, she slipped through the open doorway and found him outside, his back to her, his shoulders tensed.

"Will," she said softly.

He reacted visibly to her voice, his shoulders stiffening at the sound of his name.

She searched for something to say. She'd waited a week to have this moment, but now that it was here she wasn't sure how to proceed. "I read your letter."

She saw the confusion in his eyes when he turned to face her.

"What letter?" he asked carefully.

"The one addressed to me. The one I took from your room last week."

His eyes widened in surprise. He had given that letter up for lost, thinking that he had knocked it into the trashcan under his desk that had been emptied before he realized the letter was gone. He had taken the missing letter as a sign, an indication from some higher power that it wasn't meant to be. And to think, she had taken the letter herself without his knowing! I wonder if this changes anything.

"I didn't mean to take it," she explained when he remained silent. "I was looking at it - I couldn't help myself - and then Georgiana came in and I hid it in my pocket. I don't know why. It just happened, and I forgot to put it back."

"Oh." It was all he could say.

"So I read it. Maybe it was wrong of me to do it without your permission. But I read it and I'm not sorry that I did." Her courage was failing her now. For Pete's sake, stop rambling. He doesn't need to hear all this. "I wanted to let you know that... that I understand."

"Okay." A rush of emotions surged through his body, filling him with a thousand and one questions. Will felt strangely detached as he struggled to process everything.

"I shouldn't have said those nasty things to you. I wasn't being fair; I never gave you a chance to explain and I'm sorry."

"What did you say that wasn't true? You called me an 'intervening, pompous jerk who clearly [took] pleasure in the pain of others', a 'cruel, heartless robot that [went] around destroying innocent lives.' I suppose, in a way, I was."

Liz was mortified that he had memorized her hateful words. "I wish you wouldn't repeat what I said then. I was blinded by my anger and wasn't thinking straight."

"You were justified," he said with regret. "And I am sorry that my actions caused you pain. It was unintentional, I assure you."

An awkward silence dragged out between them, and she panicked. Would this be how they ended their acquaintance once and for all? With a few belated apologies and then nothing?

"Why did you put me in your portfolio?" she asked abruptly, referring to her portrait hanging in the gallery. "After everything that happened, why me?"

"I thought you knew," he said quietly. A small, sweet smile teased the corners of his lips.

She was shoved off-balance once more, and all because of that smile. How silly! She could only shake her head in the negative.

"You're there because I'm in love with you."

When she didn't respond to his weighty declaration, he tried to explain, "My portfolio was supposed to represent the best of my work - the best of me. And I guess I thought that one of the best parts of myself was my love for you, because it was pure and it was honest."

They studied each other's faces, searching for any hint of what the other was thinking. Both were hesitant to make a move without knowing how the other person felt.

"You're a strange man, Will Darcy," she said, after a while.

"Oh?" He hadn't been expecting that.

"Sometimes you drive me crazy, and other times you make me so mad I could spit... But then there are times like these, too, when you leave me speechless." To her embarrassment, tears started to fall down her face.

He was stricken at the sight of her distress. "Ah, please don't cry, Liz. I didn't mean to make you sad. I take it all back."

"I'm not sad, you dimwit!" She slapped his chest with the back of her hand. "And I don't want you to take it back."

"Then why the tears?"

Liz looked at him, incredulous. "Because I'm happy. Seriously, you can be so dense sometimes, I don't even know why I like you."

"You like me?" he repeated, as if the words were in a foreign language. Not once in million years had he ever believed he would have a real chance with her; to him, she had always been out of his league. Liz was all that was bright and incandescent, like a burning candle fluttering in the breeze. Maybe there had been a few times when he thought he could get close to that light, capture it for a brief moment and treasure it in his memories; but he'd never believed she would one day be his to keep. They were too different.

Or so he'd thought.

"I might even love you, too. But I think I'm beginning to change my mind," she added mischievously, pleased at finally being in a position to flirt with him so openly.

"Like hell you are." He snapped to attention. He hadn't waited this long to reveal his feelings and discover hers, only to have her "change her mind" on him. As if, he thought, and then pulled her into a passionate kiss before she had a chance to escape.

Their bodies melded into one as everything came into focus. His whole body sang with ungrounded electricity, shook with the undeniable pleasure of her touch. I'll remember this moment forever, he thought. He knew he would not need a snapshot to help him recollect the feel of her wrapped in his arms, the taste of her mouth, the newness of everything and the excitement of discovery. Will knew that years from now, when he reminisced about their past, he would be able to recall with perfect clarity the complete joy he felt during their first kiss.

It was too much. They broke apart, dazed and blissful. It was odd, this sense of contentment that filled him, spilled over him like the lazy warmth of the sun suspended in the late afternoon sky. He hadn't felt this light in years. It was as if the past and all its misunderstandings had melted away with that one kiss.

"I'm absurdly happy right now," Will confessed, an appealing manly blush on his face. He gazed at her tenderly, stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "You're beautiful, you know that? Just seeing you makes my heart race... You intoxicate me."

His flattering words sent a visible shiver through her body. "Are you cold?" he asked. "Listen to me, rambling away and keeping you outside when it's getting cool out. We should get back inside before you catch a chill in that little thing you call a dress."

"What, you don't like it?" She shimmied, thrilled in her freshly discovered ability to tease him in a new manner. He noticed when she moved, the black silk clung in all the right places. There was only so much that a man could take.

"Hey, don't torment the people you love," he chided gruffly, and then led her back into the gallery as she laughed, his fingers twined with hers.

It was an auspicious beginning to their developing romance.

Richard - dressed smartly in his caterer's uniform - gave Charlotte a knowing look as Will and Liz walked past them, oblivious to all but themselves. They had been watching the couple with interest from their position near the gallery's plate glass windows. "See, what did I tell you? I knew those two would work it out."

"Took them long enough," she observed.

"Now will you dish on the juicy details?"

Charlotte was reluctantly charmed. "Not even if you paid me." She shot him a sassy grin as she drifted back into the crowd. He smiled to himself, intrigued.

The End.