The Glass Onion Text too small or too big? You can change it! Ctrl+ (bigger), Ctrl- (smaller)
or click on View in your browser and look for font or text size settings.

Home/Quicksearch  +   Random  +   Upload  +   Search  +   Contact  +   GO List

by Liz Barr
Sept-Oct 2001
rated [PG-13]
Source: Pride and Prejudice. Slash. Darcy/Wickham
Notes: Because Christine dared me. Yes, I'm very strange. No, I'll never do it again.
Disclaimers: Pride and Prejudice was created by Jane Austen, an author infinitely more talented than I.

His father intended for me to be a gentlemen, a clergyman. Respectable. A man of honour, to honour my own father.

Darcy ... Darcy intended for me to fail. Stood over me as I floundered, never relenting as he waited for me to drown.

Or perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps he never wanted me to fail.

Perhaps he never even cared.

Perhaps he did.

I told Miss Bennet that he betrayed me. I lied. And I still lie, as I tell my stupid, stupid wife that I love her, as I tell Miss Bennet (Mrs Darcy, now, so strange) ... I lie as I tell Mrs Darcy that I don't hate her, I lie as I tell Darcy that I hate him.

No. I hate him, with a passion born of intense ... love?

Even drunk, I shouldn't acknowledge such thoughts.

He was a childhood friend; he taught me, played with me, even liked me, perhaps. Treated me as an equal, until I proved otherwise, and then attempted to ignore me.

We are taught that some things are, if not impossible, then deeply wrong. What a poor clergyman I would have made ... much better that the Collinses of the world, the dull sticks who have never encountered such feelings, it is much better that these men enter the Church.

I don't know if he ever understood me. I doubt he even wanted to. Understanding a man like me would be beneath him.

Him and his dignity.

I hate him.

And yet ...

I remember Darcy, seventeen years old, still gangly. All black hair and dark eyes, dignity forgotten as he played with Georgiana.

He was beautiful when he laughed. As a man, he never laughed enough.

I suppose *she* makes him laugh, now. Elizabeth Bennet. Mrs Darcy.

Perhaps I hate her, too.


Perhaps I'm drunk, again.

But, even sober, I remember seeing him come out of the lake, dripping and laughing. Improper, undignified, beautiful.

His friends, his wife, surely none of them knew him as I have.

It's a lie, again, but I feel as though I'm drowning, and this is the only thing keeping me afloat.


Numfar! Do the dance of shame!

Home/QuickSearch  +   Random  +   Upload  +   Search  +   Contact  +   GO List