the fic I'm not writing (again)
Jun. 27th, 2012 08:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anghraineSo I wrote some more of the femmeslashy genderswap awhile back, and figured I'd post it as I procrastinate for Sunday's au_bb due date. (I am really really behind. Whatever.)
title: untitled (part of a longer fic [that I'm not actually writing], posted in snippets at dw/lj [because I'm not writing it]); I might sew them together at some point, when I am writing it
verse: the other genderswap (aka, the version of FI I considered writing but didn't)
Elizabeth didn't know what Frederica would say. Oh, she didn't doubt that Frederica genuinely enjoyed her company, and even missed her when they were separated, as much—almost as much as Elizabeth had missed her. But friendship, for Frederica, always meant more than companionship. She'd been determined to give Elizabeth every opportunity to make a good match. She wanted her married to a rich, respectable gentleman, whose mind they could respect as highly as his manners.
Mr Howard certainly fit that description. Elizabeth could have accepted him, and undoubtedly they would have been quite content together. He was, to be honest, a far greater prize than she would ever have aspired to on her own. And choosing him would not have entailed the same separation from her friend that any other marriage would—he was Frederica's cousin, after all, and the Howards seemed on very close terms with their Darcy relatives.
She didn't even think the duties of marriage would have been onerous, with him. She'd always found him attractive, and not only because he had Frederica's hair and cheekbones. Yet—
She couldn't. She couldn't do it. He was too close, as close as she could get to Frederica herself, and yet so very much not Frederica, not what she really wanted. Well, that was it. She didn't want him.
Elizabeth could have married without love, as long as there was mutual regard. To marry a man she rather liked, who seemed to be falling in love with her, while she was already fiercely attached to his cousin—? That was all but asking for disaster. Besides, she didn't need a rich husband; Bingley and Jane would never leave her to poverty, even if she had no desire to depend on their charity. If Frederica had retracted her offer of Pemberley, or never meant it in the first place, Elizabeth would still have a home.
A low, irritating click-click-click drew her out of her thoughts. It was the sound of her own fingers, tapping against the window frame. Elizabeth pulled her hand away, annoyed with herself. Frederica might be upset, at first, but she would understand, once—once Elizabeth explained what could be explained.
After breakfast, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst insisted on taking Jane to their favourite shops, and laughingly agreed to tolerate their brother's company. Elizabeth pressed her lips together and declined their grudging invitation, murmuring something about letters. Mr Hurst retired to his study.
Little more a quarter-hour later, a manservant announced Miss Darcy. Elizabeth caught her breath, then scolded herself for being so silly, and rose to her feet.
“Frederica—I hope you are well?”
“Quite well,” said Frederica, her manner as brusque as Elizabeth had ever seen it. She seated herself in a flurry of skirts, her spine so straight and stiff that it looked mildly painful. When Elizabeth handed her a cup of coffee, the liquid sloshed a little; Frederica's left hand, though, didn't shake at all, but laid clenched in her lap.
She must know already, Elizabeth thought, her gaze skittering away from Frederica's colourless, expressionless face to the stiff hands. She must—she'll understand.
Frederica eyed the servant, and he discreetly retreated. The door softly thudded closed behind him.
“I understand,” said Frederica, her voice very remote, “that we are to be more than friends—cousins.”
Elizabeth stared at her, and Frederica made an impatient gesture.
“I know Howard was here. He told me, himself, that he meant to make you an offer. He is—” Frederica bit down on her lower lip, but did not flinch or look away. “He is a most unexceptionable gentleman, beyond his connection to me.”
He is nothing to me, beyond his connection to you, Elizabeth thought. Then she frowned as she took in her friend's form, all but vibrating with tension. Yet Frederica clearly did not know what had happened.
“Your cousin is very agreeable,” she said, dropping her eyes, “but I am afraid I . . . I could not accept him.”
Frederica's cup clattered on the nearest table. “What?”
The cry was so sharp and unreserved, so un-Frederica-like, that Elizabeth could not help but look back at her. Frederica seemed less outraged than simply stunned, her eyes wide, lips parted, colour creeping back into her cheeks. Then, with a twist of her mouth, she sprang up and walked swiftly towards the window, her back to Elizabeth and one hand lifted to her face.
“I know it must be very unexpected,” Elizabeth said, realizing that the part she could explain to Frederica—the part that was not I am as attached to you as I could be to any man—was so wretchedly small as to explain nothing.
Frederica made a small noise. It could have been anything—a sigh, a gasp—but Elizabeth had not spent a year studying her for nothing. She knew better.
“Frederica!” Alarmed, Elizabeth rushed to her friend's side, reaching out to Frederica's shaking shoulder. Now she could clearly see that Frederica was crying, and trying without much success to make herself stop. “Frederica, I—I am so sorry, I did not realize—”
Frederica dropped the hand half-covering her face, and Elizabeth saw that she was smiling. Crying, still, but smiling too.
“Frederica?” Elizabeth didn't take her hand from Frederica's shoulder. “You are not—you do not disapprove?”
“Disapprove? No. I have been so weak and selfish, Elizabeth, I have dreaded the day when he took you away, and now—I cannot imagine what you must think of me.”
The anxiety coiled tight in her stomach vanished. Frederica didn't care that she'd rejected Mr Howard, didn't need an explanation, feared losing her. Nothing, at that moment, could have kept Elizabeth from grinning broadly.
“I think,” said she, “that you are my dearest friend, Frederica. Why, I regard you almost as highly as I do myself!”
Frederica managed to laugh. “A great compliment, indeed.”
title: untitled (part of a longer fic [that I'm not actually writing], posted in snippets at dw/lj [because I'm not writing it]); I might sew them together at some point, when I am writing it
verse: the other genderswap (aka, the version of FI I considered writing but didn't)
Elizabeth didn't know what Frederica would say. Oh, she didn't doubt that Frederica genuinely enjoyed her company, and even missed her when they were separated, as much—almost as much as Elizabeth had missed her. But friendship, for Frederica, always meant more than companionship. She'd been determined to give Elizabeth every opportunity to make a good match. She wanted her married to a rich, respectable gentleman, whose mind they could respect as highly as his manners.
Mr Howard certainly fit that description. Elizabeth could have accepted him, and undoubtedly they would have been quite content together. He was, to be honest, a far greater prize than she would ever have aspired to on her own. And choosing him would not have entailed the same separation from her friend that any other marriage would—he was Frederica's cousin, after all, and the Howards seemed on very close terms with their Darcy relatives.
She didn't even think the duties of marriage would have been onerous, with him. She'd always found him attractive, and not only because he had Frederica's hair and cheekbones. Yet—
She couldn't. She couldn't do it. He was too close, as close as she could get to Frederica herself, and yet so very much not Frederica, not what she really wanted. Well, that was it. She didn't want him.
Elizabeth could have married without love, as long as there was mutual regard. To marry a man she rather liked, who seemed to be falling in love with her, while she was already fiercely attached to his cousin—? That was all but asking for disaster. Besides, she didn't need a rich husband; Bingley and Jane would never leave her to poverty, even if she had no desire to depend on their charity. If Frederica had retracted her offer of Pemberley, or never meant it in the first place, Elizabeth would still have a home.
A low, irritating click-click-click drew her out of her thoughts. It was the sound of her own fingers, tapping against the window frame. Elizabeth pulled her hand away, annoyed with herself. Frederica might be upset, at first, but she would understand, once—once Elizabeth explained what could be explained.
After breakfast, Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst insisted on taking Jane to their favourite shops, and laughingly agreed to tolerate their brother's company. Elizabeth pressed her lips together and declined their grudging invitation, murmuring something about letters. Mr Hurst retired to his study.
Little more a quarter-hour later, a manservant announced Miss Darcy. Elizabeth caught her breath, then scolded herself for being so silly, and rose to her feet.
“Frederica—I hope you are well?”
“Quite well,” said Frederica, her manner as brusque as Elizabeth had ever seen it. She seated herself in a flurry of skirts, her spine so straight and stiff that it looked mildly painful. When Elizabeth handed her a cup of coffee, the liquid sloshed a little; Frederica's left hand, though, didn't shake at all, but laid clenched in her lap.
She must know already, Elizabeth thought, her gaze skittering away from Frederica's colourless, expressionless face to the stiff hands. She must—she'll understand.
Frederica eyed the servant, and he discreetly retreated. The door softly thudded closed behind him.
“I understand,” said Frederica, her voice very remote, “that we are to be more than friends—cousins.”
Elizabeth stared at her, and Frederica made an impatient gesture.
“I know Howard was here. He told me, himself, that he meant to make you an offer. He is—” Frederica bit down on her lower lip, but did not flinch or look away. “He is a most unexceptionable gentleman, beyond his connection to me.”
He is nothing to me, beyond his connection to you, Elizabeth thought. Then she frowned as she took in her friend's form, all but vibrating with tension. Yet Frederica clearly did not know what had happened.
“Your cousin is very agreeable,” she said, dropping her eyes, “but I am afraid I . . . I could not accept him.”
Frederica's cup clattered on the nearest table. “What?”
The cry was so sharp and unreserved, so un-Frederica-like, that Elizabeth could not help but look back at her. Frederica seemed less outraged than simply stunned, her eyes wide, lips parted, colour creeping back into her cheeks. Then, with a twist of her mouth, she sprang up and walked swiftly towards the window, her back to Elizabeth and one hand lifted to her face.
“I know it must be very unexpected,” Elizabeth said, realizing that the part she could explain to Frederica—the part that was not I am as attached to you as I could be to any man—was so wretchedly small as to explain nothing.
Frederica made a small noise. It could have been anything—a sigh, a gasp—but Elizabeth had not spent a year studying her for nothing. She knew better.
“Frederica!” Alarmed, Elizabeth rushed to her friend's side, reaching out to Frederica's shaking shoulder. Now she could clearly see that Frederica was crying, and trying without much success to make herself stop. “Frederica, I—I am so sorry, I did not realize—”
Frederica dropped the hand half-covering her face, and Elizabeth saw that she was smiling. Crying, still, but smiling too.
“Frederica?” Elizabeth didn't take her hand from Frederica's shoulder. “You are not—you do not disapprove?”
“Disapprove? No. I have been so weak and selfish, Elizabeth, I have dreaded the day when he took you away, and now—I cannot imagine what you must think of me.”
The anxiety coiled tight in her stomach vanished. Frederica didn't care that she'd rejected Mr Howard, didn't need an explanation, feared losing her. Nothing, at that moment, could have kept Elizabeth from grinning broadly.
“I think,” said she, “that you are my dearest friend, Frederica. Why, I regard you almost as highly as I do myself!”
Frederica managed to laugh. “A great compliment, indeed.”
no subject
on 2012-06-28 01:59 am (UTC)I would enjoy more of this should you ever be inspired to write it :D
as I procrastinate for Sunday's au_bb due date
Heh. So that's why I haven't seen
no subject
on 2012-06-28 03:40 am (UTC)I think it's probably org work, from something she said at the place which must not be named, but I definitely will if I see her around!