A/N: Okay, so this is a one-shot that cropped up in my mind during the height of a bout of chicken pox, so if it's so dang pathetic, just think freedom of speech, 'kay? ;]
Disclaimer: I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT OWN JANE AUSTEN'S PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. Sadly, I don't own Mr. Darcy, either.
. . .
Red Crayons, Black Eyes
Will Darcy was the King of the playground.
Yes—everyone at the Netherfield Daycare Center looked up to him. Everyone knew him. Everyone gave him the space he needed. "Everyone" consisted of his buddy Charlie and his noisy whiner of a sister, Caroline (though Caroline only knew Will—she never gave him space); his cousin, Richard (or Ricky, if you were close friends); Will's own baby sister, Georgie; that pudgy, adopted kid of his aunt, Collins; his aunt's real kid, Annie (though she was so sickly she hardly ever played); and his sort-of arch nemesis, George Wickham (yes, they called each other by their full names, just like what they see in those shoot-'em-up gangster movies).
Everyone knew Will Darcy. Everyone handed him anything he asked for.
Until those Bennets came along.
. . .
"Fitz-wil-li-am?" called a singsong voice from the Jungle Gym. It was followed by a snicker.
Little Will looked up to see a grinning upside-down brunette hanging from one of the poles. Hey, that was his pole. Who was this creature?
"Is that really your name?" continued the little girl as she swung down from her—no, his!—perch. "That's an ugly name,"
"And you're an ugly person," retorted Will, who was all too pissed off at this intruder to his kingdom.
Before the little girl could do more than glare at him with dark eyes ("do more" possibly included a violent and bloody murder at the age of five and a half), a shrill voice called out, "Lizzy! You little brat, where did you run off to?"
Lizzy looked around at the woman hurrying towards them. She had to make a quick decision: a five-second bare-handed murder of the obnoxious boy in front of her or a quick exit to escape her mother. Both were juicy, wonderful options, but before she could execute either plan, Mrs. Bennet had reached them. And Fitzwilliam had escaped.
"Lizzy, what are you doing outside? Come on inside now, go on, and make friends with the others. Janie's coloring books with Charlotte—"
"NONONONONONONONONO!" wailed Lizzy as her mother dragged her in. "I WANNA PLAY OUTSIDE, I DON'T WANNA SIT AND COLOR SOME BOOK! I WANNA PLAY OUTSIDE, I WANNA PLAY OUTSIDE, I WANNA PLAY OUTSIDE!"
"Lizzy, you stubborn girl, shut up and do as you're told. All the girls are playing inside, the playground is for the boys,"
"What about him?" Lizzy pointed to Charlie, who was in the same table as her sister, Janie. "He's a boy, but he's playing inside! I wanna play OUTSIDE!" protested Lizzy as Mrs. Bennet sat her down at Jane's table.
"That's enough, Elizabeth. One more word and you're in the danger of being disowned,"
Sorely tempted to be disowned, Lizzy stuck her tongue out at her mother's back.
"Hey, you're Lizzy, right?" smiled the only boy in the room. "I'm Charlie,"
Lizzy reached for some crayons—whether she intended to sit quietly and color or break the poor crayons to pieces, no one knew—and she greeted the boy with a pout, "Hello, Charlie. Why aren't you playing outside? It's boring here,"
Her statement scored a scoff from a snooty-looking girl at the neighboring table. Lizzy whipped around.
"I don't think I was talking to you, rich kid," snapped Lizzy. Jane looked up at Lizzy warningly.
The "rich kid" stuck up her nose and replied haughtily, "Well, I don't talk to tomboys like you, either."
"U-Um, Lizzy, th-that's my sister, Caroline," Charlie hurriedly interjected. "Caroline—"
Caroline stuck her tongue out at Charlie.
Lizzy rolled her eyes and started coloring. Thank goodness her Papa packed her Ninja Turtles coloring book.
. . .
"HEY! Lookie here, we got new people!" crowed a boy, barging in with the others from the playground.
The "new people" (namely Jane, Charlotte, and Lizzy) warily looked up at the skinny, sweaty boy clad in cowboy clothes—yes, the complete uniform, with cowboy boots and cowboy hat and a plastic gun.
Charlotte just stared, Jane discreetly scooted away from him, the word "cooties" flashing repeatedly across her mind—but Lizzy grinned at Mr. Cowboy. Yep, this was someone she would definitely play with.
Mr. Cowboy swept off his hat with a deep bow. "Howdy, partner. George Wickham at your service, I'm the mortal enemy of Fitzwiliam Darcy,"
Lizzy giggled, because he didn't sound like a cowboy at all. "Yeah, weren't you in the playground earlier? I heard you, you went, 'I'm gonna get you, Fitzwilliam Darcy!' and ran off,"
"Yeah, well, I didn't have my gun then," Mr. Cowboy—George—scrunched up his face and sat down on the floor. "Collins took it,"
George nodded to a chubby boy in the corner. Lizzy laughed when she saw he was eating glue.
"Does he always do that?" she asked George.
"I guess." He shrugged and flopped his hat back on. "What'cha doin'?"
Lizzy looked down at the crayons in her hand. "I'm coloring pictures,"
"Cool! A Ninja Turtles coloring book?" George sprung up from the floor and sat next to Lizzy. "I wanna color, too!"
"Well, c'mon, let's finish Donatello!"
. . .
Georgie tugged on his shirt and held up a broken green crayon. She was sniffling.
"It broke," she stated, lower lip quivering.
Will examined the evidence carefully.
"Yeah, Georgie, too bad. But you know what? You can still use it. See?" said big brother Will, tracing a picture with half a crayon.
Georgie brightened up and grabbed the other half. "Wow! Magic!"
Little Will laughed and sat himself down. His four-year-old sister was Picasso in-the-making; she was coloring Clifford the Big Red Dog green.
He grabbed a red crayon from the box and tried to give justice to poor Clifford, but hell—no way would his sister let him.
"C'mon, Georgie, Clifford is red."
Georgie just looked at him as if her big brother declared that she couldn't eat ice cream for the rest of her life.
"Hey, where's the red crayon?" yelled George Wickham from the other end of the round table. Little Will narrowed his eyes and held on to the wanted object.
"Aw, we can't finish Donatello without the red one!" cried the girl beside his arch nemesis.
Hey—wasn't she the one who called him "Fitzwilliam"? So, she has joined forces with the enemy. He knew from the start that she was sent by the forces of darkness.
"Oh, I see it! It's with that kid over there!" said Lizzy, already approaching.
"Hey!" George Wickham yelled, stomping over, "Fitzwilliam Darcy, hand over the red crayon now or die by my hands!"
Fitzwilliam Darcy just eyed him amusedly. "By your hands? What happened to your gun, George Wickham?"
Hit by the realization that he left his plastic gun at their end of the table, he commanded Lizzy, "Partner, cover for me. I'm gonna look for my gun!"
"What?" squealed his partner, "You're gonna leave me here?"
Lizzy turned her cold eyes on him, recognizing him. This was the kid who called her ugly!
"Gimme the red crayon," she said, with as much venom as she could.
Will looked up at her and smirked. "Never,"
"Gimme the red crayon!"
"Nuh-uh," said Will, sticking his tongue out.
Lizzy grabbed a fistful of his clothes. Behind them, Georgie looked up from her masterpiece. Collins wiped glue from his lips. George Wickham found his plastic gun. And Jane covered her eyes.
"I said, GIMME THE RED CRAYON!"
"Make me," said Will, undeterred.
He even had the guts to laugh.
. . .
"What?" squawked Auntie Catherine, "You got beaten up by a kid at the daycare?"
Little Will Darcy nodded curtly.
"Oh my goodness, what a wicked child!" cried his aunt. "He must be a lot bigger than you, right, Fitzwilliam dear?"
Will thought about it. "Nope. But she's got pretty eyes,"
. . .
"Remember the first time we met?"
"Barely," Lizzy laughed heartily. "But I remember there was a red crayon involved,"
Darcy smiled and wrapped his arms around her. "Yeah, and you gave me a black eye,"
"Well, yeah, you need a good socking once in a while, Fitzwilliam Darcy,"
"That would be federal offense, Elizabeth Darcy,"
Yes, they called each other by their full names, just like those mortal enemies they see in those shoot-'em-up gangster movies.
. . .
A/N: So...how was it? Please drop a review! I'd totally appreciate it!