So this is my first crossover fic. And I dunno, it'll probably be the only chapter i write of it, but we'll see.
And yeah, I ship Heathcliff/Darcy. Blame my English class (it was a weird day).
I haven't read Pride & Prejudice in quite a while, so feel free to (nicely please) correct any errors you see.
Thanks for reading?
"What am I even doing here?" Mr. Darcy muttered. "I've always hated parties." Darcy had always had a reputation for avoiding social gatherings and people in general, but ever since Elizabeth died, it had simply gotten worse. No one even thought about inviting him to dances anymore.
Well, no one except Georgiana, of course (damn his sister!). She had waited the "appropriate mourning time" (though, really, who was she to decide? Who was she to fathom his love for Elizabeth?), then forced him to start socializing again.
"Really, Fitzwilliam, you simply must start appearing in society again! Think of what the people will say when they learn that, after a year, you still refuse to leave the house!" She had scolded him, fluttering around him, arranging things just so.
"I don't care what they say, Georgiana," he had growled, turning to put everything back where it was originally. "Let them talk. My wife just died, and I can be as surly as I damn well please!"
She waved her hand. "People die everyday, Fitzwilliam," she stated flippantly, and Darcy had found himself at the ball the next day, with his sister still alive (he was sure his sister had some kind of sorcery in her: she always seemed to get her way).
He had spent the first hour snapping at the women that his sister introduced him to, and the next half-hour glaring at the other women who were hoping to speak with him. So far, it had been successful, and no one else had approached him. Seeing his sister barreling towards him, however, with a determined glint in her eye, alarmed him.
He quickly made his way to the other corner of the room, where he was safe only a moment. Georgiana, who had paused only slightly, adjusted course and started towards him once more. In desperation, Mr. Darcy turned to the man next to him and said, "What an awful party, don't you agree?" Keeping most of his attention on his sister (who had stopped in her tracks, seeing her brother willingly speak to another human being), he almost missed the reply: "Wholeheartedly."
Darcy studied the man with interest. Most other men would have displayed affronted shock, and they certainly would not have expressed verbal agreement. But this man, who was dark, tall, well-dressed, and rugged, appeared surly and as unsocial as Darcy himself was feeling.
If it weren't for his sister (again. Damn her!), Darcy would have left it at that. But seeing her resume her course towards Darcy, he turned once again to the stranger and said "I wish I hadn't come. People are such boors."
A ghost of a smile crossing his face, the other man nodded to a couple on the dance floor and said "Damn young people, who seem to always be in need of chaperones, especially when the only one available is the one least likely to care." Darcy smiled, one as brief as the other man's had been. I like this man, he thought, slightly surprised.