6. Come On Baby, Give Me A Little More You

Author's Notes: Eliza asked me what languages I speak (I'm flattered you actually read my profile, by the way, lol), and since you don't have an account I couldn't reply to you directly. I know Vietnamese, American Sign Language, English, German, and I'm currently on my second year of French.

Thanks to Lizzy, my beta, who makes my writing more coherent and gives me random inspiration.

You guys that review are so awesome. I can't believe I've gotten this many reviews already. Thanks so much!

Closer by everymonday

Chapter Six: Come On Baby, Give Me A Little More You

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January 13; 8:22PMElizabeth Bennet was one of the most respected dancers in the country, arguably the world. Her name sparked instant recognition in the ballet world. She was known for her flawless technique, fluid movements, and perfect feet. However, it was her ability to evoke raw emotions from an audience that made her famous. Her natural talent, combined with early professional training, greatly attributed to her success. Bennet was born in San Diego, California, and began her ballet training at the age of three with private instructor, Dennis Fairchild. He remained her instructor for four and a half years, until her parents' highly publicized divorce brought her to New York.

Her mother, Faye Delaney, was a very famous actress from the 70's, but dropped off the Hollywood radar after getting married in what most call a "shot-gun wedding" with Jasper Bennet. They had two children together, Jane and Elizabeth Bennet before divorcing nine years later. A few months after her first divorce was finalized, Delaney married James Hartford, with whom she had twins. Hartford left shortly before the twins were born and had no contact with the Delaneys except for the hefty child support check every month.

Bennet rarely spoke of her family, except for her older sister, Jane (of Elite Models), whom she called her best friend. Bennet expressed desire to be known for who she was, not where she came from, which is obviously a call to separate herself from her D-List mother and troubled sisters. One must wonder if an absentee father, a self-absorbed mother, and three other sisters to compete with created trouble at home for this young talent, forcing her to turn to ballet to take away her troubles.

Dennis Fairchild called Bennet "the perfect pupil: talented beyond belief, thirsty for knowledge, self-disciplined, and a fast learner, even from a young age." He said they remained in contact to this day, more than a decade later, and Bennet frequently sent him tickets to her shows. It seemed that Fairchild was more of a father figure to her than Jasper Bennet.

Bennet was offered a place in the School of American Ballet (SAB) after she attended the summer workshop at the age of ten. After graduating from the school with a number of awards and honors, she had numerous job offers, even one from Paris. She chose to stay in New York and go with the New York City Ballet Company, a decision that shocked many. After only a few months, Bennet was promoted from the corps de ballet to soloist. At the age of twenty, she was promoted to principal dancer, a rank she held for four years. She was in over forty productions in her six years at NYCB. She also worked as a guest artist in other companies in the States as well as in Russia and France. Her long time choreographer at NYCB, Peter Martins, called her an "an absolute delight." He claimed that her personality is as amazing as her talent, and to Martins, that is just as important. Bennet was a favorite among choreographers not only because of her undeniable grace and poise, but also because of her ability to keep her feistiness within performances, while still being extremely agreeable during rehearsals.

NYCB's ticket sales, which had been at a ten-year low before Bennet became a principal, saw an unbelievable spike after Bennet's opening night as the captivating Odette of Swan Lake, a role she actually only danced in by accident – quite literally. Elizabeth was starring in a smaller performance at the same time, and was an understudy for Marie Neilson. Neilson was injured in a car accident two days before opening night, leaving the role to Bennet.

Bennet's performance in Swan Lake, which received rave reviews, sold out in record numbers, and prompted NYCB to open three more shows just to satisfy demand. Bennet brought audiences to tears with her performances. She was hailed for her ability to take on a variety of roles and dancing them with emotion as well as precision. Audiences demanded more Elizabeth Bennet, and NYCB is happy to provide it. She was the highest paid principal dancer at NYCB, and has been for the past two years, thanks to much negotiating from her mother and her manager.

Her peers at NYCB have been seen leaving Austen Memorial Hospital, where Bennet is still recovering from the devastating car accident. When asked, most of them express their condolences about her accident, but there is an unspoken eagerness and curiosity in the air. Everyone is wondering who will take her place. NYCB officials have not renewed their contract with Bennet, which ends early this year. This raises questions about not only the severity of her condition, but also her relationship to her (soon to be former) employers, who have previously called her a wonderful asset to the company.

The car accident that sliced her calf muscle beyond repair marks a tragic end to what would have been a very promising ballet dancer. It is ironic that a car accident was the catalyst for Bennet's rise, and a car accident would also be her demise. There has been no word from her representatives about what is in store for Bennet. She holds one of the most impressive resumes in the industry, but one must wonder about her value outside of the ballet world.

This is often a dilemma for retired or injured ballet dancers. Many find that they have no…

Will stopped reading, disgusted. Journalists were vile. He felt like he was reading about someone who died, not someone who had just been injured. His eyes scanned the rest of the page. At the bottom, there was a timeline of Elizabeth's life, marking when she'd done certain shows and gotten certain awards. There were a few photographs of her as a child and one that he assumed was her professional headshot. He flipped the magazine closed to see what publication this was. He was met with Elizabeth Bennet as he'd never seen her. Her face was covered with a heavy layer of make up, and her hair was pulled back in a bun. She was balanced on her tiptoes as he'd seen many ballet dancers do; her arms open at a low angle near her sides in an elegant pose. She was wearing a pale blue tutu and white tights. Her eyes were not looking directly at the camera, but at something on her right, laughing. It was a very simple cover and seemed very plain for a ballet magazine. They were probably relying more on their large headline, "Elizabeth Bennet's Past And Future – What's In Store For Her Now?" than their photo to get sales.

Will shook his head. While the article had definitely answered some of his questions, he took it with a grain of salt. He left the magazine on the counter where he found it. It probably belonged to one of the nurses. Many of them had come into Elizabeth's room expressing get-well wishes, much to his annoyance. She was supposed to be getting rest. He wondered why a nurse would even buy Pointe magazine.

He checked on a few of his other patients, before walking into her room. At once, he was assaulted with the overwhelming smell of flowers. They were everywhere, in every shape, size, and hue he could imagine. They varied in stages of life, and he wondered why she didn't throw some of them out. He glanced at the garbage and saw, not flowers, but more magazines and newspapers, many bearing her face.

She didn't look up when he entered, her nose was buried in the same publication that he had just been skimming. Her eyes were narrowed and her brow was furrowed as she read it. He cleared his throat to get her attention, not sure how he should act. This was the first time they'd been alone since they'd left Charlie's.

"Jane and Charlie are in the cafeteria," she said, not looking up from her magazine, facial expression not changing.

"Oh," he replied. Before he could tell her he wasn't looking for them, she made a strange noise, and then tossed the magazine into the garbage with the others. She stared at him expectantly, arms crossed. "Er," he began. "Your leg seems to be healing nicely. How are you?"

She shrugged. "Leg's fine, I guess. It's scabbing." She stopped to make a face. "These people write about me like I'm dead. Doctors took out some of my muscles, but that doesn't mean I'll never dance again. That doesn't mean magazines and newspapers should go publishing that I'm fired from NYCB or that my career is over."

He didn't think it would be wise to tell her that it probably was.

She began rummaging through her pile of papers and magazines, and extracted a newspaper. "This one's calling me the greatest ballet dancer that could have been. Sons of bitches." Elizabeth crumbled the newspaper up as much as she could before throwing it at the wall.

Will went to pick it up - it had landed on some flowers – and put it in the garbage. "What will you do if they're right?" he asked, careful to put the "if" in.

"They're not right. And if they are, I think I will simply die."

He tried to decipher whether or not she was joking, but couldn't. "Surely you are not serious."

"All I want to do is dance. If can't do that, I might as well drop dead." She shrugged.

"That is absurd."

"I'm sure it is – to you." She lifted her chin, challenging him.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"It means I'm sure it does sound absurd to you."

"You just repeated what you said before. Why is it absurd to me and not to others?"

"I'm sure it's probably absurd to others as well, but that's because of the kind of people they are."

"Just because we're not dancers –"

"No. It's not that," she cut him off quickly.

"Then what?"

"What would you do if you couldn't cut anymore?"

"What?" He was confused by her sudden subject change.

"If you found out you couldn't do surgery anymore."

"Because of my hands?"

"Sure," she tried to move to reach a glass of water on the table, but it was out of her reach. Will handed it to her, and moved the table so it was closer to her for next time. "Thanks."

"If I couldn't cut anymore," he sat down on the chair next to her bed, watching her drink water. "It wouldn't be the end of the world to me. It would be many years and money wasted on training, but I'm sure I could find something else."

"That's why."

"What?"

"That's why it's absurd to you."

"What?" he asked again.

She sighed and put her glass back on the table. "Your profession is just that, Mr. Darcy. A profession. My profession is who I am. I am a dancer. I can't live without being a dancer."

"Many Americans define themselves by their professions. It doesn't mean you can't find another profession," he reasoned.

"I can't."

"I'm sure you can. I know you're not qualified in much besides dancing –"

"Been reading the magazines, huh?" she cut him off again, sneering.

He ignored her jab. "You're young. You can go to college, you could perhaps be a dancer instructor or work an office job in a ballet studio if you wanted to stay in that world. There are many options."

"Be in the ballet world, but not a part of it?" She shook her head. "You don't understand.

"Explain then."

She shook her head again. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't," she answered. As Will looked into her eyes, he realized just how sad they were.

"Why not?"

"Because." She ran a hand through her messy hair, and he saw her wince when she accidentally touched her head wound, which, he noticed, had also scabbed. "You wouldn't get it."

"Try."

"You don't understand because you've never loved anything the way I love ballet."

"I love many –"

"As much as I love ballet?" she asked. "I have been dancing for two decades of my life. It's not about how much time and money I've invested in it. It's not about the fact that I have other options. It's not about needing a new profession. It's not about the fact that I am still young and can do other things. It's not about any of that. If I can't dance again, it means never feeling butterflies in my stomach during a leap. It means no more opening night jitters. It means no more satisfaction when I nail an entire routine. It means no more dancing. No more feeling. No more flying. Ballet is part of me. I didn't just lose parts of my muscle, okay? If losing part of my muscle means that I can't dance anymore, then it means I've lost a part of myself, of my soul. I know that I'm lucky that my leg was saved, but if I can't dance again, you might as well cut off both my legs. I don't want them if I can't use them to dance."

Will swallowed, not sure what to say. Honestly, he had no idea how she was feeling. She seemed to love ballet more than she loved most people. He could not say the same about his profession. He enjoyed it, sure. He liked helping people. He liked making a difference in people's lives. A scalpel in his hand made him feel powerful. An M.D. had come easily. Every cut and stitch he made came easily. He was good at his job, and he liked it. That was as far as it went for him though. He would not die if he couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't boast loving any one thing so much that he'd die if he couldn't have it anymore.

Elizabeth Bennet was crazy. That was the only explanation for it.

Luckily, Charlie and Jane returned to the room a few moments later.

"Oh, hello, Will," Jane said, smiling.

"Shouldn't you be working?" Charlie asked.

Will stood up and moved closer to the door. "Interns are doing all my work right now. I'm waiting for some x-rays." He briefly wondered if Charlie loved acting so much he would die if he couldn't do it anymore. Probably not, he decided. Charlie loved everything, so he'd find something else quickly.

"Did you get me anything, Jane?" Elizabeth asked.

Will watched Jane give her sister a plastic container of what looked like fruit salad and a bag of cashews.

Jane looked at Will. "How are you? I haven't seen you since New Year's."

Will cringed at the reminder of New Year's. Charlie and Caroline had begged him, large Bingley blue eyes and jutted lower lips included. It, quite frankly, looked ridiculous on them both, Charlie being a grown man, and Caroline having very thin lips which he was used to seeing in a sneer. He had agreed to go just to make them stop the begging. Caroline had it in her mind that he would be attending as her date. Throughout the night, she found a myriad of silly reasons to be cross with him, including but not limited to: wearing a tie that did not match her gown, not offering to get her a drink upon arrival, not offering to get her a drink when she nagged him about not getting her drink upon arrival, having no desire to dance or mingle with her, and correcting her every time she introduced him as her date. Finally, her hints that she wanted to kiss him at midnight resulted in him hiding in the bathroom. Yes, William James Darcy III rang in the new year in a stall in the men's bathroom. "Yes," he answered. "I'm well. I've been quite busy."

"You're always busy, Will," Charlie said. "You practically live here."

He shrugged. "Comes with the job."

"Thanks for convincing Jane to go to the New Year thing with you, Charlie," Elizabeth said.

Charlie smiled. "No need to thank me. It was with purely selfish intents."

Will wanted to slap the lovesick look off of Charlie's face. They'd been "official" for a week now, and the poor sod looked like he was going to offer her an engagement ring any day now.

"Selfish or not, Janie needed a night away from here," Elizabeth said.

Charlie shrugged, but Jane protested, "I want to be here with you, Lizzie."

Elizabeth frowned. "It's unhealthy how much you're here, Jane."

"You too, Will," Charlie joked.

"I'm supposed to be here," Will argued. "It's my job."

"Eighty hour work weeks sound awful to me," Charlie confessed.

"You're like Lizzie was with the studio," Jane nodded. Then she blushed, horrified, as she realized she had accidentally poked the proverbial elephant in the room and an awkward pause settled on the group.

"Like I will be again, once they clear me to dance," Elizabeth said finally, her voice rich with determination and stubbornness.

Will saw Jane quickly give Elizabeth a very wary, very worried glance, then look away before she noticed.

Charlie cleared his throat. "I heard you get to leave here soon. Is that right?"

"Tomorrow," she answered. "I can walk and stand for more than a few minutes without being in pain or leaving a bloody trail. It's really quite marvelous," she added sarcastically. "They've now deemed me capable of taking care of myself in my own apartment."

"The doctor says you're healing ahead of schedule," Jane said encouragingly.

Elizabeth nodded, and then changed the subject. "When do you leave for Milan?"

"February 17th, I think. Fashion Week there begins on the 19th," Jane answered.

Will had forgotten that Jane was a model. As he watched her now, sitting in casual clothes on her sister's bed, face bare of makeup and hair tied in a knot at the base of her neck, she only looked like a worried sister. He saw Charlie was sitting on the chair in the corner of the room, half covered by flowers, and realized he was the only one standing. He looked around for more seating, but couldn't find any, so he remained standing, feeling out of place.

Will's pager conveniently went off, so he excused himself hastily to go find out what the latest 911 was, hoping it wasn't his patient in 209. He had been working with Dr. Hoyle all last night to save the bugger's heart.

January 14; 12:56AMWill groaned as his head hit the pillow in the on-call room. It had been 209, damn it. A complication that they had to go back and fix. Hours later, he was exhausted. He tried to remember the last time he'd slept, and couldn't. Such a charmed life you lead, Dr. Darcy, he thought sarcastically.

January 14; 3:33AMThe door opened with a loud clang, effectively disturbing his slumber. Two interns came in, attached to each other at the mouth. "Bloody fucking hell. This isn't Grey's Anatomy! There's someone in here. Go find a supply closet, and leave the on-call room for people who sleep!" he cried grumpily from the bed, voice muffled by the pillow. His glare was not quite as threatening from his position on his stomach, feet hanging off the bed that was too short for him, but it did the job.

They gave him hasty apologies before leaving, both red faced and the male's lips covered in the female's lipstick. Lipstick, Will thought, not quite believing it. His last thought before falling back asleep was that people didn't need lipstick. It just made a mess. Elizabeth Bennet didn't wear lipstick. That was nice.

January 14; 4:45AMHis pager went off. CODE BLUE.

Bloody hell, it better not be 209.

With a groan, he pushed himself up and sluggishly tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes before leaving the on-call room with a longing glance.

January 14; 9:59AM"Hey, Will," Charlie said.

Will turned around. He'd just walked right past Charlie without a glance. "What are you still doing here?" he asked.

"What do you mean? I just got here," Charlie said, looking at him quizzically.

Will looked at his watch and cursed. It was ten in the morning. After rounds, he'd been called into surgeries for three bloody hours. Three literally bloody hours, not three British fucking hours, mind you. They'd lost two patients who had bled out. They saved one. He sighed. At least he still had 209. "Sorry. Lost track of time," he explained.

Charlie nodded sympathetically. "Rough night?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded. "I just came from surgery, in case you couldn't tell," he gestured to his bloody, again, literally bloody, scrubs. "And I didn't get much sleep in the on-call room because some idiot interns came in and woke me up."

"Did they need something from you?" Charlie asked.

"No," Will answered, shaking his head. "They wanted to have sex."

Charlie's eyes widened. "With you?"

"No!" Will exclaimed, blanching at the idea. "With each other!"

Charlie visibly relaxed a bit. "Oh. I thought they only did that in my line of work."

"Me too!" Will said.

"What did you tell them?"

"I told them that this wasn't Grey's Anatomy and to get the fuck out."

Charlie guffawed. "Did you really? Oh, Will. I didn't know you watched that show! You're always complaining about how busy you are!"

Will reeled, insulted. "I don't watch that show!"

"How do you know they have sex in on-call rooms then?"

"Your sister watches it!"

"That doesn't explain why you know that they have sex in on-call rooms."

"I arrived at your house early one day, and Caroline made me watch it with her."

Charlie laughed. "Oh, Will. You're always saying she makes you do things. She can't make you do anything you don't want to do."

He glared. "You know very well I can't be rude to your sister. It's all for your sake, mate. I didn't want to watch the show, you know. It's awfully unrealistic. Attendings having sex with interns in on call rooms and all these crazy procedures they get to do. It's all very ridiculous."

"Well, next time Caroline makes you watch this ridiculous show, you have my permission to tell her no."

Will wanted to punch Charlie and his damn word emphasis and air quotes. Instead he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Didn't we just go through this?" Charlie asked with a grin.

He had a sneaking suspicion that a certain blonde was the reason for his friend's overly happy (even more than usual) and playful demeanor, but said nothing of it. "No, I asked you what you were still doing here before. Now I'm asking why you're here again, when you were here twelve hours ago."

"Jane's checking Lizzie out and bringing her home. I just came along because I'm not working today."

"I see."

"Will, no offense, but you smell."

"It's the blood!"

"Why didn't you change? You don't have to wear that all day, do you? Don't you have to work until tonight?"

"I was on my way to do that before you stopped me," he said, trying to inconspicuously sniff himself.

"Well, I give you permission to go. But you should come over there for dinner tonight. You're off, right?"

He nodded. "I'll try, Charlie, but I'm very tired. I might fall asleep during dinner."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "You always say that."

"Well, last time I fell asleep waiting for dinner, and then was stuck with you for two bloody days."

"Whatever. Just call me when you get off work, alright?"

"Yeah, okay," Will answered as he walked away.

"I can't believe you told them it wasn't Grey's Anatomy," Charlie called after him, laughing again.

"It's not!" he called back, not looking over his shoulder.

"That's probably why you smell so bad! I work in TV, Will. I never smell!"

January 14; 12:22PMAs he ate his lunch, in freshly laundered scrubs, with a few of his coworkers, Will briefly toyed with the idea of life being like Grey's Anatomy. It'd certainly be more interesting. He would get to do about thirty times more surgeries than he got to do now, and about thirty times less paper work. His interns would be competent and reasonably attractive, and he'd still have a social life. Perhaps he'd even be the most respected resident, the one everyone looked up to. Then he realized he knew all this from one episode of Grey's Anatomy, so he toyed with the idea of killing himself, or Caroline.

January 14; 2:20PMWill checked in on his patient in room 209 quickly. He was sleeping. Will checked his charts and made sure everything was in order. The man had suffered a major heart attack, and then had some complications later. He was alone. He had no family except for a younger sister who was flying in to see him later. Will forced himself not to believe this would be him someday. It wouldn't be him. He was in good health, he had a good diet, and he exercised by running around this damn hospital. He would not end up like 209.

January 14; 5:55PMWill was finishing up his paperwork when Charlie texted him. "Dinner?"

He wanted to say no. He wanted to go home and sleep, but guilt wracked his mind. He hadn't seen Charlie outside of the hospital in a week or so, when he'd come over to have drinks and watch TV (where Charlie mainly talked about Jane). They were both busy. Him with work, as always, and Charlie with work…and Jane. It was guilt that made his fingers text a simple yes back to his friend, though his tired eyes and exhausted body objected.

January 14; 7:41PM"Oh, finally," Charlie said as a greeting when he answered the door.

Will frowned. "Nice to see you too, Charlie."

"I just thought you'd be here sooner," Charlie explained, walking with him into the kitchen. Jane was chopping vegetables while Elizabeth stole carrots from Jane's neat pile.

"Hey, Will," Jane greeted. He nodded to both of them. Elizabeth gave him a tentative curve of her lips before looking away. He watched Jane slap her sister's hand when Elizabeth tried to reach for another carrot. "There will be nothing for the salad if you keep eating, Lizzie."

She rolled her eyes. "So bossy."

It was strange seeing her again here, he decided. Last time he'd seen her, she'd been stuck on the couch for most of the duration. Today, she was dressed in lounge pants that actually fit her. He noticed they didn't have any ridiculous words on the back like Juicy or Team Pink like the ones Caroline had let her borrow. They were just a simple dark blue color. Her plain white blouse had two different colored stains on it, and her socks didn't match. She was very underdressed compared to the rest of them. Even her sister was wearing a tailored gray pants and a fitted pink sweater.

Elizabeth Bennet, Will decided, was unremarkable. It wasn't just the clothes or the fact that she stood next to her sister. She was reasonably attractive, sure. Her hair was a nice shade of brown, and if she would tame it more, rather than let it fall in a tangled mess on her shoulders, it would look nice. Her porcelain skin was flawless. Her facial features came together pleasantly, but not beautifully.

"How are you, Will?" Jane asked, not looking up from her vegetable chopping.

"Fine," he said. Elizabeth turned her hazel eyes to him. They looked rather brown today, but bright. Her long, dark lashes made them look bright, he supposed. Her eyes were beautiful, he admitted.

"I thought I heard you, Will," Caroline said, coming into the kitchen with a wide smile. "Charlie didn't tell me you were coming for dinner, I would have worn something nicer." She was already overdressed with her short, strapless black dress and clunky heels. Will saw Charlie give Caroline a strange look, which he took to mean that he had told Caroline that Will was coming.

Will frowned. "Hello, Caroline."

She didn't acknowledge the Bennets, but opened the refrigerator with a forceful pull. When she let it go, the door of it hit Elizabeth's right side. He saw her wince slightly, but she simply moved from her position behind the refrigerator door and walked out of the kitchen without a word.

"Lizzie," Jane called.

"I'm fine, Jane," she replied, not looking back.

Charlie was glaring at Caroline, who was ignoring him. Jane looked torn.

"Where's my soymilk, Charlie?" Caroline asked.

Charlie let out a slow breath. "I think you drank it all, didn't you? There's regular milk."

"Disgusting, Charlie. Cow milk has about a thousand different hormones we don't need, you know. It makes you fat and gives you diseases."

"You're the only one that hates it."

"Soymilk is much healthier for you. It has no cholesterol or fat."

"Fat free milk doesn't have fat either," Charlie argued.

"Soymilk isn't fat free anyway, Caroline," Will said.

Caroline frowned, but let the subject drop, thankfully. She turned to Jane. "Thanks so much for replacing all my clothes. You didn't have to."

"It was no problem, Caroline," Jane replied.

"You're such a doll," Caroline cooed.

Will was getting annoyed. He left to the living room to hopefully catch a nap before dinner was ready. He found Elizabeth sitting on the loveseat watching TV. When he took a seat on the couch, she offered him the remote. He declined.

"So how's your leg?" he asked, cringing when he realized it was probably a bad topic.

"Fine," she replied, not looking at him.

"I've never seen a ballet before," he tried again.

"You probably wouldn't like it," she said, still not looking at him.

Will couldn't decide if she was being purposely difficult. She should really be happy he was even trying to make conversation. It's not like he did this with everyone.

"Chicken's in the oven and should be ready in a few minutes," Charlie announced, joining them in the living room, Caroline and Jane right behind him.

"Charlie, I'm telling you, you should throw a 1920's party," Caroline was saying. "I've got a flapper outfit that I only got to wear once last Halloween. I'd like to get some more use out of it."

"You're throwing a party?" Will asked. He hated parties.

"She wants me to throw one. I haven't thrown one in a while," Charlie answered.

"You were a flapper for Halloween?" Jane asked Caroline.

"Of course not! I was Daisy!"

"Was Daisy your strip-err… your flapper name?" Lizzie asked. She got a tight-lipped glare from both Caroline and Jane.

"Oh, Elizabeth. Of course you wouldn't get it. I was Daisy from the wonderful novel The Good Gatsby."

"The Great Gatsby?" Will asked in disbelief.

"Well, it wasn't that good, but I suppose," she answered, sitting down next to Elizabeth.

Will's look of disbelief deepened. "That's the title of the book."

"What is?"

"The Great Gatsby."

"Oh, I didn't know you'd read it, Will," Caroline said airily.

"Wasn't this the book you asked me to buy you the Spark Notes version of?" Charlie asked tentatively.

"So I could understand it better!" Caroline said defensively.

"Nothing wrong with that," Elizabeth said. Caroline gave her a rare smile, then turned to look at Will.

He shrugged. "I didn't know you liked to read, Caroline."

"Of course I do!"

"Daisy wasn't a flapper though," Elizabeth pointed out.

"But she lived in the 1920's!" Caroline argued.

"That wasn't the only job in the 1920's, you know," Lizzie said.

Caroline huffed, the conversation obviously not going the way she'd hoped. "Whatever. As I was saying, Charlie should have a 1920's party, so I could wear my flapper outfit." Then her blue eyes lit up and she said to Will, "You could go as Gatsby!"

"No," Will replied.

Caroline pouted. "Why not?"

"For many reasons, Caroline."

"Tell me some."

"It's not an accurate portrayal of the book."

Elizabeth snickered. "Sure it is, Will. In the book, Gatsby and Daisy are in love!"

Will was positively horrified at this suggestion, but before he could make it verbally known, Caroline agreed with Elizabeth by nodding her head emphatically. "It's such a romantic story."

"That's what you got out of it? That it was a romantic story?" Elizabeth asked, incredulous.

"Of course."

"Did you read the book?" Elizabeth asked.

"Of course I did!"

"Did you read the Spark Notes?" Will asked. "To explain the book to you? It's not a romance book." He saw Charlie and Jane smile at each other and head back into the kitchen, leaving them with Caroline.

Caroline looked surprised by the turn of events. "It is romantic," she pouted. "Gatsby loves Daisy, and she loves him."

"On the surface it is very romantic," Will conceded.

"But crack the surface and you see that Fitzgerald was portraying the 1920's as an epoch of decay in moral values," Elizabeth continued.

Will couldn't help but be impressed by her comment, though he kept his face neutral.

"You're just saying that so Charlie won't have a 1920's party."

"Um, Charlie's not in here anymore, so no, I assure you, using a lovely piece of literature to suit my desires is not on my agenda. You might want to check yours though."

Caroline glared at the both of them and stood up quickly. With a huff, she left the room, leaving only Will and Elizabeth.

"I can't believe I just had a book discussion with Caroline Bingley," she muttered.

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