Janite fic: And As We Turn the Final Page
Title: And As We Turn the Final Page
Author: Puregibberish
Rating: Some bad language.
Fandom: Jane Austen
Pairing: Emma Woodhouse/Elizabeth Bennet
Disclaimer: Aren't the novels in the public domain by now? In that case they're all mine! Mine I tell you! Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!
Miss Emma Woodhouse looked up from the book she was reading - one of Miss Burney's novels from the circulating library - when her friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, walked into the sitting room and dropped gracelessly into an armchair.
“Busy day, Lizzy?” She asked solicitously. Lizzy pouted and blew a stray lock of hair away from her face.
“Same as usual, Ems. Met Mr Darcy, thought he was a git, turned down a couple of proposals, gradually changed my opinion of the man and eventually married him.” She sighed. “For the umpteen-million-and-somethingth-time. And I think I'm putting on weight.”
“Oh, hush.” Emma rolled her eyes. “That's just because you're not being played by Keira Knightley right now.” She critically surveyed her room-mate's figure. “And frankly you could stand to gain a couple of pounds anyway.”
Lizzy stuck out her tongue. “So speaks the perfect Miss Woodhouse.” She said ironically.
“Hmph. Well, I'm glad you admit I'm perfect. At least one person thinks so.” Emma sniffed irritably. Lizzy was immediately sympathetic.
“Has Mr Knightley (no relation) been lecturing you again?” She asked.
“As per bloody usual.” Emma grumbled. “'Don't be mean to Miss Bates, Emma.' 'Don't toy with people's lives, Emma.' I love him, Lizzy, I really do. I wouldn't keep marrying him otherwise. But it does get a bit much sometimes, being treated like a naughty child.” She sniffed. “I probably wouldn't mind so much if he could carry off a wet shirt the way your Darcy can, but to be honest he's a bit past that. It just ends up emphasising the age difference.”
“It could be worse.” Lizzy observed. “You could be stuck marrying Colonel Brandon.” She pulled a face. “Marianne introduced us once. I know he's not that old, but the man practically creaked when he moved.” The two young women looked at each other and giggled.
“Bugger this.” Emma declared, standing up. “We've got a couple of bottles of wine around here somewhere. Let's get drunk!”
“Why Miss Woodhouse, how sinful!” Lizzy laughed, pretending to be shocked. Emma tugged the cork out of a bottle of white wine and flung it at her friend (the cork, not the bottle. She didn't want to waste good alcohol).
“Knock it off, Bennet.” She said. “You sound like Fanny fucking Price.”
Lizzy looked aghast at the thought. “Heaven forbid!” She said fervently. “She's not about today, is she?”
“I wouldn't know.” Emma said dismissively as she poured two glasses. “The joyless little phantom tends to fade into the background.” She handed Lizzy her glass. “I doubt it, though. I actually think we're the only ones here at the moment.”
“That's a relief. You know I love Anne dearly, of course,” (Emma nodded. There were few things that all the Austen heroines agreed on, but loving Anne Elliot was one of them) “and Elinor's a sweetheart, but Marianne and Catherine can be a bit hard to take sometimes, especially when they're in the middle of one of their romantic fits.”
“Tell me about it.” Emma said. “Marianne spent an hour yesterday going on at me about landscapes and poetry and whatnot. But then she fell in love, got dumped, suffered a near-fatal illness, and married a middle-aged soldier, and that calmed her down a little. Of course, not half an hour later she was back to normal.”
Lizzy took a long swallow of her wine. “That's one of the worst things about being fictional.” She observed. “You go through all this character development, learn not to be so judgemental and to look past surface impressions, and then BAM!” Emma jumped at the sudden exclamation. “Someone else picks up the book and you're right back where you started. It's incredibly annoying.”
“So is having someone make you spill your wine.” Emma grumbled, dabbing the front of her dress with a handkerchief. “Could you please not shout like that in future.”
“Sorry, Ems.” Lizzy blushed.
“Still, to return to your point,” Emma said, refilling her glass, “there are advantages to our situation.”
“Such as?”
“Well, for one thing, as much fun as it is falling in love with Mr Knightley, I'm don't think it would be nearly as much fun to live with him. Really, if he lectures me now when he's just my brother-in-law, how much worse do you think he'd be as a husband? Fortunately I never have to find out. Instead, the book ends immediately after the wedding, I come back here for a bit of a rest, and we start the whole thing over tomorrow morning. It's quite a relief, really.”
“Maybe for you.” Lizzy said sulkily. “You might love your husband, but let's face it, you don't really fancy him that much. Mr Darcy on the other hand...” She sighed. “You'd think that Jane, in her infinite wisdom, could've added a line like 'And then Mr Darcy had her doggy-style in the carriage after the wedding.' Or something along those lines. That would be fine, I could work with that. But no, the last chapter just switches to generalities about my family's lives, and I'm left ridiculously horny. Two hundred bloody years I've been marrying that man, and I've never gotten more than a kiss out of him.”
“Oh, poor thing.” Emma said, reaching over and patting her leg sympathetically. Lizzy drained her glass and went to fetch the second bottle. When she returned, Emma pulled her down beside her on the Grecian couch and, after refilling her glass, gave her friend a tipsy one-armed hug. “Believe me, Lizzy, you're not the only one suffering from sexual frustration. I think we all do to some extent.” She frowned. “With the possible exception of Fanny fucking Price.” She shrugged. “Whatever. The important thing is you're not alone. Jane never was much for writing sex scenes.”
Lizzy leaned against her. “Thanks Ems,” she said, “but you have to admit, you don't really have the same kind of sexual tension I do.”
“Of course I do!” Emma protested.” She paused, biting her lip. “Just, um, not with Mr Knightley.” This made Lizzy sit up straight in amazement.
“What? Not with Frank Churchill, surely. My dear Emma, he's the designated cad of the story, like Wickham!”
“Oh, he's not nearly so bad as that.” Emma said complacently, draining half her glass. “And anyway, I wasn't talking about him.”
“Oh.” Lizzy said. “So, er, who...”
“Harriet Smith.” Emma said, peering into the depths of her glass as she swirled the remaining contents.
Lizzy went very still, staring straight ahead at the far wall in shock as she finished her glass of wine, refilled it, then polished off that one as well.
“I'm sure it's fairly obvious in retrospect, but I had a terrible crush on that girl.” Emma continued thoughtfully. “Physically, I mean. Intellectually, to be frank, she made Catherine Morland look like Isaac Newton.” She laughed. “Just as well I suppose, otherwise she might have noticed something. As it was I was convinced she was the prettiest girl I knew, and I was puzzled because no one else seemed to see it.”
“So, um...” Lizzy wondered how it was possible to drink so much wine and still feel so dry mouthed. “How come I haven't heard about this before?” She said at last.
Emma shrugged. “It's not an especially frequent interpretation of my character.” She said. “But every so often a reader starts to get ideas. It all has an effect on me, you know.”
Lizzy turned her head and was startled by how close to her Emma was. “Wh-what kind of an effect?” She said, a little nervously.
“Well for one thing,” Emma said, “I start to wonder whether we could do something about that damn sexual frustration.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips against Lizzy's.
Oh my. Lizzy thought, as her best friend kissed her. Darcy usually gives me a quick kiss in the church, to avoid being showy, and then we fade to black. Emma, on the other hand, seemed to have no intention of stopping any time soon, and Lizzy found herself enjoying the feel of soft lips and the taste of good wine.
Her eyes widened as Emma's hand found it's way onto her breast, while the other hand fumbled at the fastenings of her dress. Oh my! Lizzy thought again.
It was an hour later when Fanny fucking Price got home, and found them both naked and intertwined on the couch. She took one look at them, screamed, and passed out from an excess of moral indignation. Emma and Lizzy didn't care in the slightest.