Okay, so it's another one-shot-type-thing centered around Darcy's first proposal. Sorry; I can't help it! I like that moment!

I used the proposal scene from the 2005 movie, because I don't actually own the book or the 6-hour movie, although I've read/watched them both once each. I also consulted the letter Darcy gave Elizabeth; I found the entire text of it online. But all words are my own; I just consulted the letter/scene for the background.

I tried to keep the level of archaic language down in this one, and it is kinda low compared to All In A Name, but I couldn't help but write in it somewhat, and my colon use is probably way too high. Sorry 'bout that.

Kind of alternates POVs between Elizabeth and Darcy, but in third-person limited, not first person.

Elizabeth Bennet slumped back on the wall of the temple, breathing harshly and staring into the distance, eyes wide and unfocused.

Mr. Darcy… She could scarcely believe what had happened. Proud, arrogant Mr. Darcy could never be… Was he truly in love? And with her? She had always believed him to utterly despise her. After all, taking into account his actions whenever they were in the same room, it seemed to be obvious; the way he would always stand aloof and yet still gaze upon her disapprovingly, his awkward attempts at conversation when he clearly thought talking to her beneath him…

Perhaps in any other man, Elizabeth would have attributed the standing back to shyness, the gaze to be admiring, the stilted chats to be a product of nervousness – but this was Mr. Darcy! Of course he wouldn't be nervous or shy. More likely, she had correctly interpreted everything he'd said, and he simply wished for a wife very clearly beneath him in ranking, one that would never stand up to him. Yes, that was it.

If Elizabeth had been thinking straight, she would have realized at once how absurd that idea was (both because he would not wish for a wife raking so far below him, and because she would never meekly obey anyone, and Darcy knew that), but she was still reeling from the tumult of her emotions, which had been in a dizzying uproar since her conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and were only further incensed and confused during her conversation – argument? – no, her exchange with Mr. Darcy.

That was the real reason Elizabeth was leaning back on the wall, breathing deeply and staring at the rain. She was utterly confused and shocked and angered and saddened all at once, and scarcely knew what to do; so she did nothing.

-xxx-

Fitzwilliam Darcy, striding away around the temple with quick, determined strides, was in a similar boat. He had gone from eager anticipation to the most desolation he had ever experienced, in a conversation that couldn't have lasted more than five minutes; even more proof, had he needed it, of Elizabeth's complete power over him.

Without his knowledge, Darcy's quick, sure stride slowed, and soon he was standing perfectly still under the pouring rain, his fists clenched by his sides.

She had refused him. She hated him. He was the last – the last man she would ever…

Darcy pounded one fist into the other hand, his face suddenly contorted in anger. "The goddamned last man!" he snarled.

How could she – did she truly hate him so much, that she would prefer a man like Mr. Wickham over him? Or even Mr. Collins? Elizabeth may have been drawn in by Wickham's tall tales, but she knew full well the extent of Collins' bumbling; but even so, Darcy was left to be the last man?

Darcy swallowed hard, the anger on his face shifting into a strong determination. He would show Elizabeth that he was not, nor would he ever be, the last man! He began walking again, even faster than before.

It occurred to him as he walked that perhaps he ought to be careful not to go about this the wrong way; after all, hadn't Elizabeth also complained about his ungentlemanly conduct?

In truth, Darcy had no idea of what he would do to make things right; what could he do? He had a dim idea of correcting her impressions of Wickham, and further explaining his reasoning behind separating Miss Bennet and Bingley – but beyond that he knew nothing that could approach fixing this monumental mistake of his.

He glanced up for the first time from the ground moving rapidly under his feet when he felt the rain stop hitting his head and shoulders, and was stunned to realize that he was, once more, standing in front of Elizabeth. His feet had turned him around and carried him back to her without his knowledge or assent – and it seemed they still had a mind of their own as they continued to carry him closer.

She was slumped back on the temple wall for support, hands bracing her upright, her sodden dress clinging to her skin and her dark hair hanging down heavily. Darcy's eyes, along with his feet, seemed to rebel from his control, though he couldn't really blame them for being so utterly fascinated with her profile.

He knew the exact moment she glanced up and saw him, for he could not look away; their eyes met and she opened her mouth as though to say something –

Darcy would never know what it was, however, because before any sound could escape her parted lips, his feet came to a halt in front of her, barely two steps away. His hands (joining the mutiny), reached out to grasp her shoulders and gently tug her forward. Elizabeth had been leaning her weight on the wall, and so when he pulled her from its support she stumbled a little, almost literally falling into his arms.

Darcy stood still for the shortest, tiniest, most miniscule instant, staring down at her; she raised her head up to meet his eyes (her own sparkling more than ever), still looking completely shocked – and he could bear it no more. Finally taking the hints the rest of his body had been sending him, Darcy bent his head, and captured her lips with his.

And he kissed her.

-xxx-

Elizabeth was afraid that she might be lost in a dream. How else would she find herself proposed to by Darcy? Proposed to, or… kissed?

She hadn't expected him to return; in fact, judging from the slightly surprised look in his eyes when she had first glanced at him, he hadn't expected it either. However, his surprise had quickly faded to be replaced with something else – what she did not know – as he continued walking up to her.

Elizabeth had opened her mouth to say something; it would not have been angry, she was sure of that, for however she felt now, confusion and an uncharacteristic sorrow were at the height of her emotions, her passionate fury already died out. But it did not matter, anyway, as the words – whatever they had been – never left her lips.

Because Darcy had stopped in front of her, very close, and the look in his eyes suddenly became clear to Elizabeth: he was gazing at her, not with his customary look of boredom or aloofness, but with a naked, open face that showed the true force of his love for her.

It took her breath away.

While Elizabeth was entranced speechless by the emotions in Darcy's eyes, his hands were busying themselves by reaching out and gripping her shoulders, pulling her forward. Elizabeth had not expected this, and stumbled forward into him, colliding with his chest. She was astounded, and couldn't seem to properly grasp that this was real; she was not leaning against Mr. Darcy, hands splayed on his chest to support herself, his own arms on her shoulders.

But she was.

Elizabeth slowly raised her head up to look at him, and was suddenly shocked once more by the pure emotion in his eyes. She stared into them, entranced again, and didn't even notice them approaching her, the distance between them lessening, until his mouth descended upon her own, and he began to fiercely kiss her.

And without thinking about it, without even realizing what she was doing, Elizabeth began to kiss back.

-xxx-

At some point, his eyes had closed. Darcy knew that only because he could no longer see Elizabeth's face, her own eyes, before him. In fact, he was not aware of anything else but her.

Her slender, petite body, pressed against his own, her hands resting on his chest.

Her long, thick hair, and the small of her back, underneath his hands, both wet, but warm and sending sparks down his fingers straight to his heart.

And her lips, under his, moving with him, as she kissed him back. Kissing back. Elizabeth Bennet was kissing Darcy. Kissing him.

It was almost more than he could bear, and he had to break away before he did something he would regret. Although he personally would not mind at all being forced to marry because she was compromised, Darcy had a sneaking suspicion that Elizabeth would feel differently. Not to mention, she was a gentleman's daughter, and Darcy's love, and deserved much better. Deserved only the best.

Darcy's hand on Elizabeth's hair lifted free, and he moved it to cup her cheek, staring into her eyes. Perhaps this was how he should have proposed. He confessed that he found it a much more enjoyable experience…

Darcy cleared his throat softly, trying to regain his voice. At the sound, Elizabeth trembled slightly under his fingers, but she did not look away.

Darcy took a deep breath, and began again. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he said, in a voice that stopped just short of shaking, "I have long known you to be the most charming, beautiful, well-mannered, lively, intelligent, accomplished woman of my acquaintance." Elizabeth smiled tremulously as she heard the emphasis Darcy had placed on the word 'accomplished', and remembered the discussion he, Caroline Bingley, and she had in Netherfield on what made a woman accomplished.

Darcy took heart from the smile, and one began to grow on his own face as he continued (and, though he did not know it, further disconcerting her with his heretofore unseen dimples), "I can assure you that none of my actions or words were ever intended to be hurtful to you, and though I do not regret trying to save my friend from what I believed would have been an unhappy marriage, I do regret being so wrong. I concede to your greater knowledge as her sister; perhaps, having been so used to the flirtatious ladies of the ton, I mistook her polite propriety as a lack of interest. For that, no apology will be enough, but I am resolved to write to Bingley immediately, explaining the truth of the matter."

At the mention of Jane, Elizabeth's smile dropped from her face, and Darcy's faded accordingly, but she had yet to pull free from his arms, and Darcy even fancied that her eyes, which had hardened at the mention of her sister, softened when he apologized and resolved to act.

Darcy closed his eyes briefly, wishing that he did not have to recount this next part; but as long as Elizabeth believed Wickham's stories, she would never trust, let alone love, him. And he needed at least the hope that she might. He needed to know that he had done all he could.

So Darcy steeled himself, and began: "As to your complaints about my treatment of Mr. Wickham, I do not know what he told you, so I will simply inform you of the facts.

"Mr. Wickham was the son of my father's steward, and as a boy he was my close friend, and like a second son to my father; indeed, he was my father's godson. We grew up together, and even went to Cambridge together, provided for by my father. When my father died about five years ago, he had secured in his will, along with one thousand pounds, an education for Mr. Wickham as a clergyman. He had always hoped Mr. Wickham would enter the church. However, Mr. Wickham had grown more and more disreputable and less my childhood friend in Cambridge, indebting himself and indulging in many immoral activities. Therefore, when (after his own father's death) he informed me that he did not wish to become a member of the clergy, I agreed to pay him instead the sum of three thousand pounds, and considered all connections between us severed."

Darcy swallowed multiple times before he could continue. Elizabeth was staring at him, wide-eyed, though she had uncharacteristically not yet said a word. "Mr. Wickham had implied that he would be studying the law with this money, and though I did not believe him, I acted as though I did. However, two years ago, he applied to me for yet more money, saying that he had concluded that the law was not for him, and now he wished to be ordained, if I would just give him the money. Naturally, I refused, and any semblance of friendship or good regard dissolved instantly as he quite berated me, to myself and doubtless to others about town. However, we did not encounter each-other again until this past summer."

Darcy paused, his hand unconsciously smoothing across Elizabeth's cheek. "I must beg a vow of secrecy from you regarding this next part of my tale. No one must know of what I am about to tell you… Promise me."

Elizabeth nodded shakily, not looking away from his eyes, and whispered as if in a daze, "I promise."

For a brief moment, Darcy's face lit up in another brilliant smile; but soon the topic he was addressing darkened his face, and he took up a thunderous expression, looking away from Elizabeth to glare at the wall. Without realizing it, he let go of her and began to pace as he spoke. "My sister, Georgiana, is ten years my junior, and when our parents died, she was entrusted to my, and Colonel Fitzwilliam's, care. She left school about a year ago, and went with a companion to Ramsgate. Mr. Wickham followed them, for he had a previous attachement to Mrs. Younge; we were most deceived of her character. With her help, he… Wickham so enamored himself of Georgiana that she believed herself in love, and consented to elope with him."

Darcy missed Elizabeth's gasp of shock at this news, and paced faster as he continued. "She was but fifteen years old at the time, and was easily tricked; but it is due to her that I know of, and was able to prevent, the elopement. I arrived at Ramsgate several days earlier than expected, and upon seeing me Georgiana could not bear to hide the affair from a brother that she loved and looked up to almost as a father."

Elizabeth observed with awe how Darcy's features softened into a loving, indulgent expression when speaking of his sister, but hardened once more as he added, "Mr. Wickham was undoubtedly after Georgiana's fortune of thirty thousand pounds, but I am sure that revenging himself upon me was far from a deterrent. We of course dismissed Mrs. Younge, and wrote Mr. Wickham, sending him out of town. I could not do more, for fear of my sister's reputation and her feelings. She is still greatly changed by the experience; always shy, she has become withdrawn to the point of barely communicating with strangers, and trusts few."

Darcy spun to look at Elizabeth, his eyes wet. "Please forgive me for telling you of such distressing events; I only wish that you understand the reasons behind my apparent cruelty to Mr. Wickham, and to your sister, as these were your main objections to my suit. As to those against my character – I cannot explain those away, but," he approached her, taking her limp hands in both of his, "I beg of you, Elizabeth, to reconsider your judgments of me, for I – I am deeply, irrevocably in love with you, and I would be most honored if you consented to be my wife."

Darcy gently lifted Elizabeth's hands and kissed each palm with a surprising tenderness and innocence that contrasted with his hungry kiss before.

-xxx-

Elizabeth was quite sure that she was not dreaming, for even she, with her active imagination, could never have conjectured this. No; this had to be happening, which meant that Mr. Darcy truly had proposed to her, truly had told her the most outrageous stories, truly had kissed her…

Had kissed her!

Without conscious thought, she pulled her hands free of his, and one palm swung up to slap his cheek, hard, in a purely instinctive reaction to the belated realization that a man (not even her betrothed) had stolen a kiss.

A loud smack echoed in the air (the rain had ceased at some point during Darcy's explanation, so it was all the more striking), and Darcy bowed his head, not meeting her gaze. It was only then that Elizabeth remembered the events surrounding the kiss, and her own eager participation; her cheeks flushed bright red.

However, she could not seem to speak; not to apologize or to explain herself, or even to respond to his proposal – his second proposal! And despite all she'd already said! It occurred to her, in the silence that followed, that Darcy must think her slap the answer to his question, which only further embarrassed her, to the point where Elizabeth was quite sure she might never speak again.

After several long moments, Darcy raised his head; there was a large red mark, in the shape of a hand, on one cheek. Upon seeing this, Elizabeth wished fervently that she was capable of sinking into the ground; she turned her head to avoid his gaze, and in doing so missed the single tear that slid down his cheek to fall to the ground.

-xxx-

Darcy could barely look at her, his entire being suffused with a deep sadness and desperation; but he had said all he could say, and done all he could do to change her mind, and yet Elizabeth still slapped him for daring to ask again, and when he raised his head, she could not even bear to look at him, her disgust was too great.

Darcy's emotion choked his throat, and he had to glance away, clearing it several times before he could speak again; and even then it was merely a hoarse croak.

"The rain appears to have stopped," he said, not looking at Elizabeth. "If you will allow me to escort you to the Collins'?"

He could see Elizabeth glance at him in surprise, startled doe eyes briefly flitting over his face before returning to the view.

"I – thank you," she faltered, "But I am sure I can make it on my own."

Darcy closed his eyes briefly, pain welling up inside him and threatening to spill over. "No, I insist."

He reached out before she could step away, and took firm hold of her arm; after a moments hesitation, Elizabeth looped it through his, and they set off.

-xxx-

The walk was not as long as it seemed, and soon they stood, hidden from the Collins' house by the stone wall.

"Farewell, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, with a note of finality in her voice. She knew that he would never wish to speak to her again after her treatment of him today; and she was still unsure of whether she even wished him to. She had not had the time to properly absorb all of what he'd said, and was still in quite the state of shock.

Darcy, however, heard the finality, and believed it to be a distinct warning; Elizabeth was telling him that she had heard him out, and still did not wish to associate with him. She was done with him; the still-stinging mark on his cheek attested to that.

But he could not let her go without a word, and even as she let go of his arm, he gripped hers and leaned in close. "God bless you, Elizabeth," he said quietly, and let go.

Elizabeth stood there a moment longer, and he almost hoped that she might be leaning closer; but suddenly, without another word, she stepped back and ran away into the yard.

Darcy watched her go, and watched as she was welcomed into the warm house by a concerned Mrs. Collins, before turning and beginning the walk back to Kent along the darkening, muddy road.

A slight smile crossed his face, and he chuckled, shaking his head. "The last man…" A single tear followed the words.

More tears slipped down his face as he walked, sliding over the tender spot on his cheek, and Darcy continued to chuckle brokenly.

The last man, indeed.

I am debating whether or not to leave it just at this, or to try and continue writing on from this point. I think this could conceivably change or not change any of the later events. So... I'd like your opinions on that, please.

Thanks for reading!