author's note/disclaimer: all the characters belong to JA, all grammar mistakes, historical inaccuracies and other errors, however, are entirely mine. please, please review. pretty please? with sugar on top? it would be great to have some feedback, especially since this is my very first longer story:)

When He Comes Back

There had been a ball at Netherfield on the night before Bingley and Darcy left for the army. She could still see it all. Caroline Bingley in her sleek purple silk gown laughing loudly at something that wasn't funny. The way her mother's cigarette flipped precariously up and down in her hand when she was giving away a particularly juicy piece of gossip. How Jane's eyes glistened with tears when she thought of Bingley fighting the Germans.

But most of all she could see Darcy. In the darkness of the hall, just before he left, he had grabbed her by the shoulders, kissed her fiercely despite her resistance and whispered: "When this war is over I will come back. And you will love me." He had left without another word and she had stood in the dark, her lips burning, seething at his words. The gall of that man! And yet…

Part 1: Elizabeth

4 June, 1940. Meryton, Kent.

Elizabeth sat on the windowsill looking at the sea. Her eyes were tired from squinting at the horizon. No more boats. No matter. There had been so many of them in the days that had passed since she started her vigil. Surely he'd been in one of them. Tens of thousands of men, they said. Surely he'd been one of them.

She thought it odd that she'd gotten herself in such a state in so short a time. It had been almost a year since she last saw him. She had spent a better part of that time being angry at him. For months she had seethed at the way he had acted. That he had dared to propose to her after what he'd tried to do to poor Jane. Most ardently, indeed. The man knew not the meaning of the word love. Or so she'd thought.

Four months into the dreadfulness they called the war a letter had arrived. The letter, the one that had changed everything. It had looked so inconspicuous, a battered envelope on the kitchen table when she came home one evening. She now knew it by heart.

So many times she'd thought over their acquaintance. It seemed so different now that she looked at it. Before, she'd seen contempt and disapproval in every word, in every look. Now she knew differently.

She smiled to herself as she remembered one particular moment, early in their acquaintance. She'd been so sure he'd resented her then with every fiber of his being. She, Jane, Bingley, Darcy and Caroline had been on their way to a dance in Meryton. He'd scoffed and huffed at the thought of going to a dance but agreed as soon as Caroline Bingley had announced her intentions of staying home to spend a quiet evening with him. They had still been far from the village when the car had broken down. Desperately trying to appear manly before his beloved Jane, Bingley had popped up the hood and looked at the engine deep in thought before admitting with a rueful smile that he knew nothing of cars. Darcy, with much less grace, had been forced to admit that he knew no more than his friend. Elizabeth, however, did.

She had discovered some tools in the trunk and expertly located and fixed the problem in less than twenty minutes. Darcy had stood next to her the whole time, flashlight in hand, with an unreadable expression on his face. When she had finished, her cheeks had been red with excitement - and her hands covered in engine oil. Silently, Darcy had offered her a handkerchief which she had thoroughly stained without much benefit for the state of her hands. Back in the car, Darcy had, in a surprising show of graciousness, offered to first drive Jane, Bingley and Caroline to the dance and then take Elizabeth back to Netherfield to clean up. Caroline, of course, had been much against the plan, but had been overruled by her brother.

On their way to Meryton Elizabeth had sat in the front, next to Darcy, trying to keep her hands in the air so as not stain her dress. Bingley, always eager to give compliments where they were due, had laughingly admired her accomplishments in the art of automobile repair and eagerly questioned where she had acquired her knowledge. Elizabeth had explained about the repair shop her uncle Gardiner owned and how she had been much more prone to spend time in there as a child than to play with dolls with Jane and their aunt.

Caroline had sneered - an auto repair shop, how quaint - and wondered aloud at the ladylikeness of such pastimes. Bingley had defended Elizabeth, reminding her sister that if not for her unexpected talents, they'd all still be stranded at the side of the road. Darcy had not said a word. In an attempt to gain his support for her cause, Caroline had then noted that Darcy surely could not imagine her own sister engaging in such pursuits, to which he had curtly replied that he most certainly could not. Caroline had been satisfied by his reply, and at the time Elizabeth too had taken his answer as a sign that he deemed her not very ladylike at all. Her suspicions had been confirmed when, on their way back to Netherfield, he had not said another word to her.

Now, however, she knew he had been so grave and quiet for another reason entirely.

Elizabeth leaned her forehead against the cool glass. Downstairs Mr. Churchill's deep voice boomed in the wireless. Wars are not won by evacuations. How true. Even if he was one of the thousands and thousands of men evacuated from the beaches of Dunkirk, the chances of their meeting again were slim. The soldiers were returning, but the war was not over. They would have to go back and fight Hitler to the bitter end. Or, worse still, the Nazis could come here and then what would become of them? There was already talk of invasion and Meryton, right at the southern coast, would certainly not survive it.

Elizabeth shook her head with a rueful expression. This was not at all like her, when had she become so gloomy? Perhaps, she thought, it had happened on the day she had seen Second Lieutenant Charles Bingley step off the train in Meryton station, bags under his eyes and face unshaven, looking years older than the last she'd seen him.

Another image came to her, unbidden, of a smiling Charles Bingley, cajoling his friend into asking Elizabeth to dance. There had been talk of newcomers in Netherfield and then one evening, at a dance, a young, eager-looking man with bright blue eyes and equally bright red hair had come up to Elizabeth and Jane, introducing himself as their new neighbour, Charles Bingley. He'd dragged with him a dark, brooding man and a young woman who had bright red hair just like Charles but obviously a much less bright outlook on life. His best friend William Darcy and his sister, Caroline, he'd said. They'd barely looked at the Bennet girls.

Only moments after setting his eyes on her, Charles Bingley had fallen madly in love with Jane Bennet. He'd whisked her away and danced all night only with her. Elizabeth had danced with several local boys but had also had plenty of time to just sit in their table and watch amusedly as the happy couple stared dreamily into each other's eyes. At some point, however, Charles had apparently become remorseful over stealing Elizabeth's sister and had attempted to right the wrong by asking his friend to dance with her. It had been, Elizabeth now realized, a defining moment in her relationship with Darcy. After that, every little thing he ever said or did had in her mind been interpreted with this one, careless remark in mind. Tolerable he had declared her, not realizing she was sitting just a few tables away, and certainly not beautiful enough to change his mind about dancing. He was not in the mood to entertain girls who were slighted by other men.

Her surprise, of course, had been great when only a half an hour later he'd sought her out and asked her to dance. The memory of his astonished face when she had refused him in no uncertain terms still made her smile.

They had become a sort of a group after that first night, an odd one to be sure, but a group nevertheless. Both Netherfield and Longbourn, the home of Elizabeth and Jane's family, were situated fairly far from Meryton and it seemed natural that the young people of both houses would end up spending a lot of time together. It had mostly been due to Jane and Bingley's budding relationship, of course. Elizabeth had hung along because she liked spending time with Jane and Charles. Caroline had hung along because Darcy did. Why Darcy had hung along had been a mystery to her. He'd always seemed to be brooding, never saying much unless she managed to rile him up enough to start an argument, which seemed to be often enough. Sometimes she had thought he almost seemed to enjoy arguing with her, so easy it was to fish him into one debate or another.

Many an afternoon had been spent lazily that summer, idling in Netherfield's garden, going for a swim in the nearby river, cycling to Meryton or driving around in Bingley's old Wolseley. During those days, Darcy had developed an annoying habit of staring at her. Trying to find fault in her, she'd always supposed. Sometimes she'd caught him staring at Jane and Charles too. What fault could be possibly be found there, she'd wondered. They were the perfect couple. She'd found out the answer about a month before the war was declared.

The atmosphere had been heady. It had been the hottest summer anyone remembered in a long time and the looming war made everyone feel oddly lightheaded. Charles and Darcy had been talking about enlisting and Charles had got it in his head that if his youthful dalliances would be coming to an end with the war, he would go out with style. A party, he'd decided, would be just the thing. A big farewell party to him and Darcy, and to every other young man who would be leaving soon. He would invite everyone. Everyone.

A few weeks before the party Jane and Elizabeth had invited their friends to dine in Longbourn. Most all of their time that summer had been spent outside or in Netherfield. Bingley had met the rest of the Bennet family only briefly and Darcy and Caroline not at all.

All morning Elizabeth had had a feeling that something bad was going to happen. The first foreboding event was the announcement their father had made during breakfast. Their cousin, Bill Collins would be coming for a visit. Elizabeth had groaned. She had been fifteen when she'd first met Bill Collins, and she still cursed the day. His father and hers had been estranged many years ago and the Bennet sisters had never so much as laid eyes upon their only cousin. Then one day he had appeared at their doorstep, with a bouquet of flowers in his hands, announcing he had come to heal the breach, offer an olive branch and all sorts of other nonsense.

And then, after having spent a few days with them, he had announced over dinner that he thought the best way to unite the family again would be for him to marry one of his fair cousins. Elizabeth's mother had been delighted with the idea and Elizabeth's father had coughed in his napkin, thinking it was too good a joke to be put to an end before it had even begun. Elizabeth and Jane had been horrorstruck when, after making his announcement, Bill Collins had turned towards them, looked at them appraisingly, and declared that – after she was of age of course – Elizabeth would have the honour of becoming his fiancée.

Elizabeth still shuddered in anger as she remembered the day. Not only had she felt acutely mortified for being subjected to such a ridiculous display but moreover, she had been utterly disappointed by her father. Instead of coming to her aid, he had watched amusedly as her cousin, five years her senior, had leered at her and her mother had tittered excitedly of the benefits of the match. Elizabeth, of course, had made her disgust over the plan immediately known to all and, as any young lady in a similar situation would, had run upstairs to her room, hot tears running over her face. Jane had later told her that their cousin had found her tantrum "charming" and declared that she possessed just such a spirited character that his great friend Lady Catherine de Bourgh had told him to look for in a wife.

In the years that had followed, Elizabeth had felt the betrayal of her father keenly. Every time her foolish cousin had visited them, Elizabeth had had to fend off his wooing and when he never seemed to realize she was in earnest, she had time and time again asked her father to talk to him, always in vain. So, when four years after the first meeting, her father had announced that Bill Collins was coming to visit them yet again, Elizabeth had known without a doubt that nothing good could come out of it.

Bill Collins had arrived a few hours before Darcy and the Bingleys. By that time the entire household had been in an uproar. Her mother had been giving Jane orders on what to wear, as if Charles had never seen her before and what Jane wore on that particular evening could have crucial impact on their relationship. Her youngest sisters Kitty and Lydia, sixteen and fifteen, had been suffering from an apparently endless fit of giggles and her fool of a cousin had been following her around like a lapdog. Elizabeth had waited for the arrival of their guests with an impending sense of doom.

And, it had turned out, she had been absolutely right. The whole evening had been a cataclysmic disaster. When their guests had arrived, her cousin had introduced himself as her fiancée. Though she had been hasty to correct him, Caroline Bingley had been head over heels with that announcement, questioning her cousin about his plans for marriage, the mocking contempt of her queries completely escaping her cousin. Darcy had spent half the evening staring out of the window and the other half staring at Elizabeth and her enthusiastic fiancée with such a cold and disapproving glare that even Elizabeth had been surprised.

All through dinner her mother had dropped not too subtle hints about marriage to Jane and Charles and questioned him about any other rich friends he might have. Charles had borne it all with good grace but his friend had seemed appalled by the inquisition. Elizabeth had thought she might die of mortification when her mother had encouraged Lydia to sit next to Darcy in the dinner table. She had batted her eyelashes at him with all the might of a fifteen-year-old and made all sorts of flirtatious comments. He had barely deigned her with an answer and had been so red in the face that Elizabeth had thought that if the whole situation hadn't been so thoroughly embarrassing, she might have found his reaction quite hilarious.

Elizabeth flushed as she remembered her family's actions on that fateful evening. She was certain, that had her family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit – or finer success. They had been utterly, completely vulgar. She still could not forgive Darcy entirely for the comments he'd made later that evening, or during his proposal, but she could now understand why he'd made them. To attach yourself to such a family would be unthinkable, he'd told Charles on the porch as they'd left that evening, unaware that through an open window, Elizabeth could once again hear his every careless word. And even though a few weeks later he himself seemed to have gotten over the unthinkability of such a course of action, he had still harboured serious misgivings about the suitability of her family.

During the days between the disastrous dinner and Bingley's party, Elizabeth and Jane had hardly seen the inhabitants of Netherfield. Charles had called on them only once, alone and strangely subdued. When they'd gone to Netherfield, nobody had been home. Twice, Elizabeth had encountered Darcy when she'd been out walking. She had seethed at him, sure that he was the reason for the sudden distance Charles was keeping, and he had made her some strange, unconnected questions. Had she thought of what she would do after the war? How did she like London? He'd given her a whole speech about the quality of universities in Derbyshire. She wondered now she had not realized where he had been headed with his questions. Consumed with anger, she had answered his queries in clipped tones, finally silencing him unexpectedly by remarking that perhaps he'd be better off questioning Bill Collins, he was her fiancée, after all, and surely she would be going where ever he bid her. She had expected a sarcastic reply to her joke or at least a roll of his eyes at the mention of her odious relative, but instead he had stopped in his tracks, given her the strangest of looks and disappeared, not to be seen again until the morning of Charles' party.

Shivering, Elizabeth wrapped herself tighter in the quilt she had around her. It was getting dark and she could barely see the sea anymore. The windowsill felt cold under her. For a hundredth time she wondered if he'd been in one of the boats she'd seen in the past days. He must have been. She knew not how she felt about him now, it was all so muddy and confusing. That she was angry at him no longer, she was sure of. The last traces of her anger had been wiped away when Bingley had arrived on a short leave, about a month after the letter, begging Jane's forgiveness for his cold behaviour before. She was sure it had been his doing. But other than that, she could not tell. Was it possible to learn to like a man in his absence? To be sure, she had neither known him nor liked him when she had last seen him. Was it possible that she knew him now? Or was this new idea of him just a fabrication of her mind, just as false as the one she'd had before? She knew not. All she was sure of was that she had to see him again. If for nothing else, then to apologize for the cruel things she had said.

Her eyes turned from the sea towards the rocky beach that spread before her in the quickly diminishing light. She winced as she remembered his face as she'd left him there, the penultimate time she'd seen him. The last time had been in Netherfield, just before he left…

Her musings were interrupted by the opening of the door and the blinding flood of light to the room, the beach and the sea suddenly disappearing from her vision, replaced by darkness. In the open doorway stood Jane, catching her breath:

"Lizzy! He's come!"