It was a rather dark and quiet night for a stroll in London, but Charles Bingley had not a care. He was young, nineteen and had just acquired his wealth from his recently deceased father. He had been so confused as to why all of this wealth got dumped onto him and not to his sisters, Misses Louisa and Caroline Bingley. He thought for sure that at least some of the share would go to his younger brother, Henry, but then he remembered that Henry, at a ripe young age of twelve, was on his death bed as well suffering from consumption. He pondered over why Caroline and Louisa didn't receive anything but increased dowries as he wandered the London streets.

Bingley was so lost in his thoughts that he bumped into a gentleman - one with dark hair and rather light eyes. "Forgive me, sir," said Bingley.

"There is nothing to forgive. Excuse me," said the other man, and he continued on his way into a store right beside Bingley. Bingley, too, continued on his way, but wandered into an alley right beside the store that the gentleman had entered, thinking it would return him to the next street over, where his townhouse was. As Bingley got perhaps a quarter of the way through it, he found himself stopped by a couple of ruffians.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a gentleman here, Waters," said the shorter of the two. The taller, Waters, laughed.

"Yeah... A gentleman! We got ourselves a gentleman, Thierry!" said Waters happily.

"Shut it! Say, how much money you got on ya, gentleman?" asked Thierry.

"Please... I don't want to start a fight... I'm warning you, I... I can fight... Don't make me..." said Bingley in a rather unthreatening manner. Thierry and Waters only laughed at his attempt.

"Look at this guy, Waters! He thinks he can take us! Well, gentleman, why don't you show us?" said Thierry, and Waters threw a punch at Bingley, breaking his nose. Bingley stumbled backwards.

"All right, put 'em up!" Bingley shouted blindly, punching the air. Thierry and Waters laughed only harder before making an attempt to grab them. "You let GO OF ME!" Bingley started thrashing, taking any attempt at getting out of their hands, but he could not help but scream when he felt a sharp pain in his gut; Waters had stabbed him.

"Is there any trouble here?" said an unfamiliar voice, and Bingley looked over Thierry's retreating shoulder to see the gentleman that he had bumped into earlier.

"Oh, not at all!" exclaimed Thierry, and he ran at the gentleman in an attempt to disable him. The gentleman was quick to his defenses in fighting Thierry off, suffering a bloody nose as well, and then Waters came his way. The gentleman unsheathed his saber, which was enough for Waters, and he ran off quickly. "You coward!"

"I suggest you follow him," said the gentleman, his saber pointed at Thierry's chest.

"I agree. Waters!" Thierry ran after his companion as fast as he could. The gentleman returned his saber to it's sheath and looked at Bingley, who was on the ground with his arms, bloodied, across his gut.

"Come with me," said the gentleman, and he lifted Bingley and brought him to his townhouse.

"How... How did you..." Bingley muttered weakly.

"You might not know me, Mr. Bingley, but I know of you," said the gentleman as he carried a weakened Bingley up the stairs to his bedchamber. "I shall fetch a doctor. I shall inform someone to keep watch on you." Bingley barely heard the gentleman's words, but as he left, he slowly turned his head.

"Wait... I did not... Catch your name..."

"You don't need to know my name." The gentleman left, leaving Bingley to wonder about the identity of his savior. When the doctor arrived, Bingley could not help but ask who it was that sent him.

"A young Fitzwilliam Darcy, son of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley," said the doctor.

"And where is Pemberley?" asked Bingley.

"In Derbyshire, I believe."

"That is far..."

"Too far for you in your current state, Mr. Bingley."

Two weeks later, a fully recovered Charles Bingley climbed the steps of Pemberley and entered the hall, hoping his savior was home. He was amazed at the brilliant and grandiose features of the house and knew immediately that his savior, young Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, was a rich man. He wondered what he was doing in the part of London that Bingley had been in.

"Might I ask who it is you wish to see, sir?" asked a servant.

"Yes... I wish to see a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy," said Bingley.

"Young Mr. Darcy or his father?"

"The former."

"Right this way, sir." Bingley was amazed at everything his blue eyes scanned, marveling at the ornate designs on the walls and the portraits. He almost did not hear the servant call for him. The servant entered the room. "A Mr. Bingley." Bingley entered as the servant bowed and found the gentleman that had rescued him with a young girl of about seven on his lap.

"Excuse us, Georgiana," said young Mr. Darcy, and the little girl jumped off of his lap as he stood and bowed. Bingley returned it.

"I came to give you my gratitude for your actions regarding my wellbeing in London, sir," said Bingley.

"You have nothing to be grateful for," said Darcy.

"My life, I do, for I might not have it today if it had not been for you."

"Please, sit down." Bingley did as he was told. "Brandy?" Bingley nodded as Darcy walked over to a shelf and poured two glasses of brandy, one of which he handed to Bingley.

"Fitzwilliam, might I have a sip?" asked the little girl as Darcy sat down.

"You may not. Please, Georgiana, go and play in your nursery." She ran off with her bottom lip protruding as Bingley laughed.

"She is a very sweet little girl!"

"She is, I daresay, the apple of my eye."

"Is she yours?"

"My sister."

"My two sisters are both older than me and not yet married."

"And how old are you?"

"Nineteen, sir. And yourself?"

"About the same. I had just turned eighteen last month."

"And you could take on those ruffians? Mr. Darcy, I must continue giving you my thanks. My sisters surely would have been turned out and on the street if I had been killed that night."

"Mr. Bingley, there is no thanks to be given. I would have wanted someone to do it for me."

"Well, whether you like it or not, you shall have my gratitude." A smile slipped onto Darcy's face.

"I like that about you... A man that challenges me, but not in a harmful way."

"Do you not have a friend as such?"

"George Wickham, but I barely see much of him anymore. I daresay that he is far too busy patronizing the local whore houses." Bingley laughed.

"I've never had much of a loyal friend, besides my sisters."

"I daresay that you might find one in me, for I rather enjoy your company." A smile crept onto Bingley's face, this time.

"Really, Mr. Darcy? You mean that?"

"I do."

"Well, I would be happy to be your acquaintance." The two of them spent the rest of the evening talking and Bingley was invited to dine with Darcy, young Georgiana, Mr. Darcy, George Wickham and a rather ill-looking Mrs. Darcy. It was the start of an excellent friendship between two unlikely acquaintances.