First Impressions
Rated: T
Disclaimer: Own I do not, Young Grasshopper.
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Scaredwoman: Thank you. I dunno – I think meeting Mr. Darcy in a drawing room (in a cravat and a tail coat, no less!) where he's all broody would be kind of hot. ;P
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- She Believed… -

Caroline watched Darcy and Elizabeth with open hostility. For some odd reason, Darcy was doing anything the girl wanted him to! He got her champagne, he danced with her until she relented because his face got so red (Caroline thought that was adorable), and was, more often than not, smiling hesitantly at something she said. Caroline had never seen the girl before, and she prided herself on knowing all of Charles' good-to-semi-good-looking friends. Although Caroline fancied herself the prettiest woman present, she couldn't deny the girl Darcy was with could catch someone's attention if they stared for a bit. The girl wasn't overtly pretty but more like the quiet librarian one doesn't notice until one talks to her, causing one to really look at her. It probably helped that she looked younger than she most likely was, smiling and dancing as she was.

Caroline curled her lip slightly at her assessment. The unnamed girl Darcy was with was like the character type the male protagonist got infatuated with for a bit while the female protagonist got jealous. Undoubtedly, Caroline modeled all female protagonists after herself and male protagonists after Darcy when she wrote her romance novels. She wondered, sometimes, if Darcy read the drafts she sent him and noticed; they'd make a perfect couple, after all. While Darcy Publishers hadn't published Caroline, another company had taken her in; she'd been on the New York Best Sellers list for three different romance novels she'd written. Caroline was hoping for the big break with Darcy when he finally realized he'd make a huge profit from publishing her; she'd switch companies in a heartbeat.

No one knew how Caroline got to write well. She'd never liked reading or writing growing up, but in college, she'd somehow decided to try it and had shown a great aptitude for it. For once, she was making her own money; it felt terrific. As an author, she made enough to be comfortable, but as Caroline Bingley, daughter of Ronald Bingley, head of Bingley Incorporated, she had enough to last her a lifetime and then some. Her last accomplishment in finally becoming her own person, Caroline had determined, was getting acknowledged by Darcy as successful in her own right. She'd known him since she and Charles were nine because Ronald had gone to Oxford with Crispin Darcy, Darcy's father. That summer was the only time she met Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, and it was the only time she'd seen Darcy smile so easily. When she next saw him nine years later, when he was twenty-three and she and Charles were eighteen, it was a shock. Still holding onto childish beliefs then, Caroline had promised herself that she'd one day mold Darcy back into the boy he used to be that was easy to smile and hard to anger.

Caroline couldn't help the jealousy running through her veins. Except for that first summer, she'd never made Darcy smile half as much as the cat girl. Even though she was glad Darcy wasn't brooding in a corner, Caroline wanted to be the person who he socialized with, not some random girl that was probably a friend of Jane's. Knowing Jane's personality, the cat girl had to be at least decent, but Caroline only saw her as competition. Making up her mind to join the pair, Caroline started over only to be intercepted by a server with a flute of champagne. He was so short that Caroline, a tall 5'11" to match her twin, didn't notice him until he grabbed her arm with a chilly hand.

"Miss, are you heading over to the girl in the cat costume?"

Caroline looked down at him, finding nothing remarkable about him but his eyes; they were a pretty shade of light green, almost like the color of a green apple. If it counted, she found it remarkable he looked so disturbing, as if he didn't care for his appearance.

"Yes. What of it?" Caroline sniffed, wondering if the hired help was allowed to talk to the guests. Charles was generally lenient with his employees, but she didn't think any waiters had talked before.

"Can… c-can you give this to her? I-I… the young man in the pink horse outfit wanted to give this to her." The waiter's beady eyes bulged and his breathing got heavy as he spoke, a creepy pleased grin forming on his face. Caroline knew Matt was in what he called a "Pinkie Pie" costume and wondered if the cat girl and Matt were an item; he was notorious for dating every girl he set eyes on. The strange thing was, despite the fact he dated around, he didn't sleep around and always ended up staying friends with all his exes. Caroline had dated him once and tried to entice him to no avail. Shrugging mentally, she nodded and took the flute before progressing once more towards Darcy and the cat girl. It couldn't hurt, and, besides, if Matt wooed the cat girl, it left Darcy for Caroline.

"Darcy, dah-ling, who is your friend?" Caroline said, quite loudly, curling one arm around Darcy's arm. The one thing Caroline had never realized in all the years was Darcy didn't appreciate her attentions because she assumed all he needed to do was get laid a few times, to have some nice arm candy to be happy once again, so when she presented her body in what she thought was a lovely way, all she did was push him further and further away. It was what she grew up with knowing and learning, so it never occurred to Caroline not all men liked their women easy in addition to dressing a bit more sumptuously. He was the only one that the tactic hadn't worked on yet.

"Caroline, this is Elizabeth Bennet. Kitten, this is—"

"Caroline Bingley, a pleasure." It stung Caroline when she heard Darcy call Elizabeth "Kitten." If they were already on pet names, then Caroline had to work harder. Her eyes were like chips of ice as she stared down at Elizabeth, daring her to do something.

"I'm sure." Elizabeth smiled at Caroline gamely. It was obvious to her Caroline was staking a claim she didn't have and was trying to "defend her man" from a rival.

"Oh, yes, Eliza – I can call you that, can't I? – Matt sent you this. He's the one dressed as a pink pony." Caroline sneered, holding out the hand containing the champagne flute; Elizabeth took it, blushing slightly.

"He's a nice guy." Elizabeth mumbled, feeling Darcy's heavy stare on her. She couldn't read his expression as she took a few delicate sips of the alcoholic beverage.

"Was I keeping you from your boyfriend, Kitten?" Darcy asked after a few minutes of silence. Even though he really wanted to avoid Caroline, he didn't want to keep Elizabeth from her significant other, even though she was proving herself to be an intricate puzzle. She'd forced him into dancing with her like a buffoon, but it wasn't even three minutes before she claimed she was tired of it and wanted to go get a drink with him. Darcy wasn't sure if Elizabeth had done it for his benefit or if she was actually bored.

"Ah, no. I danced with Matt because I was avoiding your leering cousin, and he's just a real sweet guy." Elizabeth explained, almost too quickly. Sure, Matt was cute, but Darcy was more interesting to her. Darcy claimed he could slow dance, but he had two left feet trying to dance in a more swift fashion. He seemed to be one of those guys who didn't show their emotions, but his face had gone so red, so quickly when he danced with her for all of maybe two minutes. Darcy was just a riddle Elizabeth wanted to solve; it helped him in her mind that he looked so impossibly like Angel.

"Aaanyways, Caroline and Charles, that's cute. You're not Italian, are you?" Elizabeth said hastily afterwards, not wanting to dwell on the subject of significant others. After officially getting permission she didn't care for from her father to date when she was fifteen, her romantic life had been similar to a desert: dry and uninviting with the exception of a rare oasis. In almost seven years, Elizabeth had had five boyfriends in total because she'd focused more on her education than messing around with the opposite sex. Her mother had never really understood why Elizabeth hadn't dated much, but with Lydia and Cat, Elizabeth's promiscuous younger sisters, dating more than triple the guys Elizabeth had in a year, Harper Bennet had let up some on her insistencies that Elizabeth date.

"Italian?" Caroline asked sharply, looking down at Elizabeth. She didn't understand the question's relevance to her brother.

"Yeah. Caroline is the female variation of Charles in Italy, and y'all are twins… But y'all don't look Italian - no offense if you are." Elizabeth explained, shrugging slightly. Even though Charles looked, essentially, white because of make-up, Caroline didn't look nearly tan enough for Elizabeth's estimation of what an Italian should look like. She knew she could be wrong and following a stereotype, however.

"No, we're not Italian, but my father knows the language." Caroline grumbled, wondering if Elizabeth was intellectual or just full of random "fun facts". Either way, she knew Darcy would find both traits intriguing. Silence befell the trio, and with both Caroline and Darcy watching her, Elizabeth soon grew uncomfortable. Even though Darcy had asked her to help him keep Caroline away, he seemed perfectly content to have Caroline hugging his arm provocatively; it was hard for Elizabeth to remember him looking so distressed when he brought the subject up. Perhaps Darcy just didn't enjoy asking for help? The trait would fit in with Elizabeth's earlier assumption that he had an overly large ego, although he'd proven himself to be at least adequate company, when he wasn't just so awkward and quiet.

"I'm going to go thank Matt. Could you hold this for me, Crispy?" Elizabeth said, quickly handing Darcy the flute and disappearing onto the dance floor. She missed Darcy's panicked expression, as did Caroline.

"My, my, Darcy, is that girl even old enough to drink? Are you becoming a cradle robber?" Caroline goaded, smiling at Darcy viciously. If she couldn't insult Elizabeth to her face, Caroline would damn well do twice as much to Darcy's.

"She's Jane's friend, Caroline. I'm sure Jane wouldn't invite someone underage when all the refreshments are alcoholic." Darcy replied, avoiding not the question but the answer. He didn't know, and now that Caroline had proposed the inquiry, he was hungry for the answer. Immediately, his eyes sought out the black waves of Elizabeth's hair, but with her small stature, he couldn't even see the handmade pointy cat ears on her head through the crowd.

"Oh, but if she was Jane's personal friend, Jane would take her to the kitchen for a drink if she ever wanted one. I'm sure Lady Catherine would approve of you taking a teenager as a girlfriend." Caroline simpered, tightening her grip on Darcy's arm. If there was one thing Darcy abhorred, it was any form of deceit, purposeful or not.

"Caroline, I could honestly care less of what my aunt thinks of my girlfriend, if I get one." Darcy ground out, a mighty scowl forming on his face. How quickly Caroline's mind jumped from talking to dating! The absurdity of it that he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, owner of Darcy Publishers, would date a teenager! If, in fact, Elizabeth was that young, which Darcy severely hoped she wasn't; even then, he wasn't going to go out her. Despite her quirks and how she appealed to his senses, Darcy knew whom he would and would not see romantically, and Elizabeth fell far short of what he would. Darcy paused at that thought, unsure of why, exactly, she fell short, but the steely obstinacy of his character had already ruled her out as a prospect and was not about to change.

"I'm going to get Dick away from those poor girls." Darcy excused himself, wiggling out of Caroline's grasp, when he spotted an easy escape. His cousin was already drunk, that much was obvious, and trying to get a one-night stand. Downing the drink he'd forgotten was Elizabeth's at the mere thought of separating an intoxicated Dick from what Dick thought were obligating girls, Darcy put the empty glass on a waiter's tray when one passed him. He reached Dick just as one of the girls slapped his cousin, outraged; it was difficult for Darcy to tell which girl had slapped Dick, though, as his vision was blurring mightily.

"Excuse me, ladies. 'M deeply apologetic for my cousin; he's very ignorant when he's shitfaced – I mean drunk." Darcy said, placing a hand firmly on Dick's shoulder to avoid joining his cousin in swaying in addition to letting him know he was caught. The two girls, a devil and an angel, glared up at him accusingly, but not with out reprieve.

"I assure you, 'M here to take him away. Come now, Dick, let's leave these poor girls alone." He pulled Dick away, ears burning with embarrassment as Dick complained loudly, like a petulant child.

"Crispy-boy, they wanted me! I could-a had a threesome if you hadn't-a come along! A threesome! Lemme go woo them again!" Dick yowled, not making any more to leave even though he could've; the only hold Darcy had on him was, still, just a hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, 'M sure they wanted a comic book fanboy to have a threesome with. Very appealing." Darcy snickered, suddenly finding the situation hilarious, but he didn't know why. All he'd had was a shot of whiskey before that one flute of champagne of Elizabeth's.

"Hey, don't knock Robin - he's a ladies' man. 'Sides, Dick became Nightwing, an even bigger ladies' man." Dick slurred, stumbling up the stairs Darcy led him to. Both of them were staying with Charles for the time being since, even though they had more than enough money to get a hotel room, Charles had demanded they stay with him.

"Stuff you, Dickie. Go hurl in the toilet and leave everyone else alone." Darcy teased when they got to Dick's room, shoving him inside.

"Aw, you're just jealous, Crispy-boy! You can't get a girlie even if you'd-a tried tonight! 'Sides, you're as sloshed as I am!" Dick cried when Darcy closed the door, laughing manically. Even though Dick wouldn't see it, Darcy gave him the one finger salute good-naturedly before leaving, hoping beyond hope Dick would actually stay in his room. He nearly tripped on the way down the stairs, vision starting to swim.

"Bloody hell…" Darcy mumbled, leaning on the wall for support. He could hardly see straight and didn't notice Elizabeth come up to him until she spoke.

"Lost Caroline, did you, Crispy, dah-linng?" Elizabeth mimicked in jest, crossing her arms over her chest. Even though she seemed to be in good humor, she was vexed; anyone who knew her well could have told from her defensive stance.

"What? Caroline can go screw herself, Kitten. Bloody hell, do you have a twin?" Darcy slurred, squinting; he could see two Elizabeths talking as one.

"No, I don't. Did you get wasted?" Elizabeth accused, slightly surprised. She didn't realize one could get drunk so fast, nor did she peg Darcy as the type to actually drink enough to get inebriated.

"Did you? How old are you, even? This isn't England; you can't drink when you're eighteen. The age is twenty-one here." Darcy shot back, scowling again. While Dick was amusing and unaware when he was intoxicated, Darcy was easily agitated, exceptionally high-handed, and quite snappish.

"Excuse me, Darcy, but I'm twenty-one and have been since May. How old are you, two? Are you staying here? Because you seriously need to go to bed." Elizabeth sneered, not liking the conversation one bit. She knew, personally, what alcohol did to people, and had yet to get wasted herself even though she hadn't been legal for long.

"If you're an alcoholic, I swear—"

"'M not an alcoholic, missy. I've been able to drink for almost twelve a decade; I know m' limit. And I'm not going to sleep with you." Darcy gnarred, leaning down close to Elizabeth's face so he could focus more easily on her. On top of his blurred vision, Darcy had a hard time seeing in the dim lighting of the stairwell where the lights were turned off in hope no party guests ascended them. Elizabeth was confused when his breath, instead of smelling intensely of alcohol, smelled more like steak than anything.

"Are you a lightweight?" Elizabeth asked, choosing to ignore his accusations while he was wasted, although she wasn't sure how Darcy got sleeping together from her saying he needed to go to bed.

"'M not. Are you? You're pretty tiny." Darcy's lip curled as if being a lightweight was something to hold in contempt. Chalking up his distaste to male pride, Elizabeth shook her head, growing tired of him.

"I can hold my liquor, Darcy. Let's go – you need to go to your room." She sighed, giving Darcy a slight shove to the chest to make him move.

"D'you even know where 'm staying?" Darcy grinned in a feral fashion, leaning back but not budging. Elizabeth's eyes widened as she finally saw his grin, complete with a set of dimples identical to those she'd seen on Dick and Angel. The nickname she'd given the boy slipped form Elizabeth's lips, darkening Darcy's countenance.

"Angels don't exist, Kitten. Grow up." His grin was replaced by a cold, detesting line.

"Hey, when you were younger, were you real short and skinny with blond hair? It's important." Elizabeth ignored Darcy's statement, heart racing. Her mind was telling her it couldn't be Angel because of the news report, but her eyes and heart were saying it was.

"Don't see how it's important, but yeah. No one expected me to grow taller 'n about 175 centimeters… 'bout 5'8" or so. Still taller 'n you." Darcy smiled rakishly, haughtily straightening his spine. He'd been short as a child until he hit a major growth spurt after his parents died; he'd even eclipsed his father in height, although they'd never gotten to see it in person.

"Were you ever announced dead on national television, killed from a fire on a boat?" Elizabeth inquired eagerly, unaware of the landmine she was closing in on. Once more, Darcy's face melted into one of fierce disapproval swiftly.

"I don't see how that's any of your business." He almost seemed sober when he sneered, eyes snapping clearly onto her face with something akin to contempt. Darcy turned around then dismissively, going up the stairs. Elizabeth would have let him go alone had he not taken a misstep not ten stairs up, causing him to fall to his knees, almost tumbling down; she immediately shouldered her rampaging feelings, ranging form irate to elated, quickly climbing to his side. She could see the bone white skin of Darcy's knuckles that clutched at the banister and understood why he didn't fall down.

"You need help." Elizabeth sighed, swooping under his arm and helping him up; she somewhat regretted it since he had a good 100 pounds on her.

"Do not." Darcy grumbled, trying not to lean on Elizabeth, but he couldn't quite tell which way was up. He blinked rapidly, trying to see clearly to no avail.

"Oh, so Casper just tripped you, did he? I'm glad to know Jane's place is haunted – makes a much better atmosphere for telling ghost stories." Elizabeth quipped, grunting slightly as they made their way up the stairs slowly; her shoulders were going to be sore in the morning.

"Aren't ghost stories a bit childish?" Although he said it with disdain, Darcy could feel himself chuckling. He didn't want to, but Elizabeth, like Dick, was turning hilarious instantaneously.

"Ah, but aren't men just big babies? So ghost stories must be a bit too old for you. Besides, ghost stories are legit – why do you think horror films are so popular? 'Course, not all of them are strictly about ghosts, but it's the same basic stuff as ghost stories, I reckon." Elizabeth said, smiling slightly. She hadn't seen many horror films, being more of a "scaredy cat" (no pun intended) with a vivid imagination telling her those creaks in the night weren't natural, but from commercials, she wouldn't doubt the fundamentals were the same. Ghost stories were made up to scare you, as are why horror movies were written then filmed.

"Big babies indeed. What does that make women, toddlers?" Darcy was grateful the stairs seemed to be ending. He felt ready to drop and sleep for a few years.

"Nah, makes us your guardian angels. With out us, you'd all be bombing each other with spit balls still – oomph! Okay, I get it, you're bigger than me, please get up."

Not two steps over the last stair, Darcy came tumbling down, bringing Elizabeth down and somewhat beneath him; her left half and most of her upper back were covered by his body. Her right arm was smarting, as she'd barely been able to use it to break her fall before Darcy's weight made her face, also in pain, slam into it. Elizabeth's left arm was twisted at an awkward angle, having gotten half way to aiding her right to break her fall from being around Darcy's back to help support him. When she jerked and looked towards Darcy's face, his eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, telling her that he was unconscious.

"Okay, Cripspy, I really don't want to see you drool. As attractive as Caroline might say she finds it, don't believe a word she says, she's lying." Elizabeth said, trying to wriggle out from beneath him. Now it was extremely hard for her to see how he went from being so scrawny when he was a kid to the hulk of man he was now; even if he wasn't Angel, which she was severely doubting, Darcy had said he was short and skinny younger.

"Hey. Crispy. Darcy. Dude." Elizabeth wiggled some more when Darcy didn't respond, imagination running wild. Darcy's nose didn't look smashed it, but maybe he'd broken it if he'd fallen on his face, causing the shards to pierce his brain and kill him… No, he was breathing. Snoring, actually. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that before glaring.

"You freakin' suck, you know. Fatty." She grumbled, about to free her right arm from being pinned to the floor when she heard footsteps ascending the stairs.

"Hey, person who is behind me, would you lend me a hand? Crispy just kinda… well, he got a bit drunk and passed out while I was helping him… and, yeah. He's a bit too heavy for me." Elizabeth called, not getting anything but more footfalls as a reply. They stopped right next to her, but she couldn't see who was there.

"Hey, buddy, please help. Unless you're drunk. I don't need another person passed out on me - breathing would get even harder. I should probably stop talking…" Elizabeth started to ramble, a nervous habit of hers. Not being able to see whoever was over her was discomforting, to say the least. She could hear the crinkling of pants seconds before a damp handkerchief was held in front of her face. Elizabeth was unsure of what to do, really – was she supposed to compliment him or her on their hanky? Tell them it wasn't hygienic unless they washed it after using it? That it smelled sweet? Minutes of silence passed, and then Elizabeth saw no more.

- (Crappy break line) -

Darcy blinked awake rapidly, head throbbing like one of his worst hangovers. As he became conscious of his surroundings, no memory of the night, whatsoever, came back to him; the fact that he was tied to a chair cemented his assumption in. Darcy had, apparently, been abducted. When his eyes adjusted, he could clearly see the whole room was made of wood, like in a wooden cabin, or was decorated that way, but from the view the window behind him offered, Darcy was sure he was in a wooden cabin hidden in the woods somewhere.

Darcy could also safely say an idiot who was short, not strong enough to carry him, or both had taken him. His face few raw, and he could feel bruises aching dully on his extremities and back. In addition to that, the only piece of clothing missing from his attire was the suit jacket he could see clearly strewn about just a few inches form his feet on the floor. Darcy was glad he hadn't been given a pat down, still being ale to feel the cool metal strapped to his left side. With a little bit of jerking and s few seconds of painful positioning, he was able to pull his pocket knife from his back pocket; a bit of struggling and a few accidental stabs later, his hands were free.

Darcy was about to pull his arms from over the back of the chair when the door to the room, which had been previously closed and probably locked, opened. The man who entered was rotund and rather short, fitting Darcy's earlier thoughts; his hair was unkempt and sweat beaded and trickled down from his brow. The man drew his hand away from his mouth, revealing nails that had been bitten down to the quick and chattering teeth. He rapidly wiped his hands down his front, creating damp steaks of sweat to form on the pale green t-shirt, nervous eyes darting about.

"If it's money you want, I can pay you." Darcy drawled, hoarsely, as the man fidgeted more. Speaking startled the man, causing him to jump and knock into the little table by the door; the candle on its surface tipped over and rolled around. The glass container the candle was in, however, kept the little flame from igniting the table; the little man either ignored or didn't notice it.

"I know you could, Mr. Darcy, nephew of the esteemed professor, Lady Catherine Debourgh." The man smiled somewhat innocently at Darcy, making him frown.

"My aunt, too, can pay you. Would you kindly untie me so I may call her? Or write you a check myself?" Darcy asked, searching his memory for a man who looked as common as his captor did. Certainly, the man could be an old student of his aunt's, but he didn't look nearly old enough as she'd been retired for over a decade. He certainly wasn't a prodigy, either, or else he would've raided Darcy's pockets and felt him down for anything, so he couldn't have been an early transfer student. Darcy had to have known the strange man from something, but he couldn't place what.

"Oh, it's not money I want, Mr. Darcy." The man's innocent smile turned into an ominous, toothy grin; a rosy blush spread across his cheeks almost at once. Darcy hadn't been successfully kidnapped before, so he couldn't really say if this was normal behavior or not from an abductor. Only once had someone attempted to kidnap him when he'd been a child, but they'd bad timing as Richard, a brawny teenager, had been around to beat them up. No one had been able to even try to take Georgiana, Darcy's baby sister, because he kept her so close to him. This was a completely new experience for Darcy, and he didn't like it one bit. The fact that he was an adult fully capable of taking out another grown man, or even killing them, and had been taken by a man over a foot shorter than him (but probably about the same weight, if not a few pounds more than him) who wasn't smart enough to check Darcy for anything rubbed salt into the wound.

"Then what would that be, Mr. …?" Darcy asked, drawing out the, "Mister" in hopes of getting a name. He wouldn't put it past the man to actually reveal it.

"You can call me…" The man trailed off, grin turning into a contemplative frown as he thought, tapping his chin for added effect. From the light stubble adorning his jaw, Darcy could tell the man hadn't taken the time to shave in the morning, quite possibly still in the process of hurrying away.

"Father. Father William." The man cried triumphantly after a bit, giving a little nod for confirmation. At first, Darcy thought he was being patronized, until it dawned on him that the man meant 'Father' as in a priest, not like he was saying, "Father, William."

"Well then, Father William, what do you want if it is not money? I haven't got a family to call for you to play games with." Darcy lied, giving a little pitiful shrug as a front. If his Aunt Catherine was called, she'd probably tell Darcy to get out of the mess himself since he'd made so much money himself; the thought brought a wry smile to his face.

"Oh but you do, Mr. Darcy. I know about Georgiana, and I do know Richard Fitzwilliam is in the area if you are. But! It is not you whom I wanted; rather, you were there. I couldn't leave you, so I took you." 'Father William' explained, an arrogant smirk crossing his face when Darcy scowled as Georgiana was mentioned.

"I wasn't with anyone all bleeding night." Darcy rationed, trying to remember; all he could come up with was the party starting shortly after dinner and standing in a corner, alone.

"Yes you were! You were with my – oh, that's right, you must have taken the Rohypnol. You don't remember a thing." 'Father William' started out red faced and outraged, but his ire was swept away as quickly as it came when he realized his mistake. Darcy's eyes narrowed at the man, coming to the conclusion he must have been with the woman 'Father William' fancied; she had to be in another room somewhere.

"I should go check on her… I'd say, 'Stay where you are and don't move,' but, alas, you can't." 'Father William' simpered. From his angle, he couldn't possibly see Darcy had freed his hands using his pocketknife. If the man was more observant, Darcy knew he would've spotted the blood drops on the floor from the deeper cuts he'd unintentionally made in his wrists while trying to saw through the rope and would've investigated. It was a win for Darcy and a loss for 'Father William'.

'Father William' slipped out of the room, and Darcy was able to hear the click! of the lock. Knowing he had time, Darcy yanked his shoulders roughly over the back of his chair, ignoring the pain signals shooting forth, and starting cutting away at the ropes binding his ankles. It was difficult to cut through the thick rope since the knife was so small and the handle was slick with blood; Darcy cursed when it slipped from his fingers and skittered across the floor, disappearing into the black material of his discarded jacket.

"I heard something!"

Groaning mentally at the bad luck, Darcy sat up swiftly, pulling roughly at the buttons clasping his vest and shirt together; he grimly thought to himself that this was the last time he was ever wearing a tree-piece suit to anything less than a grand affair where such attire was called for (not when Charles wanted a "three-piece suit buddy"). With the slamming footfalls and jangling of the doorknob counting down what little time he had left, Darcy practically ripped his undershirt from being tucked into his pants, hand finally reaching what he was looking for when the door burst open.

Bang!

It took Darcy a few seconds to process the whole situation. His face, tilted to the left to make sure he didn't actually hurt himself retrieving his hidden handgun strapped beneath his left arm, slowly turned to the right so his eyes could confirm his gut feeling. The handgun was momentarily forgotten when Darcy saw the deep, throbbing red hole in his shoulder. He didn't even look at 'Father William', who was staring at the shiny revolver in his trembling hands with something akin to awe, before he pulled his own gun from its carrier. Even with his shoulder burning, Darcy was able to take aim and shoot 'Father William' in both his kneecaps. 'Father William' fell to the ground, knocking into the little table with the tipped candle, and didn't rise.

"Poxy bastard… could've had a tranquilizer, more Rohypnol or something… just had to bloody shoot me before I was even fully free…" Darcy cursed, frantically trying to untie the knot after dropping his gun as flames burst forth from the floor from the candle that had plummeted from the little table onto the floor. Just as the flames were starting to lick at 'Father William', Darcy untied the knot and stumbled forth, scrambling over to the man's side.

"You bloody drugged me, shot me, and I'm stuck saving your lard arse." He grumbled, shoving 'Father William' through the doorframe despite the excruciating pain in his shoulder, not even attempting to lift the man's limp form. Darcy settled for shoving 'Father William' to what he deemed as a safe distance away from the fire prior to searching for an exit. Instead of going down the hall that probably led to more bedrooms, Darcy followed his nose to the little kitchen where the remains of the man's breakfast, some bacon, eggs, and toast, sat; from there, finding the front door was easy. He doubled back without delay, literally rolling 'Father William' out of the cabin and a few yards away. By then, Darcy was panting and clutching at his aching shoulder; he grit his teeth, though, and went back into the cabin being eaten by flames for the girl.

Darcy could barely see when he got to the hall where the bedrooms were, his yes not adjusting quick enough for the light change in addition to the smoke making his eyes water. Over the cackling fire, he could hear a girl shouting, so he followed the sound instead of using his eyes to her door. He fumbled with the doorknob, coughs wracking his body, stumbling inside the room when he finally got it open, glad it had been left unlocked. This room was lit only from the light seeping in between the blinds on the window, so Darcy could only see a blur of the girl's outline. Seeing cat ears, he decided what to call her in his head as he stumbled over, left hand still clutching his right shoulder.

"I'm here, Kitten, to help you. It's okay… I'm going to untie you…" Darcy mumbled, lips brushing her ear, before he descended behind her. As his eyes slowly adjusted, Darcy found it increasingly easy to untie the girl's wrists.

"I'm here, Kitten, don't be scared… it's okay… I won't let anything hurt you." Darcy tried to comfort her; once he was done with her wrists, he moved around to her front to tackle the knots around her ankles. Because he could see better, it didn't take Darcy as long to unknot the rope about her ankles, and she fell into him when he was finished, clutching onto his neck like a it was a life preserve. Darcy's face immediately colored since her chest was pressed firmly onto his arm; whatever thoughts he might have had about 'Kitten' being a young girl were thrown out the window. A discreetly as he could, Darcy slipped his hand from his shoulder to the backs of her thighs, hefting her up with him when he stood.

"I'm going to get you out of here, Kitten, so don't let go. I don't want to lose you, and I know the way out. This is the only way I can be sure, so don't complain of manhandling." He instructed softly, exiting the room with the girl nodding on his hurt shoulder. At his hiss of pain, she stopped and moved her head carefully; it was the first good look both had at each other's faces.

"You really are Angel, aren't you…" The girl said, seeming to recognize Darcy; he, however, couldn't say the same. All he could really identify with was her enchanting amber eyes; he'd seen them somewhere before, that he was sure of.

"Angels don't exist, Kitten." Darcy scowled, narrowing his eyes at the hallway being devoured by flames. The only way they were getting out with out facing the prospect of being burned now was through the window in the room she'd been kept in.

"Plan B, Kitten – we're going out the window." He mumbled with distaste, going back into the dark room. Darcy set 'Kitten' down in the room, well away form the window, heading towards the chair. He sized it up, deeming it good enough to break the window and also make his shoulder hurt like a bitch. Since it was their only almost entirely safe way out and 'Kitten' seemed far too dainty to be able to break a window, he had no choice but to lift it himself.

"Hey, Crispy, let me do it." 'Kitten' spoke up quietly, noticing the large bloodstain on Darcy's shirt. He stepped back, allowing her to pick up a heavy, unlit candle and throw it at the window. The first pane shattered and fell, leaving only the second one in their way. She retrieved the fallen candle and threw it again; this time, it flew straight through the pane instead of breaking the whole thing. Darcy helped her pick away at the remaining parts of the window to have a nice, large hole to climb out of. The room was getting hotter and hotter, but the smoke was escaping finally, letting them breath a little easier, literally.

"You first, Kitten." Darcy said, watching the door instead of the girl when she climbed out. Only after she was a safe distance away did Darcy flit himself through the hole, wincing at the pain it caused his shoulder. He stumbled slightly over to the girl, nearly collapsing onto the poor thing from weariness and blood loss. 'Kitten' helped him over to a tree to lean against, showing genuine concern for him.

"How do you know my na-stupid nickname?" Darcy panted, sliding down the tree to sit amongst its roots; the girl settled down next to him, confused.

"I met you last night, at Charlie's party… you… don't remember? I thought you did because you called me 'Kitten' like you did last night…" The girl replied, somewhat saddened. Darcy shook his head, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone, hoping for a signal.

"Well, I'm Elizabeth Bennet, then – Jane's friend as of about a month ago. I know your cousin Dick Grayson… um, Robin…" Elizabeth re-introduced herself, holding out her hand. Darcy shook it with one hand while dialing 911 with the other.

"His name is Dick Fitzwilliam; he wishes he was Dick Grayson." He smirked, listening to the ringing for a few seconds.

"Hello, 911, what's your emergency?" A woman answered.

"I've got a fire in the woods and kidnapping; we're going to need an ambulance. I don't know where I am, but if you call Richard Fitzwilliam at (123)456-7890, he can use the tracker in my phone to find us. My name is William Darcy." Darcy said too quickly. Elizabeth listened to him explain it was not a joke and repeat Dick's phone number until he hung up, exhausted. Sweat tinted black from the smoke trickled down his face with a few blood smears here and there from when he shoved his bangs back from obscuring his vision. The stubble that he'd had at the party had thickened over the night, creating a somewhat prickly blanket of black across his face, and his hair, which had been perfectly curled the night before, was a frizzing mess with knots and dirt buried deep. Elizabeth didn't doubt she looked any better.

"Let me put pressure on your wound until the paramedics gets here. Take off that vest and your dress shirt." She ordered, seeing how useful his hand was being to block the wound. Darcy raised an eyebrow but nonetheless complied with Elizabeth's help on getting both articles of clothes off his right side. She set the vest aside and balled up the already soiled dress shirt, pressing it to his gunshot wound; Darcy did nothing to show his discomfort other than inhale sharply.

"What happened?" Elizabeth asked, hoping to get his mind off the pain; her eyes wandered to his wrists in worry. Had some weirdo nabbed them to torture them?

"I have a pocket knife… cut my wrists free. Cursed a bit too loudly when my knife slipped when I was cutting my ankles free. That bleeding idiot comes bumbling in and shot me off the bat then decides to stare at the gun like it's a gold medal. I got 'im back in the knees and the pansy fainted or something." Darcy grunted, closing his eyes. He was far too tired for his own good, drifting off into troubled sleep = listening to Elizabeth hum softly for his benefit.

A/N: Well, this is the chapter that will make or break this story for most of y'all – sorry if it breaks it for you. xD It's not too gory, I hope.

Let me tell y'all this: I've never broken a window. I've never been kidnapped. I've never been near any fire bigger than a contained campfire. I've never called 911. I've never been tied to a chair that I had to cut my way out of (or even untied rope, lol). I've never been shot at/shot at someone/been near a gun. All of these things that happened are based off of Hollywood (I know, bad Tobi), Googling things (ex. How easy it is to break a window), and guessing (911 call). If any of these things are incorrect/unbelievable in anyway, I'm sorry and mean no offense.

Also, I mean no offense to any religion by calling the guy 'Father William', I promise! I'm just using that as a way for you guys to guess who he is (cyber cookies to those who guess correctly). I hope no one hates me for making him my uber bad guy. XD And I want to thank all y'all for all the reviews, favorites, and following you're doing to this story! Y'all are amazing! Sorry for the long A/N, too.

~ Tobi