The first sensation that penetrated Darcy's consciousness was that of being half on fire and half frozen. The split was curious in that most of the frozen areas were relegated to the anterior part of his body, save for his face which seemed to be divided neatly in half, with only the right side subject to the strange chill.
He dimly wondered whether he had had a stroke and then was instantly distracted with the question of whether a stroke victim would think to wonder if he had had a stroke.
No sooner had these thoughts flitted through his mind as though they were butterflies dancing on the wind - things to notice and perhaps to even meditate on, but too intangible to really get a proper grasp on them - than he was subjected to a second sensation.
This was, if anything, even more unpleasant than the freezing and burning, for it seemed as though he were being moved about without his volition and in a halting, sickening motion.
A faint grunt from somewhere nearby caught at his attention and he fixed his mind on the sound in order to distract himself from the roiling of his unsettled gut. Not a sound he normally associated with the fairer sex, he nevertheless thought it had a feminine quality to it.
In the next moment, it seemed as though every sound and sensation that might have assaulted him in the past several moments all caught up with a rush. There were hands on him, more than could be accounted for properly without opening his eyes. And there were voices, both coming from directly above him, one low and irritated and the other washed with concern. The female voice was the irritated one. The other was male and possessed a coarse accent.
In the meantime, the coldness had seemed to shift mainly to his posterior aspect, allowing the burning sensations there to cool somewhat and then retreat. He felt a violent shiver tear through him and somewhere in the bunching and tension of his muscles, he found himself opening his eyes.
The first thing he saw was Fitch, who was hovering over him with concern stamped large across his homely face. As Fitch took in Darcy's open eyes, the other man's eyebrows sprang upward from the concerned furrow that had formed a small ridge on his forehead.
"Sir," Fitch was babbling immediately. "Are you hurt? Can you stand?"
The questions went mostly unheard as Darcy finished taking in his surroundings. The sky above him was dark, but a street light illuminated the rough brick facade of a nearby building as well as the patch of ground on which Darcy lay supine. Nearby, but obscured by the deep shadows of the night, was a woman. Darcy knew instinctively that it was Elizabeth.
And on seeing her form, he remembered where he was and why he was there.
Galvanized by a fresh rush of adrenaline, Darcy struggled to a sitting position, disregarding his driver's attempts to either assist or hinder. Fitch was speaking, but the words were only a meaningless sound his Darcy's ears.
"Elizabeth," Darcy found himself saying, his voice urgent, "are you well?"
She seemed to start back in surprise at being so addressed, and Darcy felt rather than saw her peer curiously back at him.
"I think you're the one who should be answering that question," she replied, and there was still that sharp undercurrent of irritation in her voice. "I'm not even certain what you're doing here, but you've just fainted on the sidewalk."
"I'm fine," Darcy started to reply brusquely, but then stopped, hearing his tone and feeling another wave of dizziness roll over him.
"I can see that," Elizabeth answered, her voice so dry and brittle it was a wonder the words themselves didn't break.
"We need to get you back home," Fitch interjected now, his voice firm with uncharacteristic authority. "Can you help me get him in the back?"
Elizabeth sighed audibly, but acquiesced immediately.
She moved forward to assist Fitch, who was already taking hold of Darcy by the arm with the clear intent to drag him to his feet.
Deeply embarrassed to be treated like an invalid in the presence of Elizabeth, Darcy pulled sharply away from Fitch and assumed what he hoped was a neutral facial expression. "I can stand," he objected stiffly.
Keenly aware as he was of Elizabeth at all times, Darcy couldn't help but catch the frown that flickered onto her face as he struggled to his feet under his own power. By the time he had gained his feet, feeling as though he were swaying in a breeze that affected only him, the frown was gone, replaced by a look he could only label as 'calculating.'
Fitch had moved to the parked automobile sometime during Darcy's struggle to appear unaffected by the sheer amount of effort it had taken to achieve his standing position and the driver now held the back door open, looking ready to either hand Darcy in if he cooperated or to stuff him in by main force if he did not.
"I fear we have delayed you," Darcy addressed Elizabeth again, ignoring Fitch. He still felt uneasy about allowing Elizabeth to wander down the dark streets wholly unattended and hoped that she would accept his forthcoming offer.
She forestalled him by checking her watch quickly. "I can still make my coach if I hurry."
With that announcement, she began walking.
Flabbergasted as he was by the absolute lack of polite courtesies, Darcy actually allowed her to get several paces away before he collected himself enough to call after her to stop.
"Please," he said, taking a half-step in her direction, feeling a curious sense of déjà vuas he did so. Of course, he realized a second later. These were the positions they had held just before he had apparently fainted. He felt it was entirely all too possible that he might repeat that part of the performance as well.
She halted at the sound of his voice but didn't immediately turn around.
"Please allow me to at least give you a ride home," he pleaded. "It's entirely my fault that you were delayed at all." And, he added mentally, this way I will not only have a chance to speak with you in private, I will also be assured of your safety.
At last, she turned slightly back, giving him a look over her shoulder that sent a jolt of raw desire straight through him. "Thank you for your consideration," she said distinctly. "But no. I'll be more comfortable on the coach."
She began walking away again, making Darcy frantic with fear for her continued safety.
"I really must insist," he called, moving forward again, completely ignoring how every step threatened to be his last one. Well, he would faint again if that would call her back to the relative safety of his presence. Even if he would be thoroughly useless if any strange men appeared, Fitch would at least alert and able to defend them both if it were needed.
Elizabeth halted again and then turned with precise deliberation. Her steps back in his direction were too measured and too deliberate for him to mistake her return to his side as acceptance of his offered ride.
With each step she took towards him, Darcy could almost feel pieces of a puzzle clicking into place and forming a picture to which he had previously been blind. Only minutes ago, surprised to see him, Elizabeth had seemed instantly and comprehensively furious. Her whole attitude towards him was one of distaste. Her refusal to speak with him on personal topics, the barbed smiles she had thrown at him when Caroline hung on his arm, the grudging help she offered to him in his weakness - they were all glaringly obvious signs now that he could find no trace of polite civility on her face as she marched towards him.
It didn't take much thought for Darcy to determine why she might be so furious with him, for that too was obvious without the optimistic shine that had glossed over his every interaction with her.
So much for his vaunted Second Sight, Darcy thought bitterly as Elizabeth took her last measured step, coming to a stop only a meter or so away from him. What good was his ability to see flickers of his future if he could not trust his own current views and interpretations of what was occurring in the here and now?
"Elizabeth," he said lamely, unable to continue for a lack of things to say and in instinctive silence to the furious flash of her eyes.
"Miss Bennet," she corrected.
He flushed and knew it was not due to fever. "Miss Bennet," he echoed, "I can see you are furious with me, but please. It's late and unsafe. You may yell at me all you like if only you will permit me to see you home."
His mention of the time had her frowning and checking her watch again. "I couldn't make it to the coach now if I wanted to," she muttered bitterly.
"Then will you come?" He motioned back to his automobile where Fitch stood openly gawking, having not moved more than a pace or two from his position by the back door.
"I'd rather walk," she told him bluntly.
"If walking is a preferable alternative to being in my company, I will remain here and wait for Fitch to deliver you home."
That offer startled her, he could tell. She gawked at him for a moment in surprise and then seemed to soften just slightly.
"I cannot allow that." She shook her head to punctuate the point, her glossy locks waving in an enticing fashion with the movement. "Anyone can see you're horribly ill."
Battling a faint flicker of hope that she actually cared about his well-being, Darcy risked a small step forward. "I will not permit you to risk yourself in any way when it is I who has behaved abominably."
He felt he could hear his heart beating a rapid rhythm in his chest as she seemed to consider the situation. Her eyes darted past him to rest briefly on his automobile and she let loose with another audible sigh, this one resigned.
"Very well."
Then she was moving past him, not waiting for an answer or the least bit interested in seeing the look of relief that plastered itself all over his face. He turned to follow, much more slowly than she moved, giving Fitch the honor of helping her into the back seat.
As she stepped gracefully into the automobile's interior, Darcy finally felt the knot of fear and tension that had driven him out of his bed and into the coldness of the night dissolve. With a prayer of gratitude that she was safe from the threat that had stalked her this night and that he, at least, would have the knowledge of it and that he had been able to be the instrument of her salvation, he approached and bent just low enough to see into the back of the vehicle.
"Thank you, Miss Bennet, for humoring me," he said softly to her dark profile. Then he straightened, closed the door gently and allowed Fitch to pull the front door open for him again.
"Thank you, Fitch," he said quietly as he reclaimed the front seat. "Please see the lady home first."
"Sir," Fitch acknowledged, touching the rim of a cap that wasn't there.
Settling into the seat, Dacy couldn't help but fix his eyes on the rear-view mirror. Elizabeth was still lost to the shadows, but as Fitch began to navigate through the deserted nighttime streets, the occasional bit of illumination washed over her face, revealing brief glimpses of her expressions to his unwavering gaze. Thus, he saw as confusion gave way to anger before she assumed a thoughtful look.
When they pulled to a stop in front of her building, the location of which was remembered from the evening only a few nights and lifetime of hope ago, Darcy hurried to open her door and assist her out. As he did so, a desire to walk her up to her flat and to know which one exactly was hers nearly overcame him. Indecision warred within him as a wish to be sensitive her feelings for just once battled against the need he felt to see her safe.
The sidewalk in front of her building was well-lit and she looked up at him with a mixture of emotions in her rich, dark eyes. A small line cut a horizontal path across her forehead and he had to clench his hand into a fist to keep from trying to smooth it away with a tender sweep of his thumb.
"You didn't let me yell at you," she accused, her voice neither entirely serious nor playful.
"Forgive me," he found himself replying automatically. He bent his head in a vague approximation of a very shallow bow. "I had thought you would value the reprieve from my more immediate presence."
She frowned a little more deeply at his rejoinder but continued to stare up into his face, troubled eyes searching over his countenance. He bore the scrutiny with sober grace, hoping that she would be able to see in the planes and structure of his visage all that his heart felt but that his tongue could not articulate.
And he looked at her with all the longing and adoration that he felt, allowing the emotions to shine as nakedly in his eyes as he knew how to reveal. Even knowing that she despised him and would likely as soon break his heart as anything, he felt a certain peace in being laid so bare before her.
"I do notunderstand you," she murmured at last, before hastily breaking eye contact as though embarrassed to have spoken the thought aloud.
Just like that, the spell that had seemed to hold them both in thrall with each other was broken and she moved towards the door of her building.
He watched her go, suddenly feeling the weight of his illness and weariness pressing down upon him. But other than tracking her with his eyes, greedily drinking in the sight of her while he still could, he made no movement to leave. He would be back home and relegated to his bed soon enough; Georgiana would see him forcibly restrained when she heard of this night's work.
Seeming to sense his eyes upon her, Elizabeth paused at the door and looked back over her shoulder again. "Thank you for the ride."
As if the words granted him permission to finally speak, Darcy found himself calling after her for the third time that night. "Miss Bennet?"
She turned more fully, wrapped in an air of expectation as she waited for him to continue.
"You may still yell at me as much as you wish," he offered. "At any time convenient to you."
To his very great surprise, those words seemed to inspire a genuine smile on her face - the first one he had seen, he realized, since they had first met in his offices. So it was well that she disappeared into the building without another word, for all the breath seemed to have been knocked straight out of him.
He moved in a near daze to shut the back door and slide once more into the front seat of the automobile. Fitch seemed to catch his mood and remained blessedly silent on the drive home. As they drove and up through the last minutes of Darcy's returning to his chambers to disrobe and to sleep away what was left of the small hours of the morning, his mind was focused for the first time in days.
He had no idea how to go about it, but he was determined to make reparations and to begin anew with Elizabeth.
A/N: /pats self on back in an excessively congratulatory fashion.
I mean, uh... Thanks to my fabulous beta for assaulting me often with demands for MOAR Darcy and for going easy on me on this particular chapter.
Thanks also to everyone who provided feedback regarding my question on the last chapter. I'm going to attempt to stike a compromise in future chapters between adding details about her work (because it will be pertinent) but not overwhelming you all with minute details.
No questions this time! I'm just going to get back to admiring my own version of Darcy because I think he's pretty ADORBS. Wait. Do you think he's adorbs? I need to know that much.
Thanks for reading!