Okay, here's the resolution to that cliffhanger I left you guys on! I am so, so sorry it's taken this long to post, but I really wanted to post the best chapter I could write, and well, I had to rewrite it like 5+ time. Thanks for all your positive (and negative) feedback, it helps me adjust all my slip-ups! Cyber-hug!

Fitzwilliam Darcy opened his eyes in a haze of pain. He could hardly think through the blinding agony in his arm, leg, and shoulder. In fact, considering the wounds, it was a wonder he had been able to aim for the last shot. His vision seemed to have a kaleidoscope of colors superimposed on reality, and yellow spots danced wherever he looked, rendering everything he saw blotchy and distorted.

At first he did not recognize the face he saw looming over him, blocking out the blinding sun. He saw only the dark hair, and everything else was eclipsed as he gasped for air. His throat constricted, and he could no longer feel his own body. Darcy tried to move, tried to warn whoever it was to stay away, but the person's lips moved.

What was the person saying? Darcy wanted to squirm in frustration. The buzzing in his ears was so loud… and the pain so acute… were his limbs being ripped off? Because that was what it felt like.

A new wave of pain throbbed through him, blacking out his vision again, and numbing his body all over again. Darcy opened his mouth to scream, but no sound seemed to come out. He reached his good arm out to stop the bleeding, stop the pain, somehow, however! But it would not move, and even that outlet for his pain was denied him.

With pain lancing throughout his frame, Darcy slipped mercifully into unconsciousness.

Charles Bingley dashed back to the spot where he'd left his friend, the physician from London hot on his heels. "Darcy?" he shouted. "Darcy?"

"Over here!" someone else's voice called from the foot of the hill. Charles's heart pounded in his throat. That voice wasn't Darcy's. In fact… it sounded like Elizabeth Bennet! If Darcy was not responding… oh God, no.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"Mr. Bingley! Hurry!"

Charles ran to the hill and nearly stumbled over his own feet at the sight his eyes met. Darcy had collapsed on the field, blood soaking his clothes from the gunshot wounds. He looked only unconscious, but Charles could be wrong, judging from the red that already soaked the grass under Darcy's body.

Around Darcy's arm and shoulder was a woman's pelisse – probably Miss Elizabeth's – and Miss Elizabeth herself was trying to staunch the bleeding on his leg. Charles dashed to her, taking off his coat, and wrapped it around Darcy's leg, applying what pressure he could with his shaking hands.

"Is he dead?" Charles heard himself asking, his voice alien to even himself.

Her face pale, Elizabeth shook her head. "He still breathes, but I fear he will not live much longer if we leave him here."

"Then we will not leave him here!" Charles declared. "Mr. Perry, may we go to Meryton for a stretcher?" When the physician nodded, Charles got to his feet and dashed off for the third time that day.

Elizabeth stood up as Mr. Perry, the physician, knelt beside William. She stared down at her hands, soaked in blood. William's blood. The stupid boy, why a duel? It had to be a duel, did it not?

And now William might be dying this very moment… because of his own stubbornness. Because she had not made him stop and think. She had let him go and get himself killed – she, who called herself his dearest friend!

William, you have to live.

He had a sister who depended on him. Cousins who loved him. An aunt and uncle who cared for him. Friends who held him dear, like Mr. Bingley and herself. William had to live through this… for himself, and for all of them. William could not die – he was too important to too many people for that.

But Elizabeth had heard her mother worry about her father dying in a duel too often not to know that it might happen, especially in a pistol duel. The blood loss from the wounds themselves was enough to kill, let alone the risk of the wounds becoming septic later on. And there was the point of the person's opponent. If they were unscrupulous enough, they could murder the person in their sleep. Wickham, Elizabeth thought, was certainly unscrupulous enough to do that.

Elizabeth stared down at William's pale face, his dark hair in sharp contrast with his white cheeks, and prayed that the closed eyes opened again.

William, you have to live.

Darcy blinked. He was still in pain, but the pain was less of an acute lance, and more of a dull throb. His shoulder hurt the most, but his head hurt too. The light coming from the window set his temples to pounding painfully. Darcy squeezed his eyes shut as the light tried to penetrate his closed lids.

It dawned on his sleep-fogged mind that he was no longer lying on bloody grass. He was lying on a clean bed, with clean sheets on top of him. Darcy blinked again as he saw the identifiable ceiling above him, and the wall brocade to his left and right. He was in Netherfield, more specifically his guest room at Netherfield.

Something like voices registered at last, instead of the buzzing in his ears. Whose voices were those? He strained to hear them, but they were too quiet. They seemed to be coming from his left, so he leaned to his left to hear it, only to be disturbed by a sharp and very painful twinge from his arm and shoulder. "Damn!" he cursed under his breath. Darcy leaned back.

But his curiosity would simply not let it rest. He leaned over again, and this time blurted out, "Ow!" at the pain in his arm and shoulder.

The voices abruptly stopped. "Darcy?" a familiar voice asked. "Did you say something?"

Charles! Darcy could nearly squirm for relief – although, due to his wounds, he could not squirm. "Yes, Charles, I did."

Charles's face loomed in the edge of his vision. "How do you feel?"

"To be frank, terrible. My wounds hurt like the blazes and –"

"Darcy!" Charles hissed, poking him in his good side. "Miss Elizabeth is present, and you had better not swear out loud!"

"Oh." For some reason, that made him want to squirm more. Of course he knew the reason, but he denied it. "I apologize, Miss Elizabeth."

"That is quite alright, Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth appeared at the other edge of his vision, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "Are you quite up to being teased yet, William?"

Darcy laughed. "I think my wits are not yet fully awake, and so I must ask you to defer the teasing till you come again."

"And so I will," Elizabeth said solemnly. "William, have you any idea how much you worried us?"

"What?"

"You idiot!" Charles burst out. "When you were unresponsive for hours and hours, Miss Elizabeth was almost hysterical – not, of course, to you, but I swear, if you were awake and well then, I would have broken your nose myself!"

"Oh, be quiet, Charlie," Darcy muttered.

"And you are one to talk!"

"Be quiet, both of you!" Elizabeth cut in. "Mr. Bingley, yelling at Mr. Darcy will not help him recover. In fact, it will likely make his headache worse."

"How did you know I have a headache?"

Elizabeth turned to him. "I saw that you kept blinking and turning away from the light. Since the only reason I have for avoiding light is a headache, you probably had one." She glared at him. "But how could you be so stupid? You nearly died!"

"I know. I was angry. I know I should not have done that, but… well. After months of seeing Georgiana depressed because of him, I could not take the sight of him any longer. I also could not live with the fact that by driving him away, I exposed God knows how many towns to his corruption. I should have told everyone and hang the consequences, but… Georgiana is shy, and she would not like being scrutinized."

Elizabeth relaxed, but pinched his good hand for good measure. "There, now I have got the scolding out of the way, it is time for the rest."

Darcy laughed. "You are still eight years old now, are you? I recall you using that sentence in a letter!"

Elizabeth drew herself up to her full height. "I would have you know, sir, that thirteen years have passed since then, and I am much more mature!"

"Of course," Darcy replied ironically, a smile twitching his lips. He winced as his headache gave another stab.

Elizabeth squeezed out a wet cloth from the washbasin. "This might help. It always helps me, at any rate." She wiped his forehead with the cloth. Darcy nodded slowly. "Yes, that does feel better. Thank you."

Charles coughed loudly. "Ahem! – I think I hear Caroline. I shall have to go and bar her entrance."

Darcy squirmed inside. Caroline Bingley was the last person he needed in his room at the moment – well, perhaps not the last, but at least second to the last.

True enough, Charles's voice carried from the door. "No, Caroline, Darcy is still asleep – at least, I hope he is only asleep. I know nothing of whether he will wake or not – no, I am not going to develop clairvoyant powers in order to tell you if he will."

Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged a glance and sighed with relief. Darcy closed his eyes in the peaceful quiet that followed, and fell asleep.

William convalesced slowly. He was still not allowed to stand too long or walk a fortnight after the duel. His right arm was in a sling, and he rarely strayed out of his bedroom, and then only to watch his sister play the pianoforte.

Luckily, all of his wounds were not very serious. His shoulder and arm wounds were very much grazing wounds, and although his leg wound went slightly deeper, it had not penetrated enough to shatter any bone or permanently cut any muscles.

Georgiana had come to Netherfield at the summons of Charles and Elizabeth, who had sent for her as soon as her brother was out of their hands. Richard Fitzwilliam, William's favourite cousin, had also been sent for, along with his brother, and both had come. Unfortunately, Viscount Milton had had to return only a week afterwards, leaving Richard and Georgiana in Charles's capable and hospitable hands.

William never said so, but he was frustrated by his confinement. He was an active young man, and was naturally bored by the routine of eating, sleeping, and reading. Charles had no instruments that he could play – the pianoforte could not be moved into his room, and anyway he could not play with only one hand, saying the same for his violin, which was still at Pemberley – and the library was easily exhausted. William found himself unable to attend to correspondence, for he was right-handed, and so could not write with his left hand.

And even though he never said so, Elizabeth knew he was frustrated. She came to talk to him almost every day, since she and her sister had already departed for Longbourn. She was usually accompanied by her father, who would not hear of his daughter going alone, and sometimes her sister Jane.

One day, about a fortnight and two days after the duel, William forgot the gunshot wound in his leg and stood up. He yelped with the pain, but the next minute Elizabeth was under his good arm, supporting him. "Take a step," she said encouragingly.

William looked down at the floor. Big mistake. He was suddenly frozen, unable to move even a little. His limbs were stuck in place. His arm tightened around Elizabeth's shoulders, and he stammered, "I – I cannot! I – am – afraid."

"That's quite alright. Now, who do you sound like?" Elizabeth asked. Her voice was bright and soothing, calming him down and stilling his trembling.

He forced himself to remember who he sounded like. Elizabeth was the easiest to focus on, seeing as she was right in front of him. Her chocolate brown eyes sparkled up at him, and he stared into them, trying to remember.

"Elizabeth, jump down. I will catch you." Seventeen-year-old William tried to make his voice reassuring as he reached out his arms for the ten-year-old who was stuck in the highest branches of a tree.

"I – I cannot! I – am – afraid." Elizabeth clung desperately to the branch, one of her legs already precariously off the tree. The other one was scrabbling for a hold, and her arms were the only things keeping her from falling. "William! I will fall all the way to the ground – I will get hurt."

"You will not. I promise." William stood directly below her, his heart pounding with adrenaline. His body was hard-wired to catch the girl when she fell.

"William, no! Do not make me!" Elizabeth cried, striving for a hold in the tree. "I cannot! I am too high up!"

"Elizabeth, trust me. I promise." William's voice was serious and reassuring at the same time – or at least he tried to make it so. His voice had a note in it, that only he could hear, that betrayed his nervousness – a shaking, fearful note. He masked it as well as he could, for Elizabeth's sake.

Elizabeth screwed her eyes up and let go. William somehow managed to lock his arms around her before she could crash to the ground. "There!" he said, setting her down. "That was not so bad!"

Elizabeth laughed, even though her voice trembled. "No, it was not." She hugged her friend tightly. "Thank you, William!"

William blinked, back in the present. "I – I sound like you. That day when you were ten years old, when you climbed too high and could not come down." His leg was already paining him more than it had before, and he stumbled, but Elizabeth boosted him up.

"Come on, William, I will catch you if you fall," Elizabeth reassured him. "Go on, take a step!"

William took a deep breath, raised his right foot, and stepped forward. Pain lanced up his left leg until he put his weight on his right foot, but did not subside completely. He stepped forward again, and gasped. Spots danced in his eyes, and he did not realize he was falling until a huge tug on his left arm jerked him back up to his upright position. He quickly shifted his weight off his left leg, and stepped forward again.

William managed to half-hop (short steps on his left leg, longer steps on his right) to his bed before he collapsed on it. "Thank you, Elizabeth," he said, feeling as though he had run himself ragged.

Elizabeth handed him a glass of water. "That was not so bad, was it?"

William thought about it. It had been painful, yes, very painful, but it had felt very nice to have walked somewhere without falling down for the first time in a fortnight. "No, not entirely." He drank a little and laid the glass on the table.

From there, William's recovery was sure. His leg wound might leave him with a limp for the rest of his life, but at least he would have his life. He might have a few twinges in his shoulder or arm in cold weather, but what mattered to him was that he would live to see cold weather.

Early on December 18th, Richard left to join his regiment, with the satisfaction of knowing that not only was his cousin out of danger, but also that Wickham had died on the 9th – painfully – due to his wounds becoming infected.

Later that day, at around seven in the morning, William managed to get out of bed without keeling over immediately. He sighed, reached over to his desk and twirled his old pen in his fingers. He stopped and stared at the glossy black case, and the old scratch down the side that he had made five years ago.

He stood, leaning on the wall for support. It was decided. He would go to Longbourn this morning and hang the consequences!

Dressed in dark green, with his top hat and greatcoat, William limped laboriously towards Longbourn, braving the snow and cold. Honestly, though, he did not feel any of it. He made his way to the tree he knew Elizabeth would pass, and sat down.

Sighing, his eyes flashed to his trousers, under which the bandage was wrapped around his leg, and to the cane he had used. William knew he should not use it with his left hand, but his right arm and shoulder had not yet fully healed. The humiliation burned inside his throat. Why oh why did he challenge Wickham to that duel? Granted, Wickham was dead now, but William's sensitive pride had been wounded by the dilemma he had faced.

Using a cane! Before the duel, he would have shunned that notion as madness. That he, a perfectly healthy young man, should be reduced to using a cane like an old man shamed him beyond words, so much so that he actually preferred the boredom of staying in his rooms all day and night to the mortification of being seen like that.

He was interrupted from his slumber by a voice that could only be Elizabeth's. "William! Wake up! Wake up, please. Please don't be dead."

He blinked. "Elizabeth…? What – how –?"

Then it hit him. He must have fallen asleep! Damn it, he thought. Damn it. Elizabeth's relieved expression changed to concern and anger as she took in his stretched-out bad leg and cane.

"William, why did you not wait for me to visit you? You walked three miles with your injured leg, to Longbourn and sat down in the snow?! Fitzwilliam George Alexander Darcy, what do you think you are doing?!"

William was stung. "Elizabeth Victoria Bennet, I am perfectly capable of walking on my own! And if I choose to sit in the snow, that is my affair!" He stood up in a huff. "I came to talk to you, but it seems my presence is unwelcome. Forgive me, madam, for taking up so much of your time!"

"Have you any idea how much you frightened me? I saw you under the tree, not moving, your eyes closed! Good God, do you not know how cold you were?"

William whirled back around with a sharp retort, but he bit his tongue as what she said sank in. Elizabeth was concerned for him. She had only gotten angry and shouted at him because... he had frightened her. 'Please don't be dead', she had told him. Had he really been that cold?

He took a deep breath and vowed to have a little more patience with people hereafter. "Forgive me. I did not know I frightened you. I came to talk to you, as I said before, but I must have fallen asleep… sorry. And… I apologize for shouting at you."

To his astonishment – and delight – Elizabeth said nothing, but threw her arms around his neck, careful not to crush his arm. "I was so afraid. William, promise me you will never do that again!"

William wrapped his good arm around her, almost dizzy with the force. "No… I will not." He pulled a face. "I doubt I will ever be in a duel again."

Elizabeth slipped back and grabbed his face between her gloved hands. "Never, ever, ever, sit down in the snow and go to sleep. You might freeze to death." She shuddered. "One of my cousin Eddy's friends froze to death two years ago. He was so cold… William, do not ever do that again."

William smiled. "I promise."

Elizabeth returned to her normal cheery self. "Now, I have something to tell you – and I am afraid I must vent a little annoyance at you. That was why I was so angry when you woke up." She scrambled behind the hedges and dragged a stool under the tree. "Here, sit."

William sat down. "Thank you."

Elizabeth clambered up to the lowest branch, beside him, and spoke. "Papa's cousin, Mr. Collins, arrived today. Apparently, he was supposed to arrive a month ago, but for a cold that kept him for a fortnight and the bad condition of the roads for the other fortnight."

William frowned. "Does Mr. Collins's Christian name happen to be William?"

Elizabeth stole his hat and twirled it. "I believe it is… Yes, it is."

"I suppose he would be Aunt Catherine's new rector at Hunsford Parish. Let me guess… he is the worst combination of puffed-up self-importance and fawning obsequiousness a man could ever be."

Elizabeth laughed. "You have the right of it! I cannot believe such a dreadful man shares your name."

"Excuse me," William said, pretending to take offense, "I will have you know that my given name is Fitzwilliam, and that most people call me William only out of habit!" Elizabeth would be quite taken in by his acting if there had not been such a bright telltale sparkle in his eyes.

"Still, many people think of you as William, including myself, which means that Mr. Collins shares your name at least in thought."

William raised a questioning eyebrow. "Then perhaps you should begin to address me as Fitzwilliam, or think of me as such, or else I might be tainted by association to Mr. Collins."

Elizabeth laughed and twirled a lock of his hair around her finger, pulling it affectionately before releasing it to bounce into his eyes. "Rather, Mr. Collins benefits from association to you! William, you are the only one of that name I think of that way. Mr. Collins is Collins, and Sir William is just that - Sir William."

William smiled contentedly and scratched at the tree bark. "I am satisfied then."

"And you? Do you know any who share my name?" Elizabeth asked archly.

William rolled his eyes and answered her: "I confess that I have a cousin who is named Elizabeth - one of the Fitzwilliams - but I call her Lily, not Elizabeth, Lizzy, or Beth, as I call you."

"Why on earth do you call an Elizabeth Lily?" Elizabeth asked incredulously.

William looked ashamed and amused at the same time. "Lily is Alexander's twin sister, and all three of us boys - Alex, Richard, and me - were told to call her Ellie. But Richard and I mispronounced it in infancy, so it became Lily instead."

Elizabeth pulled his hair. "I could never mispronounce Jane's name, but Mary, Kitty, and Lydia all mispronounced my name. I was introduced as Elizabeth, and it was only after they called me 'Izbit' that we told them to call me Lizzy instead."

"Well, to be frank, I miss my cousin Lily. She is the oldest of all of us Fitzwilliam children, but I still cannot reconcile the image of the little girl with dark pigtails to the graceful young lady to the mother she has'now become."

"So your cousin is married, then?"

"Yes, to Sir Ernest Cecil. Ernest himself is an honourary cousin to me, and little Walter - their son - is adorable. But to remind you, Elizabeth," he said, stressing the syllables of her name, "there is another Elizabeth I know. A Cambridge schoolmate of mine - Frederick Cavendish - has a sister named Elizabeth, but I would rather not think of her - she is a lady along the lines of Caroline Bingley. So, to answer your question, yes, I do know other people who share your name - but still, no. Because," he added softly, "You are the only Elizabeth to me."

"You as well - both in Fitzwilliam and William," Elizabeth said in return, leaning so close their noses almost bumped.

William sighed and leaned back against the tree, his bad leg twinging. "What of Mr. Collins?" he finally asked. "That is what you first discussed, is it not? So, can you endure your cousin for a while?"

Elizabeth made a face. "Not for long!"

"Speaking of long," William said, checking his watch, "you and I must adjourn, for it is already eleven o'clock, and I must return to Netherfield before Miss Bingley comes looking for me herself." He stood. "Goodbye, Elizabeth."

"Goodbye, William." Elizabeth pulled his hair again – gently – for good measure. "And take care of yourself."

He nodded, picked up his cane, and began his journey to Netherfield.