This next bit wasn't in the book. Bingley went out shooting with Mr Bennet but it wasn't a plot point. It went a bit Sense and Sensability but not too much so. Hope you like it. I did.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this but I love it, and surely that's kind of the same thing.
"No, no, no, no, no!"
"But Vince-"
"No!"
The sound of a shot being fired a few meters to the left caused Vince to squeal and Howard could not quite restrain a short burst laughter, even when Vince glared at him with all the viciousness he could muster.
The shooting was not going well.
The whole affair had started badly, to Vince's mind. He had been warned by his father to wear clothing he did not regard as overly precious and had felt terribly exposed to be meeting Howard while dressed so very unfashionably. The rifle had been heavy and cumbersome and, upon his first sight of Howard, who had looked rugged and northern in his shooting attire, Vince had stumbled and ended up face first in the grass; to the vast amusement of the other men of the party.
The sounds of the rifles discharging was too loud, the screeches of the birds too heartbreaking, and Vince felt that his nerves were quite destroyed after only an hour. And now, to add the final touch to the horror, Howard was offering to teach him how to use the despised weapon. He tried to explain that it wold help him with the other fellows, who were enjoying Vince's reactions to the noises rather too much, but Vince would hear none of it. He had wanted to talk to Howard, to speak plainly of how they felt but now saw that in such an environment it would be impossible. With such thoughts in mind he resolved to return home. The other men could keep their shooting and guffawing, Vince would be much happier painting a picture or customising a new hat.
"I shall have no more of this, How- Mr Darcy!" he cried, stumbling again as he shouldered his father's rifle. "I shall see you another day."
He tried to spin dramatically but one of the men took the opportunity to let off another shot and instead of striding away with the last vestiges of his dignity intact, he shrieked and fell awkwardly to the ground. Howard was with him instantly but did not dare to touch him.
"Are you alright?"
"I am not-"
"You are not a weak young lady, I remember. But I must say that your fall looked nasty."
Vince winced. It had been a nasty fall and his ankle throbbed painfully within his boot but he was not in the mood to admit such and so began to pull himself upright with the aid of the rifle.
His sharp gasp as he attempted to put weight upon the injured ankle proved enough of an admission for Howard however and Vince felt the other man pull him upright gently and place an arm around his waist. Vince could feel his cheeks begin to heat but did not know whether it was a blush of embarrassment or the effect of having Howard's body pressed so closely to his own. Howard called out to Bingley, to say they were heading back and could their rifles be taken for them and received a knowing grin in return, which only made Vince's entire face flush.
The walk back across the fields was arduous and, though he tried to keep his pain concealed, he could not stop the occasional gasp when he put too much pressure on his injured ankle.
"I suppose," he said eventually. "That I had better repeal my previous statement."
"Your previous statement?" asked Howard, who had been quite distracted by having Vince in his arms and being able to take in the scent of his hair and skin and the light strength of his body.
"It seems that I am after all a weak young woman prone to twisted ankles."
Howard chuckled which caused Vince to smile and gaze up at his companion.
"Vince..."
"Yes?"
"Last night... I tried to say... The welcome would be an indefinite one."
Vince stopped walking. He had been moving at a slow and hobbling pace but now even that he could not maintain. He searched Howard's face and saw a great deal of fear but another emotion also and it was one that took him a moment to place. He had seen that look in Howard's eyes before, he realised, and it had been in the painting at Pemberley. The portrait of the fifteen-year-old Howard had looked out at him with that same look; that same hope, he realised. And now Howard the man stood before him, a spark of hope shining from his brown eyes.
"You would have me as your guest? For as long as I chose?" Vince felt his chest constrict painfully at the possibility of Howard's proposal. The emotions pouring forth from his heart were threatening to flood him entirely and he needed something to cling to before he was swept away entirely. He moved until he and Howard were facing one another, his hands resting on Howard's arms, taking comfort in the other man's solid presence.
"I would have you live with me, in my home, for as long as you chose," Howard spoke, his voice rough as he fought against his own torrent of emotion.
Vince gave a short laugh, one of disbelief and joy, confusion and just a touch of panic. He leaned his head toward Howard, wanting to show his delight and agreement with a kiss, and took a step forward to enter his embrace.
"Aargh!"
"Vince!?"
Howard caught the younger man as he fell, the pain of taking his weight so suddenly on his twisted ankle having sent him into a faint.
"Vince? Vince, was that a yes?" Howard whispered, unsure of why he felt the need to speak in hushed tones. He gave the man a light shake but Vince's head merely moved about like that of a small girl's rag doll and he remained unconscious.
"Oh dear," was all Howard could think to say.
