A/N: Help! Can't stop the new plot bunnies.

Bingley liked to think that he could read people.

Or, rather, Bingley used to think he could read people. It was a skill he had employed since his earliest childhood. A twitch of the mouth here, a shift of the pupil there were all helpful indicators, and they made up pieces of the easy puzzle that was a person's emotions, especially when combined with their tone of voice. None of this was something he actually consciously processed. Reading the mood, soaking in the aura was, for Charles Bingley, completely natural.

This ability had served him well throughout his two-and-twenty years. He had been able to sympathize with many an acquaintance, sense a relative's tempers, and make a good impression wherever he went. Frankly, he even credited to this sixth sense his friendship with Darcy. When in a gathering, Darcy turned off all and sundry with his moody mien. Only the witless who thought highly of themselves dared approach — and rendered themselves utterly offensive in the process. But Charles— he could sense the taller, older man's discomfort. And while Charles could get along with any person, he always thrilled at the challenge and success of drawing a reserved individual out.

So if there was anyone he was reasonably confident he could read, it was Darcy. At least, as much as Darcy allowed himself to be read. Well, Charles wasn't exactly so confident anymore — you see, he nearly made a bad investment and lost a large sum — trusted the wrong man not a sixmonth past and only Darcy's timely interference saved him. Sometimes, Charles told himself that he had sensed something was off about the guy — that he had simply pushed the instinct aside and placed his trust because he wanted to trust. The man was very agreeable and Charles had almost considered him a friend within an hour of meeting — Darcy said he should not make friends so willy-nilly — so who to trust?

In short, Charles no longer trusted himself quite as much. Unlike his impulsive self, Darcy always weighed his decisions carefully. Darcy was always right.

And so, bogged down by the question of his Miss Bennet (His Miss Bennet! Oh, if only!), Charles resolved to ask Darcy.

"Pardon?" said Darcy, non-plussed.

"Miss Bennet," said Charles impatiently. "Miss Jane Bennet."

"I am aware that you are speaking of Miss Jane Bennet," drawled Darcy, crossing his arms and relaxing his weight to one leg. "I am, however, at a loss as to why you would ask my opinion. Were you not singing her praises an hour ago?"

"I was— three hours ago, surely—" and halted at Darcy's smirk. Bingley rolled his eyes in a bid for exasperation to overcome embarrassment. "Have mercy, Darcy. I only desire your opinion."

Those magic words never failed to preen Darcy's coattails. Unconsciously, his back straightened even as he leaned against the banister. "What is it precisely that you wish to know? My opinion on her person? Her situation?"

"Well, that too, I suppose..."

"You are too distractable. What was the real question?"

Charles coloured and averted his face. "Her— her opinion on me."

The aristocratic eyebrow raised. "I am ill-qualified to judge a lady's opinion. Do you suppose she whispers them within my hearing?"

"No — yes — that was poorly worded. I wish, I suppose... Have I a chance of winning her affections?"

Dark eyes turned to regard him seriously. Charles could feel his palms begin to sweat.

"She would be a greater challenge than most," he said at last. "I have observed her— she smiles prettily, but her heart is not easily touched. With beauty like hers, she must be used to suitors."

"But have I a chance," insisted Charles.

Darcy's mouth quirked at the edges. "You have befriended me," he said, and that needed no elaboration. His eyes grew distant. "I believe that the loyalty of such persons, once won, is not soon reclaimed."

The aspirations he had shut down began to grow, twining and blooming in the light of hope. "So it is a quest. Where the prize is worth the struggle."

Suddenly alarmed, Darcy looked back at Charles. "You are considering her hand in marriage?"

Befuddled by his friend's reaction to what to him was the natural conclusion of such a conversation, Charles replied, "Should I not?"

"No — that is — if you can win her affections — her mother is vulgar and her sisters are flirts — " here Darcy flamed red, and this piqued Charles' curiosity "— not all her sisters, the older ones aren't — and she has an uncle in trade, but that hardly matters in your situation — indeed, for you it would be a step up towards landed gentry..." Here his brows pinched and his head bowed, the shape of Darcy concentrating, and long stretched the moment of silence. "If she loves you, it would be a good match for you," he finally concluded. "She is not rich, and you would have many to care for with the entail but — I imagine that does not bother you?"

"Not a whit. I'd take her if she had but a halfpence," said Charles cheerfully. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet. The carpet would have puffed clouds of dust if it had any. "If you are right, I simply have to win her."

Darcy nodded slowly. "Don't rush into it. It would not do to propose while the woman who loves you most in that family is her mother, and for your wallet. I would advise you not to make any firm resolutions. We cannot yet know if her heart will be moved."

Bingley shook his head. "Nay, Darcy. As long as there is a chance, I ought to fight for her."

Darcy had nothing to say in response.

Now, Darcy's pauses in conversation were completely normal. Frequent, even. They must be allowed for, if one wished him to contribute. But something — something — made Charles look back and scrutinise his longtime friend.

His brow was furrowed — deeply. He looked disturbed, as if something in what Charles had said upset his equilibrium.

Charles knew he had to be tactful about his approach.

He shifted his weight on his feet and looked up to the ceiling. "Say, Darcy," he said. "Thank you, again, for your advice. You know how I value it. But truly, it is mighty unfair that I should always be on the receiving end. You ought to benefit from our mutual friendship as well! Come on, aught on your mind?"

Again, Darcy was silent. But he was not dismissing the question— he was thinking.

Charles fiddled with his sleeve buttons to give himself something to do in the meantime. His mind eventually wandered— he was already imagining the picnic he would make for Jane when a deep voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What will you do," said Darcy, characteristically deliberate, "once you are secure in Miss Jane Bennet's affections? When you are reasonably certain of your reception. What then?"

"I will ask her," said Bingley plainly, "to marry me. I would request that she allow me to be her husband."

"You are not worried that you could find someone else, someone who matches all your require— your needs exactly? You are not concerned with your objections?"

Bingley laughed. "What else would I require? She is beautiful, compassionate, an angel. She is what I need. None of my paltry objections hold any weight against having her in my life."

Pensiveness rose on that solemn face again.

All the while, a suspicion formed in Bingley's head, one that he would have never thought of but one that was now impossible to be rid. He decided that such a theory must be tested.

"Should Jane agree to become my wife—" here he sighed involuntarily, blissful in his visions "—Miss Elizabeth would likely visit us often. And it would not do for her to stay unmarried long either! We must find her a husband so she may join our state of happiness."

Darcy jerked and looked at Bingley with eyes that spoke eloquently of wildness.

"Ha!" Bingley cried, unable to contain his glee at his triumph. His arms flung in excited gestures as he exclaimed, "'Tis true, good Lord, 'tis true! You fancy Miss Elizabeth!"

Initially, Darcy had drained of colour. As Bingley continued regaling his raptures, the stoic, season-hardened landlord turned reliably and utterly red. "Bingley!" he hissed desperately, a futile attempt to shush the other man.

"Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth Darcy. How delightful! We would be so often in each other's company— We would be brothers! What ho! They are sisters, Darcy, so imagine that: We would be brothers!"

"Bingley," Darcy growled, using his towering height to his advantage. "Do you want to speak like that while your sister may be in earshot?"

Immediately Bingley moderated his volume, but his grin could not be sobered. "I still got it."

"I have confirmed nothing." When Charles only beamed wider, Darcy's eyes rolled heavenward. "I see there is no reasoning with you. Believe what you wish!"

"And believe that I believe I am believing only what I wish!" he cackled. "You will not last, my friend — Her charms will wear you down!"

Darcy actually swallowed, and he looked rather ill.

Bingley softened. He nudged his friend's arm. "Come now, Darcy. 'Tis not bad, not bad at all. You'd be bound for life with a fine woman if you only take the step."

"My situation is different from yours. I have always been expected to marry for fortune and connexions."

"Deuce fortune and connexions! We have enough of those. What we don't have, Darcy, is the perfect partner in the world to make our homes and to share our conversations and, erm—" here Bingley blushed and rushed through the remainder of the sentence "—towarmourbeds. You know? Miss Bennet is my angel for life, I just know it— if she will have me. Oh, I beg she will have me. And Miss Elizabeth could very well be yours."

"Mine," repeated Darcy softly.

"That's right, Darce, so don't let the expectations get to you. Whom a man marries is no one's business but his own!"

With that, Bingley clapped a warm hand on Darcy's shoulder, and they made their way to the stables for a day of riding and estate management, little though they accomplished when such weighty matters occupied their minds and hearts.

A/N: Years of experience managing a brother with Darcy's reserve has poured itself out onto this chapter. Thanks, bro.

Also, I called them "plot bunnies" when they're more like "scene bunnies", honestly. I know what scenes I want to reach but I am still a blank slate on the scenes in between them. As such, suggestions are very welcome! Please leave a review!