Author's Note: Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, and follows! I'm so glad you like this idea as much as I do. If you've never seen the film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, I highly recommend checking it out. Those that have seen it have a better sense of where I'm going with this story. Just to warn you, a large amount of the dialogue for the proposal remains unchanged for this chapter. This will not be the case for memories in future chapters. I needed to preserve the absolute heartbreak of the proposal. I am very excited for more creativity the following scenes will allow me (and Darcy!)! Thank you again, and please review!

Chapter 3

This was it. Darcy felt nauseous at even the sight of the temple. It may as well have been the gallows. Months he had spent reliving this moment, in torment every night. He tried to gather his courage. One more time, and he would never have to think of this again.

As he approached the structure, he expected to see another version of himself like he had in the parsonage, but when he rounded the corner, there was no one there but a soaked Elizabeth. She startled at the sight of him, then straighten herself up seemingly to make herself more intimidating. Her run had left her cheeks flushed. The knot in Darcy's stomach tightened at the sight of her.

"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy began. He remembered his words clearly, even the ones he wished to forget, but he was reluctant to continue, his courage fading. Did he have to do this again? His fists tightened beside him. He could already see her disdain for him; her negative opinion of him was already fully formed. Darcy wondered how he hadn't noticed it in her face before.

"I have struggled in vain, and I can bear it no longer," the words came out of him before he could stop himself. "These past months have been a torment." Darcy paused here. Yes, the months trying to ignore his growing affection for her before his proposal were bad, yet the months since, when he had no hope of her returning his affections, had been much worse. He continued, "I came to Rosings with the single object of seeing you," then more softly, "I had to see you."

There were times when he had replayed this scene in his mind as he had expected it to go. He would give his speech, she would be flattered by his attention, and she would smile and accept his hand with exuberance. Sometimes, in his more colorful fantasies, she would even say she loved him too. How he wished that had been the case.

"I am not going to do this," he whispered to himself, shaking his head and running his hands through his wet hair.

"Sir?" Elizabeth asked, her head tilting. Darcy looked at her, unsure of how to proceed. He was suddenly afraid to change too much of the memory. What if it the process didn't work correctly? He couldn't risk that after committing to this resolution. With that in mind, Darcy decided to persevere, "I have fought against my better judgement, my family's expectations, the inferiority of your birth, my rank and circumstance, all these things, and I am willing to put them aside and ask you to end my agony,"

"I don't understand?" she said, looking at him quizzically.

Darcy had rehearsed telling her about his hesitation, how he had carefully considered the reasons why they were not a good match, and then he was supposed to ask for her hand. He had not intended to tell her he loved her. In fact, he hadn't realized just how desperately in love with her he was until the words had escaped his mouth last April.

"I love you. Most ardently. Please do me the honor of accepting my hand." He felt a glimmer of hope that he would get to hear her accept this time. As if it mattered. Elizabeth stared at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. And she was. He had never been so vulnerable with her, or anyone. She looked askance, and as she summoned up her courage to speak, he braced himself.

"Sir, I- I appreciate the struggle you have been through, and I am very sorry to have caused you pain. Believe me, it was unconsciously done."

"I should leave here," he said, diverting from his course. It was simply too much. "I can still gather up what is left of my pride, make a graceful exit, and not endure this incivility."

"Incivility? If I was uncivil, your words now and your behavior since the first moment of our acquaintance justify it. Mr. Darcy, you have never given me any indication that you look at me other than to find fault, and you know I have other reasons to decline your offer. Do you think that anything might tempt me to accept the man who has ruined, perhaps forever, the happiness of a most beloved sister?"

This time, he was ready for this accusation. "I thought your sister was indifferent to Bingley. I watched them most carefully…" he paused. She seemed eager to hear his explanation, but her fury was unabated. "How did you," he began slowly, "How did you know about Bingley?" It was something that had puzzled him exceedingly since he left Kent. It hardly mattered, since it was true, he had actively separated Miss Bennet and Bingley, but he still wondered how he had been exposed.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam told me. He said you had saved Mr. Bingley from a bad match. He didn't know he was speaking about my own sister and that the unsuitable family was mine," she replied, angrily.

Darcy closed his eyes momentarily, cursing the Colonel for being so indiscreet. Anything to direct his anger at anyone but himself.

"I suppose you suspect that his fortune had some bearing on the matter?" Elizabeth accused.

Darcy felt hot. She willfully believed the worst of him at every turn. "I wouldn't do your sister the dishonor," he replied, much more angrily than he intended. "Though it was made perfectly clear that an advantageous marriage..."

"Did my sister give that impression?"

"No. No. There was, however, I have to admit, the matter of your family."

"Our want of connection? Mr. Bingley didn't seem to vex himself about that."

Her interruptions frustrated Darcy, "No, it was more than that."

"How, sir?" she challenged him.

"It was the lack of propriety shown by your mother, your three young sisters, and even on occasion, your father." Thunder clapped suddenly around them, giving the impression that it had been summoned by Elizabeth's fury alone. "Forgive me. You and your sister I must exclude from this," he offered, weakly. Agony was sweeping over him quickly. He covered his mouth with a hand in frustration, before running it through his wet hair. How had this gone so wrong?

"And what about Mr. Wickham?" she asked. In his renewed distressed, Darcy was unprepared for her question.

"Mr. Wickham?" he spat out, taking a step closer to her.

"What excuse can you give for your…your behavior towards him?" she questioned.

"You take an eager interest in that gentleman's concerns." It was an accusation.

"He told me of his misfortunes," Elizabeth said, clearly undaunted.

"Oh yes, his misfortunes have been very great indeed," he had replied thus, but he had dearly wanted to ask her if her and Wickham had an understanding. Of course the villainous Wickham would thwart him in this endeavor. It seemed only right that he would forever be plagued by him. It enraged Darcy.

"You ruin his chances, and yet, you treat him with sarcasm?"

"So this is your opinion of me. Thank you for explaining it so fully. Perhaps these offenses might have been overlooked had not your pride been hurt by my honesty in admitting scruples about our relationship," he did not pause to let her cut in, "Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?" When he saw the temple, Darcy had not wanted to experience this so fully again; he had hoped this could somehow be avoided, but now once he began experiencing this pain, and anger, and shame again, he lashed out like a wounded animal. There was no going back from his words, but he did not care.

"And those are the words of a gentleman?" Elizabeth said scathingly. Darcy felt like she had slapped him. "From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry."

Stunned, Darcy stared intently at her, his eyes dropping from her gaze to her lips. The desire to kiss her was overwhelming, despite the injury her words had inflicted. He felt the urge more strongly than he remembered. Or perhaps he was remembering how strong his urge had been. It occurred to him, suddenly, that he could close the gap between them. It would not be the first time he dreamt of kissing her. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he spoke, attempting to keep his tone devoid of emotion, "Forgive me, madam, for taking up so much of your time."

He knew this is where this memory ended. He would shortly run away from her to drown in sorrows alone in his chambers at Rosings. But he continued, remaining painfully close to her, "I declared myself to you despite all of these very obstacles, and you rejected me so quickly, with such little consideration, with such disdain." Darcy felt the shame well up inside him that he almost spat the last word.

"You insulted my family! Your mode of declaration has simply spared me the concern that I might have felt in refusing you," Elizabeth breathed heavily, her cheeks flushing again in anger. She stood her ground, not moving from the spot.

"How could you not even pause for a moment to consider all I have offered-" his speech was cut short as she turned to walk away from him. He allowed himself the liberty of grabbing her hand to stop her. Her hands were cold.

She looked at him, astonished at what she perceived his implication to be, "What you have offered? I would never marry for money, despite what you think of me and my family, Mr. Darcy."

"You misunderstand me, Miss Elizabeth, as you are always insist on doing. I meant myself. I offered you myself, my love, and my complete loyalty and utter devotion. Why is that insufficient?" He was almost pleading with her.

She looked at him with her large brown eyes. "You offered me insults, and I cannot forgive you for what you have done to Jane. Goodbye, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth pulled her hand away and continued walking around the curve of the temple.

Denied. Again. Darcy would admit that he had been spoiled as a child, that he had never wanted for anything. But he had always tried to do the right thing. He took care of Georgiana, of Pemberley and the tenants of the estate, and honored the memory of his parent's the best he could. How could it be that the one thing he desired most in the world would be denied to him now?

"You made your choice, and I've made mine. You are free to leave, Miss Elizabeth. By morning, you'll be gone. I will wake up and not think of you again! It will be over." he shouted at her retreating back. He blinked away tears and looked out towards the lake. The quiet fall of rain surrounded him, but curiously, the raindrops were suspended mid-air. He shook his head, not understanding what he was seeing, and walked forward, hoping to follow her to the other side of the temple. She was nowhere to be found.

He continued around the temple, and inexplicably, he walked straight into the church as Mr. Collins delivered his sermon. He was still soaking wet from the rain, but no one seemed to pay any attention to him as he walked down the side aisle.

This is all happening in reverse. I must be remembering the most recent memories, first, he thought. This was of no concern to him, as long as at the end of it, Elizabeth, and the incessant knot in his heart and stomach, would be gone.

Mr. Collins' voice was entirely unintelligible, likely because Darcy had paid no attention to his sermon on that fateful morning. He saw Lady Catherine and himself in the pew, and then, his cousin and Elizabeth whispering. He had felt jealousy then for Colonel Fitzwilliam's happy manners and eagerness to sit by Elizabeth for the service, but now he was simply annoyed, as judging from the distressed look on Elizabeth's face and how she grew increasingly pale, this must be the moment when the Colonel had relayed the information about Bingley.

Darcy continued walking through the church and out into the yard towards the parsonage.

The clouds were gone, and the sun began to shine through. It did not fit his mood at all. He could see the parsonage up ahead. With an angry sense of purpose, he wanted to finish what he had started.

He burst into the door of the parsonage rather unceremoniously, slightly out of breath.

As Elizabeth rose to meet him, he felt his anger begin to dissipate slightly the sight of her. He wanted to remain angry, but her change in mood was disorienting him. She looked at him kindly, if a bit puzzled at his sudden appearance.

"Mr. Darcy!" she said in surprise, rising to bow. "Please, do be seated." He ignored her offer and continued to stare at her, his heart tightening in his chest. How he relished in this moment alone with her when she looked at him kindly and warmly welcomed. It was a balm to his injured soul from the encounter a few moments ago.

"I'm afraid Mr. and Mrs. Collins are gone on business to the village."

Darcy had originally intended to ask her for her hand, now. But the words had caught in his throat, and what came out instead was- "This is a charming house. I believe my aunt did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first arrived."

"I believe so. She could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful subject," Elizabeth replied, wryly. Her sense of humor delighted him, but he was too nervous to show it.

"Shall I call for some tea?" She asked, her voice sounding more distant with every word.

"No, thank you" he replied, and right on cue, the front door opened.

"Good day, Miss Elizabeth. It's been a pleasure," he said with warmth this time. Everything dissolved into blackness before he could exit. His heart felt emptier.