A shrill cry pierced the early morning air, and Elizabeth awoke abruptly, sitting up too quickly before sinking back into the mound of pillows behind her, holding her still-tender head and groaning quietly in pain.

Closing her eyes against her current reality, she gritted her teeth and vowed for the umpteenth time that she was going to kill her sister. Not for the first time, there was a great deal of ambiguity in her mind as to which of her two sisters she was going murder. Currently, Lydia had moved to the top of the list by virtue of being the source of the scream that had just awakened Elizabeth from one of the first decent nights of sleep she'd had since the automobile accident.

Jane was on the list because she had been the one to abandon Elizabeth to the unthinkably cruel fate of being forced to rely on Fanny Bennet's tender mercies as she made her all-too-slow recovery from the concussion she had sustained.

It had been three days of hell.

The morning after the accident had started off promisingly enough, despite the assorted painful demands of her body. Elizabeth had greeted the day late, taken breakfast in bed and held court from the same location as she was visited by an anxious Mr. Bingley, a decidedly irritated Caroline Bingley and a heart-squeezingly reserved Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth had dealt with each visitor in a different manner, according to who it was. She had thanked Bingley warmly, both for his hospitality and for his news that he had seen to notifying Jane of her whereabouts and condition. That her sister would not have had to wake to Elizabeth's unexplained absence and begin to panic was a blessing.

With Caroline's unwelcome visit, Elizabeth bore up as long as she could under the thinly-veiled litany of complaints leveled at her presence in the Bingley house before she at last wondered aloud why the other woman had come to see her at all. Caroline departed with an ugly look and a pointed comment about how a properly raised person would know to be grateful for a host's forbearance when one had made a nuisance of oneself.

There was no love lost between the two women.

Darcy's visit had been the last and the longest and Elizabeth had been so tongue-tied and awkward with him when he arrived that perhaps two full minutes elapsed almost without speech beyond his asking how she fared and she flushing unaccountably before murmuring that she was well enough given the circumstances.

It was the sight of his cane that at last inspired her to ask after his own general health and he admitted that he had suffered only a rather painful bruise to his knee but was otherwise unharmed.

The relief that had swept over Elizabeth had been so great that she had asked the next question almost without thinking, saying that she couldn't recall much of what had happened the previous night and asking Darcy if he wouldn't mind filling in the gaps in her memory.

Looking back on the exchange afterwards, she thanked God Himself that she had been looking directly at Darcy as she asked the question. There had been such an amazing expression there for just a moment before he mastered his face and assumed the mask of reserve that he normally wore and had she not seen it however briefly, she might never have understood that he had instantly assumed the worst, believing that she had herself forgotten every detail of their conversation prior to the accident.

"After the accident, I mean!" she had amended, blushing furiously. "I assure you, Sir, I do not believe anything could cause me to forget all that came before."

As though she had given him a signal that all was well and he need not fear to be himself, Darcy's mask had dissolved and he had closed his eyes with a look of gratitude so profound that Elizabeth felt her heart increase in speed and volume. Could he be indifferent towards her and have tried so hard to make amends with her the night before? Could he see her only as an acquaintance and still appear to be a man pulled back from the brink of despair at the knowledge that she had not forgotten those efforts?

Was it possible that Darcy actually cared for her?

The question was an ill-timed one in many ways, for she had neither the time nor the leisure in that moment to ponder it. And it was, perhaps, the pinnacle of a more comprehensive question, about how she might come to view their previous interactions in the light of all he had said. Now that she had put aside the lenses that had only allowed her to see anything he did or said in the worst possible light, she must go back over their every interaction and decide what the truth of those exchanges might have been.

She had misjudged him at every turn and all because his first actions had wounded her pride.

It was with such thoughts taking up the back portion of her mind that she listened as Darcy recounted the events following the accident. As she listened, she was struck by how much feeling was in his voice as he spoke of Fitch and Bingley's efforts to save them both from the stranded automobile. Particularly when it came to his driver, Darcy was not unaware of the courage and sacrifice the other men had made on his own behalf.

For the first time, Elizabeth had found herself pondering the extent to which a man such as Darcy might feel responsible for those around him and those in his employ. He was not a monster to callously disregard the value of other lives in selfish regard for his own comfort. Following the thought through to the natural conclusion that Darcy took his responsibilities as an employer seriously, she at last felt the full force of her shame at her own demeaning words and thoughts towards Darcy break over her.

She still didn't know exactly why he had fired her - a question she was becoming more and more determined to get a straight answer to, eventually - but the evidence of his character seemed to indicate that it would have been for a good reason.

Did it not?

She had not then been free to muse on the question of Darcy's worth as an employer in the light of his treatment of Fitch versus his treatment of herself and George Wickham, but the past three days of enforced bed rest and lack of intelligent conversation either with or between her stepmother and younger sister had given her ample time to come to the conclusion that she was willing to believe Darcy may have had a good motive in each case, but she could not entirely forgive his part in her situation unless he might someday prove to her that he'd had some greater interest at heart.

They'd had little time to converse further after he had informed her of the events following the accident, for Mrs. Bennet had arrived in a flurry of wails, nerves and imprecations.

That's when Elizabeth's own version of hell had come to life before her very eyes. It took some time to pry anything sensible out of Mrs. Bennet's mouth, but it soon became apparent that she had taken it upon herself to come and "rescue" her "darling" daughter, certain that Mr. Bingley would not like the "imposition" of her being beneath his roof when he was so busy with work and had his own social life to attend to in any case.

Wishing that Jane had seen better fit to not pass on the news of her accident to their parents, Elizabeth nevertheless agreed with some alacrity that of course she was well enough to travel back to the Bennet household to finish recuperating. It went against her own plan to return to the flat she and Jane shared, but it seemed wiser to agree to Fanny's schemes than to object and get her stepmother thinking of other possibilities. It was really almost a shock that Fanny hadn't declared Elizabeth to be much too unwell to move and offered to have Jane come around to play nurse.

In order to forestall such a terrible imposition, Elizabeth would have said anything. At her agreement to leave, Elizabeth could not help but cast another look at Darcy. He stood off to one side and watched with the oddest expression of bemusement plastered across his face, seeming for once to have quite forgotten his usual mask of reserve.

They did not get an opportunity to speak further, though Darcy did inform her on her way out the door that he would see to notifying the appropriate people at Blue Line that she would be out for several days as she recovered. The gesture so touched her that she almost embarrassed herself by crying, but was able to thank him with a wobbly smile, wondering if he knew how much it relieved her to know that she would not have to deal with Mr. Collins herself.

Her plan had been to leave with her stepmother, spend a few hours with her and then make her own excuses to return back to her flat where she might actually have some chance of making a full recovery. Fate intervened however, and somewhere during the course of those few hours, Elizabeth had actually passed out and had awoken to find herself firmly installed in her old bedroom with even her usually insouciant father exceedingly insistent that she was in no condition to be moved and would, perforce, remain where she was until she could prove she was well enough to return to her flat.

The trial before her was to make it through a full day in company with her family without nodding off during a dull moment or, after she had once stood up too quickly and taken a few ill-advised dizzy steps, walking in "such an alarming manner."

After three days, Elizabeth was beginning to seriously fear she might never be proclaimed well enough to leave. She might have overridden her stepmother's frivolous concerns, but her father's unrestrained anxiety for her safety was enough to convince her to acquiesce.

Still, had she been able to see the fresh horror that was descending upon her at speed on this third day of her own personal hell, she might have defied even his wishes if it meant avoiding the spectacle that her afternoon turned into.

"Lizzie!" Lydia's bellow could be heard long before she appeared in the doorway of the parlor, practically vibrating with high spirits.

Wincing at the noise, though in truth her headaches were less frequent by now, Elizabeth sighed as she inquired what her sister's message might be.

"You would never guess!" Lydia proclaimed brightly, not taking the trouble to speak in a more hushed tone. "So I shall just tell you. There is a man at the door and he is asking to see you. Mama is getting to know him but he should be back directly."

Having said this, Lydia came further into the room and flopped into a chair, sprawling inelegantly and looking as though she had no plans of ever leaving. "Lord!" she exclaimed, her next words causing a fervent hope to spring to life in Elizabeth's heart that perhaps Mr. Darcy had come to call, "I had no idea you worked with such attractive people! One would never know it to look at your friend, Charlotte."

"Lyddie," Elizabeth sat up, indignant. "You will not speak so rudely. Sit up straight, or better yet, go to your room."

Her younger sister rolled her eyes but adjusted her posture in her chair until she looked more like a caricature of a lady than she did an actual lady with poise.

Elizabeth ignored her, knowing that Lydia craved all attention, whether it was good or bad, and to deprive her of it was the greatest punishment that could be inflicted on the flighty young girl. This effect was, however, only a benefit to what she would have done in any case: panic at the thought that Darcy had shown up at her parents' house.

Her hands went to her hair and Elizabeth peered at her own reflection in a mirror that hung on the opposite wall, sighing in resignation at the thought that he wouldn't even notice her hair when it was her forehead that caught the eye, all ugly swollen purples and sickly yellows.

Giving herself a pep talk as she waited for him to be shown to the room, she pushed all thoughts of what her stepmother might possibly be saying to him at the door out of her mind and resolved to mention as soon as possible that Fanny Bennet was, in fact, a stepmother and not her own actual blood relative. With a spare moment to wonder what had prompted the call, Elizabeth had gotten as far as convincing herself that it could not possibly be meant as anything other than a friendly visit when he entered the room, her stepmother fluttering around his elbow like a demented moth to a flame.

"You have a visitor, Lizzie!" Fanny declared unnecessarily.

And Elizabeth felt the hope in her chest die out, as suddenly as though someone had thrown a bucket of water on a flickering candle. For the tall man standing next to her stepmother and appearing to actually be charmed or amused by her antics was not William Darcy.

It was George Wickham.

"Oh!" Elizabeth cried. "I didn't think it would be you."

He laughed at her, perfect teeth gleaming, seeming not at all nonplussed by her less-than-enthusiastic greeting. "Who else would it be?" he asked reasonably. "Collins?"

A sound of absolute revulsion at the very notion crossed Elizabeth's lips before she could prevent it. George laughed again, so she forced a smile onto her lips, hoping it looked natural, wondering the whole time why she was so disappointed that it was George and not Darcy. Come to that, she wondered why she had ever even thought Darcy might visit. He'd had ample time to do so before now and had not made the effort. Perhaps their relationship - whatever it was - was still too tenuous for him to feel comfortable in showing up at her parents' home.

And considering her parents and her sister, not to mention the fact that the small house had not seen much upkeep since the night of the family dinner with the Bingleys, perhaps it was for the best that Darcy was not here. A week ago, Elizabeth would have said that she did not care what his opinion of her relations might have been; odd, how quickly she had come to desire his good estimation!

But he was not here and this line of thinking was pointless in the extreme. Elizabeth tried to push it away, only to have difficulty doing so which in turn caused her to wonder again why she should be so affected by the mere thought of Darcy.

Was it possible that her traitorous heart knew already the thing that she dared not contemplate? Was she so changeable a creature that the scarcest idea that Darcy might care for her could be enough for her to believe herself half in love with him in return?

This will not do! she thought, and forced her attention back to the occupants of the room. Lydia and Fanny were tittering over something George must have said, each of them having seated themselves while she had not been attending.

Reaffixing her smile, Elizabeth thanked George for coming to see her and asked how he had managed to track her down.

"Charlotte pointed me to your flat," he admitted. "And your sister was kind enough to direct me here. I'm under strict orders from Charlotte to ascertain your health, when you might return to work and to inquire whatever happened to you after work on Friday."

He spoke easily and Elizabeth found herself wondering if that were due to his having an unfamiliar audience in the form of her family or if Charlotte had not disclosed to him that the last time she had seen Elizabeth, Elizabeth had been making awkward conversation with one Mr. Darcy, new owner of Blue Line and the object of mutual dislike that had brought Wickham and Elizabeth together as friends in the first place.

"I see!" she said, attempting her usual liveliness as she made a careful reply. "You may tell Charlotte that I'm on the mend and that I hope to return to work within the next few days. As to the last, well," she gestured to the ugly bruise on her forehead, "I went out and got myself injured."

Nearly holding her breath in anticipation of his asking how exactly she had come by the injury, Elizabeth was oddly relieved when he didn't press for further details but instead turned the conversation to a recitation on his part of everything that had gone wrong the night before. It was a humorous retelling, but Elizabeth could not fully engage, wondering at the strange sense of disquiet that had taken up residence somewhere in the pit of her stomach.

As Wickham concluded with a description of what Collins had looked like as he had dashed about trying to help with pulling down a machine but doing more to get in the way, Fanny interjected herself into the conversation again.

"I daresay you don't seem very interested in what is going on at work without you, Lizzie," she scolded. "Does your head pain you? Would you like some tea? That is just the thing for a headache," she went on to confide in Wickham, touching his arm and leaning in as though imparting some grave secret. "Peppermint tea. Nothing like it. I'll just go and fetch some for my poor Lizzie.

"Lyddie? Come along with me and help."

Three sets of eyes came to rest on Mrs. Bennet in varying degrees of consternation. Elizabeth's was tinged with mortification that her stepmother should invent so obviously flimsy an excuse to get herself and Lydia out of the room, leaving her alone with Wickham.

For his part, Wickham seemed more amused than anything else, and his grin only widened when Lydia rolled her eyes and objected.

"I am certain you are perfectly capable of making tea by yourself!" The younger girl's voice pitched upwards in a whine. "You've done it a thousand times before without my help."

Mrs. Bennet had half risen from her chair and paused part way to fix her younger daughter with a look that was anything but subtle. Her eyebrows raised, she cut her eyes from Lydia to the door and then darted a look between Elizabeth and George Wickham. "Do as you're told for once, Lyddie! Come along now!"

Lydia huffed in reply and sat back in her chair, crossing her arms under her bosom in childish refusal to leave.

As the byplay unfolded, Elizabeth found herself wishing to disappear in sheer embarrassment. She knew not whose behavior was more mortifying and was about to break the stalemate by offering to go get her own tea - and to offer the hospitality of the house to Wickham as well, since such a thought had completely escaped her stepmother - when it seemed that salvation had come in the form of another caller at the front door.

"Go and see who is at the door please, Lyddie," Mrs. Bennet directed. "I will fetch the tea along."

This time, Lydia made no real complaints about doing as she was bid, clearly hopeful that whoever was at the door would prove to be some company or better diversion for herself. In the matter of a few seconds, the room had cleared and Elizabeth found herself offering yet another insincere smile to George Wickham.

"I'm sorry about my sister," she apologized. "She can be rather willful, I'm afraid."

"Think nothing of it," Wickham replied, still smiling easily. "I have no siblings of my own, but my past friendship with a certain gentleman and his younger sister has taught me to understand that the teenage years can be rather trying."

Elizabeth frowned before she could stop herself and Wickham was quick to catch and interpret the expression.

"Don't get me wrong," he continued. "Georgiana was a sweet enough girl as a child, but when I last knew her, she was too much like her elder brother. I hope she will be able to correct her course and regain some of that early sweetness, but I fear it will not happen unless she is able to break free of his influence."

Elizabeth did not immediately know how she wished to reply. On the one hand, she knew she had no right to speak sharply to Wickham for his casual maligning of Darcy and his family, but on the other hand, she knew she had encouraged it and said things just as bad, or perhaps even worse, herself.

"I think," she said slowly, "that perhaps I was wrong about Mr. Darcy. I will not presume to speak ill of his sister, whom I have never met."

The shock was evident on Wickham's face; he made no attempt to conceal it. The surprise gave way to the beginnings of a sneer and he opened his mouth to speak, stopping abruptly when one of the very objects of their conversation came into the room. Mr. Darcy halted abruptly in the doorway at the sight of George Wickham seated opposite Elizabeth, and drew himself up to his full height, face going red with some strong emotion barely contained behind his mask.

Darting her eyes back to Wickham's face, Elizabeth saw it had gone quite blank with astonishment and seemed drained all of color or animation. After a moment, he smirked up at Darcy, gaining his own feet and nodding politely to Elizabeth.

"I see it is time for me to be gone. Good day."

In just a few steps he had crossed the room and was forced to stand a moment, waiting for Darcy to clear the doorway. The two men held each other's gazes the whole while, neither one speaking. The look on Darcy's face was now pure contempt and when he at last deigned to move out of the path, he did so in such a manner that seemed to proclaim that the movement was not born of politeness but rather a hearty wish to have the other man out of his sight.

Once George Wickham had gone, Darcy finally turned to face Elizabeth for the first time, still appearing as tense and displeased as he had been as soon as he had entered the room to find the other man there. He took a deep breath and then spoke his first words since arriving.

"Just what the hell do you mean by carrying on with that man?"

A/N: Oh, Darcy. *shakes head* You were doing so well!

So my humblest apologies to everyone that it has taken this short eternity for me to get my act together enough to get another chapter out. April and May were Awful Coworker Nightmare months that finally resolved in said Awful Coworker getting their ass fired. It made me so happy that I should probably be a little ashamed of myself.

In that same period of time, I did manage to write a one shot, called Past, Imperfect. If you missed it because you only follow this story, you might want to check it out. It's modern and there's a lot more salty language. Fair warning. You can find it by clicking on my profile.

Ever since then, the delay has been due to a wicked case of writer's block, I'm sad to say. I have no better excuse than that. I will mention that the chapter you just read was something like the 5th or 6th iteration, and it's still far from anything I'm terribly proud of, but it's better than the previous attempts. So it's what you get.

The next chapter is already begun. I think that cliffhanger I'm leaving you with bothers even me, so I'll do what I can to resolve it ASAP.

Thanks for reading and for sticking with me even when I fail!

-Imp