"Fitzy!" She shrieked the first time he stole her shoes. She stomped around the grass angrily, regretting with all her heart that she had ever allowed George and Fitzy and his cousin to make her climb that tree. "Fitzy! It's your fault!"

He didn't seem to agree - but he did come to the river the next day. His face was very red when he said sorry.

"Lizzy, it's not funny." He wrangled the book from her. She laughed when a page tore, stuck between her fingers. When George said he'd found a naughty book, she'd expected it to be full of pirates and fighting and princesses killing dragons before their knights could appear.

She hadn't expected Fitz of all people to be stuck reading it all afternoon.

It wasn't fun to be ignored.

"I want to read it too," she demanded.

"No, Lizzy. It's only for - " He trailed off again. His mouth was open when he turned the page.

"Give me that book!" She made a mad dash for it - and escaped with it successfully before tumbling on the ground.

"Lizzy!"

"I have it!" She laughed, feeling incredibly happy for catching him off guard.

"Lizzy!"

She didn't look - and tumbled into the river. Fitzy saved her, but Mama wasn't impressed.

She said sorry the next day. He said sorry too.

"Is she very pretty?" Lizzy asked, all innocence. There was a sparkle in her eyes. A thrum of energy always followed her.

He was the one who got a new baby sister, but Lizzy looked even happier than he.

Darcy smiled, a little sleepily. "Yes, just like Mother."

"Is she prettier than me?"

Lizzy was smiling. Her words were not.

"My sister is the prettiest girl in the whole entire world," he said before he really thought about what he was going to say. He yawned, tired. "Of course she's prettier than you."

He didn't really notice that they hadn't been talking until after Sunday, when he found her crying by the river.

"Lizzy." He sat next to her - and hugged her very tightly.

"I know I shouldn't be sad, but I am," she made out a few words between her sobs. "She is very pretty, Fitz. She will always be prettier than me."

He just hugged her for another hour, all while his heart made him feel guiltier than the parson's message did.

"You're the prettiest friend I have," he said when she stopped crying. He kissed the top of her head the way Father kissed Mother whenever he came into the room. "Georgiana doesn't count."

Lizzy sniffed against his coat. Darcy wasn't sure if she forgave him.

"I'm sorry for making you sad," he said.

"It's alright." She hugged him back.

"You are leaving - and it is not fair that you're pretending you are not." She used the back of her hand to wipe away her tears. She felt embarrassed, sad, and angry all at the same time. The river - more a creek, now that she thought about it - ran between them. Darcy - her Fitzy - looked sadly towards her.

"I'm not leaving because I want to," he said. Over the years, Richie left and George left. Lizzy's grandmother left, and Mrs. Darcy left.

Fitzy stayed; Fitzy always stayed.

"I will visit every holiday," he pleaded.

Lizzy sobbed, knowing the river wouldn't ever be the same for him again.

"I'll have so many stories," he offered, "and I'll bring you any book you want."

"Cambridge is so far away." Her voice broke. It was the end of an era - she knew it.

"I promise I'll write - every day."

"Every day."

"Yes, every day."

She looked at how he looked at her - and decided to trust him.

That Christmas, he held her hands in his while he said sorry - for the delay, for the storm, for the letters he only wrote twice each month.

At first, she pouted. Then, over the frozen river, she hugged him until his guilt melted away.

"He is our friend!" Lizzy insisted, unable to fathom why he was being so difficult.

"He is a rascal and a villain. He is not safe, Lizzy!" He stepped closer. She backed away.

"George lived in Pemberley - and played, and dined, and learnt with you." The way he was brushing away a childhood friend was discomfiting. She pulled away until her back pressed against her favorite tree. "How can you think so lowly of him?"

"You should not trust him," Darcy would not waver.

"He is visiting us - and caring for us." She sniffed - why, she did not know. "He cares more than you, Fitzwilliam."

He stiffened at the accusation. She shrunk against the tree.

As if cued by an orator, the sky thundered.

She sniffed again.

"Don't trust him, Lizzy," he begged now - a handsome wreck.

She blinked rapidly, pride hurt and heart roaring. "He's a friend."

"Like I am?" He pressed closer now. She was almost trapped between him and the tree trunk. "Lizzy - "

"No," she muttered, panting. "He's not like you."

He gazed into her eyes, sighed, and walked away.

They corresponded faithfully the next two years - though never with similar simplicity or joy.

He made sport of his Cambridge friends, with occasional condemnation for the rowdier ilk. She mentioned each ball, each call, and each caller. She expressed sincere anticipation for the end of his term.

Two years after their quarrel - two years after Wickham's return to Lambton - Darcy brought back his cousin and introduced his friend.

"Lizzy, what is the matter?"

She looked up at him, cheeks wet. He longed to wipe them clean.

He hadn't called her so in years. Now, she was Miss Elizabeth and he Mr. Darcy. Their letters had stayed everything proper.

But here, by their little river, she was forever Lizzy to him.

"Mr. Bingley left," she said between sobs. "He's off to London without a word."

His heart clenched angrily - realizing that her sorrow now far surpassed her grief at his own departure.

"Is it so much to you that he stay?" Darcy asked. He lowered his chin until it nearly tapped his chest.

Her eyes, still glistening, gazed up from where she sat upon the grass.

"Surely, there can only be regret at the loss of such a lively companion as he," she said. Her voice was calm - a far cry from the storm in him.

Darcy frowned. "And is this loss to be suffered?"

"He left. We are suffering. There is little under our control."

The compassion in him when he'd spotted her sobbing frame was now entirely replaced by anger. He'd warned Bingley about observing Miss Bennet's heart. He hadn't asked his friend to flee Derbyshire so quickly.

But what riled him now were Lizzy's tears over his departure.

"My sister - my poor, poor sister," the girl before him muttered.

In one moment of grand realization, Darcy fell to his knees and apologized.

For most of her life, Lizzy had done the forgiving. When Darcy left, when Darcy didn't write, when Darcy fought to reunite Bingley and Jane - she had striven to be the merciful one.

Now, crumpled upon their tiny riverbank, she only wished he could possibly forgive her before she died.

"Lizzy!" His voice pierced through the storm.

Lizzy closed her eyes, ignoring the rivulets the rain carved on her skin.

"Lizzy!"

She sobbed, incomparably grieved. What Wickham had taken - and what else he almost did - haunted her every breath.

Why had she not believed her friend? When had Fitzy ever lied about what truly mattered?

"Lizzy!" A drenched master of Pemberley appeared by her side. He stooped down instantly, and he gathered her into his arms.

She struggled because she had to - not because she wished it.

"Lizzy - please, stop - I am so sorry. I am so, so very sorry." He whimpered into her messy, tangled, dripping hair.

She clung to him then, unable to withhold any longer.

"Lizzy." He rocked her in the rain - her mainstay and eternal strength.

"I'm sorry," she cried into his neck. He only pressed her closer. "When you warned me of Wickham, I should have - "

"Hush, hush - no." His chest grumbled. He was crying too. "I came as soon as I heard. I can't believe I permitted him to stay. His actions are deplorable - unpardonable - grotesque."

She nodded against his chest. She was ruined, and he was right.

"All will be well," Darcy assured despite the crashing of the world around her. He kissed her brow like he used to - so many years ago. "All will be well."

Inside, she knew he was lying to himself and to her. Whether or not Wickham had achieved what he'd hoped to achieve - the very fact that he had attempted to assault her so - had turned her into scandal fodder forever.

Perhaps, in the light of tomorrow's sunrise, she wouldn't even be permitted by this river.

Taking what she could of Darcy's blindness and kindness, she shifted deeper into his embrace.

"Lizzy!"

She looked up, surprised to be interrupted - less than a day after her incident.

She squinted against the early morning sun. One hand shielded her eyes while the other supported her off the grass.

"Fitzy?" She did not know why she chose that name.

"Lizzy!" He jumped over the creek and stood before her, a panting mess.

She longed to run her hands on his shoulders to pat the breathlessness away.

"Are you well, Fitzy?" She spoke to his chest. He ought not to be seen with her - but she relished his company too much to choose more wisely.

"Only if you agree," he muttered between breaths.

She wished still to brush his worries away.

"Lizzy?" He asked. He stood closer now - his breath on her crown.

She swallowed, wishing yet unable to gather the comfort she longed from him.

"Lizzy," he pressed again. Her eyes watered at her need and unwillingness to back away.

Then, his arms wound around her - trapping her against him. Her eyes rose slowly to meet his.

"Lizzy." His eyes carried tenderness, hope, sorrow - love. "Will you marry me?"

Yes - her heart longed to say. Yes - her every thought screamed.

"You do not have to," she said instead. Her bruises still had not faded. "Wickham's wrongs are not your wrongs."

"Lizzy - "

"You deserve better, Fitzy." She sniffed now, unable to fend off all the rising grief. His arms made sure she did not escape. "My foolishness does not deserve your mercy."

"Love is not mercy," he said. Her eyes shot back up to his face.

Gradually, he lowered his arms until he trapped her by the waist. The intimacy sent shivers down every inch of her skin.

"Lizzy, I love you." His eyes, and words, were all sincerity. "Forgive me for not saying so sooner."

Her heart leapt into summersaults. Her breath latched in her throat.

"Wickham has nothing to do with my resolve," he assured.

Against her better judgment, her hands made their way around his body and clung to his back.

"Fitzy - "

"Yes?"

The weight of her guilt shifted slowly to joy.

"You love me?" Her voice lifted, twisted with hope.

"Yes."

"And you wish to marry me."

"I always have, Lizzy - since the day we tricked you up the tree."

Her lips struggled not to smile.

Her lips failed.

"Would you say yes?" He asked again.

With a sudden strength she had never possessed before, she smiled fully and spoke clearly, "Yes."

"Yes?" He pulled her closer still. His eyes glimmered like sunbeams on a still, fresh lake.

"Yes." She laughed now, overwhelmed that her sorrow should turn so quickly into joy. "Yes, Fitzy, I love you as well."

The revelation grew the light in his eyes until it blazed.

"Lizzy." His breath was shallow once more.

"Yes." The tip of her nose grazed his chin.

"My wife."

"Not yet." She smiled. He leaned his face closer - so close that he almost kissed her. "But soon."

"Soon," he echoed before kissing her right then and there.

"Lizzy," he pleaded when she stood by the river - arms crossed and face wet. She stood on Pemberley's side now, though the glimpse of her childhood home did not help in tempering her annoyance.

"Lizzy!" His voice demanded now. She looked askance, feeling both righteous and guilty all at once.

"Lizzy." His fingers pried at her elbow. She shifted to pull it away.

For a few, breathless, angry, painful moments - she wished she hadn't married him.

He didn't go away. She stood upon the supposed riverbank, huffing and panting, arms crossed. He lingered beside her, arms dangling, silly and forlorn.

"I was telling her to go away," he said then. His voice was tinged with sorrow - and bemusement.

She turned slowly to listen.

"Miss Bingley would never be welcome in Pemberley again if she insists upon insulting my wife." The levelness in his tone assured her that he meant what he said.

Her arms fell loose slowly.

"I have never had eyes - will never have eyes - for any but you, Mrs. Darcy." His coaxing prodded her to turn fully and allow him to drift closer.

"Not even Miss Bingley."

"Never," he replied.

The realization that he would already have married Miss Bingley, if he liked her at all, brought a small degree of comfort to Elizabeth.

She shuffled on her feet as her husband - still infuriatingly smirking - sauntered closer. Her hands lost themselves in her skirts.

"And you are sorry that you spoke to her at all?" She demanded when he stood in front of her.

"I am sorry for allowing my wife the chance to doubt my love." He took her hands. The speediness of their courtship, engagement, and marriage had felt exciting - but had always left her room for doubt whether he had acted with rashness or certainty.

"You do not like her," she repeated, needing the assurance.

"No one but you, Lizzy." He held her jaw now, directing her face to his. "I love you - and you alone."

"And our child?" She felt the urge to tease.

He smiled that special smile that he only used when they referred to the growing life within her. She wasn't showing overly much yet, but the signs had been wholly clear.

"I will add to my love for you - that we may spare some for it." He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers.

She fought the urge to giggle.

"But I'll never love you less - love." He spoke each word tenderly, the weight of his soul anchoring between them.

She smiled then - and felt rather silly for having been angry at all.

"I love you, Mr. Darcy."

"And I you."

A/N: This is a silly, rather random one-shot that I somehow ended up writing between the multi-chapter works I'm still planning to post. I honestly don't love it too much myself. But, since it's already written, I might as well share it. I'll be posting a longer story again soon! Thank you, lovelies, for all the support. You are wonderful. -Iris