AN: I feel that every version of P&P to come out has been fantastic, each one unique, and each one right in it's own way. If you don't agree, I'm sorry. However, I'm not sure ANYONE hates the scene at the end of the 2005 P&P. In honor of that scene, I present;

Terms of Endearment

Darcy stepped down from the carriage, his back straight and gaze as sharp as ever. London before Christmas-time was a hub of bright colors and busy people. In the season of the Lord's birth, all misery seemed to fall away from the populace, and for a few short weeks, one could truly glimpse the angelic message made manifest; peace on earth and goodwill to men. Darcy tipped his hat politely to a passing troop of ladies, who in their turn curtsied and hurried on, giggling amongst themselves as ladies do. Silently, a small, stern smile gracing his mouth, he turned and strode up the stone steps, careful to not slip on the ice.

Calmly, he knocked on the door of the house. Considering its humble location on Gracechurch Street, the two-story town home was opulent. A servant opened to door, noted who stood out in the cold, then stepped aside to allow him in.

"A very good day to you, Mr. Darcy." She curtsied, then took his coat and hat.

Darcy nodded. "I trust she is in the sitting room with her aunt?"

"Of course."

Darcy's long, commanding stride took him to the sitting room, where Mrs. Gardener and his wife sat by the fire laboring over their needlework in polite conversation.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Gardener," he interrupted. "But I'm afraid I've come to steal your niece away. The roads are icing up very quickly, and I should like to leave for Derbyshire as soon as possible."

Elizabeth Darcy feigned a desperate sigh, and then gave Mrs. Gardener a warm smile. Darcy found himself smiling in turn. Funny how she did that; her smile, her laugh, almost always sparked off the same reaction in himself.

At the door, as the maid helped her into her coat, Elizabeth grinned up at her husband widely.

Darcy held out his arm, and she wrapped her small, delicate fingers around it, pulling herself closer to him.

"Are you warm enough, Lizzie?" He said, smiling down at her.

She glanced up as the maid opened the door, and a cold gust of winter air hit the pair of them. If possible, she shrank even deeper into his massive figure.

Darcy awoke before dawn nearly every day. This brisk Sunday morning was no different. He dressed only in his riding breeches and the simplest of shirts and coats, refusing a cravat or waistcoat. He often went riding in the mornings before breakfast, then changed into the day's wear afterwards. After dressing, he returned to his and Elizabeth's bedchamber to find her still slumbering peacefully. Quietly, he crossed the room, careful not to waken her with his heavy stride. He eased down onto the side of the bed with grace and gazed down at her.

She looked so cute when she was sleeping, her pretty little mouth turned up in a tiny smile. Her brunette locks were unbound and strewn haphazardly across the pillow, but he didn't mind. In his good opinion, it gave her a dark halo worthy of the angel he knew her to be.

Softly, he drew a tracery line up her bare arm with the tips of his finger. The fingers wandered up her arm, over her shoulder, and across her neckline, where he knew her to be quite ticklish. She stirred only a little, turning towards him and giggling softly. She was still asleep, he could tell. She'd never fooled him with any feigned act of unconsciousness. He knew her far too well. Slowly, his hand wandered up her neck. He traced the line of her jaw and chin with his thumb, then stroked her soft, full lips with his finger. Cupping her cheek in his massive hand, he was pleased when she snuggled closer. And she was still asleep.

Chuckling ever so softly, Darcy decided he'd had enough of playfully entreating his wife to wakefulness. He bent down and laid a gentle kiss upon her lips. That seemed to rouse her. After a moment, she sleepily returned his kiss. When he pulled away a moment later, too soon for his liking, her eyes were open and she was gazing up at him, biting her lower lip coyly.

"Good morning, Will," she murmured.

"Good morning, my Pearl."

Darcy returned from London late that evening to find Lizzie alone in the drawing room, dutifully practicing on the piano forte. Georgiana had pointed out not long ago that although Lizzie was insisting she practice, the mistress herself was not. Sufficiently cowed, Lizzie had agreed to make use of the piano forte more. In the past few months, his wife's skills had dramatically increased.

Darcy stood in the doorway for a few minutes, listening to her playing as he had so often listened to his sister's . After a while, he cleared his throat and stepped into the room. She whirled around, a huge smile across her face.

"Will!" she exclaimed, jumping up. She hurried across the floor to him and threw her arms around his broad shoulders. Darcy pulled her close, taking in her sweet scent as he had not done in nearly a month.

"This moment makes all these business trips worth it," he whispered. Then, he pulled away and stooped to kiss her gently.

"Will, I have wonderful news," she breathed after he pulled away. She led him across the room and sat down on the couch. Smiling, he sank down beside her.

"Oh, is Miss Bingley coming to visit?" he joked. She slapped him playfully on the shoulder in response, prompting an even wider grin from him.

"This is difficult enough without you torturing me so," she said. Dutifully, he stopped teasing and gave her his full, undivided Darcy attention.

She took a deep breath, then grinned up at him, a twinkle in her eyes. "How do you feel about fatherhood, Will?"

"Well, I suppose that- I beg your pardon?" He was sure that an uncharacteristic expression of complete and utter shock was written across his face. "Are you…"

She nodded, her smile positively radiant. He stared at her for a long time, silent and shocked.

"Will?" she said softly. That seemed to break through his shock. He stood, pulled her to her feet, and wrapped her in his massive arms. He lifted her, spun her around once. He was sure he'd given some passing servant a start when he whooped. Normally stern Mr. Darcy had never displayed such a reckless abandon of decorum.

He set her down, forehead resting against her. Gently, his hands moved down her body, coming to rest over the place where his seed was growing.

"Mrs. Darcy." He leaned down and gave her a kiss.

The two of them sat in the parlor, the warm summer sun drifting in through the window. Lizzie sat by the window, poking a needle back and forth through the fabric in her hand. Darcy watched her intently, as he'd always done. He reveled in the way the sunlight seeped through her fine hair, setting her head aflame. The shadow her nose cast across her cheek was sharp and clear. But the thing that truly enraptured him was her growing stomach. The bulge that was his child was only just starting to show, and Lizzie had had to let out several of her dresses.

"Excuse me, sir, ma'am," a voice at the parlor door said. Darcy looked up to see Henry sanding there, a bundle of letters in hand. "Post has come." Darcy rose and took the letters from the young valet.

"Thank you, Henry." Darcy flipped through the stack of letters, setting aside those that were addressed to him and handing the rest to his wife.

"Oh, Jane's written," Lizzie crowed happily.

"What does she say?" Darcy slid back into his seat. Lizzie broke the wax seal and proceeded to read.

"Mr. Bingley has gone to town for a fortnight," she read aloud. "Mrs. Bingley is most distressed. She writes to say that she would be most appreciative if I would come down and visit her for a time."

"Absolutely not," Darcy replied with indignation.

"Will…"

She was using that tone of hers, the one that nearly always seemed to get her what she wanted. He felt like he was being unreasonable, but knew he wasn't.

"Your sister is well aware of your condition, and…"

"My condition?" she repeated incredulously.

"You will not – cannot – be travelling." He continued as though she hadn't spoken.

"Will…"

"Let Marry and Kitty entertain Mrs. Bingley," he interrupted, loathing that she murmured his name like he was a delinquent child.

"You know she prefers my company," she reasoned. "And I'll only be gone a week or so."

"It is not the length of the stay that concerns me, merely the length of the journey."

"Do you truly believe me so fragile I cannot handle a carriage ride to Netherfield?" She raised her voice. He opened his mouth to say something, but she was only getting started. "I had no idea that you found me so delicate, Will, or so needy that…"

Darcy surged to his feet. "I am concerned for your well-being, Elizabeth!" He stopped, his mouth hanging open. Had he just called her that? He'd only called her Elizabeth a few times since he'd married her. Chagrinned, he sank back down onto the couch. "You and the baby," he finished softly.

Darcy paced the hall. Charles sat nearby, watching his friend stalk up and down like a caged tiger. Darcy glanced up at the clock again. He'd been locked out here for nearly twelve hours. And Lizzie was still screaming in the bedchamber. The cries were closer together now, but Darcy had no clue what to expect. Lizzie, the midwife, and Jane could be shut in the room for five more hours or five more minutes.

"Calm down, Fitzwilliam," Charles finally said. Darcy was fairly certain he'd said that several times by now. Glaring at him, Darcy took the seat beside Charles.

"Are you going to reassure me again with fine platitudes, Charles?" Darcy asked.

"Yes."

There was another scream from the bedchamber. Darcy nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Good," he said. "Because I need to hear them."

He sat there for another few minutes, then exploded to his feet and began pacing again. Charles chuckled softly. "I hope you come and sit with me when it is Jane's time," he said.

"I shall be sure to make a trip to Hertfordshire at the end of June," Darcy replied, a small smile across his face. Charles nodded, knowing Darcy's word was as good as swearing on a stack of Bibles.

There was another stomach-churning cry from the chamber, then all was silent. Darcy stopped. So, it seemed did the rest of the world. The ladies in the birthing room had fallen silent. There was nothing to be heard.

One of the maids, Clara, stepped out of the room with a pail of bloody rags. Darcy found himself gaping at all the blood that had come from his wife. Clara smiled at her master, then turned and hurried down the hall without a word. Only a moment later, Darcy heard slow, growing wail come from the bedchamber. A wide grin broke out across his face. Jane and the midwife stepped out a few minutes later, smiling up at him.

"You can go in now, Mr. Darcy," the midwife said. "But don't you dare do anything to upset Mrs Darcy. She's had quite an ordeal."

Darcy barely heard the warning; the door was already shut behind him.

Lizzie sat on the bed, pillows propped up behind her. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes tired, and sweat clung to her brow. But he didn't mind. She looked more handsome than ever, gazing down at the small bundle resting in her arms.

She looked up upon his entrance; saw him frozen in the doorway, drinking in the picture before him.

"Will," she sounded extraordinarily tired. "Come here." He lurched forward. "Come and meet Alexander."

He moved forward, every sense tuned to every nuance. He didn't want to miss a single moment. Slowly, he sank into the soft embrace of the bed. Lizzie held the child out towards him, and he took the babe in his arms.

Looking down, Darcy immediately noticed what would someday be sharp, handsome features, much like his own. The nose was certainly of the Darcy lineage. But the boy's eyes were the same deep brown as his mother's.

"Alexander James Darcy," he proclaimed softly, pride of the good sort swelling in his chest.

His gaze rose to meet Lizzie's. She was gazing at him and their son intently, likely doing exactly as he had mere moments before; imprinting this memory forever in her mind. Darcy leaned forward and planted a firm kiss on her sweaty brow.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered. "And I love you so much. Both of you. And you Lizzie, you are my Goddess Divine."

The End

AN: I'm not sure how I feel about the "when he's cross" moment. I don't think it turned out as I planned. Other than that, I'm in love with this story.

Please review and let me know what you think.