Disclaimer: This is the revamped version of the original. I got such lovely reviews for the previous one but frankly when I read the story over, I cringed so and thought that I could have done better. And in case anyone had any doubt, I own nothing except my own creative twists and plot.

The characters and story belong respectively to Jane Austen; I just like playing with things which don't belong to me :-)

Warning: Slash! This is bound to offend some of you out there in the world and if it does offend you, please, keep your opinions to yourself unless you have something constructive to say to me. Also, I have to admit I'm not all that well-versed in Jane Austen's work and I'm going off information acquired from both the book and A&E's version of Pride & Prejudice; any mistakes in grammar, character information or so forth, purely my bad.

Pairing: Fitzwilliam Darcy/Charles Bingley… unthought of or not, this concept was long overdue for a bit of experimentation.

Remember, feedback is ambrosia to any aspiring writer. I promise, they will be infinitely appreciated. Should you like to read more of 'An Unexpected Fall', feel free to say so and I will make sure to post a second chapter ASAP.

With that said, enjoy! ;-)

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CHAPTER ONE

Louisa Bingley watched them from the breakfast table. For the past several weeks, Fitzwilliam and Charles had done little more than what they were doing at this very moment. Both men were deep in conversation. As it were, they stood on either side of a window, Darcy with one arm propped on the frame and the other on his hip and Charles leaning in, attentively.

"Darcy," Charles began suddenly, voice lowering to a murmur. "Will you be accompanying us to Longbourn? I realize your vacationing warrants you to go about whichever pastimes you prefer but it'd mean a great deal to me if you were to attend."

"Certainly not," replied Darcy immediately, his dark eyes sharply fastened to Mr. Bingley's. "There would be nothing in the whole affair of any interest to me. Farmgirls," he remarked, with mild disgust. "They may be of interest to you and for that I might congratulate you your fortitude. I'm afraid London's season for shopping, balls, evening parties, theatre and museum exhibits have quite exhausted me as you should already know. We did attend Covent Garden on more than one occasion."

Mr. Bingley looked thoughtfully out the window overlooking Netherfield Park for a moment when his sister, Caroline Bingley sauntered into the breakfast room, dressed in her dark saffron morning dress.

"What a fine day," announced Caroline, looking somewhat less cheerful than usual as she joined her sister, Louisa at the breakfast table already laid out with hot rolls, ham, fresh fruits and cheeses. Both Charles and Darcy glanced out their window in unison at the pane of glass still foggy from an early rain.

"'Fine', Caroline? Are you feeling well?" answered Louisa, puzzled. As though to help her comprehend this idea, Caroline looked pointedly to Bingley and Darcy several times until both sisters were staring at them. Perhaps there was some conspiratorial intention in this but Bingley ignored it.

Changing the subject, Charles leaned in closer to Darcy so that the others would not hear. "Darcy," he continued, a look of determination settled in his deep blue eyes, "would you go to Longbourn if I made you an offer you couldn't possibly refuse?"

Darcy frowned inquisitively at him. What could this mean? What on earth could Bingley have to offer him? Darcy, son of Lady Anne and nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who was in want of nothing, would never want of anything? It was certainly intriguing. Feeling good-humored, Darcy gazed steadily at Bingley, said, "Alright, make me an offer."

"Good lord," interrupted Caroline suddenly, watching them from the breakfast table. "Is there no end to what two gentlemen can talk about? Conversations consisting of the usual male persuasion are one thing, but at this rate I do believe Charles and Mr. Darcy could fill a history book. Something has to be done about this, don't you agree, Louisa?"

Mrs. Louisa Hurst paused from nibbling a buttered scone, seeming a loss for words.

Darcy straightened up then. Taken aback, Charles turned to address his sister, "I am very sorry, Caroline, Louisa but I was much too engrossed in this marvelous story Darcy was telling me." Glancing back at Fitzwilliam, Bingley winked at the white lie and there it was again, his trademark cherubim smile that he seemed never to be without. More cheerfully, he continued, "Apparently there was an acquaintance of his -- a banker, was it?"

"Lawyer—" replied Darcy, hoping the ghost of a smirk that lurked on the corner of his lips would evade the prying eyes of the weird sisters, a term he'd come to use many times over, if not privately, for Mr. Bingley's sisters, though there were only two of them… as he thought this, the absurd image flitted before his mind of Charles, Ms. Bingley and Mrs. Hurst creeping around a bubbling cauldron down in a foggy, lowland Scottish moor in a rather sorry rendition of Macbeth.

"—Ah yes, a lawyer who went to a performance of," Charles hesitated.

"Ariodante," offered Darcy.

"Ah, yes. So anyway," Charles giggled for a moment at whatever was so marvelous. Louisa and Caroline exchanged looks, trying not to roll their eyes.

"As I was saying," Caroline went on. "You are long overdue for taking in the air, brother. Why not take a ride through the country, something athletic would do you both a world of good as opposed to spending countless hours over the billiards table again, or … wherever else it is you two haunt. Perhaps some hunting, it is grouse season."

"Do you agree, Darcy? It is fashionable to hunt grouse about this time. It is very fine out, don't you think? Indeed, I have never seen a prettier day in my life."

Mr. Darcy looked out the window again at the gray sky and clouds broiling just over the horizon. He wondered what Charles Bingley could possibly be scheming.

"I would hardly relay such a great compliment on the weather," Darcy admitted. "And can not call it fine for it looks like rain." As this was said, droplets of water pattered against the window from the outside, tap-tap-tapping like little fingers on the pane.

"Rain? Good lord, no," Charles replied with another of his exaggeratedly good opinions that was in no way unusual. Blue eyes shimmering, he continued, "The sun is quite out and there is not a single cloud in the sky." Turning back to his sisters, Charles continued, "Rain, says he. Well, what have you? I daresay, outside it is all shades of sunshine and green pastures." A peel of thunder decided to strike from somewhere over Netherfield Park at that moment, filling the expansive room they occupied with a low, dull rumbling.

Darcy cocked an ironical eyebrow.

"You surprise me, Bingley. I wonder at which point you spontaneously decided to lose your mind." Charles's grin dwindled, ever so slightly, at this. In one way, this whole act reminded him of an even poorer rendition of Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew.

And be it moon, or sun, or what you please.

And if you please to call it a rush candle,

Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.

Except Darcy never exactly imagined himself on the receiving end of Petruchio's mind games; he pushed this thought away nearly as fast as it came.

"Really, Bingley," Darcy went on, "That's a bit too whimsical, even by your standards." Mr. Bingley simply shrugged, conceding that his friend wasn't in the mood for play. "In any case, you will have noticed that all your shades of sunshine are overcast and pastures of green hiding beneath a fog. What is really the meaning behind all this?"

"The meaning, my dear Darcy is just this. If you will not join me to Longbourn willingly I shall have to twist your arm."

"And how, might I ask, do you plan to do that?"

"Like this," and with that, Charles turned to Caroline. "Caroline, thank you very much. A ride through the country sounds delightful. Darcy, I challenge you to a race on horseback."

Caroline gasped and Louisa dropped her teaspoon which fell with a clatter into the teacup, overturning its contents onto her morning dress. Louisa rose with a shriek so potent that even the highly trained footmen, shadows along the wall, stiffened visibly and Mr. Hurst, from his place stretched out on the antique Georgian couch, snorted awake.

"I say, George ol' chum, is that the last of the vinyard? Damn shame that," he grunted, drowsily before tippering off to sleep again.