Hello again! So here's the part four I kind of rushed through to get posted. And here's a question for you all: How do you like the eye color switch?

You see, most people assume that by 'dark', JA means 'brown'. And you'd probably be right, but I wanted to try something different from a blue-eyed Darcy and a brown-eyed Elizabeth. You might notice that every universe I have has a different eye color combination:

ELS (MTMDF) Universe | William: cerulean; Elizabeth: choolate brown

PPAAOR (the one with Edmund Bennet) Universe | Darcy: blue; Elizabeth: dark green

His Reason For Pride (crossover) Universe | Darcy: hazel; Elizabeth: emerald green

Eye Color!soulmate Alternate Universe *this one* | Fitz: rich dark brown; Elizabeth: indigo blue

How do you like the switch so far? Oh, and enjoy! ~Alex

Elizabeth awoke before sunrise the next morning, and she lay on her side of the bed that faced the window, watching the clump of trees in the distance where she knew the glow would start creeping. The headache was more manageable, and in addition to the cool air the lack of noise and bright light seemed to be helping.

Fitzwilliam's presence in the back of her mind was a very much conscious hum. Elizabeth tentatively reached out to him, and the pain actually receded a little more. Are you awake?

Sleep was difficult. Then, seemingly at random, I like to feel you sleep; even your dreams feel nice.

My dreams?

You were projecting.

I was? Oh, forgive me. I had no intention of doing so. Elizabeth felt a little embarrassed at the fact that a man she barely knew had been privy to her dreams, especially because she herself could not remember what she dreamt about. What did you see?

That is the strangest part. I watched it as though it were unfolding in front of me, but when you woke up it faded away as well, as though it were my dream and I had woken up. It is… quite the experience. I have always been able to remember my dreams.

Elizabeth had an idea, and tossed it to Fitzwilliam so that he would know what she was doing. She scrambled out of bed and took out her diary, flipping to the page of last night and writing: I met my soulmate, and the telepathic bond formed; he is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of all people! I have still not revoked my earlier opinion of him, as he has shown me no evidence to the contrary.

She wrote for today's date: Today F told me we shared a dream that neither of us can recall.

I have a confession to make, Fitzwilliam thought suddenly.

What would that be?

I dug around in the library during the night, as I could not sleep. I found quite a lot about soulmates. Apparently our eyes are still unmatched because we rejected each other; last night, at Lucas Lodge, it is most likely we both wished we had different soulmates or something of the sort, and that was what caused it.

How can we reverse that? Elizabeth thought at him.

Confusion flickered at her from his side of the bond. That is where everything gets confusing. The consensus is that the eyes match when both soulmates accept the bond and accept it wholeheartedly.

That sounds perfectly straightforward.

Yes, well… the blurry line is where wholeheartedly is concerned. There appears to be no agreement on what that means.

Where did you get all this, anyway?

Netherfield's library, as I said before. It is not as well-stocked as P – as I would like, but it is a library and not a room that just so happens to have books in it.

Do you have a library, Fitzwilliam? Elizabeth wondered just how large the social gap between them was. Despite most soulmates marrying, there were still enough people who married outside of their bond – especially if they wanted biological children and their soulmate was the same sex, or if they felt too far above their soulmate – for her to know a couple or two who had done so.

Bemusement washed over her in an off-white, creamy wave. She stilled; had the colour been there before? Lingering at the edges of his transmission, the colour was most likely Fitzwilliam's. She put it away as he began thinking:

I do; I own an estate in Derbyshire. It is… I suppose, in certain terms, it could be seen as a sort of glorified Longbourn. I am still a gentleman farmer.

Elizabeth was uncomfortable with the way he skirted around the subject, and asked another question: How is your head, though? My headache seems to have faded almost completely.

Much the same for me, thank you for asking. Uncertainty – the soft, light grey of a precipice shrouded in mist – hovered at the edges of the thought, just as another slid through: All I have is yours. Elizabeth coloured as Fitzwilliam mentally yelped. Don't look at that!

You were projecting, she retorted. It was no doing of mine.

Upon reflection, perhaps the defensiveness of her tone was what set him off.

Unintentionally! With a flash of rust-coloured anger he shut off his thoughts and threw her out of his mind. Elizabeth winced as pain stabbed behind her eyes, and scowled, though no one could see. When she reached out for him it was like coming up against a wall where an open door should be. She pushed at the wall, only for her head to throb again, and continue throbbing. Apparently his absence in her mind was causing her literal physical pain.

The wall morphed into a door again, and Fitzwilliam crept in, quietly, contritely. Forgive me, he thought. I was unprepared for any unintentional projection I could do.

Angered, Elizabeth caught him and threw him out, forcing the door into a wall again. How dare he act as though he could simply do that and come back and be forgiven? She would not be a meek little girl for him to order about as he pleased! Pulling her diary towards her once more, she scribbled fiercely: We learned how to shut each other out this morning as well, though it causes us pain.

Rust seeped around the wall, along with a painful echo: Fine!

She shot back, Fine!

Putting down her pen, Elizabeth laid her head in her hands. Were all soulmate bonds such work, or was it only because she was soulmates with Fitzwilliam Darcy? Fitzwilliam Darcy, whose match with her she was increasingly sure had been some kind of mistake.