Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Marilla this is absolutely and entirely the worst thing you could have ever done to me-”

“Anne, don’t be ridiculous. This is not about you. The boy needs a place to stay.”

“No he doesn’t, Marilla! He had a perfectly fine home and he gave all of that up! Why would he do that? Was it specifically to unearth my comfort and make my life a living torment!?”

“Oh, please, child…”

“I am not a child anymore! Why won’t you listen to me!”

Marilla slams her mixing bowl on the table and stares exasperatedly at her dear Anne, whose disposition flares with the very emotion that only a child having a temper tantrum could have.

“Because I do not listen to self-centred nonsense when it stands to reason there might be another, logical explanation,” she says, tight-lipped in the way Anne has come to learn she is being emotional herself. She sighs, and Anne softens, though listening doesn’t come naturally to her she is curious as to what Marilla has to say.

“If you could implore yourself to consider someone who is not you-” Marilla begins again, her tone gentler than her words, “maybe you could use that imagination of yours to realize what it must be like. To lose your family and have to live in the shell of their lives, every action you make shadowed by their absence. Plus, I can’t imagine his Sebastian minds all too terribly having a place to call his own for once… Poor Gilbert.” She stares off into the distance. “To try and find familial notions in a place where it has been lost. One might fathom being rid of that burden would be worth having to find a new home.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Anne says in a very small voice, remembering.

Marilla glances knowingly at her adopted daughter, then turns back to her stirring. Anne didn’t catch her uncontrolled moment of personal connection to the matter, which is good, and she moves on.

“Perhaps you and Gilbert Blythe have more in common than you might think.”

“Heaven forbid,” Anne grumbles more to herself than to Marilla, as she turns to stomp in defeat through the dining room and upstairs. Much to her dismay, as she reaches the top of the staircase and rounds the corner, she runs smack into the boy whom she was just complaining about.

They stumble down the hall a step, he backwards, her forwards, until he steadies them both with his hands on her shoulders. His face is red, his glance diverted.

“Were you… spying on me, Blythe!?”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes, but still doesn’t meet her gaze, instead glaring at the wall.

“You were! You were eavesdropping, you conniving-” she stops short when his gaze snaps to hers and he scoffs.

“It’s hardly eavesdropping when someone talks so loudly about you you can hear it from a story up. I was just on my way out and you happened to come barreling into me.”

Her face warms, cheeks color to match his. They both seem to realize at the same time that he’s still grasping her biceps, fingers making divots into her skin even through the fabric of her dress sleeves. He stares into her eyes, his brow raises. He is nearly a head taller than her now that they’ve grown, so he towers over her a bit, which is slightly intimidating now that she’s experiencing it close-up. Her indignation melts away and an unfamiliar feeling replaces it in the pit of her stomach. She manically shakes him off and he holds up his hands in surrender.

But they don’t say anything else to each other, as he storms down the stairs with a furrowed brow and she sprints to her room to slam the door behind her and steady her breathing (more confused than anything else as to why her body is reacting this way).

She hears the muffled sounds of Gilbert speaking to Marilla and then, she assumes, the sound of him leaving the house as the front door pounds shut. And only then can she breathe again.

Gilbert had been staying at Green Gables for almost two weeks when Anne finally begins to warm to the idea. After all, she has to do less farmwork with both him and Jerri around, and when she makes trouble Marilla is less inclined to scold her harshly if Gilbert is present, and it isn’t entirely terrible having his presence to challenge and inspire her during their homework sessions in the parlor. The boy mostly kept to himself, if she were to be honest, and everything seemed to be going uneventfully for them under the Cuthbert roof.

That is, until they are teamed against one another in a novice debate at school.

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, being the most boisterous and opinionated in class over the years, is a no-brainer when Miss Stacy asks for volunteers to practice the new speech competition technique sweeping the outer cities. Finding someone willing to engage her on an unknown topic, however, is a slight concern of hers.

Gilbert is the first and only student to raise his hand when their teacher asks for challengers.

“How hard could it be,” he says confidently, eyeing Anne across the aisle.

“You don’t even know what the topic is yet!” Anne barks, rising from her seat and bracing herself on her desk.

“Neither do you!” he calls back smugly, unmoving from his spot on the bench.

“Students!” Miss Stacy interrupts, as they all know where an unmoderated Blythe/Shirley-Cuthbert disagreement tends to go. “Who is ready for a spirited debate of minds?”

The teens applaud mildly, making eyes at each other that would indicate they’re all cautious for the outcome of these two getting to argue a topic in front of others. Miss Stacy explains the rules as Gilbert and Anne take their places at the front of the classroom behind podiums donated from the town hall.

“Gilbert, you will be arguing the affirmative. Anne, you will argue the negative,” Miss Stacy concludes.

“So nothing new,” another student quips from the back of the room, and everyone snickers. Instead of glaring at the heckler, Anne glares in Gilbert’s direction. He doesn’t seem to notice, as his eyes are on his texts.

The topic, their teacher informs them, will be on the censure and subsequent removal of controversial text from school curriculums.

“Miss Stacy, that isn’t fair, I love books,” she complains. Gilbert laughs.

“That’s a good thing, then,” he replies with an amused grin. “You’re arguing against the books being removed.”

Angry that he’s already embarrassed her in front of the class before the debate has even begun, Anne whips around to face Miss Stacy.

“Is that true?” she demands. Miss Stacy nods.

“It is.” She raises a stopwatch. “Speakers, you have two minutes to prepare your opening remarks using the resources given to you in class.”

Anne’s head is already swimming with arguments to throw at Gilbert, and she neglects to look into her readings and assignments much during the minute and half of preparation she gets when she isn’t glancing across the stage to see if he’s preparing or not. He seems calm and collected, which immediately infuriates her.

When Miss Stacy calls for them to begin, Anne launches into her impassioned speech.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she begins confidently. “My opponent would have you believe that the revolutionary minds of this generation should be silenced, their voices squandered under the boot of oppression! This must not happen! Where would society be if art were to be censored, if-”

The roar in Anne’s ears blocks out the rest of what she says, and she doesn’t look down at her papers once as she emotionally pleads her case to the audience. Gilbert glances over at her as she finishes, his expression unreadable.

“Time. Gilbert, you may begin.”

“The derivatives of educational curriculum,” he begins evenly, “that shift from the intentional works of Brown and the like are proven to lower overall comprehension by 14% in school children, especially when introduced to experimental texts unapproved by the Ministry of Education. According to W L Grant, the records show…”

Anne can’t believe it as he spouts off data and numbers in an unfeeling monotone, shuffling his study pamphlets like a pompous judge. She almost doesn’t realize when he finishes his argument.

“Anne, your rebuttal.”

Since she forgot to listen to his words, she sparks up over his usage of an outdated and biased informational source, quotes Ralph Waldo Emerson twice, and calls Gilbert pompous out loud when her time ends, just to be safe.

“Have some decorum,” Miss Stacy warns. Gilbert raises an eyebrow at Anne from across the room and her face burns.

“But his argument is flimsy at best!”

“Your time has concluded, Anne. Gilbert has the floor.”

“He’s hiding behind one study instead of facing the issue head on!”

“That is the assignment!” Miss Stacy sighs. “I should have known this was a bad idea. Point to Gilbert, and the debate concludes.”

The class cheers and laughs and immediately breaks into gossip about the heated emotions (mostly Anne’s) they witnessed during the debate. Gilbert is dismissed to his seat and Anne approaches their teacher with a desperate plea for understanding already on her lips.

“Anne,” Miss Stacy interrupts apologetically with a pitying smile, “You didn’t base your arguments on anything remotely evidentiary. And what’s more, you were way too personal.”

“But-” Anne tries to argue.

“The purpose of this exercise,” their teacher continues, “is to encourage dignified public speaking and teach resourceful argumentative skills. I needed a clear and concise argument based on facts and figures. I’m sorry, but Gilbert won fair and square.”

She sulks the rest of class and tries to remember what it felt like to be smart once upon a time, before Gilbert Blythe swooped in and ruined it.

After a deathly quiet walk (or in Anne’s case, march) back to Green Gables, the pair keeping at least a 3 foot distance between them, Gilbert and Anne retire to their respective rooms to sit and sulk and stare at the wall trying to come up with insults for the other. Or at least, that’s what Anne does. After several minutes, she walks down the hall to Gilbert’s door and knocks once.

He opens it entirely too soon, as if he had been standing on the other side waiting for her. Perhaps even as if he had been about to exit and come knock on her door too.

“I’ll have you know, I still intend on being the one to top the class in educational excellence,” she says plainly, her confidence sucked away by his proximity to her in the doorframe as he leans into it smugly on one shoulder.

“If you’d focus on your schoolwork instead of mine, you might have already done so,” he counters.

“Of course you’d be the one to cut a challenging conversation short-”

“Someone had to win the debate, Shirley,” Gilbert replies with slight vitriol, but mostly exhaustion. “And you weren’t following the rules.”

Her reactionary insult dies in her throat as a glint off his nightstand catches her eye. She boldly brushes past his shoulder and into his room to approach the light, and she tries to ignore how even that slight touch unsettles her for some reason.

“Hey!” Gilbert turns on his heel and follows her in, and she’s further unsettled when his arm circles her waist haphazardly as he steps in front of her to halt her movement. “What makes you think you can barge into my place of residence?” He is surprisingly close to her face, but seems too insulted to care. He doesn’t show emotion like this very frequently. She feels his fingertips hover at her hips, but her indignation is already flaring and she doesn’t have time to remove them.

“I’ll remind you,” she snaps with a jab of her pointer finger into his chest, “that you are the one in my residence, Blythe, and I was here first!”

She goes to move past him but he blocks her again, his hands tightening their grip on her waist. She narrows her eyes at him.

“What are you hiding?” she demands to know, gripping his arms to hold him in place as she peers around him on her tiptoes.

She had assumed it was jewelry or money, but the glint turns out to be the sunlight flaring off a war veterans trophy medal, and she points at it over his shoulder.

“Was that your fathers?” Anne asks quietly, and any animosity between them fades away as Gilbert sighs and yields to her, turning to retrieve the object of her incessant interest.

"Yes," he answers simply. "I truly didn't feel like taking much from the estate, but I couldn't seem to leave this behind." He furrows his brow in contemplation.

At her curious and suddenly innocent expression, he gives in. He hands it to her with a roll of his eyes and a light smile, and she picks up the box gently. Her fingertips lightly graze the shiny gold metal in the velvet-lined container.

“Is it true you wanted to leave your farm because the memory of your father was too much?” she asks impulsively. Gilbert blinks at her in shock and she continues hurriedly. “If that’s the case, I completely understand. It’s been so long I barely remember it, but if I had to go back to the orphanage for even just a moment I don’t think I could escape the ghosts and whispers of what happened there, and that doesn’t account for the hollowness of recalling pleasant memories, of which I have none. But I imagine you had many of those in that house and that’s why you gave it to Sebastian like you did.”

Gilbert snatches the medal from her hands and places it back on the nightstand. He doesn’t turn back around.

“Can you leave, please?” he asks Anne with his back to her. She immediately feels guilty, and a bit dejected that her question wasn’t answered.

“Sure,” she grumbles. “Sorry.”

She can hear him stomping and slamming things around his room the rest of the afternoon, but when Marilla calls them down for dinner, he seems unaffected, laughing with Matthew about a crop-planting mishap and asking Anne cordially if she can pass the potatoes. Except he doesn’t meet her eye when their fingers overlap as she hands them over, and him ignoring her makes her feel like she’s on display with her failures all over again.

Chapter Text

When Gilbert first moved into Green Gables, he attempted to pay the Cuthberts with some of the funds he’d saved up from his time working overseas. Now a hazy memory, the scene plays out like something on a stage to him. The look on the matriarch’s face when he hands her his payment is entirely disbelieving.

“Nonsense, Gilbert, we won’t be taking your money,” she scolds.

“Please, Ms. Cuthbert, I insist,” he tries, but she waves him off.

“I won’t hear of it. You are like… family. It’s what John would have… it’s the neighborly thing to do.” She gets a faraway look in her eyes, like he’s seen so many women do, and he doesn’t understand it fully but waits patiently for her to address him again. 

“Stay as long as you need. And please, call me Marilla.”

“Okay…” he processes the situation and makes peace with it until he can find a way to pay for his lodging that she would accept. He smiles politely. “Thank you, Marilla. I am much obliged. And I promise, it will only be for a week or two. Just until I get on my feet financially and find a place in town, maybe. Two weeks. A month, tops!”

She’d started through the house at the beginning of his speech and he had followed her absentmindedly, banging his bag into the wall and up the stairs after her as he spoke. She leads him now to an empty room at the end of the hall, past several closed doors.

“Oh, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” she responds nonchalantly as she gestures into the room that would become his own. He takes a step forward, takes it all in, takes his bag over to the neatly made bed.

“You’re welcome to join us for dinner, but I would understand if today has been too much. I’ll be in the kitchen preparing if you need anything else. Welcome to Green Gables, Gilbert.”

Welcome to Green Gables, indeed. 

He weighs the daunting idea of eating their food and sitting at their table undeservingly in his mind throughout the afternoon. What was he thinking? Why had he come here? Does he really deserve to impose on their lives like this? And even still, does he have anywhere else to turn?

Later, when the sound of a raucous arrival through the front door turns into feminine conversation in the kitchen which turns into a screaming match, his face burns as his existential ponderings replay in his head. He feels- conflictingly- comfortable here, but at the same time unwelcome, hearing some of the things carried up the stairs by Anne’s piercing voice, and he has to get out. He gathers himself enough to leave the room, on his way to… somewhere unknown, to retrieve more things from his old house or something. 

He doesn’t mean to linger long enough to literally run into Anne on the stairs. He doesn’t mean to demand the very next day that they let him help with the farm work to prove (to no one in particular, let alone to her) that he deserves to be there. And he certainly doesn’t mean to start casually walking to and from school with her in near silence every day. But, it happens nonetheless, and they find a steady routine- they study and eat and work and live in such cordiality for several weeks that Gilbert forgets entirely to look for another place to stay. 

Until that cursed debate at the school, and Gilbert is once again back to square one in the figuring-out-Anne-Shirley-Ciuthbert’s-deal department. 

They’ve been schoolmates for years, though he supposes his absence the past several months working with Bash undid all of his attempted progress before he left. They seemed almost peaceful at one point, calling a truce in the streets of Carmody after his father’s passing… but now every interaction was as if they were 12 years old again, lashing out at one another with tantrums and tempers and blind emotion.

No one can ruffle his feathers like Anne can. He didn’t even know he had feathers to ruffle until that fateful day when they first met and hearing the way Billy Andrews spoke to her with such vitriol in private ignited something bold within him. He feels it valiant, honorable, maybe even a tad protective… and to this day, she wants nothing to do with it. No matter what he says, it always seems to be the wrong thing. She was nearly impossible to figure out.

Fine. So much for being patient, being the bigger person. If she sees him as an agitational villain, that’s what he shall become. If she wanted to perpetuate a childhood rivalry that was entirely in her head, he could entertain that. The way she paraded into his room like she owned it made his face hot just thinking about it, and he could use that as fodder for their warfare for another week or so. The days following their argument are so quiet, they barely speak at all. She avoids most interaction with him and responds to his innocuous questions with clipped, one word answers without meeting his eye.

Still, something in his heart tugs at the gentle way she holds a book as she reads it, cradling it like a newborn kitten, turning its pages like they’re made of dust, ever-so-slightly mouthing the words as she’s reading. He forgets he’s supposed to dislike her when they’re studying together in the parlor and she whispers a maths answer he’s been stuck on under her breath to help him, and then graciously allows them both to pretend it never happened. He has to remind himself to stay angry with her the day they’re set the dining table together in silence and she drops a plate that shatters, causing Marilla to rush in and investigate, and Anne’s vulnerable frightened-deer expression when they lock eyes prompts him to tell Marilla it was he himself that broke the plate. Everyone in the room knows he is lying, but it causes a brief kinship between them, and the slight wily upturn of her lips tells him she won’t be denying his heroism this time around. For a moment every other day or so, they are allies. 

On the morning of his fifth week at Green Gables, he is more turned around than when he first arrived. He is no closer to figuring out what he wants to do or where he wants to go. Schooling is the only thing getting him up in the mornings, other than the looming threat of houselessness if he doesn’t get farm chores done for his gracious hosts (even though he was the one who insisted his lodging depend on his physical labor, a mistake in hindsight). He rolls out of bed and dresses himself in the dim light of the early, early sunrise, and makes his way out of the house.

The sun streams in through the wooden slats of the farmhouse, and Gilbert pats the Cuthbert’s horse affectionately as he passes. He’s barely rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grabbed the pitchfork, when he glances up and notices Anne in the loft of the stable.

“You’re awake early,” he says hesitantly. Anne, startled, shuffles her papers into a small wooden box next to her and slams the lid closed, smoothing her disheveled hair and sitting up straighter, meeting his eye over the edge of the loft. 

“And here I was beginning to think I had one singular location on this entire farm to myself” she snaps, clearly embarrassed that she was not alone in the building anymore. 

Gilbert laughs, his lack of energy for fighting with her this early leaving way for patience to seep in. He turns back to begin his task.

“What were you writing? Anything good?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she huffs. 

“Must be good, if the mere idea of it was able to rouse you from sleep before the sun could.”

She pauses, and he takes this as an opportunity to continue.

“I’m impressed! I’m not much of a morning person, myself. How long have you been up there?”

He’s asking in earnest, but he she must misunderstand his joviality for mocking, because she groans frustratedly and throws her scarf over her shoulder, hastening towards the ladder to climb down.

“I’ll have you know the morning is the most wonderful time of the day, Gilbert Blythe,” she states, landing with a thud at his feet. She points one long pale finger in his face. “Not that I would expect you to understand. You’ve yet to give Green Gables at dawnbreak the observance she is owed. That silent and still moment just before the sun lifts over the horizon… the symphony of insects and animals harmonizing as one… the way the fields dance in the breeze as the world wakes up…” she takes herself somewhere else with her own words, and gazes out the open farmhouse walls.

It makes him almost enjoy having hauled himself out of bed, the way she talks about mornings as if they were a gift from the heavens just for her.

“In that case, I’m sorry I missed it,” he blurts, dazed, breaking her from her own spell. She snaps her already angry gaze towards him, and he’s rolling his eyes on instinct because how has he said something to offend her now?

“What, what is it that I’ve said?” he asks then, knowing it will be taken rhetorically.

“You have a way of ruining everything good,” she slights. And then she’s stomping off, out the entrance to the stable and away from him. He’s there before Jerry, there before she’s even started on her own chores, and yet she’s scolding him ?

“Hey!” he rebukes, his voice cracking in the cool and thin morning air, “That isn’t fair. Some things are already ruined by you before I have a chance to get to them!”

But she either doesn’t hear him or doesn’t want to take his obvious bait like he had taken hers,  meaning she’s won this round. Point to Anne.

She’s set the tone for his day, and his furious speed fixing the barn space up allows for extra time, empty space before he hands over his chore duties and heads to school with Anne.

So he walks up the hill to the back plot, and sits down on the dirt, arms resting on his knees, and waits. Watches the farm wake up some more, the chill in the air fading as the sun warms the land beneath him. 

And it is kind of nice, the sound of birds chirping and the grass rustling in the wind and the dampness of the early dew burning off into the day. It’s far from the quiet, lonely mornings he spent at his old house, or the lack of mornings entirely working on the steamship and overnighting with Bash (not so lonely, but not nearly as pleasant as this).

Perhaps Anne is right, and it’s time Gilbert gives a certain surprisingly beautiful opportunity the observance she is owed.

He resolves to understand her if it’s the last thing he does.

Chapter Text

For what it’s worth, Anne is a good cook.

Before Mary had the baby, before the Blythe plot became the Lacroix, before her daily routine at Green Gables was interrupted by a constant melancholy houseguest, Anne made her way to the old apple orchard once a week for lessons on how to prepare some of the best meals she had ever tasted. It proved to be not much of a challenge once she got the basics down, and Marilla lamented frequently about how she could never get Anne interested in it herself.

Now, she and her matron hum and sing along together as they prepare meals and baked goods in the kitchen at Green Gables, seeing as Mary and Sebastian’s newborn occupies all of their time, leaving very little opportunities to cook for themselves, let alone teach Anne how to. 

“Now, this needs about ten more minutes. When you are done mixing, please check on it,” she is saying to Anne as she checks a pan on the stove. 

“Got it!” Anne chirps passively. She turns over her shoulder to bear witness to Anne’s own project.

“Good grief, child!” Marilla guffaws, “at least try to get some of it in the bowl!”

“I am seventeen and a half, Marilla, I am far from a child!” She ignores the part about the bowl, because Marilla is right, and she’s lost a lot of the flour to the countertop.

“You could have fooled me, the way you work in the kitchen- you’re as messy as a babe!”

They laugh in tandem, Anne boldly flicking some flour off her fingers onto Marilla’s apron and face. Marilla gasps, then laughs again as she impulsively scoops some batter from her bowl with her finger and swipes it across Anne’s nose. 

“It’s more fun this way,” Anne notes as she wipes it away with the back of her hand. 

“It’s wasteful, is what it is,” Marilla chides good naturedly, an eyebrow raised in Anne’s direction as she turns to pour her batter into a pan on the other edge of the counter. “But I suppose with the crop being so plentiful this season, we’ll be able to get as much flour as our hearts desire.”

“The pinnacle of luxury!” Anne jokes. They work in silence for a few minutes.

“I’ll admit, it’s always nice to have someone to cook for,” Marilla contemplates. “And that child is as cute as a button.”

“Marilla, have you ever seen anything like it?” Anne asks dreamily, recalling how tiny Delphine’s fingers and toes were the day Mary had the Cuthberts over to meet her. “She looks just like them. By far the cutest baby I have ever laid eyes on. And I have laid eyes on quite a few in my day.”

“Yes, well, let’s hope this one goes easy on her poor mother. Mary must be exhausted.”

“That’s why she has us!”

“Yes, that is indeed why she has us,” Marilla agrees with a grin and nod. 

She puts her pan in the oven and excuses herself to gather something from the garden outside, mentioning something about fresh delicate leafy herbs being better than dried. Anne turns back to her large mixing bowl and kneads her dough, thinking of family and its meaning, losing herself in the comforting repetition, using her full upper body strength when it gets more difficult to work with. 

If Anne were still a girl having first landed at Green Gables, they would not have been able to be this relaxed around each other. Anne would not have been able to act so candidly or so freely tout Marilla’s strict rules in the kitchen. Marilla would not be able to reject her rigid tendencies. But in recent years, they’d both softened to the other, and Anne no longer feared boundary-pushing acts. She kneads the dough as she ruminates on how much she’s learned, about cooking specifically and also not about cooking at all.

“It smells incredible in here,” comes a sudden voice from behind her, and she jumps nearly a foot in the air. 

It’s Gilbert, and he’s standing in the entryway to the kitchen with his hands casually stuffed in his pockets, eyes trained on Anne. She’s suddenly very aware of the flour coating her forearms, chest, and face- surely alongside other smears and swipes of foodstuff- and the sleeves of her dress pushed up to her elbows unflatteringly, showing off her gangly limbs. Her heart races, and it’s because of him having startled her, not because she knows she looks like a wreck. 

“How long have you been standing there?” she snaps without thinking, turning back to her dough and rolling it aggressively. “You scared me half to death.”

“Must’ve been the bigger half,” he teases. She doesn’t respond.

Gilbert steps up to the counter’s edge next to her, almost unnecessarily close. She tries to ignore his presence, but he’s clearly watching her. Perhaps he doesn’t realize how near to her he really is, though she isn’t sure how he could be oblivious to it- he’s so close he’s likely to hear her heart beat.

“You’re quite good at this,” he says simply, as if in a trance- or maybe a lull of monotony and boredom. She scoffs on instinct.

“It’s just baking,” she replies incredulously, even though she was literally just thinking about how she’s worked hard to hone the very skill he’s complimenting. “Cooking or baking or anything similar is just following directions, the concept of which I don’t actually mind, as long as I’m the one deciding the directional nature. It’s really not that difficult.”

“I disagree,” he gently offers. “I can’t do it… and I hear I’m infuriatingly good at everything.”

The laugh escapes her throat before she can stop it, a raw and joyful sound from deep in her chest. Maybe the arrival of such a sweet baby in their tiny town has lightened her heart to all the things that usually irritate her- including Gilbert recalling the awful things she’d shouted at him in their (younger) youth. He smirks, clearly pleased his joke caught her so off guard.

“Wait till I tell everyone- Gilbert Blythe is a terrible cook!” She’s giddy with the jest, and he allows his smirk to grow into a full smile, albeit a bashful one.  

“I’ll deny it,” he quips back. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“As the most delusional, prideful boy in class?” she snarks, casting the bowl aside and molding the bread on the countertop.

“As the only one who can keep up with Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

Her face wasn’t this warm a moment ago, she’s sure. Odd. Must be the loaf cooking over the fire behind her, warming the room.

“You might have an unfair advantage,” she utters. “The longest anyone’s been forced to reside with me was Ruby, for the week the Gillis’ house was under repair.”

Why did she have to bring up the only girl in class with an unbearable crush on him? It’s sure to boost his ego when she was doing a fine enough job depreciating it, for once. 

“Lucky me,” he says simply. 

She hastily moves towards the jar of utensils on instinct in her routine, but Gilbert’s body is in her way. She awkwardly lowers her hand and points.

“Would you mind handing me that scraper?” she asks. Her tongue feels too big for her mouth.

“Why?” Gilbert taunts quick-wittedly, but he’s already reaching to retrieve it for her. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Oh please,” Anne scoffs, though unable to hide the grin on her face, “Unless you’ve done something terrible I won’t be using it for anything other than its intended purpose.”

He goes to hand her the scraper handle, but as she reaches for it he jerks it slightly back out of her grasp. His eyes are shining, Anne’s are glowering.

“Give it.”

He challenges her with his eyes as if he’s itching for a fight, and Anne’s ashamed to say she takes that bait more often than not. This time is no exception. She lurches for the tool again, and he spins with his arm up high, keeping it away from her. She stumbles and almost falls into his chest, but catches herself on the counter. One hand on her hip and the other out flat in request for the scraper, she huffs and stomps her foot at him.

“I suppose your cooking could constitute something terrible,” she goads, “so either give me that so I can hit you with it for the injustice, or prove me wrong and put it to proper use.”

“You would never,” he doubts with a narrowed gaze, holding it to his chest. “It has a sharp edge. That’s incredibly dangerous.”

“So you’re afraid of baking, then?”

“Now hold on, I never said that,” he replies with a prideful sneer.

She gestures to the counter where the ball of dough is quickly rising, and Gilbert glances nervously in its direction before adjusting his stance and attempting to separate it into smaller, sticky portions.

“Maybe violence was the answer,” the words escape her lips before she can stop them. “You’re really not very good at this.”

“I told you.” Gilbert’s strange unreadable smirk has made its daily appearance on his face. Anne takes the scraper from him and takes over, bumping him with her hip to move him out of the way. While she resumes cutting the dough into small sections, she almost nicks herself, getting repeatedly distracted by his expression in her periphery.

“You know, you’re not very good at farming either,” Anne teases, intending to be lighthearted and fill the empty space in the room with more friendly banter, but Gilbert's face darkens a bit and he crosses away. Of course, she’s said the wrong thing. Again.

“I didn’t-” she begins, tripping over her words. “I was only kidding, I mean-”

“No, you’re right,” he agrees with a sad smile. “I recognize the joke, but… I really do feel badly about that. Marilla and Matthew have been so kind to take me in, and I can’t even properly repay them.”

“Maybe you could get a job.”

“Okay, okay,” he acts as if she’s wounded him, holding his hands in a surrender. “I get the hint. I’m a freeloader.”

“No,” Anne groans with frustration, “I only mean you don’t have to farm for them, you could do… something else.”

“Like?”

“Oh, I don’t know, are you any good at building construction?”

“Lousy. The Gillis’ roof would be the first to tell you. I’m more of a brain power guy than a power-power… guy.” He taps his forehead, then flexes a bicep to punctuate. Anne stares pointedly in the other direction.

“Handcrafts, then, like barrel-making or leatherwork?” she presses.

“No such luck.”

“Animal husbandry?”

“Shirley!” Gilbert exclaims in shock, stifling a small laugh.

“What!?” her confusion swells, but she immediately realizes the insinuation she so immaturely missed, and rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, that’s not what I meant,” she says, suddenly flustered, as she walks behind Gilbert to put her tray of sweet buns over the heat, leaving the countertop messy with flour and sticky dough. “I wouldn’t know anything about all that,” she adds.

“That’s not what I once heard.” 

Anne gasps. “You are a foul gossip, is what you are!” she accuses him, unaware that he’d even heard the rumors that plagued her when she first came to Avonlea, let alone retained the information to torment her with it later. 

“Takes one to know one,” he bites back, meandering over the other dishes and pans full of her and Marilla’s cooking.

“Great, and now we’re arguing again.”

“I wasn’t aware we’d stopped in the first place.”

“I’m just that good at it,” she riffs. Her back is turned and she is digging in a drawer when he asks,

“Can I try this one?”

“I’m sure you will whether I say yes or not, but whatever it is, there’s probably enough. We made some for Mary and Bash and some for dinner here.”

She’s facing him as he takes a fork from the drawer and digs it into one of (Marilla’s famous) chicken pot-pies Anne has made, and she lurches, but it’s too late.

“Wait, it’s too hot!” she exclaims as he lifts it to his mouth.

“Ow!” He drops the fork and the subsequent bite with a loud clang. Anne laughs at his outburst.

“That just came out of the oven,” she scolds, “You have to wait for it to cool!” 

“I couldn’t-” he’s laughing with her and touching his tongue, “-it smelled too good.”

“Then get out of the kitchen if you can’t control yourself!”

Marilla chooses that moment to reenter the kitchen from outside, a reproachful look already on her face.

“What is all this going on in here?” she asks, taking in the laughing teenagers and the messes on the counter.

“It’s all my fault, Marilla,” Gilbert stifiles another laugh, a delicate blush decorating his nose. Anne’s lucky he spoke up, because for now, the sight of him in boyish embarrassment renders her speechless. “I couldn’t wait for dinner, and Anne is no match for my, um…”

He looks to her to continue their jest, but she’s still tongue tied, and he dithers when he notices she isn’t laughing along with him. 

“...subterfuge,” He finishes smoothly. Marilla dons her classic scornful expression, crosses to the counter and stuffs the fresh herbs into a small vase before walking towards the sink to fill it with water. Gilbert clears his throat and steps away from Anne’s side.

“You are still a guest in this home, Gilbert, no matter the length of your stay,” Marilla says, though she is looking directly at Anne when she says it. “And I’ll thank you to remain patient and wait along with Matthew for all meals. The Lord knows Anne could do with as little distraction as possible from her chores.”

“Marilla!” Anne finally finds words. “It’s hardly my fault that-”

“I’ll do just that, Ma'am,” Gilbert interjects with a small, closed lip grin. “I didn't mean to intrude. It won’t happen again.” He bows slightly to Marilla, then to Anne, and hurries out of the kitchen.

When he’s gone, Marilla raises her eyebrows expectantly at Anne. 

“What!?” she demands. Marilla shakes her head. 

“You would lose your head if you had to check for it every day,” she says. “Did you forget about the sugar glaze?”

Anne crosses to the stove, gasping “oh!” as she remembers the menial task she was delegated before she was so rudely interrupted. It’s not too late, and she’s able to save the syrup by removing the pan from the heat.

Falling back into diligent focus, the two of them complete their many tasks. They ready the dining room for dinner, then begin to retrieve the food from the counter while Matthew crosses through to wash up, and Anne thinks the kitchen might be her favorite room in the house for all the good-natured commotion that happens in it. 

Chapter Text

“I’m surprised you took in boarders still, after the last debacle with the gold swindlers,” Josie Pye says as if she’s judging Anne directly for her parent’s actions. 

“It’s not a boarder , it’s just Gilbert.” She feels the need to defend Marilla’s decision even though a few short weeks ago she was making the same arguments against him staying with them. “Besides, he’s hardly a stranger. You all grew up with him.”

“What is it like?” Tilly asks. “Living with a boy?”

“Like living with a girl, I suppose?” she replies sardonically. No one pays her any mind.

“Is it anything like having a brother?” Jane adds with a roll of her eyes. “If it is, I’m mighty sorry for you Anne.”

“No, no,” Anne rushes to answer, “it’s nothing like a brother at all.” She ponders as she answers. “It’s really quite an inconvenience sometimes- more like having a brooding housecat that disappears for days on end and sometimes transforms into a farmhand.” 

The girls titter in response and Josie Pye rolls her eyes at Anne before her gaze drifts to something behind her left shoulder, and her glare turns to a smirk.

Anne turns to witness Gilbert’s arrival to their circle of gossip, a hesitant gait paired with a disappointed grimace on his face.

“Speak of the farmboy and he shall appear,” Josie drawls. The girls disperse slightly with laughter but Anne can see them hovering by the edges of their desks, eagerly absorbing the melodrama.

“I didn’t know you were-” 

“So that’s what you really think of me then, huh?” Gilbert interrupts her with a clenched jaw.

“No, I just, uh…” she blanks, feeling her face grow warm from embarrassment. 

“It’s fine. Sorry to bother.”

“You’re not! Josie implied you were like the old boarders and Tilly… you're not a criminal and not at all like my brother so I just-”

“I accidentally grabbed one of your books by mistake,” he interrupts cooly, holding it out for her to take. “Thought you might need that back. Didn’t mean to inconvenience you.”

He’s walked away before she can formulate a response. 

“I think he’d make a very cute housecat,” Ruby chimes in absentmindedly, scribbling something on the inside cover of her journal. Anne groans and stomps to her desk next to Diana, and they sink into the benches.

“So things aren’t going well at Green Gables, I take it?” Diana offers. 

“Things were going just fine,” Anne complains. She resolves her shoulders and turns to Diana in a hushed tone. “Diana, why is it that I always seem to say the wrong thing?”

Diana ponders for a second, then smiles a sympathetic smile. “Perhaps it is because you are more concerned with saying the truthful thing than the right thing,” she says. Anne’s twist in her gut melts away at her best friend’s words, and she takes her hands in her own on companionable instinct.

“Diana, you are going to be such a wonderful mother someday. You know exactly how to derail such a juvenile agitation! I merely said what needed to be said. It’s not my fault how he takes it.”

“Oh, that’s not…”

Anne fully bypasses Diana’s muddled look, unaware that she’s only just barely missed the point. Diana grins to herself and shakes her head. They turn towards the desktop to begin their lessons as Miss Stacy takes the stage at the front of the class. 

-

It’s a pretty routine day. Despite Miss Stacy’s sometimes unusual methods, hours of maths and language studying can get monotonous, no matter how challenging. The only thing to shake Anne- and the rest of the students- out of their delirium is Miss Stacy’s announcement of the new class project: A school newspaper.

“This project will require much research,” their teacher says over their murmurs and whispers. “My own knowledge on this topic is limited, but I have big dreams and high hopes for this class.”

Anne puffs up her chest, internally praising herself for being just the high-hoper and big-dreamer Miss Stacy could be talking about. Her gaze drifts across the room and for a moment she locks eyes with a similarly proud-and-contemplative looking Gilbert Blythe. Her heart jumps into her throat. What if he wants to take the lead on this and it overshadows her contributions?

Miss Stacy continues on about the previous teacher being stifling and uninspiring, and her tone is not without judgment. But she smiles and claps her hands, then mentions needing to go to town and interview the staff of the paper there. 

“I could go myself, but I see this as a good learning opportunity. Plus, it will establish you as a class serious and professional- to have a student go in my stead. Do I have any volunteers?” 

Most of the class is terrified into silence. Anne’s hand shoots into the air as soon as her brain has processed the words, almost leaping from her seat. She forces herself not to notice Gilbert is just observant and brooding as usual, staring at her from across the room. He doesn’t raise his hand. 

Another student’s hand goes up, and the class mutters to each other in surprise, as it belongs to the bumbling Moody Spurgeon, sheepish even in his volunteering.

“No offense, but he can barely string a sentence together in front of the class- how could he interview a mildly intimidating professional person for an hour?” Anne blurts.

“Anne, don’t be rude,” Miss Stacy scolds, then turns to Moody. “Moody, I commend your offer. You are a very bright pupil, but I do believe we should work on your conversational skills a bit more first before throwing you to the wolves, as it were. Why don’t you lead the documentation of questions we would like to ask the newspaper staff?” 

Moody seems satisfied with this, nodding, and his friends around him clap him on the shoulder for speaking up. Anne grimaces at the masculine juvenility.

“Anne,” Miss Stacy continues. “You may ask the chief of staff at the paper the questions the rest of the group comes up with.”

Diana congratulates Anne quietly during the class’s murmurs. “I will give you all the week,” Miss Stacy finalizes, “to develop the interview questions between your regular course of study. We will begin next Monday after Anne has had a chance to go into town over the weekend. Are there any questions?”

When no one speaks up, she nods.

“That will be all!” she says jovially. “Remember, this is a group project. Please delegate the work evenly and remain open to each other's ideas.” She looks pointedly at a passing Anne, who’s following the other students on their way out, into the back of the schoolhouse with their belongings 

“I don’t know why she would say that to me specifically,” Anne huffs to Diana when they land at their coats, hung next to each other like they themselves are as sisterly as the girls. 

“I do,” Gilbert interjects from across the mudroom as the other students spill outside. “You aren’t very considerate of others.”

“Talk about inconsideration of others! Can’t you do anything other than eavesdrop!?” Anne snaps, whipping around to face him. Diana places a hand on her arm to calm her.

“Hey, you’re in public,” he takes a few steps towards her as he ties his scarf. “I can hear you from over here. That’s hardly my fault.”

The air between them is charged, and Anne can feel her indignation on her cheeks. Diana tugs on her arm gently to hold her back, and Anne clocks a small smirk on her bosom friend’s face.

“Have a good weekend, Gilbert,” the traitor interjects with a sickly sweet smile in his direction. “Anne and I will let you walk ahead first, and I promise to keep her on a short leash to avoid any undue attacks.”

Gilbert’s glare melts into a chuckle, and he tips his cap at Diana.

“Much obliged,” he says, and with one more scorching glance at Anne, he jogs out onto the path towards Green Gables. Diana giggles and links her arm in Anne’s, handing her her own books from the bench.

“You are far too entertained by my misery,” Anne complains, and Diana squeezes her tighter, sighing from laughter.

“You take him too seriously, Anne,” she says. They walk out into the cool fall air. “He’s just a boy. Why do you get so rattled every time he talks to you? You looked like you were about to pounce!”

“There is no relenting! I must exist around him all day here and all the while I’m at Green Gables. Every morning and every night! There is no escape,” Anne groans.

“I can think of at least one person who envies you, and would chastise you for complaining.”

“Let Ruby spend as much time with him as I do and it might cure her of her mash entirely,” Anne guffaws, dragged along by Diana’s near-skipping. 

“Oh, come now, Anne, is he really that bad?”

“Yes.”

Diana ignores her. “I bet the other girls are secretly jealous, too,” she chirps. “He’s gotten even dreamier the past few years, wouldn’t you agree?”

Anne panics- for no good reason, because she does not find Gilbert Blythe dreamy in any way- and she deflects the conversation by turning the attention to her friend. 

“Diana Barry! What has gotten into you? Lunacy over boys! Are you living vicariously through my misfortune?”

“I might be. Perhaps I need to write it into a story,” she teases in response. 

They walk slowly until Gilbert is just a tiny dot in the distance and eventually disappears into the woods. Then, stalling their own treks home, they pause at their old clubhouse wreckage to sit on a log and giggle over a hypothetical, handsome vagabond who must take refuge at a brunette heiress’s home to rest up during his travels- leading to the ignition of romance between the two and adventure for the otherwise trapped and stifled young woman. They lean their heads against one another’s, gaze up into the trees as they imagine it... And Anne has to admit, such an ending doesn’t sound too bad.

Monday after school and all day Tuesday and Wednesday, Gilbert steers clear of Anne. It’s easy enough, with the amount of work needed to ready Green Gables for winter. He only thinks of her when he and his classmates are discussing the interview questions for the paper research. He almost feels like he’s being recruited as an agent of espionage, when they approach his table like a nervous flock of sheep to enlist his help on Thursday at lunch.

“We think we’ve got it down, but will you look it over before you give it to Anne, Gilbert?” Moody presses as he hands it across the desk.

“Why should I be the one to give it to her?” Gilbert counters, frustrated at the distraction. “I’m sure it’s fine. Just go hand it to her.”

“She’s nicer to you.”

At this, Gilbert laughs out loud.

“We must know two different Annes,” he replies. Moody rolls his eyes like a little sibling being told they have to complete their own chores.

“Please, Gil, just look at it and make sure the questions aren’t moronic,” he begs. “My name’s attached to it!”

“ All of our names are attached to it, Moody,” Josie Pye grumbles, grabbing the paper and shoving it at Gilbert again with a stomp of her foot. “I genuinely don’t think I could stand it if I had to listen to her fuss about it the rest of the week. If it comes from you, she’ll accept it as requirement. You’re the only one she respects.” She glances around the circle uneasily, then adds, “Academically speaking. With me and the girls, she knows her place.”

Gilbert snatches the list so he doesn’t have to hear anymore of his classmate’s trivialities.

“Fine, I’ll give it to her after class. Now please, let me study.”

When they disperse, he finds himself searching for Anne out of relevance, thinking a glance at her might brace himself for their future conversation. He doesn’t have to search for long, because she’s already watching him, and his eyes immediately lock onto hers through the middle of the scattering group. She looks like a deer caught in a light, her chest heaving with surprise, or… worry? Then, her eyes narrow, and her moment of vulnerability is gone as she buries her head in her book.

“This oughta be fun,” Gilbert says sarcastically to himself, tucking the list into the back of his texts for later.

-

And later comes faster than he wishes.

“What is this?”

School is over, and their classmates skitter around them like animals released from a pen as he hands her the sheet of paper he was given.

“It’s the list of questions for the interview,” Gilbert says plainly. “That’s what we’re presenting to the staff member. As a class.”

She narrows her eyes hesitantly at him. 

“It’s the chief of staff, actually,” she corrects him. He wants to grumble back, but he holds his tongue for expediency's sake.

“Fine. Ask the chief of staff these questions, okay? See ya.” He turns to make his way to the coat room.

“Wait, this is it ?” she asks incredulously, pursuing the list with disdain. “The cost of ink? The time-in schedule of employees? Headlines!? This is all they want to ask someone of such importance?”

“It would appear so.”

“Where are all of the topics of interest? There’s not one question on here about the adventures that befall a newspaper reporter, about travel to exotic lands or challenging closed cases that need to be broken wide open!”

“It’s a school newspaper in Avonlea , Carrots, not a detective agency in a faraway land.”

He hasn’t broken out her old nickname in ages, but with her irritating him more as of late, he can’t resist the urge. Her reaction is exactly as he hoped: stunned and annoyed.

“This is… unacceptable,” she stammers. “This list needs more grand ideas! They’re thinking too small!” Her face is as red as her hair… and the fire in his chest.

“They said presenting this list to you would be a challenge, and now I understand why. You are being far too critical of the questions. The only one thinking small here is you.”

“Just because you dislike the town doesn’t mean you should treat it as less of a priority. We deserve something nice!”

“What are you talking about?” he snaps, confounded at her inability to focus on their actual project instead of whatever fantasy she has in her mind’s eye. “This is a group project! If you can’t help write a paper for a small town that includes everybody , then maybe you shouldn’t be a part of it at all. Why do you think you know better than the entire class?” 

He’s struck a nerve, because she remains silent, and pouts at the list. He sighs. He got what he wanted: a win. Point to Gilbert. But it doesn’t feel as good as he anticipated.

“Look. I’m sorry if I was rude-”

“I doubt it-”

“- but these are the agreed upon questions. I admit, they aren't the most exciting.”

“An understatement.”

“They are important to the structure and success of our assignment, though,” he offers as a bit of an olive branch, “don’t you think? Miss Stacy would probably be frustrated if we didn’t get the basics answered, information that could help our efforts. How do you expect us to turn ruminations and thoughts into a tangible product without the first steps?”

Anne ponders.

“Fine,” she begrudges. “I’ll ask them, just so.”

He nods, but can feel that damned tug on his heartstrings when he turns to walk away, so he watches her cautiously. She wants to say more, and he knows it.

“I just think,” she proves him right, “that it’s a mistake to suck all the life out of the project by limiting our range of creativity.” She is infuriatingly enchanting with this soft revelation, as she always is when she speaks of her ideas. “Passion will inspire the paper to greatness.”

His breath hitches in his chest, and he surrenders.

“You can have one grandiose inquiry,” he says, “but you have to show the rest of the group you can complete this task with their interests in mind, so it has to be at the end of the interview. You get these answers and you can ask him whatever you please, no matter how off topic. Deal?” He risks holding out his hand for her to shake.  

“Deal,” she agrees, taking his hand in her own. 

They head home, and all the while he ruminates on her lack of the patented ‘Anne Shirley-Cuthbert’ brand of enthusiasm that emanates from her when she’s fully on board with an idea.

He doesn't quite trust her to follow their guidelines, and resolves to approach Marilla about accompanying her to town. He decides to wait until Friday afternoon after school to tell Miss Stacy. The less time for Anne to protest, the better for everyone.

Sitting at the table later Thursday afternoon, Anne stews over her addition to the interview list. She can’t seem to formulate something worthy, or even concise enough to be relevant. 

“How do you encapsulate the desire to galvanize communication in an indifferent town in just one question?” she asks out loud to no one.

She gulps down some water as she contemplates her chickenscratch of ideas.

Gilbert enters through the back door and crosses through the dining area. They haven’t spoken since their argument over the questions at school. He’s clearly been working outside, a frustrated expression on his face and some dirt smudging his forearms, his neck, the left side of his face. His sleeveless shirt is sweat through and equally as dirty. When he sees Anne at the table, staring at him, he nods politely but doesn’t say anything or show a hint of emotion or weakness. Infuriating.

Also, It’s really not fair that boys are allowed to walk around in nearly their underclothes and no one scolds them. 

She is distracted by the movement of his exposed shoulder muscles as he passes, and some of her water dribbles out of her mouth and onto her chin as she drinks. The embarrassed sound that leaves her mouth causes him to turn back towards her.

He doesn’t insult her, which is almost worse. Him teasing her would have been preferable and given her a reason to use one of the many jabs she’s been concocting all week. No, instead, the corner of his mouth quirks upward and he raises an eyebrow at her- as if he was causing her to think her unchaste thoughts intentionally . Her jaw slackens even more. Internally, she is angry to be so speechless, but he is practically glistening with sweat and he is holding her gaze so intently. His eyes flicker down to her agape mouth and seem to linger there, before he turns away and takes the stairs up two at a time. Was it judgment? Disgust? Pride? She’s left shamefully cleaning her chin with the sleeve of her dress, and she’s unsure if it’s residual water or wanton drool she’s wiping away.

This will simply not do, she thinks to herself, and resolves to find a way out of this chess game they seem to be playing if it's the last thing she does. She furiously scribbles, pen on paper as her thoughts on the questions and Gilbert and the injustices surrounding women having to compete with men in academic environments spill out of her. 

-

Over embroidery that night, Anne realizes what the boastful look and eerie silence were all about. The puzzle pieces fall into place when Marilla informs her Gilbert has requested to accompany her to the interview. 

“I do not need Gilbert to escort me to Carmody. I am perfectly capable of going on my own.”

“I’ll hear nothing of it.”

“But Marilla, traveling with him would be- I just couldn’t bear it!”

“Why does he vex you so?” Marilla asks, adjusting her glasses to focus on a particularly troublesome stitch. Anne lowers her own hoop and stares into the fire.

“He is condescending, infuriatingly bold, aloof and placid in the face of true human emotion, and most of all he believes he can waltz around and accomplish that which others have worked so tirelessly for!”

“It was my understanding you two are tied for the top of the class, is that no longer the case?”

“No, that’s true, but-”

“A little friendly competition never hurt anyone,” Marilla coos over her stitching.

“I wouldn’t necessarily call it friendly , Marilla,” Anne grumbles. 

“Well, why can’t it be?” her mother replies optimistically.

“I don’t know!” she blurts. She clenches her jaw and adds, “He is the only one who refuses to acknowledge the beauty and wonderment that is Avonlea! Oh you should have heard his disdain for the topic during class this week. How could I ever truly be friends with him?”

“He has lived here much longer than you, Anne. Do you revile his travels simply because of your fondness for the place?”

“No, I understand traveling, there’s so much to see. But… this is his home. He is ungrateful.” 

“I doubt that, Anne,” she guffaws. 

Anne pouts, her thoughts racing, and Marilla pipes up again. “Do you not think some of your initial complaints with Gilbert might stem from response to your outward harshness and distrust of him?”

“Who’s side are you on anyway!?”

Marilla chuckles lightly and goes back to her stitching.

“Nevermind, dear,” she said quietly. “I was merely trying to figure your mind.”

They stitch in silence. Against her wishes, Anne’s brain swims with thoughts and images of Gilbert on his travels, what he may have been doing… and with whom. She tries to snuff them out.

“I only wish,” Marilla adds, her voice a delicate hush, “that I had kept an open mind when presented with the opportunity to travel from this place, with someone who cared for me. While I had the chance.”

Anne is stunned into silence, and hesitates pulling her needle through her cloth after Marilla’s vulnerable disclosure.

“That is enough of that,” Marilla says decisively, lowering her stitching. “It’s best we get to sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“I suppose.” Anne ties off one of her knots and cuts the thread with her teeth.

“Anne, this is a very big deal. If I were still a part of the Progressive Mothers Sewing Circle, I’d… well, I would never brag, but they would surely know that Anne of Green Gables was the student tasked with such a significant undertaking.”

Anne is instantly cured of her discombobulation over Gilbert’s treachery. Marilla is right. Her heart melts, and she lowers her stitching.

“Oh Marilla, you have no idea how happy it makes me that you are proud of having me here.”

“I am more proud of you every day,” Marilla responds, reaching across her own hoop to place her hand on top of Anne’s affectionately. The two share a teary-eyed, wistful smile, until Marilla stands and takes both of their embroideries to the mantle. 

“Let us call it a night. Go on up and get ready for bed.”

Anne does as instructed, but stops briefly at the stairs, feeling the coolness of the stair railing wood under her fingertips as she concocts the thought and lets it fall off her tongue:

“Marilla, what if I became a journalist? Traveling the world and telling people’s stories. Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

In the dim light it’s hard to read Marilla’s expression as she replies,

“I thought you wanted to be a teacher.”

“I’m to be the Bride of Adventure! Who says I can’t do both!?”

“One step at a time, Anne. You can’t become a veritable George Brown without first asking what a newspaper even entails. But you may even surprise us yet, and do just so.”

Satisfied with this answer, Anne heads up to her room and gets ready to rest. She almost evades sleep entirely; the eagerness for a new horizon keeps her up for several hours as she contemplates her future like never before.

Chapter Text

“I don’t need a chaperone.”

“I’m not chaperoning. We’re on the same team.”

“I don’t need a team.”

“It's for the best.”

“Well, I don’t agree.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gilbert exhales, “if you agree or not, because it’s what is happening.”

Anne groans and leans her head back against the train booth.

“This is pointless,” she complains.

“I don’t agree.” His playful quip is met with a glare, but it doesn’t diminish his grin. 

“Is it going to be like this the whole day?” Anne asks rhetorically, staring out the window.

“That’s up to you,” Gilbert cedes. “ The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be. ”

“Charles Dickens. Shocker. How contrived.” She crosses her arms.

“Actually, It’s Ralph Waldo Emerson.”

His easy win sets a warmth spreading through his limbs and to his skull. She’s flustered, but tries to pass it off as indignation. He’s starting to get wise to her tactics.

“What’s the difference?” she deflects. “They’re both men .”

She says the word with such condemnation he has to laugh. The sound only irritates her more.

“Well?” she huffs with a roll of her eyes. “It’s true.”

“Respectfully, Shirley?-”

“Shirley-Cuthbert.”

“-I don’t agree. Just because they’re both men doesn’t mean they’re the same. Do you only read female authors?” He glances around the train to see if they’ve drawn any attention with their (rather loud, on Anne’s part) back-and-forth.

“I gravitate towards them, yes… and why shouldn’t I resign myself only to the writings of women? Men do the same thing with other men, taking their word as God and regurgitating the same drivel over each other, refusing to read anything from a woman’s perspective.”

He chooses not to engage with her tirade. It’s just to get a rise out of him, anyway, probably, and he doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction. And yet… on the other hand, perhaps she is right. Has he given any thought to comparing the works of female authors versus male? He can’t remember the last time he read something that wasn’t written by a man. He’ll never let her know that, though. He resigns to shop through the shelves in town, if he has a moment to spare later in the day.

They ride in silence for a moment, Anne surely thinking she’s rendered him speechless, the train jostling them over the tracks.

There are a lot of things he’s never thought about, before Anne. It is refreshing that there’s been someone else in town the last few years to challenge things out loud, while all Gilbert ever did was challenge them offhandedly. It took a lot to rile him; he usually wouldn’t give the time of day to small minds, while she faces them outright, loudly. He isn’t sure he would have given a fair chance to Avonlea if he himself came from the background she had, at least as far as he had heard. She has a way of shaking things up, ever since she set foot in their sleepy town (and still to this day every time she opens her mouth). They certainly both think differently than others. Perhaps they have something in common after all.

“You know, I read that a lot of Emily Dickinson’s works are influenced by Emerson. You like her, right? They’re both transcendentalists.”

“What?”

Gilbert smiles to himself at her ignorance. The irony is that Romantic Transcendentalism fits Anne to a T, even if she isn’t aware of the term for it.

“Nevermind. I’m just saying, you should give him a try. You might like it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

She doesn’t sound like she will.

Gilbert looks out the window at the rolling hills, passing by in a fast blur. The clouds are low and gray. It’s like he’s been in this very moment before… as if time wasn’t linear, as if his soul was revisiting this.

“My father and I sat on this train and talked about books, too,” his mouth says without the permission of his brain. Anne doesn’t reply.

“Before he got sick?” she mutters after a while. She does him the favor of keeping her eyes trained on the landscape outside the window instead of on his embarrassment. 

“After.” He ponders a moment. “During.”

“Was it nice? Or sad?”

He looks up and she’s still politely avoiding his eyeline out of mercy. The corners of his mouth inch upward on their own, even though she isn’t privy to it.

“It was nice.”

Another moment passes with just the whirring of the train’s gears and the subtle murmurs of surrounding passengers.

“Sorry that this isn’t as nice,” she grumbles quietly. A child forced into placations after feeling guilty. It’s endearing. Gilbert grins fully, now.

“It isn’t so bad.” And surprisingly… he means it.

-

“Stop staring at me.”

“Then stop doing that,” he responds, fighting the impish smile off his face.

“Doing what?”

“Tapping. Your book, with your thumb.”

She glances down as if she forgot she had fingers.

“Oh. Sorry.”

Several moments later, before either of them can settle back into their reading (had he ever been reading? Had he even absorbed a word? Or was her idiosyncrasy too distracting?), the train is grinding to a slow halt and some passengers around them are shifting to gather their belongings. 

“This must be our stop,” he says simply.

“What was your first clue, Mr. Holmes? Was it the conductor’s announcement that we were arriving in Carmody?”

He heard no announcement. He really hadn’t been paying attention, had he? Not to anything except to her habitual mannerisms, anyway. Had she always done that tapping thing? Maybe he just never noticed before.

“So you have read male authors!” he exclaims, catching her the moment his brain wakes up to its surroundings.

“Hmm,” she confirms disdainfully, though not without a stifled smirk. 

They depart the train easily- carrying no belongings on them except their notebooks- as the day is very young and they intend to be home at Green Gables before dark. When Gilbert steps into the street, he positions an arm behind Anne and directs her to walk in front of him with the other.

“Oh, a gentleman ,” she coos sardonically. Gilbert tips his hat at a woman passing by them who glowers at Anne, and Anne glances down the street, oblivious.

“I have to, um… I’ll be right back,” she says, and with that, she’s off in the opposite direction so fast it makes his head spin.

He’s still processing and just beginning to seethe when a familiar face passes him on the platform landing. His anger dissipates and he forgets entirely about Anne’s disappearance.

“Dr. Ward! What a pleasant surprise!”

The elder man stops cold and beams.

“Gilbert Blythe! As I live and breathe. How are you, son?”

His father’s old doctor has a way of calming Gilbert and simultaneously dismaying him that he doesn’t like to think about for too long.

“What are you doing this far north?” he asks with a polite smile in return as they shake hands.

“It does the body good to travel,” he inside jokes, and then with a wink adds, “The wife wholeheartedly insists on pastries from Sam’s bakery once a month. Nothing in Charlottetown will do.” 

They share a laugh, and in the moment following, when their breath settles, Dr. Ward takes the opportunity to remind Gilbert of a certain mentorship opportunity from a conversation had months ago.

“The offer still stands,” he says with a fatherly nod of his head, “if you choose to make medicine your vocation after all, I would be more than happy to make an apprenticeship work around your classes in Avonlea. Within reason, that is.”

Gilbert is processing his words, but he’s already patting him on the arm and beginning to move on.

“T-thank you, sir… I’ll… I’ll consider it more deliberately.”

“Yes, yes, boy, please do!” the doctor is saying as he takes his leave. “I must be on my way. Wonderful to run into you- my door is open anytime, ailment or no!”

As soon as Dr. Ward turns his back on Gilbert, Anne Shirley has reappeared at his side like a specter.

“Who was that?” she proclaims.

“And just what were you thinking?” he snaps on instinct. “Running off like that in the middle of a busy train platform on a busy Saturday!? Marilla would have my head if she knew.” 

“Oh please ,” she responds with a giant roll of her eyes and an infuriatingly steadfast smile. “I am nearly eighteen. I do. Not. Need. A chaperone. Marilla wouldn’t even be able to comprehend my ability to navigate these streets on my own. It’s society that takes issue with it, and I refuse to let myself be affected by it.”

What Gilbert doesn’t see is Dr. Ward glancing over his shoulder to watch the pair argue in the middle of the crowd like an old married couple. 

“Would you relax?” Anne adds, grasping his upper arms gently to steady his focus on her. “There are no Marillas nor Matthews nor Miss Stacys around, or whoever it is you are so keen on impressing with your maturity.”

Gilbert blinks twice, and his body betrays him by relaxing. Whatever alchemy she’s effecting… it works. He needs to change the subject back to something uncontroversial. He shakes off her grip.

“Well, shall we head towards the paper, then?” Gilbert stammers, gesturing to the newspaper offices at the end of the street. Anne gets a glimmer in her eyes. 

“We have a bit of time before the interview is scheduled,” she says as she glances toward the clock in the square. “Doesn’t a city lunch sound exceptional? I’m famished.”

He looks down at his watch, but she doesn’t wait for his answer.

He crosses the street and bounds into the tavern following her, after he shakes off the surprise. He nearly runs into the back of her as the door shuts behind him, because she’s stopped right in front of the doorway to survey their seating options. She tosses a look his way and he mutters a casual apology.

She chooses the table by the window- “for the views,” she chirps, settling into her chair.

“It’s just people, is it not?” Gilbert asks as he removes his hat.

“The best view, don’t you think!”

“There are certainly instances where you would be correct,” he manages. And he sits across from her.

She fidgets with the table accoutrements, and he’s fascinated by how fast her fingers move as she rearranges the table to suit her liking. He’s unsure how many minutes pass by. Or, if it is only seconds, it sure feels like minutes. She gazes wistfully out the tavern window at the strangers walking by.

“I’ve resolved to imagine we are in a foreign country,” she informs him. “I think France, or Italy. I am a famous reporter doing an exposé on a corrupt news publication in town. And perhaps you are the local marshal, the only one to believe my findings, who’s chosen to assist me in tracking down the miscreants and bringing them to justice.”

This time it doesn’t bother him as much: her pretending the newspaper interview is more intriguing than it really is, invoking detectives and dramatics. It almost excites him.

“I don’t know how beneficial I would be to your case,” he admits, playing into her game. “I don’t think my presence as a marshal would send anyone running.” A hazy memory of punching Billy Andrews in the face years ago runs through his mind- though he can’t remember what would have incited him to physical violence.

“Nonsense, you’re just as intimidating as the rest of them,” she tosses with a wave of her hand. “Just maintain that gloomy intensity you excel at and we will be nothing but victorious.”

Her casualty about the scheme lends itself well to the waitstaff arriving to greet them. Gilbert doesn’t even have time to question her perception of him as the man approaches.

“Welcome,” he says. They greet him politely in return. “You two seem awful young to be in a place like this. May I ask what brings you to town?”

“Young! I haven’t heard that in years, thank you ever so much for the compliment!” Anne responds, already full in-character with an affected voice and everything. Gilbert tries not to smile.

“Pardon?” the server utters, adjusting his collar.

“I must admit, the other investigators are a bit more seasoned, the hardened scoundrel type, so I do stand out amongst them. Which is why they’ve trusted me with important business in this town. I don’t draw as much undue attention. No one suspects a female investigator, you see.” 

The twinkle in her eye is unbearable. The server pauses and sizes the two of them up for a moment.

“You don’t look like investigators.”

“We’re undercover,” Gilbert quickly replies, with a waggle of his eyebrows in Anne’s direction. Her surprised-deer expression at his participation fades quickly to a suppressed smile. “We really shouldn’t say much more,” he adds.

“Yes, my superiors would have my head if they knew I was risking our top secret investigation by blabbing about it to - I’m sorry, what was your name, sir?”

“Theodore.”

“To Theodore here!”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them. I doubt Theodore would be so unkind as to expose our mission. Would you, Theodore?” He makes his best attempt at a formidable, threatening face.

“I… I’ll be right back with some water for you both while you contemplate what you’d like to eat.”

The moment he’s out of sight, they both burst out laughing. The twinkle in her eye has grown into a flame of pure joy. Gilbert hears himself jokingly chastise her, for blowing their cover so early.

“Oh, I know,” she sighs. “I just got so excited, I completely lost my composure. Luckily it wasn’t for real life, or the media would continue in their corruption and I would be let go from the detective agency.”

“They would be foolish to willingly lose such a crucial member of their team.”

“I do better work on my own, anyways.”

She’s referring to their escapade, he’s sure, but something shifts slightly in her expression, invoking a subtle seriousness, and it causes him to hesitate in wisecracking back. Is she still pretending? Does she think her words are true, in reality?

They go through the motions of ordering, sipping water, showing mercy to the poor waitstaff. Anne starts to rehearse the questions for the newspaper interview. 

Gilbert adjusts his seating uncomfortably. Without the cushion of her imposed jest, this feels dangerously close to… well, courtship. 

Their food comes. All discussion ceases. He’s aware of the heaviness of the air in the room, and the way his teeth clack together when he eats and drinks. 

When it’s time to leave for the interview, Anne reaches for the coinpurse the Cuthberts handed to her when they left Green Gables.

“No, let me,” Gilbert reaches for his own pockets, and Anne balks at him.

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s only right,” he insists.

“This was not a date,” she snaps. 

“W-what? I know that!”

Both of their faces are now red: he can feel his and see Anne’s plainly. 

“It was my idea!” she stammers, flustered, opening her bag and digging for payment shakily. “Therefore I should pay. Anything else would be unfair, and I do not like debts. Especially not to y… to a boy.”

“Anne, if you don’t let me pay, I’ll be seen as extremely rude, and they’re going to talk!” he whisper-yells as she clamors.

“Why should I care about that?” She throws the money on the table haphazardly and bolts out of her chair. “Let’s go.” 

He reaches for her arm to slow her down, but she’s already one foot out the door. He rearranges the money into a neater pile on the table and waves goodbye awkwardly to the staff staring at them from the counter, calling a thank you as he exits after her.

Chapter Text

The clock on the wall ticks menacingly in the silence of the newspaper office. Slight bustle from outside can be heard from the open window as the Chief of Staff settles into his desk chair, straightening his personal effects. 

“Again, thank you ever so much for your time, Mr. Wilson.” Gilbert attempts, thinking it will soften the pressure in the room.

“Anything for the education of young students,” comes his even reply. He adjusts his glasses and gestures to Anne to begin.

“Question one: How long does it take you and your staff to formulate one edition of your newspaper?” Anne reads off the sheet. 

“One week, of course. That is what makes it a weekly paper…” a tone of unsure judgement tints his answer. Anne- mildly shocked, but determined- takes her brief notes. Gilbert clears his throat forwardly. 

She glances over at him for reassurance and he encourages her with a nod. 

“What is the average amount, and cost, of ink for a newspaper your size?” Anne could sound bored, but she doesn’t, instead asking the man the classes’ questions like they are the most interesting thing in the world to her. Gilbert is pleasantly surprised.

“Well, last quarter it was…” 

They both take notes, as they discussed during lunch. Between the two of them the information will be fully documented. The chief of staff likes to talk, and Gilbert finds himself attempting to summarize his answers even as he says them.

The newspaper head and Anne go back and forth for three quarters of an hour. She rattles off her questions and he indulges them all: What is the daily schedule like? (Here’s a broken down timesheet and to-do list.) How do you decide when to post the paper? (Usually it’s after church, most traffic in one location makes it easy to distribute.) Who handles the delivery? (Carl.) How would you recommend a company go about a paper without the latest technology in terms of notation? (Could you repeat that one?) Where do you get your paper? (Charlottetown store.) How do you formulate headlines? (How much time do you have? This one is a lengthy process and I’d love to share my formula…)

“How many are on staff?” Anne’s practical voice recites off her notes.

“Four. Any more and this place would be a zoo.” The chief laughs, and she and Gilbert share a nervous look. He knows they’re thinking the same thing: there are quite a few more students in their class than four. 

“How do you all decide what to write about?” This one wasn’t on the sheet, but a good follow up to the last. Gilbert figures the class and Miss Stacy will allow it.

“What kind of nonsense question is that?” he laughs again, obliviously good-natured. “I decide. That is my job as the chief. Do you think we put it up to a vote, child?”

Anne falters, and clears her throat to continue.

Gilbert soon recognizes the last question on the interview sheet, and he knows Anne’s grandiose inquiry is next. She puts the pen and pad down and looks up at their interviewee, her eyes bright and shining with excitement despite the adult seriousness Mr. Wilson exudes. Her mouth is set in a determined line. She doesn’t read off the sheet.

“If you could go back in time, hypothetically speaking, of course, and change one thing to make your paper better… or more enticing from the start, what would it be?” she asks. Her quiet voice invokes a pensive breath of air from the paper chief, as well as Gilbert.

He’s impressed at her thoughtfulness. She asked all the other questions like a true reporter, no frills, no nonsense, no conjecture: Exactly as she was instructed, with nothing to indicate her opinion was that she thought the questions monotonous, which he knew to be the truth. But the emotion with which she asked this final question made Gilbert realize it was indeed the most important of them all, and that she had been right. Passion interjected into the project will inspire it to succeed. Gilbert almost curses under his breath. Another point to Anne.

He doesn’t listen to the answer, which is alright only because he watches Anne furiously scribble it down in her notes. She looks up triumphantly, a sparkle in her eyes, directly into his. It’s seemingly accidental, because the sparkle fades immediately. He offhandedly wonders what the score between them would be, and has a sinking feeling that he is losing… rapidly.

Gilbert has been silent since the interview, which isn’t totally out of the ordinary, but does seem odd given the initial trajectory of their day. Anymore, he only speaks to her when spoken to by her… but today began with the train ride into town where he had the opportunity to pepper her with a barrage of interrogation, and further included an inexplicably entertaining lunch. She smiles to herself at the memory of the ruse she somehow convinced him to take part in. Just when she thinks she has him figured out, something shifts. 

Anne is poring over the interview answers, trying to make sense of her own handwriting, and Gilbert’s notes as well. Her head is spinning with all of the befuddlement of their interactions, and of how she’s going to formulate her report for the other students in an acceptable way.

She would never admit it to Gilbert, because it would gift him a point in their metaphorical game of wits, but she’s been obsessing over pleasing her classmates with this assignment since he so callously pointed out to her that in school she tends to forge her own lonely path. She wants this time to be different. Perhaps the other students will for once, be proud to be associated with Anne. At the very least, they’ll stop mistrusting her.

“Did you sincerely just write “Carl” down for one of the answers?” she asks abruptly into the silence between them. “How are we supposed to know who that is?”

Gilbert chuckles once at this like he was waiting for her to get to that part, a smile on his features as he looks out the window pointedly. Her stomach flutters with the same butterflies she met when watching his boyish laughter during their charade at the tavern. She saw him watching her then, all wide-eyed and full of mysterious perception. And now, he won’t even look at her. How peculiar.

Somewhere between all the strange unspoken signals Gilbert’s been sending her and the overwhelming urge to abandon him and go about the project on her own (which she almost did when she first stepped off the train), Anne realized that they make an alright team. He’s quiet now, but he was quick with ideas and ambition over lunch. He even opened her eyes to the benefit of restricting your emotion to use at the right moment, instead of bombarding people with it. 

“I can not promise to do that more often,” she thinks aloud, which startles them both.

“I’m sorry?” he asks.

“Nothing!” she blurts.

They go back to excruciating silence.

She takes time to divide the answers from their interview into three categories: useful, hypothetical, and problematical. Perhaps he’d have some insight into the best way for them to present the information to the class.

“I was thinking-” Gilbert begins at the same time as Anne’s “Do you think that-?” and the two of them stammer to a stop.

“You go ahead,” he urges. She narrows her eyes.

“No you,” she demands. “Perhaps we were thinking the same thing.”

He takes a shaky breath, then says, “I’ve been thinking of taking an internship with a doctor in Charlottetown. I’d have the opportunity to actually study medicine, and do something important in my life… Nothing is final yet, but it would limit my time in school, and I’m probably going to talk to Miss Stacy about it this week.”

So they were decidedly not thinking the same thing.

“I think it is better,” he continues when she doesn’t reply, “if we neglect to inform the others that I came along for the questioning. I don’t know how much involvement I’ll be able to have in the school paper, what with my potential work at the medicinal offices… and I don’t want them to think you can’t do it alone… that you’re ungovernable.”

“I am ungovernable,” she says sharply, feeling the glare of betrayal form on her face.

He laughs (rather cruelly, she thinks) and her cheeks warm traitorously, exposing her anger. 

“Of course,” he agrees with a tight-lipped grin. “What was I thinking?”

“ You’re the one who insisted on coming along on this assignment.” And now he was abandoning her, throwing her to the wolves on her own, removing his endorsement from her selections… embarrassed of her.

“I.. what? I know that. That’s not what I…” his wheels turn visibly. “And that was for your benefit, you know,” he tells her.

A million conflicting emotions that she can’t even begin to identify cloud her vision. The only thing to cut through them, after a few moments, is Gilbert’s taunting, “Hey, maybe now you’ll have a leg up on winning our competition.”

“What?” she’s sure she misheard him, as there’s no way he could be that malicious or condescending.

“In schooling,” he digs the knife deeper, “For top student? Keeping up with you now is sure going to pose a challenge.”

The squeaking of train wheels is her immediate signal to bolt from her seat and out the door as fast as her feet will carry her.

“Shirley!”

Anne hurries off the train, off the platform, and onto the rocky path back to Green Gables.

“Can you slow down, please?” Gilbert calls after her. She either ignores him or can’t hear him, most likely the former.

“Hey! I’m talking to you! Don’t ignore me!”

She doesn’t slow and doesn’t respond. 

“What are you so cross about?” he asks, jogging to keep up with her. “Was the day really that awful?” his attempt to smooth her temper fails.

“Ugh!” she grumbles loudly. 

“I had to come along,” he quips. “You could have gone off on a tangent during the questioning, and can you blame… I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted to preserve the integrity of the project.” He’s out of breath keeping up with her. She groans and speeds up again, and he falters back on his heels.

“Because conflict sure seems to find its way to you. With our classmates?”

Nothing.

“Good thing I’m always there to soften the blow,” he tries, thinking maybe a direct insult will get her to look at him, even if he doesn’t mean it. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it works.

“I do not need a savior, Gilbert Blythe!” she shouts at him across the forest path. “I am not a damsel in distress and I am perfectly capable of saving myself, even though you clearly don’t think so!”

“What, just because I try to help you out sometimes?” He scoffs, his indignation subsiding now that he has her attention. He regrets his outburst and attempts civility. “All this just because I tagged along for the interview?”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” she huffs and turns on her heel to continue walking through the woods. “And now you…” she stops herself cold, then continues on in silence.

“I know you didn’t,” escapes Gilbert’s mouth softly, and then a stronger, “Come on, Anne, be straight with me- are you seriously so against having a friend on your side?” he commands as he follows her, several paces behind.

“A friend!?”

“Yes, a friend!”

“We are NOT friends!”

“Well why not?”

“What?”

She stops again and whirls around to face him. Gilbert takes a deep, quaking breath to try and calm himself, because his thoughts are swimming and he’s lost the original point he wanted to make and this girl makes him so unbalanced he’s tempted to say things he doesn’t mean again or doesn’t want to say for the first time just yet, for fear of… of what? Saying it wrong? He starts again, keeping his voice calm as best he can.

“Y’know,” he says, “we could at least be cordial to one another, even if I’m not your cup of tea… I don’t know what I did to make you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” she protests, though her glare would indicate otherwise.

“Well let me know when you decide to pardon me for the crime of trying to befriend you,” he heaves. 

Anne is silent for what seems like a long time, then she utters thoughtfully-

“I like tea just fine. Except one time it burned my tongue very badly, and I couldn’t taste anything scrumptious at all for a while. So now I’m cautious when I drink it.”

Gilbert blinks, his anger and frustration dissolved immediately.

“You think I’m going to burn you ?” he asks incredulously. Anne groans and turns on her heel without explaining herself.

“Boys are so thickheaded,” she complains instead.

“I’m not,” he argues back determinedly. “I just wasn’t prepared for you to speak in such cryptic riddles.”

Anne stalks down the path, and he follows, leaves crunching under their feet.

“I’m great at solving puzzles,” he tries. “Do you think you left the kettle on too long and the water was too hot?” 

“Excuse me!?” She stops again and they square up like they’re about to duel. A grin plays at the corners of his lips at the sight of her furious glare, but he fights it off, because he genuinely isn’t trying to irritate her… this time.

“Or maybe you got excited and drank before the tea had a chance to cool. It’s understandable- I’ve done the same. Lots of times.”

“Have you taken it upon yourself to push every button I have and challenge everything I say?” Anne demands, gripping the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles are turning white. 

“Statistically, someone has to, right?” Gilbert prods, unsure of why he feels the need to goad her. Maybe it’s because he’s stood up to their classmates on her behalf on multiple occasions, or because she ’s the one who once hit him with a slate… so the idea that he would ever hurt her is blasphemous and insulting, and he has to defend his honor. Yes, that’s probably it.

“I suppose it makes sense that my arch enemy would be the one with the ability to do so.”

“Arch enemy!?” Now, he’s the one who’s mad. He’s raised his voice and she lifts her chin defiantly.

“Well, yes,” she stammers. “We’re rivals.”

“In schoolwork, ” Gilbert clarifies loudly with genuine disbelief. “Not in life!”

“That’s just not true,” she argues. “You yourself have spoken many times about the restriction of Avonlea and wanting to be free of it. You take it for granted when you should be reverent of its beauty and depth! So in our livelihoods, we are just as contrary.” 

Something about her calling them enemies still doesn’t sit right, but the vulnerable look in her eyes takes him aback.

“Well I’m still here aren’t I? That has to account for something.”

“The only thing it accounts for is your indecisiveness and cowardice.”

“So one minute I’m a vagabond and the next I’m a coward?”

Anne stomps away through the leaves, back on the path to her farm. 

“God, why, when a girl clearly doesn’t want to talk to you, can’t you just leave her alone!?” she shouts. Gilbert freezes.

“Fine!” he yells back, his vision blurry.

“What?” Anne is shocked, for some reason, and she gapes as she watches him change course.

“I’m not sticking around where I’m not wanted. See you Monday, Shirley.”

“For the last time, it’s Shirley-Cuthbert !”

And then he stalks down the path in the opposite direction, his feet leading him on muscle memory so his mind can idle. 

If he was unsure about the apprenticeship before, this settles it. He would have to work out means of travel into the city and see about the intended schedule with Dr. Ward. Perhaps the physician would allow him to sleep on the floor at the office every other week. He’d have to continue his schooling in some way like he mentioned. Maybe weekend doctoring and weekly schooling? That would be an awful lot of back and forth. Perhaps alternating every other week. Would another school accept him as a pupil even though the year has already begun?

He has to contemplate it more, but his fury-turned-strategizing is already subsiding, for as he nears a familiar path, it soothes him.

-

Gilbert huffs and puffs his way to the Lacroix porch, stomping up the stairs and pounding on the front door. It’s opened by a very confused Sebastian, and before he can offer up a greeting, Gilbert is already speaking. 

“May I stay with you for a few nights?” 

“Sure, Blythe, it’s your house,” Sebastian quips, opening the door wider. “Mary, there’s a strapping white gentleman here to call on our daughter!”

“It’s your house,” Gilbert corrects with a smile as he steps over the threshold. “I told you I don’t want it.”

“And you’ll never let me forget it, waltzing in here to remind me we aren’t good enough for ya.”

He jokes, but Gilbert remembers the solemnity on his face when he signed over the deed. When he denied it, fought him on it. He’s doing him a favor, now, by making light of it.

Mary enters with Delphine in her arms, and Sebastian softens like he’s never seen them before.

“Sebastian Lacroix, you leave that man alone. Teasing him for his graciousness.”

Mary was adamant, at the beginning, that Gilbert stay living with them, but had long since given up. She also stopped trying to pay Gilbert back for gifting the land (hypothetically, as Sebastian insisted on giving some money in return and the stipend sits in the back of his closet at Green Gables, unclaimed by Miss Cuthbert). Instead, Mary just feeds him every time he walks in the door.

“Hungry?” She asks as she hands the baby over to Gilbert. 

“Always.” He’s cradling the infant in his arms before he realizes what’s happening, and it immediately changes his mood. He plays with his fingers in her face, and she grabs hold of his thumb. Her fingers are so tiny… just like her toes, which he feels the desperate need to pinch.

She makes towards the stove and Sebastian rolls his eyes with his whole body.

“You dote on Gil more than your own husband,” he complains. 

“You hush,” she scolds jovially. “I can’t cook our brother a simple meal?”

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” Gilbert jokes, and Sebastian shoves his arm. He sucks his teeth after their laughter subsides.

“A simple meal is all fine and good. But you said you need to stay for a few days,” Sebastian says with a sip of his mug. “What for? Something amiss? You change your mind about living here? Want to come back after all?”

“No, I… I don’t know what I want, Bash,” he admits. “I thought I left here to get out of farming, to get my life on some sort of track… but with school work and helping out on the Cuthbert’s land, I’m more turned around than I was in the first place and I can’t seem to stay away from her.”

“Ah, so that’s why you’ve returned to us.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Anne.”

“What?”

“You said you can’t seem to stay away from her.”

“It. I said it. As in farming, I can’t seem to stay away from it.” He’s sure that’s what came out of his mouth. He’s almost one-hundred percent sure. Maybe ninety.

Mary and Sebastian exchange a look.

Seventy-five.

“You don’t think that girl’s the reason you made straight for the Cuthbert’s door when you needed a place to go?” Sebastian scolds affectionately. Mary takes her baby out of Gilbert’s arms.

“Don’t be ridiculous Bash,” he says. The mere thought of it is obscene to Gilbert, especially when he thinks of her vitriol towards him most of the day, the whiplash she causes him. “I’m staying there for… a change of pace.”

“Some change, I’ll say-”

“And free room and board.”

“Free except your manpower and a few stolen glances, eh?” Sebastian hassles him as he’s passed the baby next. 

“That’s not funny,” Gilbert defends himself. “I’m just trying to… find myself.” As he says it, he cringes. He sounds so immature, even to his own ear.

Instead of teasing, Sebastian offers, “Maybe you’re trying to find your family.” 

“That’s… you guys are my family.”

Sebastian tuts and rocks Delphine. 

“We know,” Mary says. “You’ll always have a home with us.”

“But I’m just your brother,” Sebastian adds. “It’s different, when you find a lady.” He looks up adoringly at Mary, who rubs his shoulder in response. How on earth their discussion landed here, he’d never know.

“She’s not my lady.”

“She could be, if you’d ask her.”

“That’s rich,” Gilbert blurts. “She can’t stand me! I can’t ask her the time of day without her practically beheading me.”

“Mighty fine piece of work here, Blythe. Putting that sweet old lady out just because you don’t know how to talk to a girl.”

He shoves his shoulder fraternally and chuckles. Gilbert shakes his head and laughs out of disbelief, muttering about Bash’s insanity. Mary smiles like she knows something the boys don’t. 

“Forget it. What’s for dinner?”

They fall back into easy laughter as if Gilbert never moved out, and they don’t bring up Anne once for the remainder of the weekend. When Monday morning rolls around, he’s all but forgotten the tumultuous trip to Carmody which, in retrospect, is a mistake. He neglects to stay on his toes, and falls several points behind her in their unspoken game during the weeks to come.

Chapter Text

The morning is still and quiet. Sunbeams stream through Anne’s open window, the day already warming the air in her room. She wakes slowly, only halfway, becoming vaguely aware that she’s kicked the quilt off in the night and now lies only under the delicate bedsheet. It feels nice and smooth on the skin of her arms and legs, and she settles into the comfort of her intermediary state. Not quite asleep, not quite awake.

She also has a vague awareness of a strange feeling in her lower body. Holding onto the remnants of sleep, she focuses the other half of her attention on the pulsation between her thighs. It’s a very soft pleasantness, but exciting all the same. She wonders in the back of her mind if it’s a reward from the heavens for being so well-behaved the past few days, but doesn’t dare question it further for fear the sensation might slip away before she’s pinpointed exactly what it is.

The throbbing warmth increases when she gently rubs her legs together, the buzzing feeling expanding internally towards her stomach. She can sense the sunlight on the other side of her closed eyes, refusing to open them lest she lose this unknown bliss.

Her mind’s eye generates images against the back of her eyelids. An out-of-focus peaceful meadow with birds chirping. A dusty library with the smell of books, exciting her to possibilities unknown. A gift, tenderly given to her over Christmas, as a boy’s hand brushes hers. In her dreamlike state she recalls opening the gift and thinking of what his hands delicately wrapping the present would have looked like in the first place, then of what those fingertips would look like flipping through the small dictionary he gifted her.

The warmth is pricking a bit, and she traces her nails up her leg to the front of her pelvis to entice the feeling to stay. Her forehead warms a bit as she moves her thumb back and forth over the spot.

She subconsciously conjures the memory of watching the aforementioned hands as they read a book in class, fingering the pages in between turns, brushing through a previously consumed chapter. She recollects his middle fingertip raising to his tongue, tantalizingly moistening its grip for the paper before he lowers it back down and flips the page.

She’s imagining the folds between her legs are the pages under Gilbert’s fingers, and she dances her own across the space to mimic the foggy memory. Only mildly noticing how she feels under her hand, she presses more firmly and pretends it’s his index arching inside of her, as if she is the bookpage he’s turning, as if the moisture elicited from his tongue were the gush of wet she feels between her legs as she moves her fingertip faster.  

His name escapes her lips before she can stop it, alongside a swell of dancing heat that washes over her entire body to the tips of each of her limbs and convulses them, and she feels as if she may faint for a moment. But then she’s floating back down to earth and opening her eyes fully and catching her hastened breath. She wipes her hand over the sheet as the mild horror of what she’s just done settles on her heart. Even though no one else is there, she’s mortified at her actions. Even moreso to have thought of him during, trespassing in such a vulnerable state. 

Still… a pretty nice way to wake up.

Or at least it was, until a knock on her door causes her to bolt upright in her bed, and the absolute worst possible sound imaginable comes from the other side.

“Did you just call for me?” Gilbert’s voice implores, muffled through the wood of the door, and her heart drops into her stomach.

“No!?” Anne stammers back quickly, scrambling to cover herself with her quilt as if he could see through the walls. “Go away!” 

“Alright…?” he says hesitantly, and Anne can only imagine his face scrunched in confusion as he contemplates her strangeness. 

When she hears his footsteps retreat, she shoves her pillow over her face and screams into it.

-

Throughout the week, Anne had avoided Gilbert rather successfully. Save for glowering at each other across the aisle at school, she hadn’t had much to do with him at all. All week. Monday through Friday. Barely speaking, faking cordiality at school but keeping their distance, nothing but residual vitriol and mutual awkwardness between the two when they did interact, and now this? A Saturday should be meant for relaxing and creative productivity and freedom from the shackles of what ails you during the week… and this is how hers begins?

She races down the stairs after getting ready for the day, breezes past Marilla making breakfast without her so much as noticing, and slips out the door. Luck is on her side. 

It’s unseasonably warm outside, which doesn’t do much to help her vexation as she stomps through the woods towards Diana’s house. The birds are chirping a taunt that sounds an awful lot like ‘gilBERT gilBERT gilBERT ’.

She walks faster.

-

“I don’t understand, I thought he was trying to befriend you-”

“Trying to weaken my defenses with fake friendship.”

“-but then you fought, the details of which you still neglect to share with me-”

“The details are irrelevant. He is ruthless.”

“-and now you two aren’t even speaking. What could he have done now?”

Anne’s beautiful best friend is rocking on her porch swing by way of gently swinging her legs back and forth. She’s put down the flower she was picking at to focus on Anne fully, though truth be told Anne isn’t sure what she even said.

“He… well he hasn’t actually done anything…” she replies from her spot on the porch railing. She stares at her shoes, covered in dried mud, and thinks about finding a stick to pick it off with.

“Well?” Diana prompts. “What is it, then? Out with it.” Leave it to Diana to know what Anne needs best is a little practicality.

“I had… a dream.” Anne looks up at Diana, willing her to understand with just a look. She doesn’t.

“A dream?”

Anne groans and drops her head in her hands. 

“About Gilbert,” she mutters into her palms, voice muffled.

“What was that?” Diana asks. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“About Gilbert!” Anne looks up and exclaims. Diana covers her mouth with her hand.

“Oh!” she slowly lowers her hand. “What… what happened in it?”

“No, Diana, a dream.” She raises her eyebrows in insinuation again, and Diana almost understands.

“Was it… romantic in nature?” she tries.

“Um… yes?” Anne cringes.

Diana waits patiently with a small smile on her face, before asking,

“So his big slight… is being dreamy?”

“I never said that!” Anne hurries. Diana is giggling like a madwoman.

“You admitted it plain! You dreamt of him! He is dreamy to you!”

“Diana, this is mortifying! Please, don’t you dare tell a soul about this!”

She stops laughing and stands from the bench swing, grasping Anne’s hands in her own.

“Oh Anne, I wouldn’t even think of it,” she assures her with a grin. “I’m ever so thrilled you continually choose me to confide in.” Her friend pulls her off her perch on the railing and laces her arm in Anne’s. “Come on,” she continues, “let’s walk down to the garden and gaze upon the flowers to take your mind off of it.”

“Aren’t they all dying?”

“Exactly why I thought you’d want to look at them,” Diana chirps as they walk, “because of the tragical nature.”

“Oh sweet, lovely Diana. Like always, you are absolutely right.”

Gilbert and Anne skirt around each other all afternoon. He thought they were on the path to friendship, after their spat last week. He’d given her space, as she requested (though he’d be the first to tell you it was not without a daily sideways glare in her direction). 

She was being ridiculous. He was most likely also being ridiculous, by catering to her impudence. This whole thing was- astoundingly- ridiculous. They had so much in common. They were both orphans, which she had pointed out multiple times. They both had an affinity for learning, which they had learned while studying in the parlor on multiple occasions. They both, in Gilbert’s opinion, had multiple opportunities to soften to the other and stop attempting victory in their competition- a competition that had begun in their childhood.

So why were they still setting each other’s teeth on edge?

He washes up for supper distractedly. He hears Anne setting the table in the dining room, and for some reason he’s nervous to see her, even though he never did anything wrong.

They all settle into their seats. Marilla exchanges cordial conversation with Gilbert, but his mind is elsewhere so he provides short answers. Matthew grunts and passes around the water pitcher. 

After Anne serves herself and goes to pass the pitcher across the table to him, he catches sight of some petals peeking out of her untucked hair, falling loosely around her collar.

“What are those?” he says stupidly. His hands forget to reach for the pitcher.

“What?” Anne clips.

“The flowers. Is that violet?”

“Oh, Anne!” Marilla scolds. “Are those flowers from the Barry’s still in your hair? I told you to take those out!”

“Marilla, please, they were dying!” Anne cries, slamming the water on the table. “Diana asked me to give them a second life!”

“Nonsense. Take them out at once.”

Anne storms from the table. When she returns, she won’t look at Gilbert, even though he’s trying to mouth a silent apology in her direction.

He glances around the table awkwardly. They eat in silence for a while, the only notable noise being the sound of Anne’s silverware scraping and smacking against her plate.

“Have you heard any more about the apprenticeship with that doctor in town?” Marilla asks.The question is directed at Gilbert, but she and Matthew share a look. 

“Oh, um-” He feels his gaze shift to Anne, who’s frozen, looking at him with anger.

“He’ll make a great doctor,” Anne snaps. Gilbert speaks over her at the same time,

“I have.” he says simply. Anne scoffs. “I will start with him soon, by next week’s end,” Gilbert adds.

“That’s… great news,” Marilla says carefully, eyeing Anne like she is a bomb about to explode. “Perhaps a bit of distance… that is, spending time in Charlottetown, will do you well.” 

Her words are kind enough but her expression is entirely perplexing. Matthew clears his throat.

“With the weather cooling,” he offers gruffly, “there will be less to do on the farm, and it may very well be… too cramped. Inside.” 

Anne stands abruptly and her chair skids against the wood floor. 

“I’m finished, and I’m going to bed,” she announces, snatching her empty plate off the table and bounding into the kitchen to deposit it in clangs and crashes. Gilbert watches, concerned, but doesn’t dare say anything to involve himself in the family’s moment in any way. Marilla and Matthew are dumbfounded, and by the time they shake themselves out of it, Anne is gone.

-

Gilbert can’t sleep, and he lies on his stomach with his arms encircling his pillow as he stares at shadows on the wall.

A lot had happened over the course of a few months, and he isn’t sure he’d taken time to really process it all. He’d thrown himself into school work to distract him from his irksome emotions. Choosing a vocation for real, grappling with where his home truly lies, avoiding confrontation with things that challenge him. He recognizes that he’s tired, but his mind is racing with no particular thoughts and he can’t puzzle out exactly what is bothering him the most. 

Frustrated, he scratches the base of his skull under his hair. It always soothed him, dragging his fingernails over his scalp comfortingly, satisfying an itch he didn’t know he had. He closes his eyes and pretends it’s not his own hand doing the comforting. Makes it feel even nicer.

His body errantly creates a twinge in the appendage between his legs, as his brain hazily recalls the softness of the way Anne’s flower-adorned hair brushed over her shoulders at dinner.

He angrily pushes the image away, insulted that she would invade his personal time like this after being so rude to him all week, and not to mention this evening. And just when he thought they had hashed out their differences, too. He tosses and turns onto his back and tries instead to think of anyone else, perhaps the cute medical secretary at the doctors offices in Charlottetown, or any number of the women he encountered on his travels overseas. The pulse remains and he runs his hand over his front, below the blanket, smiling with this intention in mind and a newfound task that might actually help lull him to sleep.

In the darkness, his attention is drawn to the small flickering candle on his bedside table. Instantly, he is taken back to a similar flicker of light on that table, off a medal, as a certain redhead occupied his space uninvited, with her loud voice and piercing eyes and supple looking skin and taut waist under his palms on her dress skirts… and he forces the memory from his mind as that was weeks ago and she should not get to forcibly occupy his space now, too. The idea of her drives him mad with aggravation, but confusingly, the throbbing in his lower half remains all the same.

Thoughtlessly, he reaches down his sleep trousers and tugs as his length until the rest of his blood rushes to it, and he strokes and pulls and lets himself groan and grunt, and truly he doesn’t last long before euphoria overcomes his body in jerking motions. Because the fact of the matter is, he had been picturing that it was Anne’s grip on him instead of his own the whole time.

Chapter Text

The days pass. The school paper takes off, and Gilbert is right that Anne presenting her findings alone causes the other students to trust her. She’s less indignant about his choice in light of this development, but it still stings sometimes when she catches sight of him and is reminded of her embarrassment. Gilbert goes into town on the weekends and every other Friday, to study medicine with his Dr. Ward (and no doubt enjoy city life away from Ann - Avonlea. Avonlea .).

The animosity she feels when she sees him begins to fade quickly, though, because she sees him less and less, so there’s little fodder for the flames, really. There’s no extra farm work to be done, and with Gilbert’s apprenticeship schedule differing so much from Anne’s before-and-after-school newspaper production, they rarely cross paths. He’s usually gone on weekday mornings when she wakes up, out all weekend, and returns home late enough on Sundays that she’s already in bed. They stop walking to school at the same time, and the girls lose all interest in the situation when Anne explains it's as if he is a ghost that doesn’t really live at Green Gables at all, and she has no good gossip to offer in their opinion. It’s kind of nice, actually, that things go back to some semblance of normalcy. Ruby even stops sighing and glaring at Anne on a frequent basis, which is a relief.

Anne does not miss his presence. It’s almost as if he doesn’t exist, save for the rare occasions he stays in town on Thursday afternoons to partake in the school paper. The other students greedily consume his Charlottetown stories with awe, finding any way possible to insert his worldly perspective into the news editorials.

One particularly cold morning, Anne is late to the boys’ weekly hockey game, finding Ruby has been too distracted by her attachment to Gilbert’s looks to take any notice of the puck’s journey.

Anne tries not to think about his looks when the culprit himself skates to a stop in front of her, causing the girls to giggle and tease him about Ruby’s crush. Except for Anne, because everything he does is extremely pompous, and he is not at all as dreamy as the other girls make him out to be. Josie seems to be the only one other than Anne who wishes Ruby would snap out of it.

“He noticed me!” Ruby squeals. “He looked right at me and smiled!”

“You’re delusional,” Josie complains. Anne pretends not to notice the subtle pity in her eyes, aimed in her direction.

She does not miss him when he skates away.

-

The cold remains.

She gets a higher grade on their first practice test for their faraway college entrance exams, one day at school, and when she goes to rub it in his face, she can’t, because the face seems gray and sullen and completely unwell. She asks if he’s alright and he brushes her off coldly, but the next day he stays home from school. He’s taken sick, and it’s bad enough that on Saturday he refrains from heading into Charlottetown for doctoring lessons. It’s ironic, because he desperately needs them.

It humanizes him strangely, being ill. His languid aura when she brings up a tray of food (Marilla has insisted upon making it to help heal him) persuades her to adopt a temporary truce… for his sake, not because she’s affected by his sorrowfulness in any meaningful way.

After she sets the tray on the dresser table she crosses to the open window willfully, and as she closes it shut she says “You’ll catch your death with this open, letting all that cold air in.”

“I was hot,” he pouts. 

Anne feels his forehead with the back of her hand.

“Yes, you are burning up, so that makes sense. Clearly, you have a fever.”

“Ugh, I know,” Gilbert groans.

“Doesn’t that doctor teach you how to treat a respiratory illness like this?” 

“My mind’s not as sharp as usual,” he teases weakly, staring up at her with a pathetic attempt at a smile. Her knuckles still rest on his forehead.

She shakes her hand to be rid of the feeling of his balmy skin, and turns back to the vanity table to fix the tray. “The cold air won’t do anything but dry you out, you need humidity, and also hydration. Here.”

She brings the tray to the desk next to his bed. Gilbert slowly sits up using his elbows, to prop himself up against the headboard. 

“You’re being uncharacteristically sweet to me.”

“Well… I hate seeing anyone succumb to illness.” Anne straightens the blankets over his midsection to make a palette for the tray of food, and continues, “but furthermore, you’re supposed to be the one fixing people, not the other way around.”

She means it, but the moment is too sentimental, too romantic, and she’s instantly embarrassed by what she’s said. She recoils.

“And also, you’re not in top shape. I need you at your absolute healthiest if I’m going to best you academically. A win on a technicality is no better than a loss.” There. She’s fixed it.

“I’ll take it,” Gilbert says enthusiastically with a roll of his eyes and a smile, then groans as even that small movement has tired him, and he grabs his head with one hand. Anne moves the tray of soup and accoutrement from the desk and places it on his lap over the covers, and when he goes to steady it, their hands overlap. 

She pulls away slowly. His fingertips are so soft and his nose is red and it’s really quite adorable, objectively, him looking like a puppy who’s played too long with its muzzle in the snow. Ruby would be positively swooning at his delicacy. It has no effect on Anne, though.

She exits after a curt nod, and he calls when she’s at the doorway,

“Anne?”

“I am not spoon feeding you soup, you are more than capable of doing that on your own.”

Gilbert chuckles, then coughs.

“I’ll remember that you said that, the next time you ask me to spoon feed you soup,” he meagerly jokes. “But that’s not what I was going to say.”

“Then what?” She ignores his dangerous teasing.

“Nevermind.”

Anne turns, frustrated by his coyness.

“No, tell me. What?”

“Can…” he begins in a small voice. “Can you sing that song you and Marilla have? For when you’re baking bread?”

The request takes her aback rather fiercely, especially since it is obviously asked in earnest. 

“Nevermind,” he says again, shaking his head and adjusting his position, pained.

Under normal circumstances, she’d impertinently protest that she isn’t a jester or a music box and he can sing the song to himself… but he really is weaker than usual, and clearly miserable, and something in his downcast, big brown eyes tugs at her heartstrings.

“Fine,” she says, unable to manage any vitriol, and walks slowly over to sit herself at the foot of his bed. 

“Really?” he asks eagerly. 

She nods. He doesn’t test her further. He eats his soup and breadroll and gives her time. She gathers the courage to release the first notes of the tune she’s grown so accustomed to over the years. It’s an easy enough piece, the words rhyme in enough of a cadence to be catchy without being obnoxious. It’s not juvenile enough to be considered a lullaby. It’s not a bad song, but not her favorite, and boy is she rusty on musical technique. She focuses only on the words and notes, avoids looking in his direction, and tries not to sound too pitchy or sing too loudly or make any weird faces while she’s at it. 

When the song is done she expects a snide look and facetious comment about her lack of talent, but instead when she looks up she is met with a rather misty-eyed Gilbert Blythe instead.

“Was I that bad?” she asks quietly. Gilbert laughs and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, then shakes his head.

“No, you were lovely.”

They sit in silence, Anne unsure if she should stand and leave or say something. He smiles softly at her.

“Thank you,” he offers. “You don’t have to stay any longer, if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t!” she quickly replies. Gilbert blinks at her.

“I just mean, I should, uh,” she stammers. “Work on schoolwork. You… get some rest. And drink all the tea.”

“Yes, doctor,” Gilbert teases, and Anne stutters a casual goodbye as she exits the room.

She doesn’t get a single thing done when it comes to studying. She tries, but an insistent nag in the back of her mind keeps asking if she thinks Gilbert’s gotten to sleep. Who cares? she asks the voice, but the only thing that soothes her worry is to go upstairs and look through his open doorway. He’s out cold, half upright, the tray empty of food and drink but still remaining on the bed.

She would turn and go back to studying, but… It’s only right to enter the room and retrieve the tray, to be safe. It’s only right to draw the curtains, since the sun is ever so bright... And it’s only right to pull the covers up to his chest, for warmth, before exiting the room as quietly as she came in.

She’s finally able to work in peace. She solves most of her math questions easily. But she spells “peculiarity” incorrectly on her practice sheet.

Chapter Text

Gilbert walks through the door of the school to absolute chaos. 

The other boys in his class are crossing to each other, murmuring, hyperventilating as if they’ve received news that they’re all being sold to the circus immediately.

The girls are all gathered outside, staring at a wall. Moody approaches without looking at him, his eyes transfixed on the window, or rather, through it, at the girls on the other side. He nearly runs straight into Gilbert.

“Moody, what on earth is going on?” he shouts, steadying his friend by the shoulders.

“Oh it’s not earth, Gil, it’s hell. Capital H Hell.”

“Slow down. What are you talking about?”

“The girls!”

“Good start. What about them?”

“They… if you like a girl, right?”

“Sure, go on.”

“You’ve got to take notice now!”

“You’ve lost me,” Gilbert takes pity on his classmate and ushers him towards a bench to sit. One of the Pauls musses Moody’s hair and the other nudges him in the ribs. They’re both laughing, but appear nervous as well.

“This Notice board,” Paul says with a mischievous inflection. “If you favor a girl in class you have to tell them by way of someone else noticing you and posting it on the board.”

“ How are you explaining it so calmly?” Moody squawks. “Don’t you like anyone? This is so stressful!”

“I do,” Paul says, “I just already know what I’m going to post.” A devilish grin appears on his face.

“I don’t understand. Can’t you just tell them directly?” Gilbert asks.

“Of course not, are you insane?” Charlie pipes up from the other side of the desks. 

“Well why not?”

“You can’t do that, come on too strong, y’know? You’ll scare them.”

“What?”

“They frighten easily. Girls,” Billy Andrews adds unhelpfully. Gilbert scoffs.

“That’s stupid,” he snaps, “it’s just talking. You’re telling me girls are afraid of talking? Yeah, right.” He laughs sarcastically. He knows at least one girl who is entirely unafraid of talking. Not that he… favors her, or anything.

“You have to ease into it, or you’ll spook ‘em,” Billy replies with a dark chuckle, elbowing one of his cronies. “They prefer the cat-and-mouse game.”

Before Gilbert can say something hostile back to Billy, Charlie speaks again.

“Being too upfront is tactless and vulgar,” he snarks.

“Plus, it’s humiliating!” Moody wails. “What if you ask a girl directly if she’s interested in you and she laughs in your face? Tells you off for being too forward?”

All the other boys nod and murmur agreements, and all of a sudden… Gilbert doesn’t know what he doesn’t know. A distressing memory (that hasn’t actually happened yet but he is all too familiar with) flashes through his mind. A sweet smile turned vicious, an icy-irised glare with not a hint of affection, a shrill cackle aimed in his direction, a callous flip of fiery hair over a cold shoulder.

What if?

“I… I need to get ready for class.” He turns away from most of the group, preparing to do just that, when the other Paul claps him on the shoulder. 

“Books won’t help you here,” he mutters, glancing over at the very last redhead Gilbert wants to see at this moment who just so happens to be approaching as Paul slinks away. 

One week she’s shouting terrible things at him. One more and she’s not speaking to him. The next, she’s nursing him back to health like an angel. And now she’s approaching him , about this… take notice business? She’s explaining how the take notice board works, and call it a split-second decision that he pretends not to know already, so he can hear her talk about it in her confounding roundabout style and watch her face as she presents the information in a way she clearly thinks he can understand. Whatever game she is playing, he knows she’s winning. He’s barely following her words.

“Because all these little notices matter when you want to let someone know that you’re… thinking ahead.” She finishes. The way her eyes light up when she talks about romance turns him into a different person, for a brief moment in time. 

“To… their future together?” he hears himself say. His heart is louder than her reply.

“Yes.” 

“And you’re suggesting I… post?”

“If you’re interested in Ruby you should let her know before someone else stakes their claim.”

The flicker of hope he feels in his chest is immediately quashed. Of course she’s trying to push him onto Ruby Gillis. He can feel the girl watching them from across the room, and he’s all of a sudden extremely chilled and uncomfortable, now that the warm flame of optimism is gone.

“Thank you for the suggestion,” he tries to ignore the sinking pit in his stomach, and doesn’t want to think about why it’s there. “But I’m not exactly a ‘Take Notice’ kind of guy.”

She’s staring into his soul with her wide, blue eyes, and the answer to the question he doesn’t want to ask is abundantly clear to him. 

“And, when the right person comes along someday… whenever that is… I’ll know.”

His silent confession is lost on her. She just walks away. He wants to turn and watch, but he knows the other girls are looking, so he keeps his focus on the ground in front of him. Moody turns around and whispers to him,

“So you don’t like Ruby, huh?”

“No.” He doesn’t have the emotional wherewithal to expound, or chastise his classmate for eavesdropping on him in the first place. He settles into his desk to study before class- the actual reason they’re all in the schoolhouse, though everyone else has lost their minds with… with Love . How irritating.

“Really?” Moody drawls, settling in next to him. 

“I don’t know,” he grumbles. “I’ve never really thought about her.”

“I think she’s positively adorable.”

“Then why don’t you take notice of that?” Gilbert sarcastically replies. 

“Well, I don’t want Diana to think my notice of her is dishonest. Though, I suppose that’s a bit of a pipe dream. Josie says I flew too close to the sun. Ruby is awfully cute, and boy is she romantic... Maybe I will post for Ruby. Would that be okay with you?”

This distracts him from his books immediately.

“What? Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“She’s clearly interested in you,” one of the Pauls interjects. This entire class needs lessons in minding their own business.

“Doesn’t mean I’m interested in her. And even if I were, she wouldn’t belong to me. You don’t need my permission. Do whatever you want.”

“Got your sights on someone else, then?” Moody prompts earnestly. They all glance over to Anne, where Gilbert is already looking. He’s been caught. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing, but they caught him, and it makes the discomfort in his stomach rise to his throat.

“You should post,” Paul teases him. Gilbert shakes his head, willing his heart to stay numb.

“She doesn’t care much for me.” 

“Who said anything about her?” the Other Paul jokes. “We’re talking about you, moon eyes.”

“If you don’t stake your claim, someone else is going to,” Moody utters in a panic on his behalf, reiterating Anne’s earlier sentiment.

“And it’s pretty clear you would have a problem with that, Lancelot,” Paul teases him again. 

“What?” Gilbert’s head is spinning. “I… I’m not talking about this anymore. Go away.”

“Fine,” Other Paul holds up his hands in surrender. “But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Gilbert watches with only mildly repressed horror as Charlie waggles a note in his direction, then makes his way outside to stick it on the Take Notice board. 

He knows all of this is going to come back to haunt him, but right now he can do nothing but prepare himself for college- his vocation and subsequent learning of it is the only thing he has control over, and he intends to focus on it. What’s in his heart will dissipate, eventually.

The girls whisper by the desks. Anne is distracted by the rushed cadence at which they exchange information- it always throws her for a loop, and sometimes, like today, it’s hard for her to keep up.

She can’t stop thinking about that look on Gilbert’s face. After her brief conversation with Ruby, she was yanked over to the group for more gossip, but her soul was left on the other side of the room with that strange look in Gilbert's eyes.

“... and Anne spoke to him for me! I don’t care much for his dramatics. It’s too drawn-out. He doesn’t intend to post, and I can’t imagine why!”

“Maybe he thought she was approaching him on her own behalf,” Diana tries, gently attempting to derail Ruby’s heartached ramblings.

“Like Gilbert would ever be romantically inclined to the likes of you,” Josie says to Anne with a raise of her eyebrow, as if she is testing her.

“That’s a terrible thing to say, Josie,” Diana defends. 

“Well, it’s true, I mean, why would he think she fancies him? They clearly despise each other, that’s all I’m saying.”

Is that all she’s saying?

“We don’t despise each other…” Anne stammers, her words betraying her when her mind drifts off to follow the memory of Gilbert’s hand on hers, a mere bedlength between them as she serenaded him the week before.

“Hello? Anyone home, Anne?” Jane asks, snapping her out of it, but the girls are already giggling and moving on.

“I hope I get noticed at least twice before the day is over,” Ruby chirps “The more the merrier, because each one will make Gilbert awfully jealous. And then his post will be inevitable.”

“Ruby! Inevitable is a two-point word,” Anne says.

“You should be proud!” Tilly squeals, and the girls fall over one another laughing again.

“How many points is impracticable ?” Josie snarks.

“Three,” Anne automatically responds. The girls laugh again.

“Point to Anne!” Jane cries. “If only the boys took notice of a girl’s spelling abilities!”

Diana squeezes her hand as the others disperse to their seats, a gesture she assumes is meant to be comforting, but just feels like pity. She glances once at Gilbert, who is wholly engrossed in his reading and not looking in her direction in the slightest.

Chapter Text

Mary is practically whistling in the kitchen when Sebastian comes in from the orchard one day to a big surprise- her estranged son sitting at the table like he was born there.

“How ‘ya been keeping, Bash?” Elijah says with a kindly shake of his hand. Bash is nearly speechless.

“Been hoping to see you out here-” he says: all he can manage, while hoping it falls on eager ears. 

“I figured it was time I check up on ‘ya,” Elijah jokes, “see how you’re faring with this… tyrant.”

The air in the room warms and Sebastian jokes in return- at his wife’s expense. She pours him a cup of coffee and they sit down at the table like… well, like a big happy family. The nerves twist in Sebastian’s gut as the minutes tick by. 

“Elijah, I don’t mean to offend, but…” he glances over at Mary, who in return gives him a delicate, pleading warning look. “What brings you to Avonlea? Other than your mother’s incessant post-markin’?”

Elijah shifts uncomfortably in his chair and braces a hand on one knee. A few moments of contemplation cross his expression, and then he takes a deep breath to begin.

“I’m not gonna lie, I never thought I’d come,” he says. “You couldn’t drag me from that shack I was in… I dunno. I- had a real bad run in, I won’t go into details, but… I couldn’t pay that bootleggin’ bigwig in anything but blood. It took me a long while to recover. Doc did what he could but it wasn’t much. Thought I was gonna see the light for a bit there.”

“Glad you’re okay.”

“Things seem different now.”

They all soak in the weight of Elijah’s words. Mary looks like she’s on the verge of tears, and she crosses to her son to stand behind him and embrace his shoulders, rocking him comfortingly with her chin resting on his head. Bash melts when he looks at the worry on her face, even as she holds him in her arms.

The only thing to break them from the spell is a faint whining, like a faraway alarm bell, from the other room.

“Stay right there,” Mary commands gently as she goes to retrieve her baby. Elijah ignores the instruction and stands to follow anyway. Sebastian trails behind, fighting off a hopeful smile. The energy in the house hinges on tension. She exits the nursery with baby in tow, rocking her soothingly.

“Delphine, meet your big brother, the one I’ve been tellin’ you about every day since the moment you came into this world.”

When Mary places Delly in her brother’s arms, she is beaming, and the baby barely fusses. Elijah looks as if he’s holding a keg of gunpowder and a lit match.

“You didn’t tell me I had a sister.”

“Well, it’s not news for a wayward letter. I wanted to tell you in person. It’s so nice to see you, son.”

Elijah looks down at the miniature person in his arms, frozen in place, a tear forming in his eye. Mary clears her throat, clearly overcome with emotion as well.

“I’m gonna stuff so much farm-fresh food in my baby boy that he won’t be able to fit through that front door!” she calls as she heads back to the kitchen to continue what was most likely supper.

“There is a home here for you, if you want it,” Sebastian says after a few moments. Elijah jolts, as if woken from a trance, looking up at him abruptly. He manages a reassuring smile, watching Mary’s son like one watches a petrified housecat- unsure of his next move.

The boy simply wipes the tear from his eye gruffly and hands his sister to her father slowly. He shakes his arms out.

“You don’t have room for me,” he says. A challenge, but an optimistic one, maybe.

“We do.” 

Sebastian gestures with his chin for Elijah to follow, then crosses the hall and opens the door to what was once Gilbert’s father’s room, now completely empty except for a few quilts, the bed, the armoire.

“No more white boy, huh?” Elijah snarks. Bash holds his tongue.

“Not on a regular basis, anyway,” he allows. 

Elijah looks around the room.

“What, he left this all to you?” he asks, dumfounded. “The whole thing? On what grounds? He gonna snatch it back in a couple years when you don’t make him a profit or somethin’?”

“No.”

The fear in Elijah’s heart goes unsaid but not unnoticed. Sebastian silently wills him to trust them, to relax.

“I am here to build a life. You are welcome to be a part of it. Your mother would be over the moon.” He looks down at his daughter, babbling softly. “But she does not want to force you. Nor do I. 

“You’d really let a scoundrel like me into your house?” Elijah says with vitriol. “That wasn’t a put-on?”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I will not have you drinkin’ around my daughter. None of your previous lifestyle will be tolerated here. You can stay, and help on the farm, and be home with your mother. But this is not an act of charity. I cannot have you-”

Elijah holds up his hand, face stony, and Sebastian purses his lips. 

“I get it. I… I won’t. You gotta believe me, Sebastian…” his voice falters. His eyes soften, and he looks back and forth from him to his baby. “I… I can’t. I can’t go back, and I don’t want to. I… I’m a changed man.”

A moment passes, silent except Delphine’s casual whimpering. It doesn’t take long for him to read Elijah’s expression for truth.

“I’ll spare you me asking the details,” he says cooly. “But I believe you. Go tell your mother.”

“Already fathering me, huh?” Elijah quips. “Tryna tell me what to do?”

“That’s not what I-”

“Only kidding,” he says, holding up his hands in mock surrender, “only kidding.” He goes to walk into the kitchen but turns back awkwardly.

“Bash, I…” he stops and shakes his head, then reaches out a hand to shake. “Thank you.”

Sebastian grasps his arm and the two nod at each other simply in understanding, before he rounds the corner to share the good news with Mary 

And maybe it isn’t a brother, it’s far from having Gilbert back, and Sebastian is still getting used to the house itself… but thinking about having Mary’s son around doesn’t sound so bad.

-

The door slams shut and Delly immediately starts crying in the other room. Sebastian groans and rubs his forehead at the temples, having barely drifted into dreamland on the sitting room sofa. As soon as his foot hits the wood floor, a blur of movement in suspenders passes him into the hall where the nursery is.

“No no, Papa, don’t go getting up now,” Mary’s son drawls as he saunters past. “Girl’s gotta get to know her brother. And I’ve gotta earn my keep somehow, right?”

He can hear the cooing and calming (attempts) of Elijah with his half-sister, and smiles. A few weeks ago, when he stumbled back into their life, Elijah’s becoming part of their family seemed far-fetched. But now, he almost couldn’t even remember the way the house felt before.

The house goes quiet, except for the soft whispers of Elijah talking to Delphine. Sebastian stands slowly, careful not to creak the furniture or floorboards as he creeps to eavesdrop by the doorway- hey, Mary isn’t around, so there’s no one to scold him for his mischief.

“I was so scared, Del,” he’s saying in a hushed voice to the baby, listening to sounds but too young to absorb the words’ meanings. “I thought I was a goner- yes I did. Yes I did!” he goes silent, and Bash almost peeks around the doorframe to see what’s going on.

But he doesn’t have to. Soft sobs float through the archway and hit him right in his gut. 

“I thought I was a goner,” Elijah whispers. “I can’t believe I lived to tell the tale. I’ll never tell you the tale when you could understand it, though. You’ll have to forgive me for that. But wasn’t it a wild one?

“Who knows,” Elijah continues in the quiet murmur of the house. “Maybe I’ll have one of you myself someday to make stickin’ around worth it. Wouldn’t that be somethin’?”

Sebastian knows the feeling all too well. When he first looked into the eyes of his daughter, the entirety of his life, every twist and turn and bump in the road made sense. It was all leading him to this- to love, to family, and to his future.

And now, the Lacroix household will be a bit more full for the very same reason.

Moody can feel his heart beating in his throat. Or maybe he can feel his eardrums in his stomach. Or maybe-

The girl coughs once, clearing her throat impatiently. 

“Can I help you?” she asks, her big doe eyes blinking in confusion. Moody is grateful for the distraction of pre-class greetings throughout their classmates around them. For a second, they have a somewhat privacy. No one ever pays him mind, anyway.

“I, uh-” he stammers, forgetting entirely his point of walking up to her in the first place. His mind is a dull fog, each of his organs wildly trying to get his attention.

“You, uh,” she teases, her girlish voice tinkling like piano keys. He smiles in spite of himself and takes a shaky breath to restore his confidence.

“What are you drawing?” He asks. Her face immediately flushes the same pink as her dress, and she goes to cover her slate. He briefly catches a glimpse of chalk hearts with the initials RG + GB doodled all over the surface. 

“Nothing!” she chirps. He sighs. 

“Sure,” the sarcasm comes out without him even trying. She narrows her eyes.

“Was there a reason you came over here?”

“Yeah, but, uh,” He glances over at the other boys in their class, who are starting to get wise to the fact that Moody has left their side to talk to a girl at her desk. “Nevermind.”

“Alright,” she replies softly as the wheels turn in her head, clearly trying to figure him out. Before he walks too far, a pull in his chest stops him in his tracks. He hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they are warm as he lets his indignation- because that’s what it is, even if he could never identify it as such, if only for not knowing the word- gets the better of him.

“Y’know, Ruby,” he says, placing a few fingers on her desktop to get her to look up at him. “I, personally, would prefer someone standing in front of me to someone imagined up on a piece of paper.”

“This is a chalkboard,” she responds plainly, big-eyed once more with shock. He reels in his hand and stuffs it in his pocket. 

“It sure is,” he says, giving up for now. “See ya.”

He tries not to hear the chorus of giggles and Ruby’s ‘Did you hear that? What was that about!’ as he settles in at his desk, but his heart sinks into his stomach and flutters sadly there anyway.  

Oh well. It was worth a shot.

-

To Ruby’s dismay, Gilbert is missing from class yet again. 

It’s been days since the Take Notice board was resurrected, and yet no postings about her have been made. How many days is beside the point. It has been more than one, and that is more than enough for her to panic that she may never find love.

“Maybe you’re looking in the wrong places,” Jane grumbles as they eat their lunch in their shared circle. Diana and Anne titter about something as they usually do, not involving themselves with the group conversation. Josie is out sick today, so the air in the room is a bit lighter than usual. 

“And where do you think I should look, Jane!?” Ruby groans. “The schoolhouse is only one room! There is nowhere else to look!”

Tilly and Jane laugh and Ruby huffs. 

“You were talking with Moody Spurgeon yesterday,” Tilly chimes in. 

“So what?” 

“So… what was that all about?”

“How should I know!”

The girls laugh at her again.

“Ruby,” Jane tries. “You’ve wanted nothing but for boys to talk to you all week, and now all of a sudden you play coy?”

She takes an aggressive bite of her sandwich and responds with her mouth full, “He asked what I was drawing.”

“That’s it?” Jane snaps. “Ugh.

“What?” Ruby asks.

“It looked like more than that, is all…” Tilly insinuates. She shares a look with Jane and the girls burst out laughing again.

“Wait, really?” Ruby’s ears perk up to what the girls are actually trying to say. Was Moody interested in her… romantically? “Do you think Gilbert saw?”

Tilly and Jane groan and go back to their lunch. Ruby’s mind is swimming with ideas of how else she can make Moody talk to her next week to make Gilbert jealous. Maybe she can even get him to post on the board for her!

She cranes her neck to look around the room and spies the boy in question, laughing with his group of friends not unlike hers had just been.

And, well, his hair is nearly the same as Gilbert’s, though with a bit more frayed sunshine to it. His brown eyes aren’t as deep and sad as Gilbert’s, but there is a warmth there she hadn’t noticed before. He’s as tall as Gilbert, if not taller, maybe. She never really paid him any mind. 

His skin is tan from working on his parent’s farm. His vest has a few tears in it. His hands, she notes, are strong, and a bit dirty around the fingernails to be honest. How valiant. He must work hard.

And he’s looking right at her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and a small smile playing on his lips as he raises his hand in a tiny wave. She ‘eeps’ and snaps her gaze down to her food, but a quick peek in his direction calms her nerves because he’s already looked away, frowning.

He is rather cute when he pouts.

Marilla sets down her folding and glances over at her brother, obliviously reading the paper.

Her daughter had just set out with Gilbert Bltyhe to interview the newspaper chief in Carmody, but not without huffing and fussing all morning. The house was finally quiet, and yet Marilla’s mind was extremely noisy.

“Perhaps it was a mistake,” she says to Matthew. “Letting someone Anne’s age stay with us like this. Even if he is Joh- uh, a family friend.. I can’t imagine what their classmates say.”

Matthew looks up slightly, distractedly replying,

“Now Marilla, I’m sure we needn’t worry ourselves. The two don’t exactly… get along. I’m sure we won’t have to deal with any unsavory rumors.”

Marilla tries not to roll her eyes, but she doesn’t try that hard. She sees what her younger brother doesn’t, which is that teenage girls are more complex than meets the eye- something that only having been a teenage girl could teach someone.

“I worry that it's stifling her independence. We once had no children in this house, and now there are two… and barely children at that.”

“Well.”

“Maybe we should encourage some separation. An external hobby of some kind. Anne is almost eighteen. Do you think she would be interested in shadowing Jeannie at the seamstress shop, in addition to her studies? I think the distraction would do her some good… and the Lord knows that girl could do with some more practical pursuits in her life. 

“Hmm.”

“Though, I suppose that would be too transparent. I don't want the poor thing to feel as if we’re rushing her out of the home so close to school coming to an end. Not to mention the travel fare and time away from housework. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I am losing my mind.”

“Aye.”

“Matthew!” she’s insulted before she realizes he isn’t even paying attention. “Do you even listen to me?”

Matthew looks up, startled, which answers her question loudly, and Marilla takes pity on him.

“Nevermind. Help me with this basket, please.”

And the two are back to normal, and continue to be for many weeks- blissfully unaware of the turmoil bubbling to the surface under their own roof, and far too distracted by adult problems to burden themselves with what Anne chooses to occupy her time with… at least, for a while.

-

Marilla weighs the burden of fanciful decoration against the fear of disappointing her only daughter as she collects pinecones and other things that would bring a smile to the young girl’s face.

Young girl could hardly describe her now, though when Marilla looks at her she still sees the barely-a-teenager face from all those years ago.

She thinks back to her own birthday, turning eighteen in what should have been a blossoming year for her. But of course, that isn’t how it came to pass.Their home, once cold and uninviting, was full of warmth and youth once more. She can hardly remember a time Anne’s daydreams and singing voice and petulant quips did not fill the empty halls. She silently sends up a prayer of gratitude that Anne has not only found a home in Green Gables… but made Green Gables a home once more.

So when she and Matthew grow giddy with the jest of surprising Anne for her birthday morning, and they bring her Marilla’s Shirley-Cuthbert inspired cake, and Matthew gifts her the ridiculously lavish jewelry, and Anne tells them her birthday wish is to find her birth family… her real family… it feels as if all of that warmth is immediately sucked out of the drafty walls and cracked floorboards and all the spaces inside Marilla’s soul where she allowed love to creep in.

For yet another night, the Pye household is cold and uninviting.

“I don’t like you getting closer with that Anne girl,” her mother admits as she yanks on Josie’s hair. “I don’t trust her as far as I could throw her.”

“She’s hardly competition, mother.” These conversations are exhausting. All of the girls at school already dislike her.

“If she had the advice I’ve entrusted to you, she might stand half a chance in society.” She taps the back of Josie’s head. “Lift.”

Josie tilts her chin up so her mother can reach the hair at the crown of her head easier to curl it.

“Maybe, but not after they speak to her,” Josie grumbles. Her mother pulls particularly hard on a twist of hair. 

“You are too naive,” she tells her daughter.

That night as she tries to drift to sleep in the familiarly uncomfortable knotted fabric prison, Josie tries to remember a time her mother’s words were true. As far back as she could remember, she was so terrifyingly cautious of others, women especially. Anne herself would probably make some dramatic comparison to a snake slithering or a drop of ink poisoning the well. Josie’s mother’s fear of trusting people was seeping into her, making her sick. 

She’s tired of all the other girls hating her, hating her. She wishes for a true, dear friend like her classmates seem to all have. Josie pledges to reveal every last one of her mother’s secrets to Anne. And, why not, she’ll tell the rest of the girls, too. Perhaps her mother will feel guilty, then, for making her daughter obsessed with only vanity and status. Perhaps it is not too late for her to make real friends.

-

When Anne’s birthday rolls around, Josie accepts Diana’s invite to the tea party. Not only does it sound like a genuinely posh affair, but also, it’s the perfect environment to tout her mother’s rules on secrecy.

So when the sisterly pair bound through Diana’s front door and the girls rush them for a group hug, Josie allows herself to be swept up in the sisterhood. The warmth in the room melts the ice around her heart. How trite.

The girls talk of love and marriage and adult feminine topics as if they are already in college, and Josie nibbles on her biscuit. Anne declares herself the Bride of Adventure, annoyingly, and Ruby in so many words declares herself obsessed with Gilbert, annoyingly, and Diana’s little sister invades their adult time with childish games… annoyingly.

But still, the commotion is a softer venture, and something wiggles its way into her habitual frown to loosen it. She finds the perfect opportunity to insert her mother’s “wisdom” into conversation when boy-crazy Ruby pipes up again about desiring many beaus.

“Ruby, if you really want to make an impression on the boys,” she coos as she brushes through Diana’s hair at the vanity in her bedroom, “do you know what you should do?”

She steals a glance at the girl, who is staring wide eyed up at her from her cross-legged seat on the wood floor, sorting through ribbons with Jane. 

“What?” Ruby asks. “I do ever so want to make an impression on them.”

Josie can’t help but laugh, and the other girls giggle too, at Ruby’s sweetness.

“Actually, everyone should hear this. Listen up, students!” Anne and Tilly come over from perusing Diana’s dress closet, and Josie turns to the group, using the brush to point at the girls as if she were their teacher.

“If you’re entertaining a suitor, you must do two things. One. Pinch your cheeks before your meeting, and periodically when he is not looking, so they seem flush and youthful. Here, at the apples.”

She leans down and pinches Ruby’s cheeks, and she screeches. Everyone cackles. Josie pats Ruby on the head like a pet. 

“Two, you must chew a sprig of fresh mint when going on any excursions with a boy. Always grow some in your garden and carry a small bundle in your reticules for, well… re- freshers.”

“What!” Ruby squeals.

“Why?” Anne asks, dumbfounded and wide eyed like a true adolescent. 

Old habits die hard. Vitriol spews from Josie’s mouth before she can filter it. 

“Oh, Anne,” she says piteously. “Silly girl. For better breath, of course! It makes your lips fresh and enticing.”

“What!” Jane rolls her eyes and stands, stomping away. “That is perfectly scandalous. And only cows eat grass!”

“The only cow here is you, Jane!” Josie snaps. “Take it or leave it, you wretches, but that is how you land yourself a beau. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Everyone titters and disperses, joking about mint leaves and other herbs. Josie shrugs and sets the brush down on the now-vacant vanity. 

She’s smoothing her hair and skin in her reflection in the mirror, when Anne steps up behind her.

“What?” she drags.

Anne hesitates, almost turns away, then squares her shoulders. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to ask me how to dress better,” she drawls, before Anne can callously insult her vapid advice, “because I fear you’re a lost cause.”

Anne blinks, then narrows her eyes. 

“Actually, I was going to thank you for the sisterly advice and tell you your hair looks exceptionally cascading today, Josie, but nevermind.”

“Oh.” All the air is sucked out of her pre-ordained insult. “Well, that’s… nice,” she grumbles uncomfortably. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Neither girl moves. Josie crosses her arms. 

“Do you want me to show you how to do it? The curls?” The idea pops into her head as she is saying it, and Anne brightens a bit.

“Wait… really?”

“Sure, why not? Might make the color appear… less harsh.”

“Um, yes.” Anne gapes, “... thank you.” Josie stomps her foot impatiently.

“Well? Come, come,” she barks, gesturing to Diana’s vanity chair. Anne skitters into place.

“Diana, I need a bowl of water and a large scrap of unworthy fabric from your mother’s remnants box,” she calls across the room. Diana about-faces in excitement and understanding, and goes to follow the order. The other girls gather round as Josie unties Anne’s braids and brushes through them meticulously.

When Diana returns with the items, everyone watches as Josie instructs them how to roll their damp hair around torn strips of the fabric, using Anne as a teaching mannequin. When she is all tied up in curled bows, the group disperses to talk about God knows what. But Josie is satisfied that she’s unburdened her shoulders of the weight of beauty once and for all. 

Later, when Anne’s hair is no longer damp and the girls remove her ties all at the same time, the lot of them giggling all the while, Josie is pleasantly surprised. The girl doesn’t look bad at all. In fact, she might actually be kind of pretty. Perhaps her mother wasn’t entirely wrong… unfortunately. Josie feels almost a protective kinship to her as she nudges a few of the others out of the way and figures the most flattering way to pin the scarlet ringlets around her face.

“Oh Anne,” Diana breathes, placing a small floral hat on Anne’s head. “You look beautiful.” Diana glances over to Josie and smiles, sharing a respectful nod. Anne looks in the mirror at her own laughing reflection with tears in her eyes, and Josie’s swell with pride as well, for only a moment.

“Do try not to cry,” Josie snaps. “You’ll ruin it, and you actually look respectable… for a change.”

What a good birthday gift-giver she is.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for escorting, Gilbert,” Marilla is fussing over Anne as she compliments him. 

“It’s no trouble at all. I go every weekend.”

He forgets to listen to the rest of the matron’s instructions and their conversation as Anne huffs and stomps up the train after him. His heart leaps out of his chest when she lands on the top step next to him, trying to get to her. He wills it to obey, like an unruly dog on a weak leash. He follows where she leads, to their seats, and he heels. They’re only seated a moment when her disgruntled facial expression elicits saccharinely sweet words from him.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t mind being your escort.”

“I mind! Are you even familiar with my quest?” Anne snaps at him. 

“I will be when you decide to share the details.” Her unnecessary anger barely fazes him.

“Well, if you must know,” she scoffs, as if she didn’t just prompt the damned conversation in the first place, “I am on a mission to unearth my lineage. I shall start at the most obvious place, unfortunately: the orphanage I spent much of my childhood.”

She looks out the window and sighs.

“If that is fruitless, my journey shall extend to the vicar at the church where they would have… had funeral rites.”

The subject is heavy, so he simply asks,

“Do you need accompaniment?”

“It’s not a recital,” comes her clipped reply, all too fast.

Gilbert rolls his eyes despite his better judgement. “You know what I meant. That sounds… very emotionally… tumultuous. Are you sure you should go alone?”

“Cole is going with me.”

“Oh. I see.” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, immediately distracted by reminders of their old classmate. Cole is… tall. His hair is smoother than Gilbert’s, if he had to say. He and Anne are still… close, apparently. “It was just an offer,” he adds offhandedly, feeling exposed by thinking his thoughts so loudly.

“It’s just for pretense, anyway,” she groans. “I am perfectly capable of going on my own. I don’t need an escort and I certainly don’t need you.” Anne’s voice is exceedingly cold. Her anger begins to faze him. It hates him, and he hates it. 

“Yes, I’ve taken notice of that.” He doesn’t mean to snap at her, but he does; his leftover embarrassment from the week’s school dramatics reheat over the flame of her resentment. So much for trying to befriend her today. She is instantly sorry, he knows, but the image of her pouting is tinged by a veil of pale red indignation, and it clouds his vision. 

“I’m sorry, I-” she starts.

“It’s fine,” he shuts her down. Nothing she can say would fix his ruined mood. She doesn’t try to apologize again.

The rest of the ride is painfully silent, and he knows he’s won this round, though he wasn’t even trying and doesn’t welcome the victory.

Anne gently rubs the metal bracelet around her wrist and takes a deep breath. Ever since she was given it by Matthew for her birthday, it has become Anne’s comfort item. The smoothness and coolness of the small iron hat charm in between the pads of her fingers reminds her to feel the coolness of the air through the train window and the smoothness of the booth under and behind her. She breathes again. 

The future feels wide open. A step off the train and her grumpy escort is storming off. She rushes to follow him.

He only slows when she asks him if he even knows where he’s going. He doesn’t. But he doesn’t say anything or ask how to get to Miss Josephine’s, he just falls into step beside her and allows her to lead silently, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes scanning every bit of landscape in the opposite direction of her face.

Strange behavior, boys exhibit, when they are spurned of their perceived heroism. The way he took Marilla’s side when she was fussing and being altogether diminutive of Anne’s maturation and prowess, however, reminds her not to pity him too much. He could have thrown his coat over a puddle of water for her, and she still wouldn’t have forgiven him for his passive part in embarrassing her like that. Not that she wanted him to throw his coat over a puddle of water for her or anything.

She forgets all about grumpy Gilbert when she sees the smile on her dear friend’s face, and soon she is absorbed in the atmosphere of the manse and leaves the memory of his brooding silhouette where it belongs: off in the distance of Charlottetown. She sips tea and discusses her plans with Aunt Jo and Cole.

“That sounds dangerous, Anne,” Cole utters, lowering his cup. “Why do you need a womanly disguise just to do research?”

“Don’t you see, Cole,” she pleads. “No one will give me the answers I need if they think me immature or childish. I have to convince them I am old enough for the information.”

“Interesting,” Aunt Jo mutters, tone heavy, but she is smiling at Anne.

“What will people think if they see me with you, then? You’ll be an unmarried woman gallivanting with a strange townie, at that point. Who’s to say I won’t hurt your prospects for knowledge?”

“Think of it as practice for our future companionship!”

Aunt Jo chokes on her tea.

“This is news to me!” She pats her chin and chest with her handkerchief, and Cole retrieves her cup from her chivalrously. He and Anne exchange a scheming glance.

“Anne may be the Bride of Adventure,” he says, “but if society should deem that an unworthy matrimony, and if I am unable to find, well…” he looks up at Aunt Jo with eyes not unlike a deer.

“We have a mutual agreement,” Anne finishes for him, taking his hand. Josephine sighs and stares at the two of them for a long time.

“I do not wish for either of you to sell yourselves short,” she says softly. “Do not give up on love before it has a chance to find its way to you.”

She turns pointedly in Cole’s direction and places her hand over his. They share a meaningful look. Anne isn’t privy to what it means, but it seems hopeful and full of camaraderie.

“Now then,” she says to Anne knowingly, “just whose closet might you be expecting to raid for this flourished disguise of yours, hmm?”

-

Later, when Anne is combing the books for proof that her parents are indeed dead and not merely another lie she told herself about who loved her and who didn’t, she struggles to inhale fully in Aunt Jo’s borrowed corset. She isn’t sure what she was always so excited by, about the darn thing. The boning pinched her when she climbed the attic steps in the orphanage, earlier, Cole in tow for her exposing realization that her imagination lied to her. She couldn’t breathe in its restrictive form as her lungs betrayed her with their hysterics. The arms of the gown restricted her when she bent to benevolently regard that horrible, horrible girl who…

She pulls at the sleeves of her dress now, the collar above her caged chest irritating her bones and skin. She hates being a woman. She hates this dusty church. She hates the names of all of these other people, strangers whose lives no doubt contained more love and care than hers but ended in as much misery and loneliness as she feels at present.

Her eyes begin to burn. She tries to focus, but her ribs hurt outside and in. The names blur together on the page. No one wants her. A tear falls onto the list of names running together. And then, one stands out through the watery screen. Two.

She loves being a woman. She loves this dusty church. She loves her departed parents, who passed weeks after one another and hail from Scotland and wanted her. And she will forever love the tight corset of this godforsaken lacy dress. It feels like a hug from beyond the grave, and she never wants to take it off.

Gilbert finishes his break and begins to head back towards his work. The day is bright, well past midday, and he wonders how much longer he is meant to avoid the old woman’s mansion he deposited his thankless classmate at earlier. It is a relatively big town, but he can’t imagine it is endless. He thinks he might have just enough time to run through a few more patient file organizations before his day is done. He might even be able to catalogue Dr. Ward’s medical tools for replacement or repair, too.

He is so distracted by his plans and thoughts, he smacks right into a society woman on the street, his shoulder dislodging her from her path. He spins around to steady her from falling, grabbing her arm and waist, an apology already on his lips.

“I’m so sorry miss, I didn’t-... Anne?”

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert herself looks up at him from under a brimmed hat similar to the ones the ladies in town wear. Her hair is all but nearly tucked into it, so he didn’t notice it was her at first, with her telltale tendril fire hidden away.

He cannot catch his breath. He tries, desperately. She’s wearing a pale green color like her formal dress he saw her wear in her…youth… but it’s different. He looks down; her skirt is much longer and its fabric is brushing around his ankle which he placed between hers when he caught her. She’s breathing heavily, probably because he nearly knocked her over, but he can feel her chest rising and falling because it touches his each time. It sucks all of the air out of him. She’s… in a corset. He can feel the stiff framework and laced ties under his palm on her back.

“Careful,” he somehow chokes out, even though he is slowly dying from lack of oxygen. Anne places her hands on his chest to shove herself away, which is good because he hadn’t even realized he was still clutching her as if she were about to fall from a cliff.

“Careful!?” She gasps, flushed, “You’re the one who ran into me!” They both brush themselves off.

When she straightens her hat on her head, a curl falls from it and into her face. Gilbert’s hand, like magic, appears by her cheek to quickly brush it away, back into the updo in a far less dangerous display, rectified of its disheveled femininity.

She slaps his hand away. Gilbert wishes the ground would swallow him up whole. 

“Where’s Cole?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as an attack, but she recoils, confused by his harsh tone.

“He’s at Miss Josephine’s, of course.”

“What are you doing out here?” Gilbert asks, clearing his throat and glancing up the town road to avoid her scrutinous icy pupils. “I thought you were going up to your, um… to the orphanage.”

Anne scoffs. “That took far less time than anticipated,” she admits, seemingly forgetting all of the mortifying displays of affection Gilbert’s body exhibited in the past minute. She turns and begins to walk the direction Gilbert was before they collided. His feet fall into step beside her as they continue on his path. 

She explains what happened during her day’s adventure with a surprising lack of dramatics. She doesn’t even seem like she’s reliving it, only recounting it monotonously. Very unlike her, but he doesn’t have a good way to point that out that won’t sound like an insult to her, so he stays silent. 

She visited the orphanage with Cole and learned her parents might have lied about dying to avoid having to raise her. She had a mild disagreement with him about going alone to the church where they would have passed and sent him back to Miss Josephine’s. They didn’t question her because she was ‘dressed so like a real adult,’ and she spent hours reading through the books to find her parents' names to be sure the aforementioned lying wasn’t true.

He listens to her all the way to the door of his doctor’s office. She brightened halfway through her story, when detailing the ferry ride she took on return to town and how the water’s mist was revitalizing and crucial to her mission. He responded in kind with fond memories of his time on a boat. They shared a small smile of understanding. And now, they stand at the door to his work in silence, and so he pushes it open and gestures for her to go ahead of him. She doesn’t sass him this time, about being a gentleman. He kind of wishes she had. It would distract him from the intimacy of their walk and talk.

“Well, hello… who might we have here?” his mentor asks as he rounds the corner. Gilbert braces himself for an additional comment from Dr. Ward about the inappropriateness of her attire, when they step into the offices, but the man doesn’t comment. How not, he’ll never know. It’s nearly all he can think about.

“I’m Anne, sir!” She sticks her hand out for the doctor to shake, and he smiles sweetly as she continues. “Anne with an E. I go to school with Gilbert.. And I must say, everyone in Avonlea, we all think it’s so wonderful what you’re doing for him, allowing him to study with you at the same time as he prepares for college entrance exams. I can’t imagine the stress of running an office like this, let alone letting an inexperienced apprentice like him shadow your every move!”

Dr. Ward laughs, her having been shaking his hand excitedly this entire time. 

“I can’t say I mind too much,” he says kindly. “Gilbert is very bright.”

“You are very benevolent.”

“In all my years of medicine, no one has ever implied my benevolence,” he chuckles, “perhaps I’ve been practical, or exacting… but never benevolent. You say you’re schoolmates? My, my…”

It’s not like Gilbert hasn’t heard Anne speak to other people before, but as he watches the interaction unfold before him- as she releases the doctor’s hand from her grasp, wipes her palm on the front of her dress, and engages him in continued conversation- he realizes the cadence of her voice is more jittery than he is used to, quickened in pace. Wholly divergent from the somber and enigmatic girl he knew ten minutes ago. It gives him whiplash, but he welcomes the breeze because it causes her flaming personality to dance before him. 

His mentor listens intently to all of her musings with a patience Gilbert hasn’t seen since, well, his own father. She has an excitability about her, injecting youthful exuberance into the room so energetically she’s stumbling over her words at times, often backtracking as if she fears she’s said the wrong thing. But it’s all equally endearing. Even in her costume, he is reminded that she is the same old Anne he knows and lo- 

He turns to straighten some things on his work desk to prepare for the afternoon, placing his study materials from class on top of the queue. Priority one: keeping up with her in schoolwork. He could use some productive focus.

“I suppose I should let you both get back to business,” Anne is saying, and he turns to watch her leave; she bows slightly to Mr. Ward before waving to Gilbert and uttering a short bye , turning on her heel, and bounding for the exit.

“See you at the train later this afternoon?” Anne asks boisterously, nearly out the front door already. A rush of cold air breezes in to smack Gilbert in the face; and with it lifts the hair around her face as well as the brim of her hat, and she catches it to steady it back on her head. The curls that fall around her face taunt him in the wind.

“Of course,” he says dumbly. “See you then.”

Anne seems satisfied with his reply and wisps out the door, taking all of the air and soul in the room back out into the natural world with her, where it belongs.

Chapter Text

The days go by, and Gilbert attempts to get used to avoiding Anne. It’s all but hopeless. No matter how hard he tries, they always cross paths. He easily ends up in the same vicinity as her at Green Gables, and he always bolts before she can strike up a conversation or an argument that will only lead to his heart racing and his blood pumping. She always notices him noticing her in class, which is nearly daily, and it takes everything in him not to run from the schoolhouse immediately. He takes biweekly trips up to the Lacroix house and she’s always there learning how to cook and bake from Mary, so he holes up in the other room with Elijah and Bash and plays with Delly and prays she doesn’t come join them… but she always does, because she can’t resist doting on that baby any more than anyone else can. 

His heart doesn’t want to avoid her, but his mind knows it’s for the best. His body, however, betrays him each and every time it's in her presence, and though he hates himself for it he finds such solace in her presence that he doesn’t fight it when it happens. And it happens so frequently… as if it weren’t up to him, as if fate were intervening on his behalf, pushing them together like a wave to the shore, despite his feeble attempts to oar out to sea.

There is no way this is happening to him. It’s nothing, he tells himself. It’s just Anne.  

She feels nothing but disdain for him. This will pass. It has to. He has to remain focused on his studies, for it is the only thing that keeps him from thinking about her constantly. 

Even though he walks several paces behind her during their field trip walking through the woods- where most of the other students are annoyingly focused on social endeavors instead of the nature around them- fate seems to strike again when Moody slips, somehow, finds something to slip on and gashes his leg something awful. Gilbert has to jump into doctoring methods and attempts to calm the boy down. 

The chaos of the surrounding students, the stressed instruction of Miss Stacy for everyone to remain calm  that backfires and creates more noise, Moody’s wails and complaints: it’s enough to distract him fully from the ever present nagging in the back of his head- he forgets entirely that Anne is even on the trip.

But then she is immediately by his side, checking vitals on a fainted Ruby Gillis like a doctor’s assistant. She asks him what he needs and he stammers out a response. She holds things he requires when he doesn’t require them and hands them over when he does, and utters nothing else to him the whole time. When all is said and done and the other students lift Moody to his limping feet and down the path, and the other girls lift Ruby and lead her close behind while fanning and fussing over her… he is left standing next to only Anne. 

She smiles a forced, tight-lipped smile at him before rushing away. And what more proof does he need that his affection for her is only one-sided?

Marilla, plagued by headaches, retires early from her and Anne’s nightly embroidery time. The sun has barely set, the room illuminated by candles and the fire in the mantleplace. 

Anne has had such a surprisingly lovely day, she doesn’t want it to end. Nothing all that exciting happened throughout the hours, but even as her heart rate slows and her eyelids threaten to droop, she remains at her seat, threading the stunning purple string through the thick canvas of her latest cross stitching project. 

She’s been called to by florals, as of late, most likely because the bitter cold and snow fading into springtime made her hopeful for new life and rejuvenation. 

“Did you make all of these, Shirley?”

Gilbert’s voice startles her, and she looks over her shoulder to see him skimming through the wooden box of her stitchings by the doorway. She turns back around to hide her face from his view until her heartbeat slows.

“Shirley-Cuthbert,” she corrects to the ceiling, out of habit. They haven’t spoken much in the past weeks, not since he basically ran her over in the street, but she’s too relaxed to come up with a slight in response to his intrusion so she answers earnestly, “Most of them. Can you guess which?”

“I assume the hymn is Marilla’s. As well as the… bible verses.” The smirk in his voice is apparent even without looking.

“You would be correct in your assumption,” Anne mutters, fighting a small smile off her face at their gentle banter. It doesn’t seem so ruthless and targeted at night, in the serene glow of the fire, with no one else’s ears to hear. Anne settles into her unusual resolve as well as her chair: she is as calm and peaceful as Green Gables at present. Maybe Marilla is right- the stitching practice is good for her soul after all, and an idle hand is the devil’s tool (at least where Anne’s constant and unconquerable anxiety is concerned).

“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, and idle lips his mouthpiece,” Gilbert casually reads her mind- or rather, reads off the cloth in his palm- as he crosses around where Anne is sat, heading to the other empty chair in the room. “Proverbs. Can you guess which?” he mockingly repeats her sentiment from earlier.

“I’m not a very devoted parishioner,” Anne admits with a nervous laugh, surprising even herself with her honesty and blatant bypassing of his goading. “So I don’t know. And to tell you the truth… I couldn’t care less.” 

“Me neither,” Gilbert agrees. “I’d be the last in a biblical recitation competition.”

“Second to last. I guarantee you’d still have me beat.”

“Can I get that admission in writing?” he teases. 

“Never,” Anne snorts gently and thinks she should be embarrassed by doing so, but for some reason, doesn’t. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Gilbert place Marilla’s cloth on the table in between them. He watches Anne’s fingers, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. She can feel his eyes boring into her as she pulls the needle through the back of her own cloth. She does it again, and again. She elects to twist in a more complicated step, something she’s only learned recently, to create a small budding flower in her work. A smirk is drawn from her lips as she finally looks at her captive audience.

“Cat got your tongue?” she brazens, emboldened by the cover of partial darkness to call him out on his persistent habit of rudely staring at her while she minds her own business. 

“Oh, pardon me,” Gilbert blurts, and it’s truly apologetic, not a trace of his usual sarcasm. “That… it’s just so mesmerizing to watch.”

“Mesmerizing!” Anne repeats good naturedly. “So it was the witch’s cat, then? A bit spellbound by the feminine magic of needlework?”

“W-what?” Gilbert stutters at her teasing, straightening up and adjusting the hem of his shirt. Anne smiles to herself, eagerly embodying the confident, eloquent ingenue she wishes she was.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never read about the origin of the idiom.”

“I’m… sorry?” he stammers in response, and it feels good to be the one making him flustered for a change.

“Cat got your tongue,” Anne clarifies, looping her needle through her embroidery as she talks. A power move, because she doesn’t have to look at Gilbert to spin her tale for him. “It has been said, whispered in cobblestone alleys to those aspiring to hear it, that if one were to run into a witch , a true honest-to-goodness enchantress in all her shadowy glory… her black cat would steal away his tongue, thus leaving him silenced. Forever. Unable to tell a single soul he saw a witch with his own eyes, and unable to stop her from unleashing the same fate onto the next unlucky fellow.”

A moment passes, silent except for the crackling of the fire and the crickets outside.

“Is that true?” Gilbert asks. 

Anne finally looks up, and is immediately disarmed by the bewildered smile on his face. Whatever upperhand she had, she’s lost it, and the metaphorical challenge point remains his. She adjusts in her seat, forgetting her character role entirely. 

“That’s what they say, anyway,” she shrugs. A burst of laughter escapes her, and Gilbert soon joins in.

“Well, consider me bewitched,” he says when it’s quiet again. Before she can give any stock to the fluttering feeling in her stomach elicited by his words, he’s moving on. “That seems really difficult. How long did it take you to learn?” He’s braced his elbows on his knees again, and she can see his collarbone when the fabric of his lightweight sweater shifts forward.

“Years,” she answers quickly, grateful for a conversational goal to distract her from the smoothness of his skin in the firelight. “You should have seen how I exasperated Marilla at the beginning. My stitches looked like a toddler’s artwork at best.”

“Could have fooled me,” he offers. “Extremely intricate. Tiny finishes. They’d make for very clean sutures.”

“Oh!” Anne exclaims. “I never realized. You’d have to be good at this. For the medical field, right?” 

He glances down at his hands.

“I hear it’s good for stability,” he says. 

She looks at her needle and thread and cloth and acts on the immediate urge to stand up and hold it out to him. “Would you like to try?”

He hesitates only slightly, her decisiveness inspiring him to reach out from his passive position on the bench even as he protests,

“I couldn’t… I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Oh, please.” She hands it over, then crosses back to her seat and lowers into it, brushing her hands satisfactorily. “Ruin it. It’s only embroidery. I’ll survive. Your patients, on the other hand…”

He looks up from the cloth to see her grinning at him and chuckles, shaking his head.

She means to watch him from her seat at a safe distance, but he rises and steps back over to her. He sits on the edge of the table next to her, angles the embroidery so she can see, and nervously holds the needle against the cloth.

“You can start anytime,” she whispers. “He’s losing a lot of blood.”

They laugh together, and it’s easy: him attempting to match the stitches of hers already on the cloth, her pointing out the correct sides to start a pattern from, them both relaxing as his finishes get tighter and straighter and their voices get softer and more intentional. (Like this?) (That’s right, just like that.) (Oh, that one was bad.) (It wasn’t. Watch the sharp point.) He’s made a small flower not dissimilar to hers, and seems content.

“Good job, Doctor,” Anne beams up at him. “He will live to dance another day.”

He smiles back at her, but his eyes are teary. He thrusts the hoop towards her and she takes it slowly, a bit ruffled by his abruptness. She frowns, because he doesn’t say anything, just averts his eyes. 

“You were really good the other day. In the forest?” she says dumbly, attempting to warm his disposition as if she were the heated mantle a few feet away. “With Moody’s leg, I mean… when he fell.” 

Her flicker is a feeble attempt. He grunts. She can’t tell if it’s in gratitude or in placation. And she doesn’t know what to say now, so she goes back to finishing the pattern. Gilbert remains- leaning back on his hands as he sits against the small end table- and watches the fire. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he states. Anne continues her stitching, but can’t help but notice his pensive gaze in her periphery.

“That’s never good,” she jokes under her breath. He doesn’t look at her playful smirk, so it dissolves.

“I couldn’t do it,” Gilbert says softly, staring at the flames. 

“Couldn’t… what?” Anne asks, careful to keep her voice the same volume as his.

“I couldn’t stay at my farm. You were right, the day I came here. You were right. I’m sorry I invaded your Green Gables, Anne. There were… too many ghosts.”

He looks down and meets her gaze, and she forgets to be offended at his intimate use of her first name. He hovers slightly above her, a pained furrow in his brow.

“I’m familiar with ghosts,” she offers, attempting to soothe it with her words even as she longs to soothe it with her fingertips. “They do tend to linger.”

The light is dim, the flames flickering in the mantle. The furrow remains.

He breaks their eye contact suddenly. 

“I should be off to bed,” he says quietly, making his way to the doorway. He pauses slightly with an almost imperceptible, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she says to the empty room. 

Chapter Text

Anne’s just stepped over the classroom threshold when a cool voice from behind her grumbles, “Boring old braids again today, I see.”

She turns around to see Josie Pye standing with her books over her chest, raising an impatient eyebrow her way. 

“Should I curl my hair for everything?” Anne groans. “Even something so trivial as school?”

Josie looks around the room, then takes Anne aside by the arm.

“You’re never going to keep Gilbert’s eye with that look, Anne.”

Anne, suddenly burning hot, snaps, “I’m not trying to catch anyone’s eye, Josie, I-”

“I said keep. You must know he already likes you. Though I can’t imagine why .”

Anne hears her friend Cole’s words from months ago whistling through her ears, ‘you know Gilbert has a crush on you, right?’ playing over and over again like a taunt. Josie’s sentiment echoes alongside it as she watches Gilbert across the classroom with a frown. 

No, he didn’t. He doesn’t.

He doesn’t, right?

“Why are you… What-? That is ridiculous ,” she says to Josie, snapping herself out of the memory. “He is very cold and cruel to me. We barely speak, and when we do, it’s rather discontented. It doesn’t seem like he cares much at all for me, actually.”

“Do you understand anything about being a woman?” Josie replies, and it genuinely seems like she’s actually asking. “When a boy is mean to you, teases you, it means he likes you.”

“What? That seems so… counterintuitive.”

“Well, I don’t know what that means, but… it’s true.”

Anne stares suspiciously at Josie.

“Billy Andrews is incredibly mean to me,” she quips. “Does that mean he likes me?” She knows she’s caught Josie in a trap, but the girl just flips her blonde hair over a shoulder and shrugs nonchalantly.

“That was before he knew he could have me,” she says. Anne rolls her eyes.  

“Anne, just, listen to me,” Josie softens. “I’m taking pity on you, because it’s so clear and you’re so… You’re always so terribly mean to him. Just try to be a little more… demure every once in a while. Before he gives up entirely.”

“So boys are allowed to be mean, and it means they like you, but if I’m mean in return, it’s just… mean?” 

“Ugh! Do you hear what I’m trying to tell you? Just… say something sweet, ask him questions about himself. Stand like a girl. And smile. A smile can go a long way.”

“You really think so?” Anne mocks sarcastically with a bat of her eyelashes, “Shall I drop my handkerchief on the path so he can pick it up for me, as well?”

Josie rolls her eyes, but smiles a bit anyway with a bemused head shake.

“Just do it, and you’ll see I’m right.”

“Okay…” Anne says suspiciously, then snorts. “Ha! Just wait till Ruby hears about this endeavor.”

“What, do you think I’m touched in the head? I’m not mentioning anything to her until she sees her obsession with him is useless and drops it. And don’t worry, I’m working on it. Your secret is safe with me.”

Josie blesses her with one of her signature pursed-lip perfunctory smiles, then walks over to her desk. Anne hisses, “I don’t have a secret!” but it is too late. Josie’s moved on. Diana approaches Anne from the coatroom.

“What was that all about?”

Anne pauses thoughtfully, still somewhat dumbfounded from the interaction.

“Courtship advice,” Anne states simply. The two stare at each other, then burst into a fit of laughter.

“You seem to be her new project,” Diana jokes. “What’s that like?”

“Not… bad? I think? It’s definitely uncharted territory.”

Anne steals a glimpse back at their friend, who’s settling into her spot next to Tilly and showing her a love note, no doubt given to her by Billy. Ruby walks over and they gesture for her to sit in between them on the bench and read it over Tilly’s shoulder. The girls giggle together and converse inaudibly from where the two are standing.

“In any case, she’s not so bad now that she’s less terrible to you all the time,” Diana says with a tilt of her head as she watches Josie as well. “What do you think caused her change of heart?”

Ruby absentmindedly hands her a flower, and without a word Josie delicately tucks it into the younger girl’s waves, twisting it back into her pin to hold it in place before she smoothes her hair affectionately. Anne’s heart dissolves into her chest with warmth.

 “Sisterhood.”

-

At some point in her life, Anne longed for motherly or sisterly guidance on love and longing and the way the world works. Never in her wildest dreams did she think that it would come from her catty schoolmate over hair styling and gossiping about boys. 

But now, as she attempts to recreate the curling technique with the mismatched tears of old fabric she had to beg Marilla to relinquish to her possession, Anne feels somewhat grateful and altogether too comfortable that she was able to infiltrate the girls’ friend group. When she finishes the last tie, she flops onto her stomach on her mattress and contemplates it further.

She’s obviously never going to know another as dear of a bosom friend as Diana. But Tilly’s humor and eagerness to absorb Anne’s words, and Ruby’s optimism and trustful participation in Anne’s imagination, and Josie’s reluctant acceptance of her strangeness alongside genuine attempts to prepare her for college, and even Jane’s gruff inclusion of Anne in the circle when she needs an ally during disagreements… it makes her feel more whole than she would’ve ever thought.

The minutes pass as she is lost in her mind.  She would’ve once given anything for some knight to ride up on a noble steed and whisk her away to adventure and romance; for someone- anyone- to take her away to a palace or a ship or a bustling city of industry or really anything other than the life she’s known. But she supposes that would feel rather lonely after a while, with only the company of one man to satisfy her social requirements. There’s so many stories to be heard, so many lives to understand… and really, women have the more compelling tales to tell, anyway.

She remembers the nighttime sisterhood ritual she introduced to her friends- barely friends at the time, but curious and wild girls nonetheless. It brings more than one tear to her eye. Even though it has been many moons since, her soul swells with fond recognition and a glimmer of magic.

“There is no happiness,” she says out loud to herself, “like that of being loved by your fellow creatures, and feeling that your presence is an addition to their comfort.” 

It dawns on her she has Aunt Josephine’s copy of Jane Eyre in the parlor, and it’s been ever so long since she’s read it and it reminds her so much of her internal strength, so she heaves herself off the bed to go downstairs and retrieve it.

Gilbert happens to enter the upstairs hallway at the same time as Anne, walking slowly with a notepad and pen. He nods curtly at her before passing with his head down in his scribbles, on his way to his room. He double takes and looks back at her before he can get there.

“What’s wrong with your head?” he asks.

“What?” Anne replies over her shoulder, barely torn from her novelistic thoughts. Her face warms as he gestures to her hair, where she places a hand and mortifyingly realizes- it is still tied up ridiculously in curls.

“Why do you have rags in your hair?” he reiterates. 

“I…” she is speechless. She can’t get her mouth to form words. She has so many of them bouncing around in her head, why can’t she say any of them?

“Anne?”

“I- Sometimes…” she stammers, “Um. Sometimes girls do… this.”

Gilbert chuckles and shakes his head like he doesn’t understand her.

“I’m glad I’m not a girl, so I don’t have to deal with…” he twirls his pen in reference to her updo, before concluding with, “...that.”

Anne scoffs.

“You should be so lucky.”

“To… have rags in my hair?”

“To be a girl!”

He laughs again, a sizzling prod to her heart. “I just don’t see how the two correlate,” he offers incredulously.

“Ugh! Don’t you know anything? I thought you were supposed to be some brilliant mind,” she snaps. She begins to untie the fabric scraps from her hair, embarrassed, stuffing them into her pocket one by one. 

“Well that was rude,” Gilbert scoffs. “How should I know why people do strange things?”

“Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent,” she quotes shallowly.

“Clearly,” he tests as he watches her fingers tangling in her hair, amused. Her literary wall didn’t shield her from scrutiny, and she flames with continued embarrassment.

“You just don’t have a shred of imagination, do you?” she accuses as she works, Gilbert wholly fascinated by her process. “I don’t know why people do the things they do either, in fact I am usually completely perplexed by them, but even I can understand context clues.”

She’s undone all of the curler strips and shakes out her hair, then throws her arms out to the side in an affront of presentation. 

“See?” she asks.

Gilbert blinks, eyebrows high.

“You… have long hair.”

“A regular Sherlock Holmes,” she sighs.

Gilbert, infuriatingly, looks a bit hurt. Okay, maybe she is being a bit mean. Anne remembers Josie Pye’s words of advice and relaxes her squared shoulders to appear less… aggressive. 

“I’m… sorry. You didn’t know. This is… stylish,” she attempts, flipping some of her hair over the front of her chest and casting her eyes downward to show it off. She’s seen Tilly make the same expression when taunting the Pauls.

Gilbert doesn’t say anything. Anne forces a smile to try and get him to relax.

“Curls. I guess. Do… you like it?”

He shifts nervously.

“Oh, I, uh…” Gilbert’s eyebrows dance in confusion as he narrows his eyes. “Why are you acting so unusual?” he asks. “Are you feeling alright?”

Her facade is shattered. She piles up her hair in a fist and throws it back over her shoulder. Another point in Gilbert’s column, naturally.

“Nothing,” she mutters angrily. “I mean. Nevermind. Goodnight.”

She turns around and storms down the stairs, but not before she hears his quiet and befuddled, “Goodnight?” followed by an exasperated huff of “Anne Shirley,” and she knows she’s failed miserably in the endeavor of beguilement. 

Anne is an idiot. And Josie Pye doesn’t have any idea what she’s talking about.

Chapter Text

It seems the only relief Gilbert has from his traitorous emotions is in Dr. Ward’s Charlottetown office. It’s calm enough. It’s a fine way to pass the weekends. Sometimes an emergency patient comes in, and there’s so much commotion it is a welcome distraction. Sometimes he and the receptionist joke together, and she’s almost flirting, and he can almost forget about his the confounding and infuriating Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. 

One day, when he swings by Sebastian and Mary’s for a brief hello before heading into the aforementioned doctor’s office, the energy in the house is a bit more uneasy than usual.

“What’s going on?” he asks immediately, and the look on Mary’s face makes him wish he hadn’t.

“It’s Elijah,” Sebastian says simply. “He ain’t feeling well.”

“Well it’s lucky I came by, then,” Gilbert replies, shrugging off his jacket and making his way into the hall. Sebastian stops him.

“It’s not good, Blythe. Worse than you’re anticipatin’. Prepare yourself.”

Bash is right, it isn’t good, and Gilbert didn’t prepare himself enough, and he feels so nauseous by what is clearly some kind of skin infection on Elijah’s neck and face that he heaves his breakfast into a nearby plant. 

“I’ll, uh,” he stammers as he straightens up. “I’ll clean that out.” 

“I didn’t see anything,” Elijah teases brusquely.

He crosses over to the man and sits next to him on the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asks, “How long has this been going on?”

“Everybody’s fussing over me for no reason. I’ve had this before, it’ll pass.”

“You’ve… had this before?” he gestures to the rash. Elijah shifts uncomfortably.

“Yeah, yeah, it always clears up. I’ll be fine.”

“Mary seems awfully worried about you… are you sure?”

Elijah coughs and scratches at his rash, nearly an open wound. 

“I’m sure,” he says weakly. “Hell, just so everyone’ll quit their moanin’, I’ll just go see Doc or somethin’. In a few days.”

“That man is not a doctor,” Mary chastises from the doorway, and Elijah rolls his eyes with his whole body. “He is a man named Doc that found a medicine bag dumped with the trash in an alley.”

“I’m familiar with his work,” Gilbert quips, sharing a pensive glance with Bash, who’s appeared over Mary’s shoulder. “And Mary’s right.” He turns back to Elijah. “Why don’t you come with me to Charlottetown? Dr. Ward will take a look and fix you up. How does that sound?”

“Like a trap,” Elijah jokes, then coughs back a laugh. 

“He’s right,” Sebastian pipes up. “Saw me when I was worse for the wear back in the day. He’s a good man. You can trust him.”

Elijah, Mary, and Sebastian cast significant looks at one another that Gilbert only somewhat understands, and Elijah nods solemnly.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll go,” he says. Gilbert pats him on the shoulder before exiting back to the kitchen with everyone else.

Mary presses a shaky hand to her lips and tries to occupy herself with straightening the table. Bash reaches out for her arms to comfort her, but she shrugs him off and paces to the stove. She braces herself on the edges and looks out the window.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she whispers. “Nothing like this in the bog, I mean people got sick but this… this is something else.”

“We’ll do whatever it takes to figure it out, Mary,” Gilbert utters. “I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she replies, turning and leaning back against the stove as she faces Gilbert with tears in her eyes. “He is my one son. Do you understand?”

“Believe me, I do,” he breathes. Sebastian claps a hand on his shoulder and shakes his hand. 

“Thank you, Gilbert,” he says gruffly. “We wanted to come to you for advice but didn’t want to trouble you. We know there’s a lot on your plate.”

“No trouble at all,” Gilbert responds in disbelief. “Seriously.” He looks to Mary to drive his point home. “Anything. For you both.”

They all nod solemnly at each other once more, and after Elijah joins with a scarf wrapped around his neck and face, Gilbert takes his leave.

-

“Son, might I talk with you in the other room?”

Dr. Ward leads Gilbert out of the examination room and into the hallway. Ms. Rose, the medical secretary, glances up from her papers at the front desk inquisitively. 

The doctor speaks in a hush.

“It’s Scarlet Fever, no doubt about that,” he says. 

“Well, it’s good we know what it is. What’s the treatment? The expense doesn’t matter, I’ll take care of it. He’s like… a cousin to me.” 

“There are some remedial treatment options,” he stammers in reply, “rice water, ammonia and nitrate silver… we’ll have to keep him overnight for several days, but Gilbert-” He removes his glasses and rubs his temple. “This is the worst case I’ve ever seen, and there’s… well there’s a strong chance there’s nothing I can do.”

“What do you mean?” Gilbert’s brain tries to catch up with the doctor’s explanation. “How does that happen?”

“We don’t know,” Dr. Ward replies matter-of-factly. “It’s a terrible disease, and this is a terrible case. But it’s highly contagious, and usually fatal. We can do our best to treat the symptoms, but it’s likely that will only ease his discomfort for the remaining weeks of his life.”

Gilbert is speechless. Dr. Ward heads back into the examination room, no doubt to talk to Elijah… Gilbert is frozen outside the door and can’t even bring himself to listen. He startles Ms. Rose as he stalks through the lobby room. 

Getting sleep that night is nearly impossible, so he ponders. 

He can’t bring Mary’s son home to her, and he can’t fathom how he’s going to share the news, and he’s going to have to help orchestrate some form of visit so Mary can say… her goodbyes.

The time feels like it’s passing in bursts: slowly, like moving through water, and then all at once it’s hours later and he has no recollection of what has gone on. Thoughts, dark thoughts, swim in his brain as he’s jostled around on the train ride home to Avonlea the next morning. 

Nothing I can do, Dr. Ward’s voice says over and over again in his ear. How is that possible? Isn’t the point of medicine to be able to fix people’s ailments? How can we not know ?

So in any case, It’s been a particularly rough weekend at the doctor’s office: once his safe haven, now his crux. He’s rather downtrodden as he walks back to Green Gables from the train station in the early morning light, again unsure of how he made it here. He does recall some napping on the train, so at least he isn’t tired anymore. Well, not entirely.

The stables call his name and he heads towards them. The Cuthbert’s horse, Belle, he thinks, is awake and restless. He can relate.

“Easy, easy,” he murmurs as he tries to calm her by stroking her muzzle. She stomps her feet apprehensively. 

“I know how you feel,” he says. “There now. It’s alright.” He is a liar.

He pats her back a few times and his lip inexplicably quivers. Her large eyes regard his weakness.

“What am I doing, Belle?” he asks desperately, though he knows she can’t reply. "Why am I even here?" He takes a shaky breath and smiles slightly. “They should get you a partner and name him Beast. That would liven up this old place, wouldn’t it?”

“We already had cows named Pride and Prejudice,” a voice quips from the stable entrance. He knows who it is before he looks, because there is no God, and who else could it be?

“So you’ll be hard pressed to convince them to humor the bit a second time,” Anne finishes as she approaches the pen. She steps a foot onto the bottom railing and reaches over to pet the horse as well. Gilbert shoves his hands in his pockets and looks away.

“What brings you out so early?” he says, attempting casuality, because he doesn’t trust himself to say anything else. Nothing about how her presence is instantly a comfort to him but a discomfort at the same time, since she overheard him display his inner thoughts to a horse.

“What brings you back so early from Charlottetown?” She mimics his monotone in jest without looking at him, as she pats Belle’s nose.

Gilbert cannot open his mouth to respond. The gravity of the last twenty four hours is too heavy.

“I shouldn’t have to explain myself,” she teases in the silence, “but for your information, the wind howled so much last night I could scarcely sleep, so I wrote a story in between my dreams, and I had to document my musings before I lost the inspiration.” She takes some folded papers out of her jacket pocket and holds them up as evidence. “I always read my stories to Belle first. She is an excellent listener.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Gilbert musters before turning on his heel, feeling the rise of a lump in his throat and the threat of moisture in his eyes.

“Gilbert?” Anne calls after him. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head as he steps out of the stables, but she must sense that he isn’t being truthful because she follows him. He can’t see her as he walks, but he can feel her a few paces behind him.

He stops at a fence and stares out into the field. The tall grass sways in the breeze. Its freedom and levity is disgusting, in the wake of such sorrow. The world will move on: Anne will write stories, Delphine will grow up, the seasons will continue to change- and a mother will grieve her son until the end of time.

“It seems being a doctor is useless,” he says angrily to the air in front of him. Anne steps up next to him at the fence, and it compels him to turn toward her. For once, she looks as if she has nothing to say.

“It shouldn’t be like this. We just have to watch people die. It’s as if the future is decided for us. It’s madness! If someone is sick, we should be able to… figure out how to help them, so they don’t…” he lets his voice trail off because his dam is entirely too close to bursting.

“Is someone sick?” she asks calmly, and it nearly breaks him.

“It’s Mary’s son,” he breathes, “It’s Elijah, he’s not… and I have to be the one to… to tell her, and how am I ever going to find the right words to-” his train of thought is halted by salt water trailing onto his lips. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Before he knows what’s happening, Anne’s wrapped her arms around him. He clutches her in return and takes the opportunity to release his sobs into her shoulder. 

“You can,” she whispers. He barely hears her over the sound of the rushing heartbeat in his ears. “You will be a wonderful doctor. You care. People will come to you, Gilbert. And they will bring their children and everyone they hold dear to see a doctor who cares just as much as they do. Caring is the most important part, is it not?”

When his tears slow enough for him to breathe again, he releases her from his desperate grip. 

“This is ridiculous. I’m not the one who’s dying, I have no right to...” he wipes the moisture from his eyes and gestures to his face in its entirety.

“Crying does not indicate that you are weak. Since birth, it has always been a sign that you are alive.”

Gilbert chuckles once, recognizing her habitual book quoting if he ever heard it.

“And who’s that?” he asks.

“Jane Eyre.”

He sniffs and looks over at her face, at her eyes that match the morning sky, at her reassuring grin, and takes in her thoughtfulness.

“I think you mean Charlotte Bronte,” he snarks. She laughs at the ground and shakes her head.

“Semantics, but I suppose you’re right. You win this time.”

“I must look truly pathetic if you’re willing to admit defeat.”

Her wordless smile is infectious.

The light is far brighter now, as they walk in silence up the hill to the house. The birds are chirping. Their cheerfulness feels like a cruel taunt.

The birds are not chirping on the day of the funeral. It feels right. 

They never again speak of his emotional outburst, but it doesn’t worry him; she doesn’t treat him any differently. So avoiding Anne is no longer a priority of his. He spends every second he can at Bash and Mary’s, making memories with their daughter and tasting Anne and Mary’s kitchen concoctions and walking to and from Green Gables with his most unlikely ally. Things are overall optimistic.

He pours the remainder of his time into his studies. He’s picked his vocation, and it doesn’t feel so stifling with his new perspective: he vows to make a change in preventative medicine. Perhaps the future is wide open after all. 

Chapter Text

Ruby Gillis has caused some sort of a commotion at the school's dance practice, and all of the girls are corralled in a tizzy by Miss Stacy for a lecture.

It’s for the best. Dancing is awkward, and not fun, and really a waste of a young doctor’s time, and well… he supposes it isn’t all bad because he does get to talk and laugh with a few of his classmates. They aren’t all bad.

“It looks good! How does it feel, though?” he asks Moody, who shrugs. 

“It feels fine, honest. What do you think?”

“It’s not itchy?”

“No, just a little sore,” he bemoans. “Can I dance now?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Gilbert says, forgetting his doctor-speak in the presence of his friend. “Why are you so eager to pop a stitch over one little dance practice?”

At that moment Ruby slowly walks over, which seems to have freed the girls from their huddle. Moody takes one look at her nearing and casts a meaningful look to Gilbert.

“Ah,” he sighs, and ‘say no more,’ speak his hands. He backs up, a few paces away from where Moody sits, preparing his strings to play. 

“Hello, Moody.”

“Hi, Ruby.”

“Have you ever noticed our names have a rhyme to them?” she chirps, then giggles.

Gilbert doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he’s standing close and dancing hasn’t resumed anyway. The two of them exchange a few more pleasantries. It’s… sweet. It almost makes him wish he had someone to talk sweetly with. Though it does seem rather shallow and somewhat boring.

“Are you not dancing?” she asks him.

“Can’t,” Moody grumbles. 

“I’m not dancing either. May I sit with you?”

Moody’s entire demeanor changes. Gilbert watches out of the corner of his eye like an anthropologist. Is this how normal courtship happens, in the wild? Moody scoots over on the table and makes room for her. 

“Is the reason you can’t dance because your leg…?”

“Um, yeah.” Oh, Moody.

“Good thing you can play that.” She gestures awkwardly to the banjo. “It means you can rest… maybe your leg will heal faster.”

“Yeah,” Moody exhales sarcastically, holding up his instrument. “One fair song a day. Doctor’s orders.”

Gilbert chuckles lightly at this. They both glare over at him, and he gets the hint and walks further away. It’s just as well, because Mrs. Lynde is gathering groups up again and he knows the dreaded practice time announcement is coming at any moment. 

His own group of classmates near him does not consist of anyone he wants to dance with. If he can make it to the other side of the room before Mrs. Lynde says to couple up in the next ten seconds, though, that would change.

He doesn’t even think twice. In eight seconds, he’s standing across from and directly into Anne’s eyes and the music is starting.

He thinks maybe talking sweetly is overrated. He doesn’t need to talk at all. Her face says everything he needs to hear.

He forgets a step. Or maybe, he didn’t forget, but something deep inside him turned the wheel so he’d go in a different direction. It doesn’t matter, because now she is his, and she laughs and he laughs and they dance to the music and the music is only just barely louder than his heartbeat and he would literally rather drop dead than have to drop her hand again.

But he has to. The dance is over. And they stand facing one another once more, just how they started, but also not how they started at all, really. It must be all in his head. Gilbert doesn’t even notice the rest of the class disperse until Anne glances coldly away and practically runs to her things in the coatroom. Away from him.

So he bolts just as well, out the school door, and he doesn’t even see Anne hover by Diana to whisper about something, but he does see it, and he mulls it over in his head all the way back to Green Gables- she’s probably not talking about him but she maybe most definitely is, and how uncouth he was or whatever it is girls talk about. 

When did he become like this… a different person? Rambling in his mind and obsessing over minor details. Girls are so confounding. Are they all this way, or is it just Anne? 

He turns this new concept of a thought over in his mind. Surely (as in he is sure, not Shirley, though his mind plays a game with him on that one) not all girls are like this, right? With someone else it would be more clear. But someone else isn’t Anne, so that won't help him here.

He haphazardly packs his extra clothes into his satchel bag for the weekly trip to his apprenticeship. He’s already one foot out the door; it can’t come soon enough. Anne hasn’t even gotten home yet when he departs for the train. It’s for the best. Her crossing his path again today would be dangerous. He can not think about her at the moment, and certainly wouldn’t know what to do if she were to materialize in front of him.

But he does think about her. He thinks about her all the way to the station and on the ride into town and he thinks he may never forget the song Moody was playing on the banjo, and the way her palm felt in his, and the sunlight dancing in from the window to make a home in her hair.

That sunlight is thankfully gone by the time he makes it to Charlottetown and settles in for the night, but unfortunately the dancing and the subject remain in his dreams nonetheless.

-

He decides to test his theory.

He’s done quite a fair amount of doctoring for the day. His mind feels sharp, and not at all fuzzy or dulled by yesterday’s dramatics. He stops at the front desk to strike up a conversation.

“How are you today, Ms. Rose?” he asks politely.

“I’m fine, thank you,” she replies with a small, closed-mouth smile. “And how about yourself, Mr. Blythe?”

“Please, call me Gilbert.”

“Then you must call me Winnifred, please.”

He feels himself smile at her quick-witted kindness. See? Things are supposed to be this easy.

“Alright, then, Winnifred,” he says. “I’m very well. Thank you for asking.” To his own surprise, he is genuinely grateful she asked. It warms his disposition a bit. 

“Actually, that’s a lie,” he corrects.

“Oh?” she raises an eyebrow at him coyly.

“I’m not very well. In fact, I’m really quite… peckish.” This causes her to giggle.

“Well that’s not good, is it?” she slyly jokes. “We can’t have the doctor passing out from hunger, can we?”

Oh, she’s good. He doesn’t know how to play this game at all, but he’s somewhat familiar with the rules. She can’t ask him , because that’s not what ladies do. Well… It’s not what some ladies would do.

“Would you like to join me for tea?” he asks calmly, without much effort to do so, though he is inexplicably a bit nervous waiting for her answer anyway. 

“What a fine idea,” she replies with sparkling irises. “We have both worked very hard this morning, it seems only right to treat ourselves to proper nourishment, does it not?” He can’t seem to find words to form a reply, but she quickly adds, “Let me just fetch my shawl,” and leaves her desk to presumably, well… fetch it.

Tea turns out to be pleasant enough. It’s safe. His theory, also, is being proven more accurate by the passing minute. Winnifred bats her eyelashes in all the right places, and it isn’t hard to laugh at her subtle jokes (though they come quick and confusingly). She is very pretty, but not very passionate. She is kind, and witty, and seems very composed and educated, but not boastful or conceited. It is a mellow experience overall, which he isn’t entirely used to, if he were being honest. He is not vexed nor uncomfortable in her presence in the slightest.

Her eyes are a beautiful color, but not the right one. Her hair is bright and looks soft, but it’s the wrong shade. She looks incredible in her dress, but it very much looks like one of the expensive ones from the seamstress shop. She would be seen nowhere near a farm or a forest.

It would be rude of him not to finish their tea, so he does. But each passing minute only solidifies for him the truth of his theoretical quandary: as baffling and unusual she is, he would much rather be having tea with Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.

He’s finally diagnosed the condition. How and why he becomes this different type of person… It isn’t all girls, it’s just her. It’s always been her. It’s easy to admit to himself now that he’s felt the pull, dancing so closely with her in class, the overwhelming desire to touch her hands and hold her and breathe in the air around her hair. He feels nothing like that when he politely strolls Winnifred back to her residence, her on his arm as they walk in cordial silence. He kisses her hand in a parting gesture, because he once heard that’s what is respectable and what he’s supposed to do, but it feels duplicitous.

All through that evening, and the next, and on the train ride back to Avonlea the day after… he reads the entirety of Jane Eyre.

The sun is high in the sky on the Monday harvest that Gilbert returns from Charlottetown. The Cuthberts are in the middle of their family chores. Jerry does the heavywork, compiling crates and baskets outside for collection and hauling supplies to and from the barn. 

Anne looks out over her hilly kingdom at the intruder and sighs. It was an almost perfect morning. 

In all his strangeness, he’d completely consumed her thoughts for a main portion of her precious weekend, and she’s incredibly cross with him about that. His aloofness- after quite literally sweeping her off her feet in dance practice- festered under her skin for several hours before she declared him a bounder to her empty room and swore not to waste another second on trying to figure him out.

But to her dismay, here he came, practically skipping onto Green Gables soil as if he’d never done anything wrong a day in his life. The presumptive halo practically shines above his head.

She grunts and tosses the remainder of the pig slop out of her bucket, then lets it clamor to the ground. She treks over to where Marilla and Gilbert are standing.

“Nonsense, Gilbert,” Marilla is saying. “You must be exhausted from your trip.”

“Not at all,” Gilbert replies pompously. He beams at Anne, to solidify his arrogant white-knight act. “Medicine is a craft of the mind, not the body. I have a lot of spare energy and I’m willing to use it to help out.”

“I won’t hear it-”

“Marilla, please, I insist.” He glances hopefully at Anne, as if she would ever corroborate his brown-nosing.

“Well… alright, then, if you’re going to insist. ” Marilla steps over to a pitchfork and thrusts it into his arms gently.

He saunters, and Anne follows.

“Hi,” he says nonchalantly, eyeing her over his shoulder. She scoffs.

“Hello,” she says. He crosses to the edge of the path where the main pile of hay lives. He begins to shovel it.

Wait. A task that Marilla would usually have Anne complete has been unfairly gifted to Gilbert just because he- what? Is a boy? Is stronger than her? Does everything better than her?

Anne steps forward and lunges at the pitchfork.

“What are you doing?” Gilbert asks, yanking it back. She glares and snatches at it again, spinning around him as he lifts it out of her reach. She attempts to swipe it once more, quickly. This time, she is victorious. But he doesn’t let go, stands his ground as she twists it any which way to try and release it from his grip. At the same moment she pulls back hard with both hands, he attempts to pry it from her possession much more forcefully. She slips off of the handle, and the upper end- with the sharp points- comes down on her forearm.

It has all happened so fast, both of them are shocked, shouting “I’m sorry!” and “Ouch!” at the same time, loudly enough that it echoes.

“Anne!” Marilla gasps from across the yard. Gilbert throws down the pitchfork and grasps Anne’s arm as the matron crosses their way. 

“It’s fine, Ms. Cuthbert!” he calls, waving her off. “Just a scratch. No need to worry. Easy fix.”

“Are you sure?” she responds worriedly anyway, hovering a few paces away. “What happened?”

“Quite!” he replies. “It was my fault. I’ll get her patched up in no time.” Anne feels as if a life of imprisonment is being decided for her.

“Don’t take the blame for this!” she barks at only him, then yells, “It was my fault! And I don’t need any help!” Marilla rolls her eyes, even in her motherly concern.

“Nonsense, Anne, just let the boy make his amends. My goodness…”

“But I’m fine!”

“I’m sure you will be. Then you can grab the pail buckets for water on your way back out.”

Anne sputters, attempting refusal as Gilbert gently leads her by the back of the arm towards the house. She shrugs him off and starts walking like the prisoner she’s condemned to be.

“Are you… alright?” he asks, too calmly, as they walk quickly up the path.

“You’re all too eager to tend my wounds,” she snaps. “Inflicted by you , nonetheless. Gloating, are we?” 

“It was an accident. Caused by you, which you said yourself.” When she doesn’t respond, he adds: “And hey, If you want to let it stay dirty and open and risk infection, be my guest.”

Ugh, another point to Gilbert (and a good one, at that). Why did he have to be studying to be a doctor, of all things? The situation reminds her of his disgusting valliance when their clumsy classmate Moody Spurgeon cut his leg open on their class walk through the forest, and Gilbert had to stitch him up. So what? He’s not so special. Anyone can do that. Dab dab, sew sew, voila! Not that hard. She could do it herself, and does not need his assistance. She is all but fed up with his heroics.

She huffs and stomps up the steps, smoothing her wild hair that had fallen from its braids during the struggle over their chore.

“Stop that!” she snaps. 

“Stop what?” He reels as he follows her into the house.

“Always being around when bad things happen!” She stalks through the entry rooms into the kitchen and they let the door slam shut behind them.

“I’m…sorry!?” He apologizes facetiously. She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she braces herself on the counter- her fingers waltz as she tries to come up with something to say in return, but he’s slamming drawers open and closed as he gathers supplies he’s apparently hidden all over the house in case one of them needs medical attention. How gallant.

“Up,” he demands simply, stopping next to her and nodding towards the countertop. “Please.” He smiles a sickeningly sweet smile in the wake of his violence towards her. She rolls her eyes, but the quicker she complies the quicker she can be out of here, so she turns herself around and hops backward onto the counter. He starts his annoying process of sterilizing and inspecting the wound.

“Well, you don’t need stitches, so that’s good.”

She mocks him silently. He really is so ridiculous, acting as if he is a real medical examiner all the time.

“Does that hurt?”

“No,” she lies, looking down at the top of his bowed head as he works.

He unravels a gauzy bandage from his pile of things and preps her arm for it. His hands aren’t at all strong. It doesn’t at all make her uncomfortable that she’s exhibiting weakness in his presence. And she doesn’t wonder at all if his hair is as soft as it looks.

He shifts to grab surgical scissors from the other side of her, and she moves back from the vicinity of his hair as if it were a snake. The bandage catches on an open part of her gash, and she hisses.

“You have to sit still.”

“I was!”

He laughs cruelly. “No, you weren’t, clearly.”

“It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn.”

Gilbert smirks.

“It’s a quote,” she presses impertinently. 

“I know.”

“From Great Expectations, which I’m sure you just love .”

“Actually, I think it’s from Wuthering Heights. And you’re using it in the wrong context. The subtext is-”

“God, you are such a know-it-all.”

“I just know some things. Not all of it. But you’re often wrong,” he ridicules her, “and you’re a bit arrogant, so-”

“Arrogant!? Me?” She laughs indignantly, tearing her arm from his grasp before he can finish bandaging it up and leaping from the countertop to cross as far away from him as she can get in  the small room. He has a confused half-smile on his face at her outburst. She hasn’t lost that much blood, but boy does she feel lightheaded.

“Yes, arrogant!” he reiterates. “I told you you needed to-”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do I need to spell it out for you? A - R- R - O -”

“Stop it!” she demands.

“You started it,” he points out, suddenly apprehensive, and she nearly explodes. “If you can’t-”

“Why must you constantly provoke me,” Anne interrupts with seething rage, “continually poke and prod at me, only to reel back in surprise when my true emotions are elicited to the annoyance!? It’s… maddening!”

He brushes back his dark curls with his hand, and turns to face her head on.

And there it is again. That look. It hits her almost as she hit him the first day she saw that look on his face. A roughhouse pull of her hair, an instinctual whack of her slate, and that wild look in his boyish eyes was burned into the back of her mind forever. Now, years later, here it is again, and even though he has grown out of his childhood impulsiveness and into a young man’s subtle mischievousness, the look in his eyes is still the same. Even though they are fighting, and even though she doesn’t want to look at his stupid, symmetrical face a second longer, she is trapped by that look.

They are mere feet apart, and yet she still can’t decipher him. She’s been puzzling over that look for half of a decade, trying to figure out what it means. She’s seen it in his eyes on more than one occasion; most recently the other day when they learned to square dance in class, most confusingly across the aisle the day of Prissy’s not-wedding, and most notably the day in Charlottetown when they encountered one another and she hadn’t yet changed from Miss Josephine’s lent corset and gown. Gilbert was practically speechless when he discovered her, she remembers, touching a lock of her curled hair in shock as if it were a creature that could bite him, the look in his eyes saying more than his mouth but speaking a language she still doesn’t understand.

It’s well-nigh a hunger, that look behind his eyes, though not quite that ferocious. Almost as if his palette is cleansed but he still desires a sweet, or a sip of something to quench his thirst. He seems as if he might say something, his lips quirking upward slightly in a sort of sleepy smile as his eyes search her face with that look.

“What?” she finally hisses, as it’s been plaguing her for ages. 

“What?” He feigns ignorance.

Her chin juts out combatively, challenging him. “Why do you look at me like that?”

“Like… how?”

“Is that a joke?”

“I can’t look at you?” His voice is soft, almost a whisper, which is a complete departure from the argument they were just having.

“I just don’t see why you are ,” she guffaws with a roll of her eyes, attempting to regain the animosity. 

He grins.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello!?” she snaps back, utterly upside down in her senses. But he won't win whatever game he is playing. “The question?” she reminds him. A serious expression graces his dark features.

“Yes, well. When something is captivating, I look at it” he answers simply, as if he’s surprised she doesn’t know. And then his grin is back. Something in her softens against her will, and her voice reflects it.

“I beg your pardon?” she exhales. Call her gullible, but if someone is telling her words she’s longed to hear for the better part of her life, she’d like to hear them again. She’s sure she imagined them.

“You heard me plain.”

The clock in the parlor ticks.

What is he saying? That she captivates him? 

“But. There’s no… We despise each other.”

“Do we?” He says this as if it's news to him.

“We… I- You can’t possibly find me captivating ,” her internal logic spouts, bypassing her better judgement, “not you. Not me. You’re Gi-… And I’m… There is no way. Not the most ‘handsome’ boy in school, the one everyone-”

And then he takes three quick steps towards her, stopping himself (and her driveling, thank God) abruptly when his face is above hers. They are inches apart, now. She doesn’t recoil, and they both seem to notice how strange that is. Almost as if he is surprised his hand is moving, he watches his fingers as they reach towards her cheek.

Time is at a standstill. All Anne can feel or sense are her racing heartbeat and Gilbert’s fingertips on her jaw. His gaze follows the path of his own hand, threading back through her hair to the base of her skull, where he tightens his grip. His pupils lock onto hers. She’s nearly entranced, her jaw slack, eyelids drooping halfway as he somehow moves his face even closer still. She almost doesn’t even comprehend the voracious look in his eyes shift to more of a question, but she does, and it compels her to nod ever so slightly in answer.

He pulls her into him by the back of her neck, and his lips are on hers, and they’re soft, but larger than they look, and his face is slightly scratchy from invisible stubble she didn’t know he had, and it’s so sensorily overwhelming she falters and shakily pulls away.

His hand drops from her neck to her elbow, and he steps back abruptly.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, flustered. “That was… I shouldn’t have-”

“No-” Anne interrupts quickly, softly, processing. “Don’t say that.” She promptly decides she likes the feeling. So before he can explain it away as a mistake, she places her hand on his shoulder delicately and closes the distance between them again, pressing her lips to his tentatively. He presses back, significantly less tentatively. His hand eagerly slides from her elbow to her lower back, his suddenly greedy arm snaking around her and gripping her tightly to his torso. She slides her hand over the scope of his shoulder, and he hums softly into her mouth when her fingers curl gently into his hair at the base of his scalp. It is indeed as soft as it looks.

They’re standing in her kitchen and they’re kissing, and his palms are strong on her waist and holding her close to him, and their bodies are fitting snugly into one another rather perfectly, and she’s breathless- because his mouth is still covering hers but also because it turns out being kissed is amazing, and being kissed like this is better than her wildest dreams and all her imagination’s concoctions. If you had told that little redhead orphan from years ago that she’d someday be kissing Gilbert Blythe in the middle of Green Gables, she would have hit you upside the head with that chalkboard slate.

They part for air, and he seems just as shocked as she is, eyebrows nearly disappearing behind his disheveled curls. She’s panting like a dog trying to catch her breath, and her mouth had kind of trailed after his comically when he pulled away. So he looks somewhat embarrassed, and she feels very exposed as she gapes. He lifts her slackened jaw with a crooked finger and gently nudges her chin with the back of his knuckles, an oddly friendly gesture following such an intimate display of affection. They both grin in acknowledgement of their situation, and their shared nervousness, and soon they’re giggling, touching hands, tangling their fingers together, doubling over each other’s shoulders laughing, their faces flushed.

“Hi,” he sighs when their laughter subsides.

“Hello,” she sighs in return.

She wants to kiss him again and maybe never stop, but remembers the reason they came into the house in the first place was very unromantic, and they were also tasked with fetching the pails for water, and Marilla and Matthew are waiting for them outside and probably worried about her. The last thing she wants is for one of them to walk into the house and discover her kissing a boy, let alone one that lives under the same roof… she shudders at the mere idea of Marilla cruelly kicking him out if she were to catch them.

“Um, we should…” she starts, then gestures over her shoulder. 

His eyes scan her face as she moves away, but he seems to understand too, because he sighs and drops his arms to his side. In silence, he finishes wrapping the bandage she forced him to abandon earlier, and then crosses to the door to hold it open for her. He avoids meeting her eyes, instead chuckling at the wall as if he can’t believe her mere existence. She smiles proudly and carries all the buckets through, but as Gilbert lets the door shut behind them, his fingertips brush her back affectionately and he retrieves them from her grasp like a gentleman. 

Quite gallant, after all, it seems.

Chapter Text

After Monday’s events, the other days of the week are trivial to him, but very few pass before he cannot physically hold it in any longer- he must tell someone, and there’s only one person besides Belle The Horse that he trusts with such news.

“We… kissed.”

Sebastian lights up, and howls like a puppy with a new chew toy.

“Gilbert Blythe! You mean to tell me you’re a scoundrel!?”

“It was just one kiss!” Gilbert hisses, as he glances over his shoulder for a rogue Mary, willing Bash to keep his laughter quiet. “It probably didn’t mean anything. We haven’t had a chance to… um-”

“Kiss again!?”

“ Talk! About it. We haven’t had a moment alone to talk about it. Not- stop that. Not since it happened.” Gilbert narrowly avoids several mocking punches to the gut. 

“You sly dog! I called it! It was always Anne!” Bash dances in victory with a huge grin plastered on his face. “I knew you had a secret reason for leaving me all alone in this big empty house with no one to talk to.”

“So Mary and Delphine are nothing but chopped onions, then?” Gilbert jokes, hearing movement in the other room, to derail the attention from himself. Bash hushes him in jest.

“Quiet, or they’ll hear you,” he laughs. Sure enough, his wife and their baby enter the kitchen in a whirl, having clearly woken up from a nap. Bash coos at and cradles his season-old daughter in his arms.

“Had to come and spoil the gentlemen’s fun, ah? Good! ‘Atta girl, Delly!”

“She’s getting so big,” Gilbert notes in awe. Mary smiles up at him.

“Just like her daddy,” she smarts, nudging her nose into the side of Sebastian’s face. He guffaws. 

“Hold on now, I’m no bigger than the average man, you viper,” he laughs. “Take that back!”

Mary pats his stomach and crosses to the stove.

“No shame in putting on a little fatherly weight,” she says with her back turned. “It’s a rite of passage!”

Sebastian gestures to her and addresses Gilbert.

“You see what I have to deal with?” he shouts. “Can’t even enjoy a meal in my own home without catching shame for it!”

Mary giggles again, her laugh tinkling like the metal utensils she uses to begin their meal. She looks tired, but happy, as she sweetly asks,

“Are you staying for dinner, Gilbert?” 

“No, I should really be getting back,” he sighs, “The Cuthberts are expecting me at their table tonight. I just had to stop by quickly to… uh…”

“To talk filth in my kitchen?” Mary teases without turning around. Gilbert’s heart races.

“Oh, you heard that? Mary, I’m so sorry, I only meant that for Bash’s ears, I-”

“Hush,” she whips her dish rag in his direction. “I’m just giving you trouble. Ain’t nothing I haven’t heard before. Just…”

She glances at Sebastian, who stares at the table darkly. 

“Be careful,” she finishes.

They say their goodbyes, and Gilbert departs back to his temporary homestead. He hoped a conversation with Bash would calm him, but each step closer to Green Gables makes his heart race even faster.

School for Anne is more excruciating than usual, this week. There is no other reason- not another tall, handsome reason in the slightest- other than Miss Stacy has chosen to torment them with mensuration in their maths lessons, because ‘Not enough students are encouraged to pursue math at the secondary level, so we must exhaust the opportunity now!’ All morning she has had them measuring the perimeters and calculating the area of too many shapes to recall. The girls’ heads spin like globes (and do not ask them to figure the volume of a sphere).

Groaning and stretching as they stand from their desks for midday break, Anne’s friends immediately fall into less… practical conversation.

“Who needs math?” Ruby coos. “I’m going to be a bride anyway!”

“You can be a bride and still know math, Ruby,” Anne drawls, rolling her eyes on instinct. 

“Do you think Moody even knows math?” Ruby asks genuinely. 

“Ruby,” Jane drawls as she comes up behind her shoulder. “You don’t do anything but make moon eyes at him while he plays music. You’ve barely spoken to him. What makes you think he’ll want you for a bride?”

Ruby and Diana giggle equivalently to clucking hens and tuck themselves into one another’s shoulders to huddle and whisper. Jane rolls her eyes and crosses away to Tilly. Josie perks up, her eyes several paces away.

“Speaking of being a bride,” Josie snarks to Anne, “here comes Adventure.” She nods her chin at their classmate making his way towards them.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Anne snaps quickly, panicked. There is no way she knows, is there? Could news travel that fast? She only told the trees!

Josie shrugs wordlessly, turning over a shoulder as Gilbert finishes approaching and lands at Anne’s feet- about a foot too far away for her liking.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” she squeaks in return. 

“I, um…” he stammers. “That was… an invigorating lesson, don’t you think?”

“It was downright brutal,” Anne groans. “In what world are we going to need to know the internal parameters of an egg crate?”

“I would imagine,” he takes his time answering as the commotion of their classmates around them reaches higher decibels, “a world in which it would come time for you and the Cuthberts to ship out eggs from your farm, and you wanted to know how many would fit inside a crate.”

Point to Gilbert.

“Did you, um,” Anne interjects to distract from her unintelligent musings, “have anything… else? You wanted to talk to me about?”

Gilbert’s eyes widen comically, rather adorably, really, and Anne winces, scrunching up her nose trying not to react to it outwardly. He clears his throat.

“Yes, well, I…” he smiles at her. “Hi.” 

“Hello.”

They both laugh. Moments pass. An excruciating day at school, indeed.

“I just wanted to say,” he says, “I enjoyed… talk ing. With you. The other day, about… y’know.”

Her face flushes and she can feel the implication of his words deep in her chest.

“Literature?”

“Yes, literature,” he quickly reiterates, stuffing his hands in his pockets and chuckling bashfully at the floor. He smirks up at her with only his eyes. 

“I, um… I hope you have a good weekend,” he says. “I’ll be leaving for Charlottetown immediately after class today, so I’ll miss the paper. Uh, the newspaper meeting.”

“ Ah , yes, a Thursday week.”

Gilbert makes a strange face and Anne wishes she hadn’t said that. She’s given him another point advantage. 

“Well, anyway,” she rushes. “Thank you. I hope you have a good weekend… as well.”

“Thank you.”

Now that she knows (or at least thinks she knows) what The Look means, she rather enjoys watching it flash across his dark features. His brows do most of the work, but if she gazes into his eyes long enough, she can read an entire story. She wishes she knew what she was doing to elicit that stare from him. She’d do even more of it. 

Miss Stacy instructs them to finish their break and return to their seats. Has it been 10 minutes already?

“I’ll see you,” Gilbert says softly.

“Bye,” she brilliantly replies.

He walks away, and Anne imagines it begrudgingly. He glances very briefly over his shoulder at her, and since she’s watching him too, anyway, she gives a little wave. He runs into his desk and bench, because he’s looking at her instead of where he’s going, and the boys immediately surrounding him laugh at him. He doesn’t seem to care. He sits down with a beaming smile on his face, and Anne feels a similar one on her own.

“That was painful.”

“Josie, do you ever mind your own business?” Anne sighs, bypassing mortification and heading straight for annoyance. “We were just talking.”

“And yet not a thing was said,” she judges, accurately. Anne shakes her head and takes her seat next to Diana. Diana, her best friend, who she just realizes doesn’t know anything about her progression into womanly understanding and romantical drama. 

“We should have a picnic this Saturday,” Anne says quickly as they settle in. “Would your mother allow it?”

“Saturday’s no good. My father has a friend coming into town for business, and she has chores for me and Minnie May all day long. How about… Sunday after church!”

“Sounds divine!”

They lock pinkies, then dive back into the circumference of grain silos with the rest of the class.

-

“Why do you think it is so shameful to kiss?”

Diana chokes on her biscuit and covers her mouth, like the true lady she is. Anne, unfazed, takes another bite of hers.

“What on earth would compel you to bring up such a topic?” Diana asks through coughs. Anne freezes. 

“I, uh, read about it, recently,” she lies. “In… a book.”

“You… you don’t say.” Diana is cryptically pensive.

“Yes, and in this… book… the female protagonist cannot kiss the boy- I mean, man- that she loves, or rather, well, thinks she might be able to love someday, because she is shamed by her peers and society when she does so.”

“It sounds like… a very interesting book,” Diana decides.

“It is. So… what do you think?”

“About what?” Diana braves another bite of her biscuit. 

“About the text ,” Anne bemoans, “about the kissing, and all other public displays of affection, I guess,” she adds on for generalization’s sake.

“It… well it’s a sin, isn’t it?” Diana offers cooly. “And awfully scandalous. To exhibit affection to someone you are not married to, and in public no less. The protagonist's reputation would be…” she gazes off into the distance, “...ruined.”

Anne groans, dropping the ruse she already regrets. Why didn’t she just tell Diana about the kiss? Was she ashamed? Everyone would surely lose their marbles if they learned Avonlea’s golden boy favored her . Diana is surely deserving of being the first to know. Well, the third to know, after Gilbert and Anne themselves. But perhaps Gilbert wishes to keep it a secret, to protect her reputation… or his. Perhaps he would be ashamed if she told people.

“I’m just saying,” Anne says. “Even married couples that have societal and heavenly approval to kiss, do not do so in public. Why?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I don’t see why a symbol of affection and care should be looked on with such disdain and judgement. A kiss is a lovely, pure thing. Why should it be seen as a sin?”

“It…I don’t know, Anne, but you’re not supposed to do it in front of other people.” 

“Why not!? Is it not what our bodies are meant to do, naturally?” she gazes off into the trees. “Even the branches reach for one another. Everything in the world around us is longing to kiss- the ocean tide to the shoreline, the raindrops to the thirsty earth… the sun and moon, forever chasing one another, pining for one touch…”

“Anne!” Diana is scandalized, but a smile plays on her features. Anne cackles.

“What!?” she shouts to the sky. “It’s true!”

Diana finally plays into her nonsensicality.

“So let’s say you do kiss a boy,” she teases, “hypothetically. That implies to others that you have been intimate before, does it not?”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“But the notions are there, aren’t they?”

Anne shrugs. “I suppose so.” This is not going the way she hoped it would.

“And so. Are you engaged to him? Just because you shared a kiss?”

“Well, no,” Anne laughs, her face warm. “That’s something else entirely, isn’t it?”

“So what if you don’t stay with him, if things go poorly?”

“What if they don’t?”

“All I’m saying Anne, is, well, then the entire town, including another potential suitor, will have seen you with someone else, and it will disincline him to court you.” Her bosom friend sounds like she’s regurgitating an older woman’s words.

“If he cares about something so trivial, then I don’t want him anyway. Shouldn’t it be a compliment that I have been loved before? It means he would have good taste.”

Anne smirks at Diana and the two share a light giggle.

“I fear our small community is not ready for that way of thinking,” Diana admits. 

“Their loss, I suppose,” Anne concludes, feeling grateful she hasn’t exposed her own sins to someone as pure as her best friend. No, it would be a good idea to figure out what this all means, what her relationship to Gilbert- or lack thereof- even is before she goes about publicizing it. And for now, she resolves to enjoy her ladies’ afternoon picnic to distract her from all musings on romance and boys in general.

“No more talk of boys. Can you pass the bread and jam, Diana?”

And enjoy the picnic they do.

Chapter Text

After church- which was uneventful- and her picnic at Diana’s house, which was satisfactory, Anne walks through the forest back to Green Gables… which is inspiring.

She slows when she reaches the patch of dirt and debris that once was their story club haven. She doesn’t always pass it, and when she does she doesn’t always linger, but today it is calling to her. Her fingertips drift over the memory of her youth. She slowly touches each branch and relic available, and sits down in the brush. She feels the earth as she digs in with her nails and takes a deep breath. The trees smell like book pages.

Once upon a time, she and her young schoolmates sat for hours in this very spot and dreamt of finding love and adventure and lifelong fulfilment. It feels, now, as if she’d actually taken a tangible step in that direction. 

The space between her ears feels light and airy and she doesn’t like it one bit. Is this what she has come to? One kiss, and her head is more in the clouds than it's ever been? She’s reverted back to a girlish idiot with no regard for knowledge or adventure or passion other than a boy?

Not, of course, that she’d ever gotten to be a girlish idiot. Thinking about it now feels not like reliving, but like hearing about a dark fairytale through a passerby. A young child rented out to servitude from the age of seven. Wanted nowhere, affectionate touch was a lie, luxury a myth. 

Anne Shirley, a vicious voice rings in her ears, you are the scrawniest, homeliest red-haired freckled witch that ever lived.

No one will ever want you.

She doesn’t even realize she’s dug so far into the earth her hands are covered, but she loves the feeling of the cool dirt, so she rolls up her sleeves and spreads it up her forearms. With the ribbon from the end of her braid, she ties her hair up on top of her head, accidentally caking the strands in mud. She elects to climb a nearby tree for old time’s sake. She makes such a mess of herself that if she were a child, Marilla would be furious and give her a proper scolding. But she’s not a child. And she feels more alive than she ever has.

She has now been blessed with the most luxurious affection there is, and the warm porch light of Green Gables that greets her as she returns home at sunset from Diana’s reminds her she will always have the love of her family no matter what path she takes in life; Even if that path has a little more romance in it than she anticipated, she is still Anne with an E, of Green Gables, Avonlea.  

It has been a long weekend and it isn’t even over. The doctor’s office didn’t provide him his typical solace. He takes the last train available out of the city, because he cannot get back to Green Gables fast enough and cannot possibly wait till morning.

The house is dark, and quiet, the only light visible a flickering candle coming from the other side of the parlor doorway as he steps through the threshold.

“Gilbert!” Anne is startled, or shocked, and she presses a hand to her heaving chest to catch her breath. He’s jealous of her palm. “What are you doing here!?”

“I live here…?” he replies, taking a nervous step into the kitchen. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“You didn’t, it’s that-” she hesitates, and it’s then that Gilbert notices she’s standing barefoot in only a thin white sleep dress, littered with near-translucent water spots over her shoulders and chest. Brushes and a bucket litter the sink next to a wrung-out towel. Her hair is wet, but already drying in frizz at the roots. He swallows hard at actually taking in the sight of her, completely disarrayed. “You’re supposed to be in Charlottetown tonight,” she finishes, breathless. 

He takes another step into the room, an insatiable smirk already forming. “Do you have my schedule memorized?” he asks half-earnestly and half-teasingly, because while he really does want the answer, he also knows that him having asked will make her squirm. He is proven right immediately.

“No, I... No! Of course not! I just-”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, do you miss me when I’m gone?”

“Ha!…”

He closes the distance between them and she inhales sharply.

“I most certainly do not,” she defies, but her attention flickers between his eyes and his mouth and her soft gaze doesn’t match the contempt of her tone. His brain convinces him she is lying, which isn’t a difficult conclusion to make. He takes her hand without looking away.

“I missed you too.” He presses his lips to the back of her hand, watching eagerly as her preexisting blush spreads downward from the apples of her cheeks. She’s now flushed all over, speechless, and he’s so proud of his work that he doesn’t have the wits about him to fight off his giddy smile. 

Has it really only been three days since he’d seen her? The desperation he feels to hold her would indicate a much longer hiatus. He can’t even remember what he did this weekend. He was too busy thinking of- dreaming up- a reunion only half as magnificent as this. He’s wanted nothing more the past forty-eight hours than to speak to her, hear what she was thinking- was it about him? Does she regret him? What would he say to her when they finally had a moment alone to talk?

“I think you look marvelous in pink,” the words spill out of him like water from a broken dam.

“What?” she breathes, disoriented. He lowers her hand and meets her eye. Some of his affectionate confidence wanes hearing how his own voice stammers and cracks.

“You’ve always complained you think you don’t look good in rosy shades. But right now, they’re very becoming on you.” 

“I’m not wearing anything remotely rosy.”

Gilbert resists the urge to say she isn’t wearing much of anything at all, and instead opts for a more practical, “Nevermind, Shirley.” He is, however, unable to resist chuckling lowly at her literality. 

“No, what do you mean?” she panics slightly, clearly thinking he is laughing at her and not at himself and the effect she has on him.

“Your skin,” he exhales. “You’re blushing, Anne.”

“Well, you’re blushing, too,” she counters defiantly. He feels a tingle down his spine.

“I’m sure I am.” He lets his eyes wander down to her nightdress and its foundational mannequin. They both inhale shakily, and he gravitates towards her. 

“I think I am going to hate myself forever for saying this,” she breathes, nearly directly into his mouth, “but you have got to get out of here.”

“You want me to go?” he whispers in a pout, touching her gently on the arm, letting his lips drift even closer to hers still. 

“You should ,” she manages, transfixed, even in her stubborn correction. “Before Marilla finds us and promptly loses her mind.”

“But do you want me to?” he asks again, so softly it’s almost imperceptible. 

Anne shakes her head quickly- no, I don’t want you to go- and in the second following, his lips are on hers so fiercely she has to step back into the sink for balance. He cups her face in his hands as he leans her into the support. He feels the curve of her body against his chest, and she grips the front of his shirt in her fists and drives her tongue into his mouth- a clear indicator her desires were just as strong as his, before the moment exploded. He braces his hands on the cool metal of the sink’s edge on either side of her hips, and presses forward to encounter her silhouette fully. 

They both breathe heavily into the space between each other’s lips each time they part. He’s not sure of how much time passes: it could be seconds, it could be days. He doesn’t care. Each moment folds into one another so delicately. Everything other than the softness of her face and her hands touching his skin is a blur.  

When Gilbert wraps his arm around her waist and can’t resist lowering a kiss to her neck, she whines - honest to God whines his name - and it jolts him from the fog. He slips off the sleek metal basin-edge and falls into the sink arm-first, clattering her bucket and supplies with an awful racket.

They freeze. When a floorboard creaks somewhere else in the house, he curses under his breath and she shoves him off of her and ushers him through the back doorway, hissing “ Go!” as quietly and severely as she can.

He’s rounding the opposite corner of the house outside when he sees the light in the kitchen get a bit brighter, and he revels at their timing. Waiting several long minutes before entering through the front door so as not to arouse suspicion, he takes breaths of cool night air (so as not to arouse himself any further). He enters the house again, now fully dark, and makes his way quietly to his room. He notices a glimmer coming from under the door to her room as he passes, and it feels as if his soul is afflicted in the same way: a light possessed by Anne shining through the cracks of his darkness.

Chapter Text

The day has finally arrived. It feels like years and years have passed since the first time Mrs. Lynde circled them up like cattle and taught them how to move to twangy music. 

And now, the air around them is abuzz with ladies’ friendly chatter, robust laughter from groups of men sharing stories along the edges of the tent, and small children running around trying to avoid being tagged by one another.

The day has gone perfectly. Marilla won first prize for her plum puffs, naturally, so she exists now in a spectacular mood. Matthew won a prize Anne didn’t know existed called “Most Unusual Vegetable,” which seems to fit the entire family quite well. He also gifted her a shiny dime, which she spent after the competition at an oddities stand on a lovely heart-shaped charm, for her bracelet. 

Anne also won third place for her Mary Cake, which isn’t ideal, but far better than it could have gone. The cake’s namesake was pleased at the time, at least, and that’s what truly mattered to Anne. Seeing her and Sebastian cradling their daughter in their arms, Mary beaming over at Anne when they handed down the verdicts… no first place prize could replace that feeling. Though she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t gotten her hopes up for a red ribbon instead of a white one. 

“What is that face for?” Marilla asks later that evening,as she fastens the newly-bought silver pendant onto the chain around her daughter’s wrist. “Are you still cross about receiving third place?”

“Ostentatious presentation,” she huffs. “What does that even mean?”

“Third place your first year entering…” Matthew chimes in calmly. “That’s a mighty achievement, Anne. You ought to be very proud.

Marilla and Matthew share one of those irritating, knowing, adultish looks between them and Anne rolls her eyes.

“I think I see Diana and the girls over there,” Anne blurts. “May I go with them?”

“Fine,” Marilla smiles. “But don’t leave the barn.”

She’s already twirling away on the chords of the band’s song. “We won’t!” she calls.

She crashes into Diana’s arms and makes quick work of showing her and Ruby the new addition to her charm bracelet. They ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ and then all three of them run off to find the rest of the girls and wait for the Dashing White Sergeant to play so they can show off their dance prowess. Anne rubs the chain around her wrist comfortingly as they stand by. But the other songs drag on and on. 

“Who’s that girl over there talking to Gilbert?” Ruby asks the group. “She’s very pretty.”

“And very blonde,” Tilly agrees. 

“That’s the medical examiner’s receptionist, Winnifred Rose,” Jane Andrews interjects, immediately feasting on gossip she clearly knows the lore to. “My sister saw them out to tea in Charlottetown."

“They’re courting?” Diana asks.

“When!?” Ruby squeals.

Josie snaps disbelievingly, “I don’t buy it,” with what Anne would almost say was a glance in her direction. It was probably just a trick of the lantern light.

Tilly saunters away, most likely to head for the refreshment table that just so happens to be where most of the boys are standing.

“The name Winnie Rose sounds like a maiden in a storybook, don’t you think?” Ruby chirps. 

“Has he said anything about her, Anne?” Jane is quick to pry. 

“How should I know?” she quickly deflects, trying not to look in the direction of the subject.

“Um… because he lives at your house?” Jane laughs and Anne shrugs. 

“Like I’ve told you before,” she says more calmly than she feels, “I don’t see him much. He goes to school early for catchup lessons. He’s in Charlottetown on the weekends. He’s really only there to sleep.”

“Maybe he’s finding a new place to sleep,” Jane teases, and Josie and Ruby giggle along with her absurdity. Don’t they all know it’s like a million little knives in her heart?

Diana scowls. “That’s a terrible, foul thing to say, Jane,” she says. “Don’t you know an accusation like that could ruin someone?”

“Who cares? He’s already made it clear he fancies himself a gentleman,” Jane coos. “Too good for us Avonlea folk.”

“That seems a bit of a stretch,” Diana replies evenly. “And he wasn’t who I was talking about.” She glances over a the Winnifred girl with Gilbert, then looks at Anne with just her eyes.

“I say let him court a socialite or two,” Jane grumbles, then laughs. “We could use a bit of excitement around here.”

“You and I must find different things exciting, Jane ,” Josie says with a particularly brutal eye roll.  Jane looks as if she might lay hands on her- a proper sisterly fight, as ever since Josie and Billy started courting, the two girls have barely gotten along (like true future sister-in-laws). Anne thinks Josie might be right, and the real excitement is here in their midst, but her mind drifts back to the idea of courtship. Everyone seems to be getting into it nowadays, pairing off or attempting to catch each other’s eye…

She steals a look at him, then: Gilbert and the presumed socialite. The girl is absolutely gorgeous. She must spend her summers overseas and have a large sum of money. Anne quite literally pales in comparison. 

They’re talking politely, but not too closely, it seems, which gives Anne hope. But she can’t examine their interaction anymore, because it’s over.

A few minutes of idle chatter later, Tilly comes rushing back over. Diana has just started telling Anne a story about something her mother and sister fought over that morning, when Tilly bursts into the group.

“He just rejected that girl when she asked for a dance!” she gasps.

“What!” Ruby squeals.

“Really?” Jane asks.

“Good,” Anne grumbles. Everyone turns to her, mouths agape.

“Because she can do better! Obviously!” Anne adds hastily. Diana shakes her head to clear it, then turns back to the girls.

“How do you know that, Tilly?” she asks.

“I just overheard them by the-”

“What a scandal!” Josie interrupts. “Are you sure?”

“I heard with my own two ears!”

“Did he say why?” Diana prompts.

“He says he’s promised to dance with someone else...”

The girls titter and squeal and grasp each other's hands, and soon they're turning on Anne like the vultures they are.

“Someone he goes to school with,” Tilly concludes, her eyebrow raised in an accusatory fashion. 

Anne raises her own eyebrow, in question at the smirking sharks.

“Why are you all staring at me?” she snaps. Diana drops her chin in affectionate teasing.

“Anne,” she insinuates. Everyone is still staring.

“...Me?”

The girls begin giggling again, and they don’t need to hear her harried question of ‘you think he rejected her for me?’ for her to know their answer is a resounding yes .

“That is a vicious rumor to start, Tilly,” Anne chastises. Anything to get the attention off of herself. Her attempt is futile, the girls look at her with full-on pity.

“You should go talk to him, Anne,” Josie urges with an attitude. “See for yourself if it’s true.”

“That’s a preposterous suggestion.” 

Josie shrugs.

“Whatever,” she says. “This is boring. I’ve got more important things to do. And I’m not afraid of talking to a boy.” She smiles over her shoulder at the group of boys from their school and leaves the girls to go talk to Billy Andrews. Anne rolls her eyes and Diana catches it.

“She’s right, you know,” her best friend says gently, turning her away from the dispersing gossips they call friends. “I saw the way he was dancing with you in class practice.”

“I have not a clue what you are talking about,” Anne deflects.

“Don’t play coy, Anne.”

“I’m not playing… I just am.”

“You should go speak with him,” Diana urges insistently. “I’ll get us some lemonades.” And with that, she walks away, leaving Anne shifting uncomfortably by herself. And then they lock eyes, she and Gilbert, almost by accident, but she can feel the heat of his gaze even from across the tent. She squares her shoulders in determination and ignores the fluttering in her stomach.

She lands at his feet with nary a word to utter. They blink at each other, the bustle around them melting into a blur.

“A multitude of people, and yet a solitude,” Gilbert offers calmly with a grin. Anne immediately scoffs and rolls her eyes, though a smile accompanies it. She can’t control it even if she tried (but she didn’t try that hard).

“Do you speak in nothing other than book quotes?”

“Why wouldn’t I? They’ve said it all well enough.” He is teasing her, clearly. The sparkle in his eye is maddening and not cute in any way.

“How trite.”

“That’s ironic,” he chuckles sarcastically. “You do the same. Very frequently. In fact, you used a book quote to punctuate a viewpoint in class not three days ago.”

Point to Gilbert.

“So. Is it true?” Anne snaps. Gilbert raises an eyebrow, his mood of jest wanes slightly at her tone.

“Is… what true?”

“Is it true,” Anne asserts, “that you went to tea with someone named Winnifred last week? Was that… her, that you were just talking with?”

His eyes widen, and Anne waits patiently- more so than she ever has in her life- for his response.

“Anne, that was before.”

“Before…?”

“Before…” he glances around and lowers his voice to a hush, “...you know. I can’t say, here.”

Anne’s face burns.

“Why can’t you!?”

“You know why,” Gilbert pleads. “But Anne, I swear to you-”

“Don’t you know it’s wicked to swear?” Anne sasses to hide the embarrassment on her cheeks. Gilbert ignores her interruption.

“- it was before anything of note occurred."

“Wait just a minute. You. Back from Charlottetown…” The realization of timeline dawns on her. “ Right before? As in literally, immediately before, twenty-four hours before, you were waltzing around with…” She lets her thought die on her tongue. 

“I mean,” Gilbert struggles, “I suppose so, maybe, but it wasn’t like that, it-”

“I am such a fool.” She turns to walk away. He grasps her arm and she rounds on him.

“Hold on-”

“Am I just an… outlet to you!?” She hisses, ripping her limb from his clutches.

“No!” He protests. “It was nothing. Nothing to worry about at all, in fact it showed me how much I-”

“I do not think I can hear one more second of this.” She turns to go away from him once again.

“Anne, please…”

But his words are drowned out by the rushing in her ears. She sees Diana, watching her look of desperation with a confused and protective look of her own. She sees most of their classmates dancing, whispering with one another as they pass. And then, she sees Josie Pye at a longbenched table, looking very much on the verge of tears. The rushing in her ears subsides. She forgets all about the boy behind her as she crosses directly to Josie through the crowd.

“What’s wrong?” she asks without sitting next to the poor girl. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Go away,” Josie says suspiciously, and Anne thinks, rather sadly. 

At that moment, Tilly and Ruby land next to them, toting the Pauls and Moody in their wake.

“Josie, is it really true?” Tilly asks, giddy. Ruby clutches her arm, watching Josie hopefully 

“Is what true?” Anne asks.

“About Josie and Billy,” Tilly says, like it should be obvious. “Behind the barn! The boys told us everything .” She giggles and looks pointedly to Josie, who not only seems mortified, but truly confounded as she silently shakes her head back and forth. 

Billy is showboating over by his cronies, of course. One look between the two of them and anyone in their right mind would know exactly what happened. But of course, nearly the whole of Avonlea has never been in their right mind when situational and unfair judgement of a girl’s character is concerned.

Josie bursts into tears. Tilly and Ruby seem to understand at the same time what’s gone on, and rush to comfort her. After her ears consume the intricate details from one of the Pauls, Anne’s rage consumes her, and turns her towards Billy. 

Their classmates (and some strangers) all watch on as Anne storms up to the bastard and shouts,

“How dare you!”

“Come to beg for a kiss, too?” he replies, disgustingly smug.

“Beg? That’s not what happened and you know it! How dare you spread nasty rumors about my friend!”

“You weren’t there, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I have eyes, and I can see that she is devastated. You shouldn’t have touched her, Billy!”

His response is lost on Anne as Diana, Tilly, and Ruby run from the barn, following a completely inconsolable Josie into the dusk. She joins them, aiming to comfort her as best they can- and leave the worst kinds of men behind them in the barn where they belong.

She doesn’t remember who suggested it first (perhaps it was her), but the group decides unanimously that what is needed at the present moment is a pile of large branches, a lit match, and ceremonial adornment under the fresh night... and as the moon rises above them Anne is reminded of the power of sisterhood even throughout the cruelty of being a woman.

Chanting leads to dancing which leads to howling, as these rituals usually do. But instead of the ferocious strength and laughter they’ve concluded with before, they hold Josie in a group hug as she sobs guttural, horrible sobs on the ground next to the fire. She whispers through tears over the crackling hearth about her fears of her reputation’s fate and her mother’s unsympathetic household, the disgust she feels in her stomach and loins, and the powerlessness she knows she will be faced with in the ruin of the morning. Diana confidently assures her that won’t happen- not if they have anything to say about it. Anne brushes a matted strand of hair out of the girl's face. Tilly grips her hand tightly and kisses the backs of her knuckles protectively. Ruby cries with her, as if she can feel Josie’s pain in her own gut. They clutch her and grieve alongside her as ash and cinders float destructively into the moonlit night sky above their floral-crowned heads.

Chapter Text

The crunch of twigs under her feet as she storms through the woods is like a battle drum in her ears.

She had unceremoniously deposited Diana at her home, monotonously accepted the verbal berating from her mother for keeping her out so late after the fair, and changed out of her borrowed dress- covered in dirt and soot from their ritual, yet another thing with which Mrs. Barry was displeased- all to now make her way home in a haze of emotion and exhaustion.

She should feel calm, validated enough in her anger so that she could tuck it away until a later, more productive date. But she is still restless. Her mind swims with ways to avenge her friend, the churning sea in her gut peaks with the memory of the tears in her eyes. Anne lets her feet carry her along the forest path, gaining rage and indignation with every step.

“So girls get to cry and mourn in the dirt while vile, reprehensible sorry excuses for men get to dance the night away in frivolity?” she says out loud to no one but the trees in the forest, “That seems far from fair.”

Tired as she is, she should have ended up at her own house, ready to turn in for the evening. The Lord knows Marilla and Matthew would be up still, winding down in the parlor, worried about her… or would they be? They are used to her adventures by now, surely?

But no, alternatively, she ends up at the Blythe- or rather, the Lacroix- homestead. A warm glow comes from the windows and the porch light, indicating they are still very much awake.

She raps on the door with some eagerness, and shortly thereafter, Sebastian is opening it to greet her.

“Anne,” he says, surprised. “To what do we owe the... pleasure?” He seems to recognize the determined glare on her face and casts a worried glance to his wife over his shoulder.

She enters the house uninvited, she knows, but breezing past him is not difficult, most likely because he is used to opening their home to her. She crosses immediately to Mary at the end of the hall.

There is no baby in sight, so Anne begins spouting her inner monologue.

“Why are men allowed to act the way they do?” she snaps, eyes pleading to Mary for refuge, who grunts in agreement and gets comfortable. Sure, Anne’s voice could be a bit quieter, but Mary listens with her hands folded in her lap and doesn’t scold her, so she goes on her tirade. “The utter disrespect of women’s bodily autonomy! They’re allowed- no, encouraged! Allowed and encouraged to act with impunity, to behave recklessly and fulfill their every whim and desire. And women are, what? Just expected to bear it without complaint, pay the price when a man commits an act of cruelty? For fear of ruining our honor and marriage prospects. But what about their honor? Nothing!”

“Anne, slow down, what happened?” Sebastian tries, but Mary holds up a hand to stop him and shakes her head. Anne can feel the wet heat beginning to fall down her cheeks. She genuinely didn’t think she had any left.

“It’s… inappropriate at best! It’s flagrant disrespect of… I already said that, didn’t I? He disregarded her voice when she said no. She said no ! He refused to hear her. Now, in the aftermath, she… she cannot speak up about her aggressor for fear of destroying her reputation beyond repair! When she didn’t even want this in the first place! To be someone’s intended and betray them, take advantage of them… abuse their trust… it’s not fair, Mary.”

“It’s not,” Mary says gently.

Anne’s steam is running out, but the tears flow freely. Sebastian has backed into the corner and stares at the ground, bracing one hand on the arm of the small couch with barely repressed righteous anger… but he keeps his thoughts to himself. Anne furiously wipes at her face in embarrassment.

“We are punished, not only in the violence we are forced to endure, but again in the silence we are meant to keep- if we speak out, or object to such treatment, we're labeled as hysterical, difficult, or... ill-bred,” she practically snarls, and then her voice leaves way for despair. “When these things happen to women, they are usually considered... unremarkable and cast aside. Rarely, if ever, these trespasses are taken seriously, and even then they’re considered crimes against the girl's father- because he owns her body. If she’s married, they are crimes against her husband. If women's bodies belong to their fathers until marriage, transferred as property to the groom at a wedding, then when do women's bodies ever belong to themselves? Why are we treated like this? Why are we not assigned the same human rights granted to men upon their birth? We all deserve the right to bodily autonomy, and to be treated with respect and dignity. To say 'stop'... and be heard.”

“I know,” Mary replies, her voice catching in her throat.

“Why are we the guilty ones simply because we find ourselves in situations where men have the opportunity to take advantage of us?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Mary allows, opening her arm and gesturing for Anne to join her on the settee.

She nuzzles her head into the crook of Mary’s neck; an elder sister holding her young kin when the issue can’t be taken to their mother. She sniffs and wipes her face again, her fury subsiding enough for remorse to peek its ugly head out.

“I’m sorry,” Anne mutters. “It’s late. I… I just didn’t know where else to go. I figured you’d… understand.”

Mary envelops her in a maternal hug.

“Do not apologize,” she commands. “And I do.” She rocks her gently and shushes her. “Oh, I do, I understand.”

When the crying finally stops, Anne sits up and takes the handkerchief Sebastian is handing her. Mary pats her legs affectionately.

“D’ya wanna talk about it?” she asks. Anne shakes her head.

“Its not my story to tell,” she replies with a small shrug before blowing her nose. Sebastian and Mary look at each other with silent conversation.

“Anne, you’re safe here. You can talk to us,” Sebastian offers. It dawns on her in horror what they’re implying, and she adjusts her posture to a more engaged position.

“Oh, no, no no no,” she assures, “Heavens, no! I didn’t mean to worry you in that way. It’s… my classmate. Truly! But… oh, how it inflamed my very soul to see her in such a state.”

“And this was just tonight?” Mary asks.

“At the fair,” Anne nods. “I’m surprised you didn’t see it. Oh, Mary, it was horrible. She looked so defeated. And we tried to lift her spirits with a ritual of sisterhood, but… I don’t think it’s enough.” The others are silent for a moment too long, and Anne’s mind begins to race again. “I just can’t sit by and let this injustice happen to her!” she blurts out. “She will have no day in court, so I must speak out on her behalf. I refuse to participate in the status quo. I need to give her the voice she deserves.” She realizes this as she says it. Mary hold up her hands.

“Hold on, Anne,” she instructs. “Don’t be hasty, now. You don’t want to injure her further, do you?”

“No, of course not!”

“If you act rashly it’s going to make everything worse for this girl,” Mary continues. “This is a small town. Word travels fast,” she grumbles. Sebastian makes a face like he agrees.

“Here’s what needs to happen.” She takes Anne’s hands in her own and squeezes tightly. “Do nothing-”

“But Mary!-”

“At first,” she clarifies. “Sleep on this. I know you are angry,” she tucks some of Anne’s hair behind her ear and cups her cheek, “and you hurt for your friend. You are carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders as only a young woman can.”

“Yes,” Anne commiserates. She’s said it so perfectly, when Anne had rambled and raved like a madwoman.

“You are such a light, Anne. Build your community and tell this to them. Know who is trustworthy. Take comfort in the fact that you’re likely all feeling the exact same way. But this is her reputation at stake. Don’t take away even more of her autonomy by speaking words into existence for her that never even left her mouth. Use your light for good.”

Delphine fusses in the other room, and everyone’s attention is drawn in the direction of the noise.

“I’ll get her,” Sebastian says softly, and he leaves the room.

“Think about what she would want, put yourself in her shoes. It’s not safe to get too personal about it… not yet.”

Anne nods. “You’re very wise, Mary,” she says, nasally with her nose stuffed from crying.

Sebastian enters with their drowsy daughter and places her in Mary’s arms. She kisses the top of her head and rocks her a few times, then passes her tenderly to Anne.

She cradles baby Delly, who can easily sit upright on her own now, against her chest. She inhales the sweet, earthy scent of the top of her head, and it fills all of the cracks inside her heart that had opened in the past twelve hours. She sobs a small cry once more, rocking back and forth and clinging onto the infant for dear life. She feels Mary’s hand on her back, rubbing in small circles comfortingly.

“I’d like to make a better world... for her,” Anne says in a small voice as she hands her daughter back over. Mary takes her and snuggles her, a smile on her face.

“Me, too,” she agrees jovially. “I think between the two of us, we just might be able to manage it, hmm?”

They chuckle lightly. Sometimes, you just need to hold a baby and cry, and then the world makes some semblance of sense again. Call it the optimism of youth, but it sure works for Anne.

The moon seems a bit brighter, the night a bit less terrifying, womanhood a bit less daunting, on her nocturnal trek back to Green Gables.

The morning after the county fair, Anne stomps slowly downstairs during breakfast, clearly having woken up late from a very fitful sleep. She’s got dark circles under her eyes, incredibly disheveled hair, and has misbuttoned the top of her dress. Not that Gilbert notices for any particular reason other than practicality… but she does look delightfully messy, and he has to internally remind himself not to gape at her beauty, in light of the dramatic scene at the fairgrounds.

Marilla and Matthew exchange a look, and to his surprise they include him as well. He shrugs in confused camaraderie. They all go back to their eggs and sit in the unusually silent presence of Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Not unusually, his heart skips a beat when she speaks.

“Marilla,” Anne utters distractedly. “I’m not feeling entirely myself today. Do you mind if I miss church, just this once?”

She doesn’t say anything about Anne staying out late the night before, doesn’t scold her for leaving the fair early with her friends.

“You’re old enough to decide for yourself, I suppose,” Marilla responds evenly, “And you certainly do not look prepared to go.” She raises her eyebrows and sips her tea.

They finish breakfast lacklusterly, and Anne clears the plates in a daze. Gilbert feels compelled to help her, and rushes to collect the silverware. She silently accepts them when he hands them over in the kitchen, then turns her back on him. He has nothing relevant or acceptable to say.

He wipes his palms on his thighs, nervously shifting his weight, before deciding to retreat back to the mudroom and gather his things for the rest of the household’s departure. He makes his way to the front of the house.

“You, uh...” Gilbert starts softly when they pass each other at the base of the stairs. “You didn’t get home until very late last night, I noticed. Are you… alright?”

Anne blinks like she’s surprised he’s asked after her, and then to his surprise, softens instead of lashing out.

“I am,” she nods once. “Thank you.” She turns solemnly to go upstairs, and his mind scrambles to come up with something to keep her there, even for just another moment.

“Oh, I, um-” he stammers. She turns back to listen. Based on how furious she was with him last night, he expected more of a reaction from him trying to engage with her. He doesn’t want to press his luck.

“Yes?” she urges slowly.

“I hope Josie is alright, too,” he settles on, tucking his hands away in his pockets in shame. Maybe his superficial problems can wait a day, seeing as the whole of Avonlea’s female youth is seemingly going through something entirely more important.

“She will be,” Anne replies. She makes her way up to her room as the Cuthberts round the corner from grabbing their hats.

“Gilbert, will you be escorting us to church today?” Marilla asks kindly. Gilbert meets them and bows his head in respect.

“It would be my pleasure,” he says with a grin as he opens the door for them to exit ahead of him. The door swings shut and he offers Marilla his arm to walk her to their carriage. He glances up at Anne’s window, empty, just like her typical spot next to him in the pew at church will be today.

Class on Monday is a gossipy affair; in the light of day, Anne’s friends have seemingly forgotten the severity of the weekend’s events. Ruby comments on how scared Josie must have been for her first kiss to go so horribly wrong when it’s supposed to be something exciting, and Jane inserts herself with cruelty- which makes sense, considering she’s seemingly chosen the side of her barbarian brother.

Anne whispers that very sentiment to Diana, who nudges her sharply in response. Josie approaches the group with her books across her chest and her nose in the air.

“What are we talking about?” she accuses, though the look on her face would indicate she already knows. The girls all glance sheepishly at one another.

“Well, let’s get it all out there,” she huffs. “I was melodramatic. At the fair? What happened is nobody’s business but mine. And besides… nothing happened, anyway. Understood?”

Diana and Anne share a look of concern, but nod their heads for Josie’s benefit. The others do as well. Anne wonders if maybe Josie is putting on a show so the others will quit harassing her. If so, it’s a standout performance.

“Good. Now we can move on with our days.” She turns to Diana. “Diana,” she asks, “Can I switch seats with you today? My head hurts, and I need to be closer to the board. To see more clearly.”Diana looks as if she’s been zapped.

“Sure, Josie,” she stammers, tossing a panicked look in Anne’s direction as she relinquishes the seat next to her on the bench.

Class begins, and Anne is stiff as a board with discomfort due to her new deskmate. Did she decide she needed to monitor Anne to ensure nothing untoward was said about her? Was she going to yell at her for standing up to Billy Andrews the way she did?”

A piece of folded paper slides into her view.

Anne opens the note, sneaking a glance at Josie, whose eyes are trained on the board as class begins.

Thank you for after the fair , it says.

Anne’s nervous system takes some time to catch up to what she is seeing, but then she scribbles back-

You’re welcome.

She thinks it over, then adds:

Are you O.K.?

Josie reads and pens a reply, then returns the note to Anne’s possession.

Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?

When looking up, her expression is challenging but light. It’s as if she is clueing Anne in on the joke… which has never, ever happened. A small smile creeps onto Anne’s face. She writes back;

If you decide you need us, just say the word.
We have your back.

And Josie folds up the note and tucks it in her pinafore pocket, next to her heart.

-


Class is business as usual until they settle in for an afternoon newspaper session.

“Does everyone have their notes from the fair?” Miss Stacy asks nonchalantly as the other students filter out of the schoolhouse to allow them their extracurricular. The group shifts uneasily.

“The biggest story of the night isn’t necessarily fit for the paper,” one of the boys says under his breath. Anne glares his way then looks over to Josie, who’s staring at her feet.

“Yeah,” Paul Two agrees as he nudges the boy with his elbow, “It’s… inappropriate.” Some laugh, but it’s mostly a room of awkward silence. Anne silently wills Josie to look up at her.

“Then let’s move on,” Miss Stacy says firmly. “Who has something appropriate for us to write about in this week’s edition of our school newspaper?”

Crickets. Josie finally, finally meets Anne’s narrowed eye, and takes a deep breath. It’s unlikely anyone else catches it, but she nods determinedly in Anne’s direction, and that’s all she needs.

“I’d like to do an op-ed piece,” she blurts in the empty space. No one protests in the milliseconds following her declaration, so she stands. “About gender equality.”

The room erupts into groans, muttered judgements, and some uncomfortable shocked laughter. She ignores them- or tries to, though some of the words she can pick out of the cacophony only fuel her fire (namely ‘lunatic’ and ‘hysterical’).

She continues, partially out of spite, but mostly because she’s had a day to ruminate on her thoughts and refine them, “It’s come to my attention girls are treated as less than boys, not only by society but by this community specifically. An example of this occurred, sure, but truly it is just one of countless such incidents that are perpetrated against women every day, in every part of the world for that matter, for centuries! We read about it in our literature. We hear about it from our elders. The fact is that women can be taken advantage of anywhere, by anyone. And it is never our fault, but it is unfairly treated as such! The utter disrespect of women’s bodily autonomy is a pervasive issue that involves an entire gender and needs to be pulled out of its systems by its roots… surely, that venture is well worth our time and attention as facilitators of enlightenment.”

The class is silent, mouths agape at her outburst.

“Interesting,” Miss Stacy says after a moment as if she’s mulling Anne’s idea over in her head. “And you think this piece would be preferable to our audience than say, a report about the goings-on at the fair itself? The competitions and the economic affects?”

“We need to act fast,” Anne snaps, “We don’t have time for trivialities like reporting on red ribbons.”

“I’m sure those who participated thoroughly wouldn’t find them to be trivialities. Didn’t your family receive some of those very accolades?”

“Who won best chair or had the largest cabbage is of no concern right now!” Anne groans with a roll of her eyes. “Something more important happened that night.”

“We can call attention to the issue without singling out any one person,” Miss Stacy chides, making a point to look at everyone and not just the student in question. “Are there others interested in Anne’s topic, this… exploration of gender equality?”

Some hands go up, mostly the girls’, who are glancing around to one another in solidarity with Josie, whose arm is straight in the air. Moody Spurgeon raises his hand, eyes on Ruby and a delicate smile on his mouth. Gilbert, too, raises his hand slowly, though the look on his face is more a calm one… of morbid curiosity. His eyebrows are furrowed in apprehension. She wishes she could smack it right off of his face.

“Very well,” Miss Stacy claps her hands together, visibly leaving teacher mode and entering editor-in-chief territory. “Why don’t you all break off into a group to discuss. Focus on pitching the idea in a broad sense and take care to... flesh it out thoroughly before we move forward in print. The rest of you, please work on your articles about the fair.”

The shuffling of books and papers and scooting of benches and chairs melt into the soft murmurs of young scholars putting their minds together as they pace and perch on tabletops. Though most of the murmurs belong to Anne and are a bit louder than what most people would typically consider a murmur.

The girls are excited by her musings, but the boys are hesitant.

“We deserve the same chance to live bold lives that boys do,” Tilly announces, and Diana agrees.

“You are absolutely right, Tilly,” Anne says. “It’s not right that when boys are daring, they are heralded as heroes. When will girls get do the same, without being called reckless or foolish?”

“Is that really something that girls are interested in?” Moody asks with a saccharine ignorance. Anne chooses not to dignify this with a response when he realizes the aghast looks on the girls faces answer his question.

“What would it cost us,” Anne muses aloud, “if we were all allowed to take heroic chances?”

The group considers this.

“So the question becomes,” Gilbert chimes in as he crosses, which instantly raises the hair on Anne’s arms like a bolt of electricity has been sent through her, “how to implement these ideas within the main thesis of your argument. How does it all come together?

She ignores him, her face warming a bit at his clear implication of sloppiness on her part.

“I, for one, will no longer be participating in the status quo,” she says as she stands.

“Did you ever in the first place?” Ruby coos in response, and Moody and Tilly chuckle with her.

“I am a conscientious objector, and I intend to let them know that! I’ll say it now: No one can touch us without our consent. No one can tell us how to live. No one can tell us the limits of our hearts and mind.”

“Who knew all it would take to bring about change,” Moody shakes his head in disbelief, “was ten minutes of commotion at a fair?”

"Fair...” Anne ponders. “What is Fair? How’s that for a title,” she utters smugly to herself as she turns and scribbles it down.

Diana chimes in, “Wouldn’t “fair” be that both genders are treated with the same level of respect and autonomy?”

“Again,” Gilbert presses, “I think we’re circling here. Titles and intentions are all well and good, but we should really solidify the overall theme of this-”

“We,” Anne quirks sarcastically. “As if you have an opinion on the matter.”

Gilbert is taken aback, and his legs uncross as he rises from his casual stance of leaning back against the desktop.

“I do, as a matter of fact,” he grumbles. Anne doesn’t notice the clench of his smooth jaw or how his hands make strong fists at his side, and it doesn’t at all stir up any ferocity from her.

“A worthy opinion,” she snaps, though in the back of her mind she’s not really sure who she’s so angry at.

“Isn’t your proposed piece about equality? That would imply a man’s perspective is included as well, would it not?”

“I would imagine a man’s perspective is that women are just another piece of property. Is that not the case?” she snaps brusquely. Everyone around them falls silent as they watch the sudden argument unfold rapidly.

“Of course not,” Gilbert balks with indignation. “I think women should have bodily autonomy, just like you’re saying!”

“Oh,” Anne sets her shoulders in his direction like a soldier into battle, “so we didn’t see you at the fair shopping for a new parcel of land- I mean, courting a potential wife?”

“What kind of an accusation is that?” Gilbert retorts, squaring up to her now as well. A look of betrayal flashes across his face, his lips tighten in anger.

“If you have so much to say about the fair treatment of women and girls, why do you and your classmates treat them as interchangeable, unimportant... objects!?”

“I think everyone in this room would be in agreement with you if your argument actually made any sense.”

“Really? So you agree. Even though you benefit from the very system we seek to criticize here?”

“Just because I benefit from the system doesn’t mean I’m not interested in dismantling it!”

“Oh, that’s rich!”

“Anne and Gilbert, separate!” Miss Stacy shouts. They freeze, both breathing heavily. Anne can feel the heat from Gilbert’s skin, so close their faces are. “Let’s get back on track,” their teacher scolds gently.

With a final huff of air from her nostrils, Anne turns from him sharply, spinning so quickly she can feel her braid hit him in the face. Their classmates titter and whisper to each other. She imagines what the humble and defeated look on his face must look like, and it makes her smile.

But when she settles into her seat and glances his way, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is clenched again as he sets a glare in her direction, and she falters.

“Let’s… put a pin in this until tomorrow,” Miss Stacy decides gently. “I understand it’s a very emotionally relevant issue. This will take time to finesse. Everyone, please, work on their assigned segments for the rest of the issue.”

“What was that all about?” Diana asks. “It’s not like he’s the one who…” her gaze wanders to Josie. “Nevermind.”

“It wasn’t anything,” Anne says, shifting uncomfortably and putting pen to paper as best she can. “Let’s just-

“Sure seemed like something,” Ruby adds with a small giggle. “I thought you two were going to end up in fisticuffs!”

“Or kiss,” Tilly mutters. Ruby smacks her on the arm, and they laugh with one another.

“Tell the truth- is there truly nothing going on between you and Gilbert?” Diana implores softly.

“Nothing is going on between me and Gilbert,” she lies, willing her face to cooperate in the deception.

“This is getting boring,” Josie interjects. “If she says nothing happened, then nothing happened. Besides, it’s none of our business anyway.”

Everyone shrugs this off and goes back to their papers, but Anne is the only one privy to Josie’s brief sympathetic expression. 

Leave it to her exasperating classmates to turn a rousing conversation of justice and feminine rights into a tête-à-tête about a cute boy instead. Er- a boy. Just a boy.

Typical. But it does not affect Anne, given the freshly renewed sisterhood of the group, and it does not distract her from her newfound purpose of casting light on the world women deserve to live in- one not controlled by young men’s improprieties and immorality.

Chapter Text

Throughout the week, the class pores over the subject matter of their newspaper every day after school. Deliberately- and slowly (which is excruciating in Anne’s opinion)- they build the article components.

“Effective op-eds,” their teacher informs them as she passes by to check on their work, “clearly express an opinion, but you must cite evidence to prove your point, and mention specific examples. The final paragraph serves as a closing argument…” she stops behind Anne and reads over her shoulder before finishing, “this is your last opportunity to draw your readers to your point of view. It is crucial.”

Anne nods in understanding and puts the finishing touches on her draft. Taking care of her chosen sisters is, and has been, consuming every spare thought she has. There has been no time to think of anyone, or anything else, not when justice is concerned.

Letting the others tear apart her work is nauseating. Or rather, it feels like they’re tearing apart her work, even though they’re just critiquing and smoothing and in some cases, adding their own ideas. And yes, it is their project, but Miss Stacy does happen to take their suggestions and adjustments and act as the one to implement them. Which is for the better, anyway. They all have opinions, they all talk over one another- Anne’s passion seems to be infectious to each of her classmates. Some of the least outspoken have even chipped in a line or two. It is risky, it is humbling, it is vulnerable. It is, for lack of a better term… a true group effort.

Nauseating.

So much worse is her agita when the article is finally finished and someone is to read the final product aloud. Everyone looks at her, and the sickness in her stomach churns. She forces her awestruck mouth shut and shakes her head quickly, aggressively, with a waving-it-off of her hand. Recite the article to everyone in class? And learn in real time which parts of her ideas they thought worthy enough to keep and which pieces of her heart ended up in the rubbish pile, unfit for anything but the pigs’ slop buckets? No thank you.

After a small smile of sympathy in Anne’s direction, Miss Stacy prompts again for someone to undertake the responsibility.

“I’ll do it,” comes his soft voice from the back. Everyone turns to watch him as he rises from his seat and makes his way to the front of the classroom. No one else had even offered, but Anne still thinks it’s awfully presumptuous of him to act as if it’s his birthright.

Miss Stacy hands the paper over to Gilbert. He clears his throat, takes a deep breath, and begins.

It’s not presumptuous at all, it turns out. In fact he is being rather… sentimental. He reads carefully, steadily, intentionally, as if he’s unsure he should be the one trying on these words. He is so captivating with his distribution of the text to each of them, with meaningful pauses and glances, that it takes her a full paragraph before she realizes she hasn’t heard a single change in her work. What shakes her out of the enchantment is the inclusion of a line that sounds as if it was written by her but she doesn’t recognize. Then another. And then he continues on with a nearly unedited rendition of the vigilance in her soul, further fueled with each addition by her schoolmates.

“We are told that a woman's place is in the home,” he is reading, and she hangs on his every word, even though she wrote most of them. “But what if we refuse to accept that? Imagine what new theories, technologies, and inventions would exist if women had the same access to education as men. If their ideas were taken as seriously as men's. Instead of confining women, what if we gave them the chance to prove themselves as doctors and lawyers and professors and architects and generals, just as we do for young men?”

Anne’s heart swells upon hearing Gilbert put her paper to speech. His voice is not unlike honey met with a crackling fire. His inflection grinds like gravel under hooves on the more important moments of her writings. He seems to find exactly the right pieces to emphasize, the perfect places to take a calculated breath… as if he was living inside of her mind when she put the thoughts to paper. He’s invested in the speech as if it personally affects him, and she can practically feel the pride pouring out of her eyes.

“This is not a blanket condemnation of men. Instead, it is a call to action. It is not just women who must decide- they already know what is deserving. So it is time for men to take a stand. Men must decide if they are going to join as partners in the fight for justice and equality. There is room for them here. In fact, we need them. If they refuse to do so, we will have no choice but to leave them behind as we continue to build a better world…

“We implore you to open your minds, to witness and encourage a new era of mutual respect- One without terror for women, and with enlightenment for men. We urge you to consider, once and for all, What is Fair.”

The entire room had been holding their breath. With the last syllables of the impassioned article leaving his lips comes their simultaneous inhale.

“Well!” Miss Stacy declares. “I think we have our final draft. Shall we go to print?”

And then the room erupts into applause and overlapping chatter, which doesn’t help Anne’s lightheadedness. The scraping of chairs is deafening as everyone springs into action. Through the noise, she hears them decide to drop the edition Sunday after church for the largest effect. She blinks back some form of moisture from her eyes and when Gilbert finally finally looks over at her she is beaming in his direction, and the look on his face in return is accolade enough for her editorial, she almost doesn’t care if they even print it. He has never been so handsome as this. His irises practically sparkle at her with… is that admiration? Something… more?

So she had been wrong. So wrong, before, and she was unable to see the forest for the trees, and he was angry with her for her shortsightedness, and the whole ordeal has now clearly awarded him many points in his column. Though it doesn’t really feel like losing when he is on her side.

The air in the barn is humid and the light is gold as the sun begins to lower over Green Gables.

Since Gilbert chose to stay home in Avonlea this weekend to witness their newspaper release instead of making the trek to Dr. Ward’s office, the Cuthberts have said a cordial farewell to their farmhand Jerry a bit early and he now finishes the task of shoveling hay on his own. He’s not used to being here this time of day on a Saturday, but it’s rather enjoyable. A little peace and quiet never hurt anybody… especially after the commotion of this past week, he thinks.

However, his peace and quiet is soon broken by a redhead and her clanging buckets as she steps into the farmhouse landing. She squeaks like a mouse when she sees him, and they stand in silence, neither sure who should say something first. 

He ought to make a self-deprecating joke about being perpetually bad at farming, or maybe offer an apology about the misunderstanding at the fair. Since they began work on her passionate newspaper article proposal and he subsequently defended it to their classmates (even though she argued with him throughout the whole process), she’s been skirting around him, avoiding confrontation for days. He hopes it’s because she now knows she was mistaken all along and has talked it over with her girlfriends, or the horse, and is going to exonerate him from his ill-perceived crimes against women. It’s her issue, sure, but maybe he should be the one to initiate the conversation about it.

He doesn’t, however, and instead Anne marches up to him and places her buckets on the ground directly. She extends her hand as if for him to shake it.

“I am unequivocally sorry, and I propose a truce,” she says cheerily, as if she’d been practicing. Knowing Anne, she probably had… and Gilbert knew Anne.

“Have you been rehearsing that?” he smirks, and her face immediately reddens. It wasn’t what he intended to say, it just sort of slipped out as he thought it... but it brings him a sort of joy, a sense of accomplishment, to make her flush so easily. A holdover from his schoolboy days, maybe, but it gives him the same thrill that it ever did. Her neck and cheeks turn the same pink as her lips, which he absentmindedly wishes he was partaking in.

She narrows her gaze and juts her hand out at him again, and he knows in that moment he was right. She’s holding her tongue out of determination to win their little challenge, but honestly, he’s still a little miffed she went off at him for no reason and kept away from him for an excruciatingly and unnecessarily long period of time. She should have to work for forgiveness. Perhaps he isn’t entirely done acting like a schoolboy.

“That was a 10 point word, you know?” he goads. “Unequivocally. You’d probably stumble on the O.” 

His accusation burns across her face but she holds strong.

“Like I said, I’m sorry. Truce?” she asks again. He raises an eyebrow at her. She smiles hesitantly. He makes her wait a bit longer. Her smile falters a tad.

“What are you sorry for?” he prompts, holding back his smirk. He sees the familiar expression flash across her features, the one that means she wishes she could hit him with the hand she’s extended as an olive branch. She runs her tongue under her upper lip and sucks her teeth, clearly struggling to keep her patience with him. It’s adorable. It’s maddening.How long has it been since he last held her?

“Being presumptive,” she manages.

“And?”

“And acting unfairly towards you.”

“And?”

“And airing our dirty laundry in front of the entire class, which was far from maturity and grossly uncalled for. And assigning you the same blame as the types of men who make life harder for women when you yourself are not like that, and also for pretending to forget to iron your shirts during my chores so you had to go to school in wrinkles and don’t worry, Marilla has already scolded me for that one.”

She’s being surprisingly level headed which is entirely unlike her, and it makes him... uneasy? He inhales, processing. The things she is apologizing for are actually things that offended him, after all(except for the shirts, which he didn’t even notice and honestly makes him want to laugh), and his brain doesn’t know how to react, so it neglects to send any signals to his limbs.

“If this is payback,” she says tersely, “I’m impressed, but my arm is getting tired so I would really like to know if you forgive me or not.”

“If you really mean it, Carrots,” he abandons the potentiality of teasing her with a roll of his eyes, “I accept your humble apology.” He grasps her palm in his own.

He was hoping using the old nickname she hated would rile her enough to get her snapping at him in the way that makes his heart flutter in his chest, that makes him feel truly alive, that quickens his pulse and clears his vision… but she just smiles with forced sweetness and shakes his hand lightly. Her touch sends electricity through him anyway. He brushes it off and gathers up his pitchfork to continue scooping hay. 

He’d much rather be scooping her up into his embrace.

That was awful, Blythe, he thinks to himself as he shakes his head and chuckles the laugh he repressed earlier. Anne tracks this, misunderstanding, and smiles a confused smile.

“There, see?” she says as she drops to her knees in front of the nearby ladder. “This isn’t so bad! Just individually working in the same vicinity. Cordially.”

She grabs her tool from the empty bucket, dips it in the one containing water, and begins to scrape dried mud off the rungs. She knocks the dirt on her scraper into the empty bucket, then back again. After a moment, she looks over at him. He didn’t realize it, but he’d leaned on the pitchfork handle to watch her work.

“I can’t think of one reason we shouldn’t be able to respectfully complete our chores alongside one another,” she chirps, overlooking his intense stare and going back to her task. Gilbert’s decidedly abandoned his.

He doesn’t avert his eyes. He doesn’t think he can. He’s been mesmerized by her every move since that fateful day in her kitchen. And now she’s being polite. After biting his head off at the fair, after acting downright vindictive to him in class, now she intends to be… cordial. Which, he only just realizes, thinking back on the juxtaposition of his tea with Winnie and the fire he witnessed behind Anne’s eyes all week… isn’t actually what he wanted all along. Her temperament may be highly combustive, but he finds he enjoys the warmth.

“I can think of a reason,” he mutters quietly. 

“And what’s that?” she asks absentmindedly, as if she didn’t expect him to respond to her rhetorical statement in the first place and didn’t really listen to his words.

“Anne,” he strikes the match.

“What?” she replies with force. “We can be civil.”

“You have proven on multiple occasions that civility is not your favorite course of action. Is thatreally what you want?”

She ignites, standing and stomping her foot with her hands on her hips, proving his point. “Just because there is nothing between us anymore does not mean we cannot move on with our lives with dignity and respect!”

Gilbert’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. “What? Since when is there nothing between us?”

“Oh, please,” she casts her line with a roll of her eyes. “As if you’d still have me after a such an inconsiderate display of rudeness and anger at your expense. I may be idealistic… but I am not a fool.”

The prodding look in her eyes is nothing short of hopeful, a direct contradiction to her negational statement.

“I’ve been informed,” she continues in her fishing, “that young men do not take kindly to ladies being rude or mean to them, and I’m well aware that it’s too late for me to pretend I am demure or soft or coy in any sense, which is fine. I am to be the Bride of Adventure, anyway, and I can be as assertive with Adventure as I please. I have resigned myself to my fate. I have squandered my one opportunity for lo-… well, in any case, I do not hold it against you. I wouldn’t want the trouble, either.”

She has such a natural affinity for reeling him in. Doubtfully, she eyes him, her insinuatory self deprecation hanging in the air between them like bait on a hook.

And he wholly devours it.

Younger Gilbert would be furious at his lack of suavity. We’re finally getting our chance, and you’re ruining it with your eagerness , the thirteen-year-old inside of him chastises. 

But the current Gilbert- the grown one who took two hefty steps in her direction and is now gripping Anne desperately on either side of her face with his lips pressed to hers- is pretty content.

She melts immediately under his touch, and his hands slide themselves down her neck and arms, to her waist, around her back, anywhere that they can get a grip as she kisses him back fervently. She smiles as he pulls away, too quick, as if she’s gloating… clearly vindicated in her methods by the triumph of her catch.

“You want the trouble after all?” she asks, searching his eyes dreamily, almost not even to him, but to the dust settling around them in the golden sunbeams.

“Is this how you would write our story?” he asks gingerly, for fear of scaring away the delicate moment.

“No,” she admits through a giddy exhale, “but I am not its only author.”

She laughs and he laughs and he kisses her again, and again. He envelops her in another embrace and presses his lips to her forehead, her cheek, her jaw, her lips once more. She’s attempting to speak to him between each of the kisses, to no avail. 

He thinks their height difference is a cruel joke from the heavens, because he is too tall and can’t get close enough to her. He scoops her up into his arms to remedy this, kissing her tighter and spinning them both around in a circle as he lifts her off her feet. He sets her down; they stumble while they lock lips, almost tripping over one another, before he steadies them by way of his hands bracing on the wooden barn wall. She is trapped between him and the structure, and places a palm on his chest for balance. Still towering over her a bit, he pauses. Perhaps he should give her space. Perhaps he is too eager after all.

To his immediate delight, she pulls him back towards her when he attempts a respectful retreat.

“Is this how these things... typically go? Is it like the novels?” He manages, entirely too close to her, as he is flushed with mild embarrassment, the rush of heat from his head to his legs.

She grips the back of his neck with both hands, interlacing her fingers, and hoists herself up to kiss him thoroughly, again. 

“I think,” she says breathily, near his mouth, “it’s much better in real life.”

They spend a long time against that farmhouse wall, all lips and hands and teeth and whispers… years of built up tension from quips and glances finally ignited by an invisible spark. His affections- his very clearly long standing affections- are returned by her tenfold as their tongues dance, their hands grasp for purchase under edges of clothing and tangling in ends of each other’s hair. His fingertips find her skin any and every chance they can get.

He’s so blissful that they’re bumbling through this together. He pulls away to be sure she shares his enthusiasm, and she seems in bliss as well- there’s a delicate sheen across her brow that he notices when she leans her head back against the barn wall to gaze up at him with what he’s decided are stars in her eyes.

His lips trail the delicate skin above her collarbone, and she hums her approval when he presses a kiss to the base of her throat. That inexplicable force inside him takes over when it hears her contented sighs- he pulls her head the other direction by tugging on her hair and kisses that side of her neck, too. 

She’s just gasping the first syllable of his name when they both hear the ring of the bell from the house rippling through the air. She snaps her attention in the direction of it, and he lands his fist dully on the barn wall next to her in frustration.

They’re silent and still for a moment, catching their breath. He fervently kisses her twice, for finality’s sake, then takes her hand in his and kisses the backs of her knuckles. They meet eyes, he lifts a hand to caress the side of her face.

“You go in first,” he instructs, tucking a rogue strand of silken fire behind her ear. He leans back and takes in the sight of her, eyes scanning her body desperately in the last vibrant light from the sunset. “I need a minute to… compose myself.”

She kisses him and laughs, a tinkling sound much more appealing than the summoning bell, and he doesn’t want to let her go. But she leaves his arms and makes towards the farmhouse doorway.

“I was reading in the barn loft,” she tells him when she pauses at the threshold. She lights up, as she does whilst scheming. “You were working in the field, I think, and will probably be a while.”

He lowers his brow, and nods.

“You think I might need the bell again,” he plays along. “I was so far out I might not have heard it the first time.”

“I am very astute.”

“I’ll say,” he agrees with a smirk.

She nods back at him with a dizzy kind of smile and an adorable, awkward wave of her hand.  He bows slightly in a parting gesture, and also gratitude, though she wouldn’t know that second part. She bounces out of the barn, taking the rest of the setting sun up to the house with her. He imparts a kiss into the air after the back of her head, and attempts to compose himself for one of the most excruciating dinners of his life, because he knows it will be a long time before he can touch her again.

Chapter Text

“You are taken with Anne then, after all?” Sebastian asks. “No more of this, ‘it was just one kiss, it didn’t mean anything’ or ‘we’re just friends’ nonsense?”

“Well, we’re certainly more than friends, now,” Gilbert scoffs, feeling his face warm at the memory of the redhead in question… in the barn… at sunset the day before.

“How do you mean?” Sebastian raises a bemused eyebrow, leaning back in his chair and placing a foot against the table for balance, as if he’s ready to hear a long story.

Gilbert shifts uneasily. Sure, maybe he’d practically run to his brother’s stead the moment his eyes opened this morning, to be able to decompress the tension in his mind before church, but now he isn’t so sure he should be speaking of such things. Especially before church.

“I mean, well. Things have… escalated.”

When Bash doesn’t say anything indicating he gets the insinuation, Gilbert continues.

“Romantically. We’ve… well, more than kissed, in fact.”

The chair legs hit the wooden floor with a thud. Contrary to the mirth and teasing Gilbert expects, Sebastian lowers his brow and plants a hand on the table in between them.

“Blythe, you hear me now. If you care about this girl at all, you’ll cut it out and do this the right way. Do you understand me?”

“What? Bash, it’s fine, we’re just-”

“No no no,” Sebastian halts him with a hushed, solemn tone. “D’ya want Anne to go through what Mary went through? How about that woman with the baby back in Trinidad?

“It won’t be like that, I won’t-”

“No, you won’t, not if you know what’s good for the both of ‘ya,” Sebastian interrupts again, almost angrily. “What about that classmate of yours, hmm? You want the same fate for Anne? Everyone ostracizin’ her and treating her like dirt because you couldn’t control ‘ya urges?”

“No!” Gilbert admits defiantly. The idea of Anne sobbing like Josie Pye had last week pops into his head, and he clenches a fist and jaw with the fury that swells. He also feels a rising guilt in the base of his throat.

“You take this girl’s future from her and she might never forgive you. Do right by her.”

“I… I will.” Gilbert forces the tension from his body, shakes it off, clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck meekly. “I… I didn’t think about it like that. I didn’t think about it at all, actually.. God, what was I thinking ?” Worries about ruining Anne’s reputation overtake his mind and he grips the back of the chair to contemplate them.

“I’m sorry,” Bash softens. “I didn’t mean to bite your head off like that.”

“No, you’re right. I… I understand.” 

“I don’t think ya do,” he replies. “You don’t get it, Blythe- the way that girl came stormin’ in here only a week ago, cryin’ and shoutin’ to Mary about disrespect and the rights to a woman’s body… I thought… For a moment there I thought, ‘there’s no way. It couldn’t be him. I know him. He’s my brother.’” He takes a deep breath. “And I couldn’t believe you would ever do such a thing.”

“I wouldn’t!” Gilbert’s face burns as he realizes what Bash is implying. “I didn’t- that wasn’t me!”

“I know that now, of course,” he holds up his hands in surrender. “But don’t ever let that be you, Gilbert. Please.”

“I swear I won’t,” he practically pleads. After a moment, the air in the room softens.

“Alright,” Sebastian sighs. “That’s all done now. Hey- don’t you tell Mary I invoked her past injustices to you, by the way,” he laughs slightly at himself, then adds softly, “I just get so cross thinking about the pain it caused her.”

“I get it. It wasn’t fair. You’ve made your point,” Gilbert grins. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“And yours with me.”

For a moment, it’s silent in the Lacroix kitchen. Then Sebastian looks up from the table and speaks again.

“I hate to ask this. I know you’re not a child, so I hope you’ll excuse me, but… you do know how it gets to that point, yes?”

“Bash!” Gilbert’s face is red all over again.

“Hey now, you can’t blame a man for askin’,” he replies, one palm raised in settlement. “Lord knows I’m aware of all the gory details. I just wasn’t sure what wisdom your father got to impart… before he passed.”

He hesitates, stealing a peek at the bemused but earnest expression on Bash’s face. 

“I suppose a... refresher course wouldn’t hurt,” he allows, desiring knowledge more strongly than the scope of his humiliation.

Sebastian takes mercy on him and doesn’t tease his vulnerability, instead explaining with care the ins and outs of being a man, and the great responsibility of loving a woman with regard and honor. 

After they’re done talking, Gilbert makes his way out to the cemetery plot, feeling changed, antsy but pensive. He stops at his father’s grave and promises to be an honorable man in all he does. He’s not sure if he’s really saying it to his father, or for his own sake.

The blood rushes in her ears so loudly, Anne misses the entire service that day.

Her heartbeats sounds like pa-per, pa-per, pa-per; every time a reminder that they are revealing their masterpiece (if she does say so herself) after church this morning. She could barely contain herself over breakfast, and dropped an egg or two to prove it. Swirling in her mind whilst Marilla lectured her, and again now: not only worries of the newspaper article, but also memories of a certain brunette boy’s fingertips tracing along her skin… soft lips, whispering sweet somethings into her ear…

She shivers and shoves the mental image away, wondering vaguely; what would be considered more sinful? Spending savored time in Gilbert’s embrace, or the feminist proclamation Avonlea’s youth is about to administer unsolicited? Surely, God would find them equally appalling- or not at all, seeing as they were both borne of love and care… right?

Now, the ‘pa-per, pa-per’s are starting to sound suspiciously like repetitions of his name, incessant ‘gil-bert, gil-bert’s, which is even more distracting.

When the edition drops, she is lined up alongside her classmates outside the church building where they have set up their issues beforehand. They stand as one, and their nearness supports her shaking legs.

She doesn’t remember much, other than Diana’s playful nudge and Gilbert’s proud look towards her from across the path. His eyes shine, and so does her soul. It soothes her nerves a bit.

Sure, he expected Anne’s article to go over roughly, but to say it did so would be an understatement.

It may be wrong to eavesdrop, but Gilbert’s glad he’s done it when he hears something that provides him a bit of hope. Among and between the tittered judgements and hushed scorns of the townspeople discussing the paper in contempt, some surprisingly benevolent conversation gently breaks through the noise.

Well, I can’t say I disagree.

Not only do I agree, it’s also high time someone said it. Should have done so when we were girls.

I believe the children are going to be alright.

Perhaps there is some hope to be had, that they did not release their creation in vain after all?

Also seeming to have eavesdropped is Anne, who comes barreling into him with Diana Barry in tow.

“Gilbert, you’ll never believe,” she hurriedly exclaims, her face and neck bright red down to her collar (with indignation, he can tell, by the dissatisfying frown on her face), “I cannot believe what we just overheard...”

“The council,” Diana continues for her as Anne catches a deep gasping breath. “Talking to Miss Stacy.”

“They want to control what we write about,” Anne renews her narration, and though its giving him whiplash, he doesn’t think he minds being the one she comes to first.

“What?” he processes aloud.

“They hated our article- of course they did,” Anne says, “and now they want us to stop writing the paper all together if we don’t follow their archaic rules! They’ve even threatened to take the press away!”

“They’re dictating a list of acceptable topics to Miss Stacy as we speak,” Diana punctuates. They all turn to witness their teacher engaged in heated discussion with the town council… not unlike a pack of wolves descending upon a surprisingly courageous elk.

“They can’t do that,” he thinks with his mouth, “She… Miss Stacy won’t let that happen! I’m sure of it.”

They watch in slight horror, until the town councilmen (in their stale-smoke wool jackets and all black ensembles as if bearing the epitaph for the class’s project itself) saunter by slowly, with icy cruel expressions that turn his veins to ice as well.

Moody’s mother drags him away by the ear. Diana’s mother sobs and wails and Mr. Barry ushers them all away stone-faced. Marilla even marches Anne home and straight to chores, and doesn’t allow her any fraternization with any of her friends the rest of the day.

“But Marilla, it isn’t fair! Even the-”

“I’ll not have another word,” Marilla hisses through her teeth as they step onto Green Gables. Gilbert has trailed behind them all the way home, wringing his hat in his hands with a concerned furrow in his brow. Anne glances over her shoulder at him and he smiles- be it apologetically or supportive, she can’t tell the difference.

“Though I agree with the basic principles, admittedly” Marilla continues under her breath, “you executed it as if it were a manifesto and for that I cannot abide your participation...”

Which is preposterous, seeing as Anne was hardly the only one to back it. And she’s about to say so when she’s interrupted by a voice from behind them.

“Marilla, if I may, each of our classmates present had quite the hand in crafting the article… It was even approved and edited by-”

“I’ll kindly thank you to leave this to a family matter, Gilbert. After this many years, I think I recognize Anne’s writing when I see it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he sheepishly replies. Now that smile is most definitely apologetic. He takes his exeunt.

It’s frustrating to say the least, being unable to speak to anyone about what to do (not even Gilbert, who is on the property all afternoon and yet Anne is not allowed to socialize) for a whole day. But soon the laundry, cooking, and cleaning has been completed- not without continued lecturing from Marilla- and the sun sets and rises and everything is promising and inspirational yet again.

Anne wakes early and rushes to get ready; her haphazardly braided hair has definitely seen better days, and she feels like she’s put her petticoat on inside out... but she practically runs from her room in anticipation. She smacks directly into Gilbert in the hall, who- clearly- is just getting ready for school himself, as he makes his way up the stairs in just his his thin cotton undershirt and suspenders, holding a freshly washed and pressed button down from the pile she left downstairs last night.

It’s a little less pressed now, since he uses the hand holding it to catch and steady her before she knocks them both off their feet. They chuckle awkwardly, he hums a lilted ‘good morning, Shirley,’ and she sputters a response as she tries not to snatch him by his elastic fasteners and yank him into a kiss. A fitting reward, it would be, for the support he’s shown her the past week… but no. There is no time for frivolous romance at present. They have work to do, after all, and his determined smirk informs her that he knows it as well. They nod resolutely at one another, and he squeezes her shoulders in confirmation before allowing her to pass by him and down the stairs.

They both hurry to finish their meals over breakfast, but nod politely at a slightly scrutinous Marilla. She asks Anne to stay back as Gilbert sets off for school- to do dishes, of all things (treachery, but she obliges). She ‘has half a mind not to let her go to school today.’ She reminds Anne to be patient in class and concentrate thoroughly on the lesson, instead of other troublesome topics. She also makes her redo her braids before she finally sends her on her way.

Regulation attempts aside, Anne and the students involved in the project arrive in school early this morning, less than twenty four hours after the debacle outside the church.

“Everyone settle down!” Miss Stacy calls over the noise of the classroom as they all clamor over one another.

“What does this mean for the rest of the papers?” someone shouts, causing another round of overlapping chatter.

Miss Stacy doesn’t need to tell the group about the censorship, the new topics they’d only be allowed to write about, because word had traveled fast yesterday morning… but she does anyway. She gives an impassioned speech on censorship in journalism and the unfair control of dissenting opinions that threaten the status quo. Anne couldn’t have said it better herself. The fire in their teachers eyes is enough to get their classmates just as ignited. Choruses of ‘they can’t do this’ and ‘what do we do now?’ circle the room.

“We show them we cannot be silenced,” Anne thinks aloud. Everyone turns to her, and she tells them her plan.

-

By Wednesday they have gathered the fragmented wood and acquired the white paints and brushes and rags and it’s time to prepare for the demonstration. Matthew allows them to paint in the barn in the afternoon (despite Marilla’s protests) and her friends have piled into the loft to work. Jerry even makes an appearance to help, which is sweet because he doesn’t even go to their school, but his presence is ultimately just distracting to the other girls. Anne is busy being distracted by Gilbert, who paints silently next to her. They don’t dare speak, but every so often, their brushstrokes pass each other’s, and their pinkies touch. While it’s a uniquely exquisite form of torment… it’s also quite comforting.

The rest of the week is a blur. They study for their normal classes, sure, but everyone’s mind is clearly on the newspaper exhibition. She couldn’t even tell you what she finds herself doing each day. A little schoolwork, a lot of overthinking, and not nearly enough talking to Gilbert.

Soon Saturday is here, and reality as she knows it is turned on its head around her.

She collects the dried boards in the barn as the morning rays of sun stream in the window. The day is perfect for a protest.

The wood floor of the farmhouse creaks, and she jumps.

Jerry trails in, preceding a determined looking Diana.

“Jerry? Diana!” Anne processes out loud as the entrances occur, “What are you doing here? And Jerry, why are you so early?” she hugs her best friend, then glances at Jerry, who is lingering but not replying. Neither of them say anything.

“What?” she asks. Jerry shifts his weight.

“I think you two need to talk,” he says in his cadenced French accent, but his tone lacks the jovial musicality it usually has.

“What’s wrong?”

Still nothing. Jerry gently nudges Diana, urging her to speak, then takes several steps back from her and Anne.

“I’ve been a bad friend,” Diana states, voice threaded with shaky emotion.

“What!” Anne laughs. “How?”

And then Diana tells Anne the wildest of news. She certainly didn’t see it coming, and almost can’t fathom it. It’s not possible. Jerry and Diana are not courting in secret. There is no way.

“I’m so, so sorry Anne,” Diana gushes, grasping her hands. Anne watches her confession, wide-eyed, as it spills out of her- an endless amount of tension is held in her shoulders as she continues,“I truly didn’t mean to keep it from you, honest! I swear, Anne! I didn’t know what to do because… well, you don’t like the boys, and I knew you would be cross with me and you would be ashamed of me kissing someone, and I didn’t know how to tell you-”

“I kissed Gilbert.”

Diana blinks, then her shoulders drop.

“What?”

“Gilbert and I. We kissed. A couple of times. A… lot of times, actually.”

“So…” Diana ponders for a moment, then asks with a sly smile, “you’re not upset with me?”

The two of them burst into giggles then and there.

“Diana, I have been a horrible friend!” Anne whines. “I should have told you straight away!”

“No, I should have told you! I’m so sorry I kept this from you!”

“You? Me!”

“Anne, please can you forgive me?”

“Only if you will forgive me!”

They throw their arms around each other and squeeze tightly, sighing as they catch their breath. The moment is sweet with sisterhood.

“See? That wasn’t nearly as bad as you thought it would be,” Jerry interjects, the comedic lilt back in his voice. Anne whirls around to smack him on the arm.

“And you, you scoundrel!” she accuses him, and he laughs, a blush spreading on his neck. “How could you keep this from me for so long!?”

He shrugs.

“I’m great at keeping des secrètes,” he replies smugly. “I’ve known about you and Gilbert for ages.”

Anne and Diana howl and jostle Jerry as they laugh, and he holds up his hands in surrender but he’s laughing as well, and the morning sun is now as warm as summer in the barn. Anne shoves him towards the signage she long since discarded and orders him to help her carry it down to the carriage as penance. She links her arm in Diana’s after they descend the ladder and they practically skip as they follow him, unable to conceal their whispered gossip or control their squeals of delight as they discuss their newfound shared interest.

It feels as if her world view has been permanently altered- the roundness and fullness of being alive… Isn't life wonderful? She is a complicated, complex woman in unprecedented times; navigating romance and allowing familial love into her life; all while preparing to advocate for her future, her wholeness, her autonomy and the autonomy of all of her dear friends… her heart swells with pride and something else she can’t quite place.

It brings a tear to her eye when everyone shows up at the schoolhouse to march into town alongside her. She thinks, in that moment, gazing out at the group of them from the steps like a queen over her kingdom, that even with all of the struggle and chaos of the past weeks… she has never been happier in life than she is now.

Chapter Text

It’s not difficult at all to follow Anne into battle. It’s even less difficult to rally the troops alongside her. From the moment he stands by her on the schoolhouse porch landing to the moment they set foot on the stage at the town hall, their day counts for something. They’re doing something meaningful with their time, and that’s Gilbert’s favorite way to spend it.

Anne holds hands with Diana Barry and Josie Pye as they unveil the protest signs held by their classmates. Gilbert produces the list of 'acceptable topics' and tears it in half, amid gasps and whispers from the crowd. And when one of the unpleasant old codgers from the board tries to take the signs from them, the dramatic scene is captured in a photograph by a friend of Miss Stacy’s.

Gilbert hasn’t felt this kind of high since he loudly boarded a train with Bash against an awful conductor years ago. They’ve made quite the stir, which was the goal. They got what they were after: they outed the council as hardened dogmatists and they got people talking. But his elation sinks when he overhears some of the things they are talking about.

“The girls in this town are growing up to be trollops,” someone utters.

The unsavory word jolts his attention in its direction, but he can’t find the source to berate them… and would he even have the courage? Everyone is suddenly much older than he remembered, and he feels like a small child again as the discordance swirls around him.

“Is this the kind of women that school teacher is raising?”

“In our own community! What an irredeemable shame…”

“Scandalous and brazen, that’s what it is!”

He rolls his eyes at the gossip and lets his indignant anger swell, like boys often do.

And then, someone mutters something unsavory about the fact that two of the students are practically living together.

He could have imagined it, would honestly be able to convince himself he did imagine it, if it weren't so clear and so damning and so very, very true. 

Something in him always knew it wasn’t innocent. Something in him knew that Bash was right, with his teasing and mocking. His motives were never all that pure. He was drawn to that house, to the girl who lived in it, to that hair and that smile and that look in her eye that called his name… willing him to come home.

To think that what they share is seen as wrong when it is so incredibly, wholly, altogether thoroughly right makes his skin crawl and penetrates the naivete he willingly welcomed into their lives.

Anne is still smiling and clutching her friends’ hands in the aftermath of the protest. She turns to him, beaming, almost as if in slow motion... and it rips his guilty heart out of his chest. He manages a smile back.

Yes, they’re arguing for an equal society for women… but it isn’t here yet, is it? He doesn’t think he would ever be able to forgive himself if he were to ruin her reputation, to destroy her dreams and ambitions and be the reason she loses that beautiful smile across her face.

In a daze, he follows the other students back to their teacher’s house. Everyone is chattering and congratulating each other and saying things like Did you see their faces? and What I wouldn’t give to have seen us from their view and My mother may kill me, but it was worth it!

They settle into Miss Stacy’s small cottage with refreshments, after piling their wooden signs in the corner of the room. Everyone is still talking. Always, always, talking talking talking. He can barely think, so he listens, and holds his cup of lemonade dumbly, forgetting to bring it to his lips.

All he can hear is Anne’s voice, cutting through the noise from across the room as she boisterously argues with the other girls. He can’t make out exactly what she is saying, but he’s trying to focus on it without staring when Moody approaches him and claps him on the shoulder.

“Who’d’ve thought, eh?” he asks with a grin. “We’re like the town heroes.”

“Regular vigilantes,” Gilbert agrees with a smile of his own.

“It’s that Anne,” Moody says with a bemused shake of his head, and they both look in her direction. “Without her, we probably would’ve been content to continue on the path of... unenlightenment!”

“You can say that again.” He tries to sound impartial.

Moody chuckles and squeezes Gilbert’s arm again before bounding over to another group like an unleashed dog, to make the same joke and elicit better responses from more engaged listeners.

“She doesn’t have time for that!” Tilly squeals from the other side of the room, and Gilbert is definitely engaged in listening when Anne and Diana laugh in return. “Did you forget she’s going to be the Bride of Adventure?”

“How could we?” Josie teases, and the girls laugh.

“And why not?” Anne laughs. “Adventure will never police my words or restrict my independence or tell me I look undignified if my skirts are the wrong length! Why would I get married and ruin that?”

“To being our own parcels!” Diana cheers, and they all whoop in response, giggling again and clinking their glasses together. Anne takes a sip of hers.

She says the word ‘married’ with such disdain, such vitriol. It’s... hard not to take it personally. Shouldn’t he? She’s practically yelling to their classmates that men aren’t worth her time… that he isn’t good enough for her. Is he not only wasting her time, but his own as well?

Get a grip, he tells himself. She was just talking with her friends. It doesn’t mean anything.

Anne’s muddled conversing swirls with his memories of Bash’s advice and the townspeople’s cold presumptions. He seeks out a port in the storm... and finds the perfect place to anchor,in the vicinity of a fearless captain (their unoccupied instructor).

“Pardon me, Miss Stacy,” he says, stepping up to her apologetically.

"Gilbert! What an interesting day, don't you think?" she says jovially.

“Yes, that's for sure," he replies. "Definitely interesting to say the least. I... I couldn’t help but overhear some… unsavory things being said after the demonstration today.”

She breathes in, setting down her cup, and faces him.

“Yes,” she smiles sadly. “I heard some unsavory things, too. But you must know, Gilbert, they are only judgments. Judgments passed by fearful, ignorant individuals. What you and the other students did today? That was brave, and will pave a path towards a brighter future for the next generations.”

“Thank you,” he says, a bit of his soul renewed, but his guilt dampens his spirit eagerly. “I still wish I hadn’t heard it. That I didn’t... know what they thought.”

“Knowledge is a heavy thing,” his teacher says. “Sometimes it makes things more difficult, while sometimes it can be enlightening... but it is always heavy.”

“How do you know if you’re doing the right things? With, uh, the knowledge you have,” he asks, wishing desperately that he could ask her a more pointed question instead of cryptic ramblings.

“Sometimes when it…” she purses her lips and restarts. “Knowledge is a gift, Gilbert. It’s best to just sit with it, listen to it… and then do what your heart tells you do with it. There is no one right answer. You must remain curious. There’s always more knowledge to uncover. That’s the beauty of it.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he mutters. He’s exhausted by his own reproach, so he changes the subject. “May I ask your advice about something? Related to university?”

“I am precisely who you should ask for advice related to university!” Miss Stacy chuckles.

“I have read- not that I think it true, but I have read, from a few sources…”

“Yes?” she urges gently him to corral his thoughts.

“There may be better programs for me, outside of Queens college. Ones that specialize in medicine.”

“Your chosen vocation,” she states. He nods. “Do you… have interest in these other programs?”

“Possibly. I want to work in preventative medicine. I don’t think Queens invests in such a thing.”

“No, that’s true…” she replies. “They’re doing similar work over at the University of Toronto, if that is truly what interests you. I have a colleague on staff there. It’s a more… rigorous process. Do you have professional credits, from the… doctors office? That you work for?”

“...I could arrange that, I think.” He never even thought about asking Dr. Ward to set him on the right educational track. “Would it be enough? With my transcripts?”

“We’ll have to see,” she says. “Though you’ll probably need to make a choice before I reach out.”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure Toronto would be right for me.”

“Medicine is your chosen profession,” she urges. “Is there anything tying you to Queens otherwise?”

Instinctively, his gaze drifts over to Anne.

Miss Stacy sighs. The sigh is heavy with knowledge.

“I see,” she says simply.

He doesn’t even care that it’s obvious, he can’t find it in him to explain himself away to her. His mouth won’t open, won’t speak, won’t do anything but frown. He is very lucky she doesn’t tease him or scold him for his hesitancy.

“You have some time to weigh the options,” she utters softly. “The possibilities should excite you, even if the decision is ultimately a difficult one. Think on it, and get back to me if you’d like me to facilitate a U of T exam enrollment, okay?”

He mutters a distracted ‘thank you’ and turns away to ponder.

And with that, Miss Stacy crosses away to another pack of students to talk with them.. The pack of students that contains Anne. Miss Stacy says something that makes her laugh politely. He gazes again.

Anne takes a drink of her lemonade and glows and he watches her with baited breath, for she has no idea how untouchable she looks in the warm cottage light- if he breathes, she may just dematerialize, escape from his view, evaporate into the pure sunshine from whence she came. She looks as if she’s existed long before the rest of them and will continue to exist long after they are dead and gone. For that moment, he is thankful he’s gotten to be a part of it at all.

-

He truly does weigh his options, as Miss Stacy instructed.

He could go to Queens and be near… his friends. Or he could travel to a new city and have the kind of career he’s been dreaming about for ages, with no... distractions.

He isn’t proud of it, but he avoids Anne in the days after the protest. If he doesn’t, he might lose all of his carefully constructed composure. If he doesn’t stay away from her, he’ll end up taking her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers and forgetting all his resolve about his plans.

He visits Bash and Mary’s after leaving the newspaper gathering. They’re in the orchard, and they ask about the fallout from the newspaper article. He tells them enough to satisfy their inquiry. He doesn’t tell them about university. He helps them with the harvest. Their romantic laughter, the sunshine, and baby Delly playing on the picnic blanket make him sad.

He goes back to Green Gables well after the sun has set. He only passes her briefly. He tries not to look. If he looks, he might not ever be able to escape.

It isn’t the most mature move, but he intentionally stays in his room on Sunday until after the rest of the household has left for church.

If she is to be the Bride of Adventure, who is he to try and stop her? And isn’t it true what they say, that if you truly love someone, you ought to let them go?

Perhaps setting up their future together requires a bit of sacrifice from him in the immediate. If he wants to hold onto her glow for as long as he can, he should be practical. Knowledge is a gift, at the end of the day, and only a fool would pass up that kind of blessing. One thing is for sure. No matter where he decides to continue his studies, he knows what he must do for now: that he has to go somewhere, anywhere else.

He also knows she wants him to talk to her, he knows it, even as they are apart... he wants to talk with her too, but every time he thinks about having to leave her, he is disgusted with himself at the mess he’s gotten them into.

He scoffs out loud as he thinks about it, fussing with his hair in the mirror. He drags his hands down the skin on his face. He hasn’t slept well, not since last Friday night: before the barn, before the article and the fallout and the paper demonstration, before the reality of the situation tore through the blissfully ignorant comfort of his mind. Over a week of this, this… is agony the right word? At times it was true bliss, not the ignorant kind. Would one be better than the other? Would he opt to go back to the way it was before, when they were just friends? Not that he would want to… but could he even try?

He frowns at himself and his dramatics.

“This is not the end,” he says into the glass. “It’s merely… a brief interlude. To set things straight. Simple enough!”

He is doing the right thing. His reflection wants to believe him.

He glances around the room, trying to absorb every last memory of the most comfortable home he has ever had- even if it was never truly his.

Anne rounds the corner of the house one morning and stops at a strange sight:

Gilbert, standing next to a suitcase.

She hasn’t seen much of him the past few days… not in church, not around the farm, not since Saturday morning at Miss Stacy’s house. An elbow into a closing door, a blur of brown and white through a dimly lit doorway she’s seen from outside the house. He’s practically been a ghost. And here he is before her, in all his melancholy glory.

Gilbert.

Suitcase.

He’s clearly been avoiding her, and she’s unable to puzzle out why. Has she done something…. Unattractive? Surely not. The timing of a trip is awful strange, but… no. It couldn’t possibly be something that was her fault.

And anyway, since when did she care?

“Are you… going somewhere?” she asks tentatively with a confused smile. Maybe if she asks it gingerly enough, she won’t scare him away.

Gilbert, with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Suitcase on the ground by the door.

Sad-looking Gilbert, who takes too deep of a breath to be announcing a brief, casual adventure.

“I am, actually,” he starts. She blinks and gestures at him to continue. He shakes his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be going to Charlottetown, for… a while.”

“Alright…? How long is a while?” She’s growing impatient with his dramatics.

“A… Well, there is a professional opportunity at Dr. Ward’s office,” he states.

“How do you mean?” she asks airily. His expression is serious, uncomfortably so, but the implication of his words drifts over her head and into the kitchen.

“A more involved position there,” he continues gently, “would essentially underwrite my acceptance into a good medical program. Plus, it offers a place… to live.”

“Wait…” Anne’s wheels turn slower than they ever have before. “You’re…. leaving?”

“Anne, listen to me. If I could stay here, I would. Believe me. This is just something that needs to be done.”

“What?” Anne cannot feel her fingers or toes, so frozen by his words is she. “But we… we just… you… me...-”

“It’s bad timing, really terrible timing, I know, but-”

“What are you saying?” she manages. “What about...Queens?” She wishes she had added what about me? but he speaks again too soon.

“I don’t know that Queens is the right... direction. For my, ah, continued education. I have to think about the future, here.”

“Your future.”

“I have to establish an actual plan, I can’t be reckless anymore, I-”

“Reckless.”

His future. His plan. And she is the impractical, unhelpful, reckless thing… holding him back.

“You know it as well as I do-” He touches her arm in a delicate plea and her seething gaze snaps to the brazen endeavor, “You don’t deserve it at all. Not like this, not wi-”

“Well, if you can’t be reckless anymore, then by all means, go!” she spits, anger seeping through and sticking to her words like honey. She rips her arm from his gentle hold and adds, “If that’s really what you want.”

“Wait,” he says quickly, “You’re not listening to me.”

“Oh, that’s my problem, is that all I’ve been doing for weeks is listening to you and clinging on your every word like some pathetic-…” He stares at her with those same eyes as always, only this time, she doesn’t welcome the gaze. The fire in her heart is stoked thoroughly. “I’m listening to you, all right, and what you’re telling me is that I’m not going to see you again- that you’re.. You- That you’re leaving.”

“Why can’t you just trust me, that it’s for the best?”

“Because that’s preposterous! Best for who?”

He looks sadly at the ground, standing next to his case, his hat crumpled in his hands.

“Ghosts linger,” he utters softly, clearly attempting to soften her anger by invoking their past intimate conversations. “I’ve stayed well past my welcome. It’s not fair to your family. It isn’t fair to you. If I were to continue living here…”

“You are cruel.”

“Anne, you’d understand if you had heard what they said about-”

“Cruel and exacting-”

“Please! I couldn’t just sit idly by while-”

“-and unbelievable and I shall never forgive you.”

“You don’t mean that,” he nearly pleads. In her shortsighted outrage, as her heart begins to fracture, she laughs bitterly in his face.

“I have never meant anything more in my entire life,” she manages in a rumble, swallowing the bile and the betrayal and the sight of him, brown eyes wide like a pup, hurt by her words.

Gilbert stares out the window in the parlor and ponders aggressively. The clock makes a strangled sound to indicate it’s passed an hour. 

“I… care for you,” he tries patiently. “Please, Anne. You’re my friend, I-”

“I believe it’s time for you to get out of my house,”she snaps. “Seeing as you don’t live here anymore.”

He contemplates her face and her posture determinedly, but seems to accept that she’s won. He starts to turn.

“And we aren’t friends,” she adds for good measure.

He drops his head, then utters with sad sarcastic mirth and a broken smile:

“Yeah. We were never really friends, were we?”

The insinuation in his words is a loaded gun without a trigger. Neither of them would be willing to pull it, anyway. The air is too charged. Admitting the depth of her love for him in this moment would surely cause an explosion.

This can’t possibly be their end, surely isn’t the last morose page of her presumed fairytale. She opens and shuts her mouth, willing something to come out: a desperate plea of apologetic mercy, a venomous vitriol about whichever snake slithered into his ear with doubts toward her, a convincing beguilement to get him to stay… anything. But she just watches in horror, the fragile ice in her chest cracking more and more with every step he takes.

As he’s leaving, he stops at the threshold of the doorway and says quietly,

“This place.”

“What about it?” Anne asks dismally, through the beginnings of tears. 

“It really changes a person, doesn’t it?”

Green Gables takes a deep breath. She holds hers. 

Gilbert steps out the front door for the last time. The house and Anne Shirley-Cuthbert let him take all of the air in their lungs along with him, and she shakes with sobs in the vicious emptiness of his exit.

Chapter Text

She doesn’t care that he’s gone. She doesn’t care that he left.

She doesn’t.

She cares about school. She has school to care about. She has never felt so intelligent as she prepares herself for entrance exams.

He takes his early. She overheard him a while back, talking with Miss Stacy, about going to the University of Toronto instead of Queens- because it has a better medical program, naturally- and since that’s all that matters to him they have different admissions schedules, he gets to sit for the same exams at a different time than the rest of them.

One day, she comes home from school to find an unsealed letter on the kitchen counter addressed to ‘Mr. Matthew Cuthbert and Ms. Marilla Cuthbert.’

Not to her.

She snatches it up to rifle through it and is infuriated to find it is strictly an envelope of money, not even a note, and nothing- nothing he has done makes her angrier. She drops the envelope in disgust and spends the rest of the afternoon furiously scribbling down her thoughts in her room, pouring everything she wants to say to him out into the pen, onto the paper… until the sun goes down and she can no longer see what she’s writing. At some point, her rantings had morphed into a metaphorical, entirely hypothetical story about a disgraced queen winning back her kingdom from a vicious forest-snake… so she decides to keep it. For the story plot and no other reasons.

She sits for the exams with the rest of her classmates. Luckily, preparing for them has been a welcome distraction. They’re easy enough, even with everyone’s nervous pacing and frantic discourse. She aces the English and Geography sections. Arithmetic posed a small challenge, but she’s never been great at it.

And then, all at once, it’s over.

It does feel as if a weight has been lifted off her shoulders, doesn’t it?

It’s over. Years of schooling, culminating in one moment that will make or break her very flimsy future. There’s nothing more to be done about it except wait.

So when the lot of them burst through the doors, new graduates of the Avonlea school, and the Pauls lead them to the ruins and Moody procures a mystery liquid from his pockets and they toast to being free- she relinquishes herself to the revelry. The moonshine tastes awful, but somehow the burn also feels...good, after it goes down?

She hears herself laugh, and she’s never heard herself laugh before. She’s alive, and so is everyone else. They’re all so alive. They are joking and talking and taking turns swigging out of the bottle, and eventually they’re yelling and dancing and Moody is playing his banjo and Ruby is giggling by his side, and Charlie Sloan’s hand is on the small of Anne’s back as he leads her in a dance. It doesn’t feel wrong (it certainly doesn’t feel right, but she is too free to care), and everyone is shouting across the circles at one another- the boys make fun of their dance moves and the girls cheer each other on- the blur of the night lowers a mist over her eyes.

They’ve long since lost their pinafores and vests, and the fire crackles and sends sparks into the air as they howl at the moon well into the midnight hours.

Her headache the next morning is punishment enough for their debauchery, but finding the pressed flowers she and the girls picked and wore in their hair for an impromptu Beltane ritual stir the fond memory- albeit a hazy one. She picks up her discarded clothes, covered in dirt and soot from the bonfire, and inhales the sweet musty scent of the warm night that coats them still. She slightly recalls a scene of Josie enveloping her in a desperate hug and thanking her for something cryptic regarding saving her life (she wouldn’t elaborate)… and holding back strands of Ruby’s hair as she threw up into a bush, wiping her tears as she cried... and also a fuzzy memory of Charlie taking her hand in his as they all headed home, letting him peck her goodbye on the cheek. She vaguely remembers she and Diana had slurred their affection for one another and giggled and stumbled arm in arm the rest of the way, joined as far as they could, until she made it home alone and passed out in her cozy and comfortable bed.

Strange indeed, but... not a bad start to the rest of her life.

-

When the exam scores are posted on the first true day of Summer, Anne’s name is at the top of the list.

Gilbert’s is immediately below it.

“Anne and Gilbert tied for first!” someone says. Moody remarks that it’s a shame he isn’t here to see it. Diana congratulates her.

She wants to say out loud, ‘It isn’t fun if he’s not here to compete with,’ but she doesn’t.

Instead, she thanks her friend and gives her a big hug. She’s sure everyone is tired of hearing about her tragical tale of romance and woe; and by everyone, she means herself, the trees, Belle, and Diana. Diana- who is worried about her parents, about telling them she took the tests in the first place, let alone what they will say when she tells them she is in love with a farmhand and wants to go to college instead of finishing school. Anne hugs her again, tighter this time.

“You’re going to be fine,” she says. “They love you! They wouldn’t deny you what you truly want. It’s your future, not theirs.”

The girls come over to congratulate Anne on her score, and gush over how excited they all are to head to Queens together. And for that moment, she convinces herself she’s glad Gilbert is in Charlottetown, so that he isn’t there to distract her from her future. The wide open one full of the unknown… of friendship and adventure and academics… and without him, or romance, anywhere near it.

It has been some time since the end of their schooling and the beginning of Gilbert’s “professional” life. With his future transcript from the University of Toronto and doctor’s assistant on his resume, he should have quite the leg up in the medical field.

That being said, he finds it hard to concentrate as the days go by. Cases come in and go and he only barely figures them out. It’s a good thing the success of the business doesn’t depend on him. It takes everything in him to channel his restless energy into medical research and learning. The monotonous fog of his daily routine is broken up only by the mild, pleasant outings he shares with Ms. Rose on Wednesday afternoons.

It had taken them quite a few days to find their footing, a balanced dynamic around the office between the two of them, for he had treated her quite rudely after their first outing, in hindsight. It serves him right, then, that she gave him a heavy cold shoulder when he started full time at the office. It didn’t pain him much at all, but he took the time to pull her aside, get her to let him treat her to tea, and properly apologize. They are little more than friends, but the conversation is pleasant... and they have at least one shared interest, in their work.

Another tea date comes and goes. They move around the rooms in a comfortable air; nothing exciting, he thinks, but nothing awful either. 

He reminds himself of this (the not being awful part) when she coyly confirms their next plans, as she leaves the office for the day.

“I shall see you tonight,” Winnifred says with a dainty curtsy, peering up to meet his eyes as she dips low. 

He clears his throat and manages a mild, “Tonight, yes.” She almost coquettishly places her hat on her head and whisks herself and her skirts out the front door. He is lost in trying to figure out whether she was publicly flirting with him when a voice from the office pipes up.

“So you’ve a meeting planned with Ms. Rose, hm?” the doctor asks without looking over at him, brow furrowed.

“Yes, sir,” Gilbert responds through the open doorway, feeling caught.

“And how many outings have you two had?”

He hesitantly steps into the office and offers a simple reply. Simple is always best.

“This will be the third in as many weeks.”

“Hmm.” He ponders this for a moment then continues reading his clipboard casually. “I was under the impression you were courting that young Withany girl.”

“Who?”

“You know,” Dr. Ward utters frustratedly with a wave of his hand before casually lowering his glasses onto the bridge of his nose to gaze at Gilbert. “Miss Withany, the excitable young lady with the red hair that you went to school with.”

“Anne?”

“That’s the one!” his mentor snaps his fingers as he turns back to his medical papers, and Gilbert chuckles softly at the man’s misunderstanding of Anne’s old introduction. But he keeps the truth for himself: a secret for only him to know, though also a knife twisting in his heart… something that makes him feel closer to her even as they are miles apart.

“No sir, we are not courting,” he answers politely. “We are… were... friends, and… She is the self-appointed Bride of Adventure, so I don’t believe she’d have anyone… even if they asked. Hypothetically. All this to say, any idea of romance between us is… um. Not present.”

“May I offer some advice, son?” Mr. Ward asks, as if he hadn’t listened to Gilbert’s ramblings at all. Gilbert murmurs a yes, sir as the man puts down his clipboard and removes his glasses fully to rub at his temple with a smile.

“Ms. Rose’s father is a very involved man.”

“Pardon?”

“That is to say, well… He is involved in terms of medical business, sure, and would be a wonderful person to know, as he has many connections at some clubs and businesses in town, as well as overseas in Paris, France… but no, what I mean is that he is very involved in the livelihood and happiness of his daughter. Do you understand what I’m saying, boy?”

“I… I can’t say that I do, sir,” Gilbert replies, but he so desperately wishes he did so that they might be finished with this uncomfortable conversation (that feels a lot like a lecture). 

“I am saying that, where Winnifred is concerned, one might not want to delve into something of note that isn’t quite serious, lest they upset both her and her father.”

Ah, there’s the ‘advice.’

“I assure you, my intentions are pure,” Gilbert hastily responds. “We are just friends.”

“The purity of your intentions is not what I’m referring to, but the severity, my dear boy. If there is anything- or any one - in your life keeping you tethered from pursuing only her… ah, friendship... you should tread carefully.”

“Noted, sir,” Gilbert settles on, after a moment to process the doctor’s unsolicited insight.

He doesn’t need men who think they know better than him telling him what to do. He doesn’t need the pressure of marriage or a societal enterpriser like Mr. Rose affecting his personal decisions. And he certainly doesn’t need another person thinking he and Anne are an item when she has made it increasingly clear they will never be.

But during these days, looking into Winnifred’s gentle and unassuming eyes each time he passes her at the front desk with a nod... he feels nothing but guilt that he could never love her, no matter how sensuous, no matter how beautiful her face and delicate her temperance. He is, yet again, wasting everyone’s time.

But isn't it nice to actually feel wanted, for a change?

Avonlea’s warming landscape sees a lot of Anne: gallivanting around the forests and creeks, picking and pressing wildflowers, penning prose in the shade of many trees, walking along all of the nature paths like a vagabond- until the first cicadas of summer, when she and Tilly and Diana and Josie finally have fine enough weather for a chance to trek to the beach. Just future collegians; the four ladies , gloriously unchaperoned, wiggling their toes into the sand and lounging in the sun.

Diana tells them she’ll be attending Queens after all. A few weeks ago, her parents had fully banned her from socialization after her exam ‘stunt.’ But gratefully, Ms. Josephine is in town, and gave them a thorough haranguing until they saw the error of their ways. Or at least, that’s how Anne chooses to see it, because Diana’s actual tale wasn’t nearly as enthralling, and much shorter than the one her imagination blessed her with.

It doesn’t matter. All that matters is her best friend in the entire world will be rooming with her at the best school in the world, for the best adventure of her entire life… so far.

Anne cackles at a joke Tilly makes about their college being co-ed, and Josie playfully shoves her into the sand. The sun comes out from behind an errant cloud and lights up the faces of her friends- and the cracks in her heart, while it’s at it.

The first notes of a song of camaraderie burst from her lips, and shortly thereafter the others are practically screaming along, following Anne to the gentle waves of the shore as she plunges into the tide.

She resurfaces briefly, hearing the girls’ laughter and splashing and singing before submerging once again. Her hair floats around her like smoke, like magic: bloodred liquid darkness, not without some pale blue sunlight streaming through it in defiance. The noisy Anne in her mind quiets, and she’s able to focus solely on the soothing sounds of the ocean and the muffled revelry just above the water’s edge.

It’s not hard to find enjoyment in this moment... in this lovely little life of hers.

You can nearly always enjoy something if you make up your mind firmly that you will.

“Gil,” she says with a curt nod and a tight lipped smile.

“Winnie,” he answers.

“Please have a seat.”

He hesitates, cracks a smile.

“Am I… in trouble?”

“I am afraid so.” Her melodic accent is just as confusing as ever- her tone is light but her face and words are serious. He’s known her this long and he still cannot tell when she is joking.

“Oh?” he teases as he lowers into the chair across from her. She is seated behind the reception desk. He feels like a patient, for a change.

“I am a respectable young lady, Mr. Blythe.” He shifts his weight uncomfortably.

“Uh-oh. It’s Mr. Blythe now?”

She sighs, then blesses him with a gentle smile.

“That is the issue, I am afraid,” she answers. “We are getting too close. I am a respectable lady, as I’ve said. And though I do enjoy our visits, it is clear your mind is often elsewhere.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he lies.

“I fancy myself skilled at picking up on unspoken signals. How long have you known you have no intention of courting me?”

“Oh, Winnifred,” Gilbert stutters, “I’m so sorry. I’ve enjoyed your company, I have… I never meant to-”

She tuts and waves him off with her hand.

“You misunderstand me. I am not vexed. I have such attributes that many men would be ecstatic to have me, and I shall find a match. I merely wanted to point out to you,” she dips her chin in seriousness, “that you have much to figure out for yourself.”

“I do?” 

“You do,” she confirms. Again, the air is lighter than her words. “You are not interested in pursuing me, really, and yet it was you who instigated our interactions. Why do you think that is?”

“Well, I... I don’t know, I-”

“It was rhetorical,” she interrupts. “But feel free to ponder it internally. I do hope we can remain friends?”

“Of course,” Gilbert agrees readily.

“Good,” she smiles sweetly. “We can’t have a lamentable affaire sully the productive office atmosphere, now can we?”

That time, she is most definitely teasing him.

She releases him gracefully from his exit interview and he bumbles away… then finishes the day of work feeling surprisingly light. He leaves his hat and jacket on the back of his chair and decides to go for a stroll while the day is still young.

He should feel sadder, should he not? His head is still spinning. He has just been rejected, rather coolly, for being shortsighted and somewhat cruel to someone he truly did care for, in a way. So why did he not feel hurt?

Hands in his pockets, people-watching as his feet roll over the town paths, he is free to ponder this, as well as her question. He thinks he might already have known the answer before she asked it.

A glint in the pawn shop window catches his eye and he enters without another thought.

If he had asked, she would have married him.

The path is muddy from a recent rain. She had enjoyed it while it lasted: bathing in the fragmented sunlight through the dark gray clouds and the drops that fell and made music on the rocks and trees around her.

But now, she trudges through a particularly deep puddle of wet dirt as she treks back home, her delicate linen dress now heavy- caked in mud and twigs and somehow also the burden of every bad decision she has ever made.

Maybe she should have listened to what he was trying to say. She really could have considered his side a bit more than she had. What was it he was saying? If you had only heard what they said about… They who? About what?

She wrestles off the weighted skirt tangling around her legs (petticoat and all) and balls it up in her angry crossed arms as she stomps through the muck.

She replays their last conversation more often than she cares to admit. She’s certainly exhausted her understanding of it over the past several weeks. The only way to decipher it further would be to ask him directly. But she sure made sure that would never be an option, didn’t she? God, why had she acted so rashly? What was he trying to say?

You don’t deserve it all like this.

If he had asked, she would have married him. She’s sure of it, now.

Of course, he hadn’t asked. He left, and she isn’t marrying him, and he isn’t even living here anymore, and now she carries the weight of all of their memories; and her stupid skirts; and her bulky, broken heart.

-

It’s truly not fair, she thinks bitterly as she reshelves her favorite novels in the parlor. She’s spent a lot of her time lately with her nose in a book.

Their bookshelf is looking very full as of late. She’s collected quite a few new additions from Josephine Barry, as well as Diana, and she contemplates how she will possibly be able to fit them all into one trunk when she goes off to school. Perhaps there will be a splendid library for her to find new papered adventures.

She almost had a storybook ending in real life, but it was ripped away by the powers that be (okay, fine, it was entirely her own doing). And, well... at least it makes for a good tragical romance, after all.

But wouldn’t it have been so nice to live happily ever after?

And she was wrong, and she wishes she could tell him, but it wouldn’t matter anyway because she ruined it all. All because of her foolish, angry pride. What fairytale ingenue has such a firey temper and a knack for putting her foot directly in it?

She takes Pride & Prejudice off the shelf once more and treks up to her room to reread it, yet again.

-

But she’ll be alright without him. Gilbert, that is.

She combs her hair in Diana’s vanity mirror and muses over her options.

She’ll be alright without Gilbert, because she doesn’t need a husband. She never thought she’d have one anyway, so nothing has changed. Nothing has changed. She’ll be a career woman and teach and find magic in wherever she ends up. Perhaps a life with Cole wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe she would never know romantic love, but spending her days with a kindred spirit, surrounded by art and cerebral stimulation… it wouldn’t be the worst fate.

“I’ve made peace with it,” Anne decides out loud.

“Made peace with what?” Diana asks from her spot on the bed, lounging as she reads.

“That I will only marry for necessity, and not for love,” she replies. “A union of equals with Cole. That, or being an old spinster.” She laughs in spite of herself.

“I still think…” Diana hesitates, then resolves herself to continue, “that you and Gilbert would make a good pair.”

Anne sighs.

“I still think so, too.”

“Wait, you do?”

Anne nods solemnly and turns from the mirror to face her. Diana reaches out and grasps her hands.

“Then Anne, you can’t give up!”

“He’s moved on, Diana,” she responds.

“But you were meant and made for each other!”

“It’s too late.”

“True love is never too late.”

Anne scoffs.

“Ask him if he thinks it’s true love. Oh Diana, you should have heard the things I said to him. I’d wager that I am practically dead to him. There is nothing, no groveling or magic wishing away, that would compel him to forgive me.” She sinks onto the bed and Diana moves to comfort her immediately.

“Everything happened so fast, and it was so messy-” Diana recounts Anne’s own past musings back to her. “Surely, he thinks it was too hasty as well. He’s smart. And your temper has certainly subsided… Sorry,” she cuts herself off at Anne’s pointed glare, but not without a small smirk.

“I no longer wish to speak of this.”

“Suit yourself, but then you don’t get to be such a crank anymore,” Diana practically grumbles.

“You!” Anne playfully whispers. “You have become quite the reprobate, Diana Barry! A proper lady would never air her grievances so crassly.”

“And what would you know about being a proper lady?” she teases back. “I once saw you use your own hair as a beard!” Anne hits her across the face with one of her own pillows as Diana laughs and adds, “A lady who couldn’t see a hole in a ladder! Have you ever heard of such a thing!?”

After the dust settles on more giggling and barrages of feathered weaponry, they collapse on their backs on her bed, staring up at the ceiling in comfortable silence.

“Are you going to accompany Mother and I on our shopping trip this weekend?” Diana asks serenely. “She says Ms. Cuthbert is welcome, as well. Aunt Josephine is even coming. My first corset!” She sighs with content. “I can’t hardly wait. Aren’t you so excited?”

“Of course,” Anne replies. “I’ll ask Marilla straightaway.”

“Just think...” She rolls over onto her elbow and props her sweet face up on her hand. “We are going to be roommates!”

Anne rolls over to meet her and sits up as well, forcing the happiness in her soul up through the bittersweet realities of her mind.

“It’s a dream come true,” she whispers. “If I could write the perfect ending to this chapter of our lives, it would be this.”

“We are about to start the next chapter of our lives!” Diana repeats.

“Yes,” Anne chuckles. “We are set to turn the first page of the very first chapter of a brand new story.”

“Worthy of it’s own Story Club, really,” she agrees with quiet humor.

They share more soft laughter- sisters at heart, reveling in the beauty of their futures in a childhood bedroom. Anne jokes in response:

“Someone ought to start one, then.”

Chapter Text

When there is a knock at Green Gables late one morning, Anne pulls the door open in her typical amiable manner, wholly unexpectant of who could be on the other side. And standing in the doorway is the last man she expected to see, wringing his hands, the deep well of his dark honey eyes as full of yearning and mystery as she remembers them being. 

She never dreamed he would be standing at her door (maybe she had dreamed it once or twice, but who’s counting?). She figured it would be Diana and her family, or Mrs. Lynde, or Miss Stacy… really anyone other than him. It has only been a few handfuls of weeks, but his absence made the days seem much, much longer… as if years had passed.

“Hello, Anne,” he utters. She blinks twice before words come to her.

“Hi.”

They stand in the silence following her brilliant oration, a small smile threatening at the corners of his mouth, though it’s clear he’s attempting to maintain neutrality as he deciphers if her expression is warmhearted or scornful.

“May I come in?”

“Oh, uh- yes,” Anne stutters, and she moves the door aside as the specter formerly known as Gilbert Blythe nods bashfully in appreciation, removing his hat to crush it between his palms as he steps over the threshold.

And then they’re standing in the front room, Gilbert and Anne are standing in the same room once again, and Anne wants to kiss his face and for him to kiss her face but she also kind of wants to yell at him for moving out, which she knows is silly but can’t help it to be true. She has spent many nights in front of her bedroom mirror practicing how to react if she were to see him again, thought about so many things to say to him if she ever had the chance... but at the moment, she can’t recall a single one of them.

“Would you… um…” she glances around the room awkwardly, trying to come up with something for her body and mind to accomplish to occupy the moment unfolding before her. She settles on turning over her shoulder and inviting him further into the house with her body language. It is stiff and feels strange in her bones. “...care for a cup of tea?” she finishes. He relinquishes control of his mouth corners and smiles.

“Tea would be lovely.” 

“I’ll… I’ll put on the kettle, then.”

Anne moves clunkily in the space of the kitchen, her face still warm from the embarrassment of opening the door to find the last person she thought she’d see today. Her hair is a mess, her apron stained and probably smelly… she knocks into the counter and the ceramic of utensils spills everywhere with a loud clang.

“Everything okay in there?” Gilbert calls from the sitting room, and she can hear a hint of a smile in his tone.

“Finer than a frog’s hair!” Anne shouts back, mentally kicking herself for the juvenility of the unintentional rhyme. She hurriedly removes her cooking smock, then waits, readies the ceramic teapot and teacups and plates and leaves and spoons, then waits, and finally, methodically prepares their drinks when the water boils and whistles the kettle.

She re-enters the parlor with her tray, places it on the table, and withdraws the two cups of tea balanced on saucers, her hands shaking as she attempts to set them down with sophistication instead of her usual inelegance. She fails, obviously, and some of the steaming liquid sloshes onto her hand. She clatters the ceramic as she drops it onto the table and Gilbert stands quickly with the commotion, snatching her hand to examine it the very moment a blustered “Ouch!” leaves her lips.

His touch burns her skin more than the boiling tea, but she allows him to smooth over her fingers anyway. His concerned expression draws her in so fiercely it’s as if he were a magnet and she was made entirely of metal. She lets him get so close that their faces are nearly touching when he looks up at her and asks softly, “Are you alright?” 

She is truly pathetic. Her eyelids practically flutter shut in anticipation of his lips being on hers, which is a desperate and impractical desire. Old habits, and all that.

“Other than being continually infuriated at my own gracelessness, yes, quite alright,” she huffs in answer to him and tears her hand from his grasp in mortification. He likely views her as a child who’s incapable of even serving tea with so much as a shred of poise. 

“You’ll have a small blister, from the burn,” he offers unsolicited, “but a dab or two of honey should aid in the healing process.”

“Thank you, doctor ,” she snaps sardonically, plopping down in the chair next to his. He slowly lowers himself to sit as well, and in an infuriating act of patience and maturity, pours her a new cup of tea. 

“I’m a doctor’s assistant, but thank you for the promotion.”

“I meant it ironically,” she clarifies.

“I know,” he says, and his irritating smirk breaks into an even more irritating smile. 

They sit in silence and sip their tea. She wants to say a million things to him; her thoughts press up against the sides of her brain, telling her to ask him about Charlottetown and work, or tell him about Marilla’s mishap on the farm last week, or mention that Charlie Sloane kissed her, even though it was months ago, or complain about how her days are boring without him there to challenge her and she’s been thinking constantly about her mistakes during their last conversation… or simply tell him she misses him.

Just tell him you were wrong , the voice in her head demands.

Never, she tells it, or he’ll win.

A win on a technicality is no better than a loss, it reminds her.

“I, um,” Gilbert starts, piercing not only the quietness of the room but also the chaos of her mind. “I got you something.”

She blinks.

“You what?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thick paper bundle, folded up small and tied in place with a piece of frayed twine. He hesitates, then hands it over to her formally. She unwraps it, but not without a suspicious glance in his direction. A shiny pendant tumbles into her open hand and she gasps:

“It’s a book!”

Gilbert grins at his hands, then looks up at her with just his eyes. Her heart stops working. His kind voice jolts her back to life.

“You like books.”

“I…” Anne doesn’t have anything to say, for once. A young voice, belonging to her classmate, echoes in her head: his eyes were so full of romance I almost died happy right there and then.Is this what that feels like? “I do like books,” she decides. She holds the charm, the silver-iron charm of an open-paged novel, in her palm like a baby chick.

Gilbert stares awkwardly, waiting for Anne to say more. He opens his mouth with no words coming out. Finally, he prompts, 

“Do you… like it?”

“I love it,” she exhales quickly, not really deciding to be so candid, just sort of allowing it to breeze past her better judgment and exit her face . “Thank you.” An emphatically quizzical expression plays on her features, also against her permission (as she’s trying to remain cool and collected in his presence, which doesn’t seem to be going that well so far) . “Where did you get this? Why did you get this?” She turns it over in her hand.

Gilbert rubs the back of his neck bashfully. It’s just as cute as it ever was.

“I saw it in a shop window in Charlottetown. It’s… for, well, graduating. Congratulations. You won, fair and square.”

“But we tied for top score on the entrance exams.”

“I know.”

“And it’s been weeks since we took them.”

“I know that too.”

He stares at her as she formulates more response.

“Thank you,” she says, stunned.

Cicada sounds float in through the open window. She glances in its direction. The noisy breeze rustles the lace curtain and a strand of her hair tickles Anne’s face. She brushes it away with a scratch. Gilbert’s watched her the entire time.

“May I… say something?” he asks slowly.

“You just did,” she quips. A grin breaks out on his face, and he takes that as a yes (which he should).

“I didn’t expect such a… warm welcome? I figured you’d slam the door in my face.”

“As did I.”

He laughs outright. And so does she.

“Frankly, I owe you an apology,” Anne says. Gilbert shakes his head.

“That’s not why I-”

She holds up a hand to stop him, and he does. It’s nice that he still listens to her silence with his whole body. She should wave her hand to the left to she if she can conduct him further. No. She fights the urge.

“I think I understand, now,” she states softly, turning the book charm over and over in her fingers, “why you had to leave. After all… Time will explain.”

“Jane Austen.”

She says it before she can even think-

“Point to Gilbert.”

He smiles sadly.

“I should have explained myself better,” he says.

“I didn’t really give you the chance, did I?”

“I wouldn’t say that, I-”

“Gilbert.”

He glances up at her pointed stare, and softens.

“No, you didn’t,” he agrees gently.

“But I get it now,” she reiterates. “And you don’t have to waste any words on it, nor do we have to spend any more breath discussing it. I forgive you, and I hope you forgive me as well, and there’s nothing more to it.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?” He jokes mildly.

“She’s still here,” she replies with a matching smile. “Just a little older.”

“And wiser?”

“And wiser.”

They share a comfortable silence.

“Well, in any case,” he starts, “I accept your apology. And I’ll only say one more thing and then we can be done with the matter. Deal?”

“Fine,” she sighs. “Out with it.”

“I didn’t handle things in the best manner either. I’m not looking for protest-” he interrupts the glower on her face before she can speak out, “or for consolation. I just wanted to say, I’m sorry as well. I can see how my decision may have seemed… abrupt. Please know, I… had both of our best interests at heart. I still do.”

“Well. I appreciate... it. You.”

“And I you.”

They sit in silence for a moment. He seems to feel the earth shift underneath him.

“I promised Bash and Mary I would be by to watch Delphine. I should head there now. Would you… care to join me?”

“That sounds lovely,” she says, and really it does, “but I’ve promised Diana I’ll go shopping for Queens with her today. We’re getting our first corsets.”

Now why did she say such a thing? She feels the flames on her face immediately. He smiles, because he can see them.

“Though, not quite your first, is it?” he mentions through his sickeningly charming smirk. Anne hangs her head in shame.

“Don’t make me regret allowing you knowledge of my old gambits,” she laughs lightly. “Marilla still isn’t aware, and I’ll thank you to keep it that way.”

“My lips are sealed,” he promises, hand over his heart. “If I were to divulge your secrets, how would I expect to participate in any future schemes?”

If he is flirting with her, she is more than alright with it. If he is not, she would be mortified for him to know how inclined she is to swoon at something so simple as his platonic quips. She could spend all day in conversation with him on the comfortable parlor sofa, even if it meant pushing the boundary of her newly bestowed forgiveness.

Their laughter fades as easily as it began. He (reluctantly, she imagines) pats his own legs in a parting demeanor and stands slowly. She quickly follows suit, follows him as he crosses to the door wordlessly. He’s half in, half out; she has an arm against the open door and the other hugging her chest. They stand awkwardly, neither of them saying goodbye but both of them knowing there is a deadline on their time in each other’s presence.

“So… would you consider us friends again?” he muses eventually, as he turns to go.

“Friends again,” she agrees, “and always,” she hurries to add.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Me, too.” Me, too? What is wrong in her head!?

“It was really nice to see you. Goodbye, Anne.”

“Goodbye, Gilbert.”

He steps fully out of the house, but this time, it doesn’t feel like the last.

A picnic blanket is a fine place to study. Gilbert almost thinks it a shame that school hasn’t begun, or he’d have more reading material than an old tattered anatomy book lent to him by Dr. Ward. It’s enough of a distraction as he babysits for his family in the summer’s afternoon warmth.

The sunbeams through the apple orchard are almost as cheery as the yellow-and-white checkered blanket they’re sitting on. Everything does seem much more cheery in general lately, does it not?

The dark cloud of remorse has been lifted with Anne’s forgiveness of him. He had missed her more than he realized- or rather, more than his heart and mind would allow him knowledge of. He almost wishes he were going to Queens as well, alongside her and the rest of their classmates, instead of halfway across the world in Toronto.

No, that would still be unwise, to follow her after one measly conversation. They are friends- or rather, friendly again, almost as a new foal wobbles on brand new legs over uneven ground. He shouldn’t do anything to risk that anytime soon.

But wasn’t she just the image of perfection? He’d caught her working in the kitchen, he’s sure: hair delightfully disheveled, begging to be brushed away from her face by his fingertips; her telltale flustered blush rosy on her cheeks and neck; her hands dirtied and scraped from some project... consistent as always.

He’s thankful she’s so routinely rattled- he had an excuse to touch her in the first place. He nearly kissed her knuckles in comfort when she burned them on her tea. But one kiss to her hand would lead to another on her cheek, then to another on her mouth and to any part of her skin that’s showing, and maybe even to parts that are not…

He is dangerous around her. Perhaps that will eventually go away, but for now it’s a good thing he put some separation between them, for her sake. However, it’s only solidified in him how much he longs for the opposite. He concocts a plan to accomplish that goal, the opposite of separation… but it’s a simple answer, really. It’s friendship. It’s just friendship, the thing that will allow him to remain a character in her story. The thing that will grant him the beauty of the glittering sunlight through her hair and the endless pleasure of her words unto his ears. He has her friendship. He would do anything to keep it now that things are the way they were before.

They aren’t, though, are they? Things will never be the way they were before he kissed her for the first time in that blessed kitchen, and imploded their carefully built walls and years of piled preconceptions. When Bash and Mary return from their walk, he intends to ask their advice. Even though he’s sure they’re probably sick of advising him on the situation, by this point. He wonders if she has done the same rambling and bemoaning to her friends and family, as well. Perhaps her horse is tired of hearing about him.

Delphine babbles and laughs at her own joke, then reaches for him for stability. She is toying with the idea of standing, as of late (as he’s learned through quick conversations with her parents here and there), and she has chosen him for her dutiful assistant. He lowers his book with his free hand, urges her on with a smile and some form of baby talk he would be wholly embarrassed for any adult to hear.

Her little toothy grin breaks out when she pulls herself up using his grip for balance. She has her footing, and he slowly releases her tiny hand. She’s confused when she falls back down shortly thereafter, but is quickly distracted from her adorable failure by a summer seed floating through the air, and she gazes at it with wide-eyed wonder.

She looks so much like Anne in that moment, his heart catches in his chest. She could almost be her daughter- if they resembled each other in any way other than the soulful light of joy in their eyes.

He scoops Delly up into his embrace, and she squeaks in delight. She flails her arms against his playfully as he nuzzles her in a tight hug, and soon his afternoon is completely taken over by doting on her.

Oh. It is so easy to imagine she is his own daughter, that he has one (or two, or three…) of these of his own. That would be nice, he thinks. Someday, he might. Maybe.

He suddenly misses his dad, who would love to see the orchard in such renaissance. It is a pretty consistent thought in the back of his mind, but it (and the resounding grief of the hole left in his family in general) is a bit louder today in the bright sun with this baby in his arms. Would he take pride in Gilbert’s life choices? Would he be glad to see him studying medicine in Toronto? What would he say about his son being in unrequited love with a Miss Shirley-Cuthbert?

In the back of one of Gilbert’s travel cases is a small box, containing a few of his father’s personal affects: his military award, some documents and bank notes, and a small drawstring bag. He has been thinking of little else other than that small box for going on several months now. He can feel the ghost of the drawstring bag in his palm, with the amount of times he’s held it and pondered for hours.

He is satisfied with just being Anne’s friend. It’s all he desires from her, anymore. Truly. Any fragment of her that he gets to hold onto is a blessing, for which he will be forever grateful. Her friendship is more than enough for him.

No, really. It is.

Chapter Text

Anne’s day continues in a whirl, Marilla fussing and complaining and flitting about as she hastily prepares them a small lunch and rants- to no one in particular, though everyone is listening.

“These women-” she is saying, “-these wealthy women have no respect or understanding the importance of time during this season. Don’t they know we have to harvest? At the same time as we prepare to send you off!”

Of course, even in her chiding, it’s clear she doesn’t despise the idea. She must be as excited as Anne is, seeing as she is arguing with her own mind aloud. She tosses down the plate holding Matthew’s food and Anne tosses a look his way, scathing in its endearment of Marilla, intending to be shared by her paternal figure. He doesn’t return the grin, however, which is… odd.

“We don’t have time to gallivant about the city and… and waste our hard earned pennies on frivolous ribbons and frills. A whole weekend’s worth of work gone for just travel alone, which, not to mention- staying overnight at a stranger’s manse? This is too much.”

“Josephine Barry is not a stranger, Marilla,” Anne replies simply with a bemused groan. Marilla stills for a moment, stops by her shoulder, and places a hand on the side of her face.

“Oh, I do suppose it is rather… monumental,” she says as she gazes lovingly at Anne, tears threatening to well in her eyes, “you girls going off to school, and all. Such a pivotal moment in your lives deserves to be marked by a bit of splendor, I’ll say. You sure have earned it.”

Matthew silently works at the table, affixing the newest addition to Anne’s charm bracelet. He has been strangely silent the past few days- moreso than usual.

“Would you set that aside and participate in this meal?” Marilla scolds him. “It can wait. And what’s more, you have the farm to get back to!”

“Anne needs it... before she goes,” he replies gruffly, not looking up from the tools and chain and new little metal book someone beside him had gifted her. Was it that, that was making him angry?

The women eat in silence as he finishes his task, then joins them and takes a few bites. After a moment, he says,

“I spoke with Jerry-”

“Oh, Matthew,” Marilla exhales hastily- surprised or disappointed, Anne can’t tell. “We should discuss this later…”

“- about moving into one of the vacant rooms. He is fully… on board.”

“What?” Anne asks slowly, as the realization of being replaced dawns on her.

“Once you go, we’ll need more help on the farm and have the extra space. It’s only the next logical step.”

Amidst haphazard explanations and ‘don’t worry yourself about it’ s and ‘hold on now, Anne’ s, Anne can hear herself expel every bitter and angry thought she has out loud: have they been plotting this for long? - they’re finally getting a boy - they’re finally getting rid of her - she’s losing her home after all this time.

She stands abruptly, the chair legs screaming along the wood floor as she storms from the table and then from the room.

Her storied past becoming her coveted, adventureful future... means she will be erased.

She sobs into her pillow- the one Marilla stitched for her all those years ago- for what feels like hours, but must have only been intense minutes; Marilla enters through the cracked door and comfortingly rubs her back, murmuring firmly about how they must get ready for their afternoon of travel. And then, their day out school shopping with Diana and her family. The day Anne has been looking forward to all week.

So she swallows her childish despair and prepares to officially enter society as a woman- of academia, of taste, of composure...

Of worth, no matter who is able to see it and who isn’t.

-

Rollings fusses over them at Aunt Josephine’s instruction, settling them into a dinner fit for royalty. Anne gushes with Diana over the extravagant meal and they listen to the adults tell stories of their own youth. Marilla and Anne are shocked at Mrs. Barry’s recounting of her first week at finishing school, full of gowns and etiquette lessons, and where she had not one, but two suitors attempt to call on her.

The stories continue well into the evening, mostly from Aunt Josephine, of the many places to travel and things to see when you are a woman of an education and can experience the world outside your own kitchen. Much to Marilla’s dismay, Josephine offers everyone a small glass of Port wine as dessert. She purses her lips and shakes her head.

“I’ll keep my thoughts to myself- but I suppose you’re old enough to make the decision for yourself, Anne,” she scoffs. Anne gapes at her, then exchanges the same surprised look with Diana. Anne snaps up the glass hungrily then waits for Diana to do the same. She looks to her mother for allowance. Aunt Jo holds one out to Mrs. Barry expectantly, and the room is still for a moment.

“Come now, dear,” Josephine coos. “It’s just us ladies- no men need made aware. Save Rollings, of course.” She chuckles, then lowers her voice with a smile. “And why should your husband get to have all the fun- what with his ‘medicinal’ brandy? Eh?”

Eliza Barry hesitates, nearly wringing her hands, before releasing a high-pitched giggle.

“Oh… why not!” she chirps.

“Mother!?” Diana gasps.

“Eliza!” Mrs. Cuthbert scolds, though warmly.

“We’re celebrating a special occasion, are we not!” she gushes, laughing with Josephine as she accepts the glass. “Marilla. Surely you don’t intend to allow me to indulge alone. It would be… bad mothering to allow our girls to take part without knowing ourselves what it tastes like!”

Josephine, Eliza, and the girls laugh like madwomen as Marilla sputters.

“What has gotten into all of you!” she accuses the lot of them.

But the sun has already set, and there is an unseasonably cool air drifting in from the open dining parlor windows that flickers the candles on the table... alongside a breeze smelling of dew and smoked wood from somewhere out in the neighboring fields… and something in that overwhelmingly serene moment must come over Marilla as well, for even as her face reddens, she accepts the glass from a grinning Rollings and sports a small smile – the one Anne has come to know is Marilla’s version of howling wildly.

Is this... Being a Woman? Laughing mirthfully around a table with sisters and mothers, with the scratchy fabric of the tablecloth beneath one hand and a beautiful crystal chalice in the other? Is this the future she sees before her, enjoying company and broken bread with Diana- someday sharing stories of their own with their children and their friends as they go off to school somewhere farther away than any of them had ever imagined?

She never wants to leave this table. The fruit-forward Port hits her tongue and her ears rush, hearing the laughter around her as a muffled symphony. It is already a memory, she knows. She can feel it as it fades- settling into her bones and making a home in the cage around her heart. If she ever tries to forget what happiness is, her body will remind her of this moment.

(And someday, when she is older, sipping Port again for the first time in years, in a circle of women she cares for much like she does now, she will be taken back fully in conscious remembrance and pen a letter to Diana to reminisce fondly with a tear in her eye.)

For now, she turns in for the evening. And so does everyone else.

As excited as she is for the shopping trip, she has also had an incredibly tiring day and her head is swirling and also the travel has drained her energy. So she sleeps heavily.

In the morning, they are treated to a lovely tea. Marilla is practically silent and refuses to acknowledge Anne and Diana, for the most part, as they are dressed in their most formal ensembles- as womanly as they are able to be, so far- and prepared for their adventure into adulthood. Marilla touches a hand to her heart and a handkerchief to her eye before Josephine leads her away to the carriage with Eliza.

Soon the lot of them are making their way to the shops, and it feels like a dream. Anne has been to stores many times, but never has she anticipated actually buying what her heart desires. If you want a girl to feel like a mature grown woman, just let her shop for herself, that much is certain.

She spends too long at a rack of shawls, folding her fingertips into every one of them to feel the fibers of the cloth. She presses her feet firmly into the floor and inhales the dusty air full of perfumes and fabric smells. Diana comes over to stand next to her.

“See anything you like?”

“Everything,” Anne replies in a daze. The girls giggle and sift through their options. Anne’s hand lands on a soft, deep green shawl.

“Gilbert would like that one.”

“You are ridiculous!” Anne whispers. “What about what I would like?”

“You just said you like them all!” Diana teases. “I was merely trying to help you narrow down your decision.”

“What a good friend you are!” she quips.

“The best!” Diana nudges her with her hip.

They hear their mothers call them. And then they are being fitted for corsets, and being shown skirts and blouses like they are princesses getting ready for a ball. They’re picking out stockings, and gloves, and someone hands a lacy parasol to Anne as she is half-dressed. It’s amazing. It’s lovely. It’s all so much. And soon, sadly, it’s over.

They stop briefly to revive themselves with another spot of tea for nourishment and then they are back at it, making their way to a shoemakers to buy new pairs of boots. They even visit the apothecary for pots of rouge. Could she pull off a shade of pink…? She banishes the idea, because it reminds her of a boy who once told her she looks marvelous in pink.

The shopping bags may be heavy, but the exhaustion from the day is much heavier. After they return back to the manse and everyone sits down to wait for supper to be served, Anne asks for permission to wander out to the yard for some much-needed natural solace. She is granted it, but only spends a few minutes lying on a bench beneath the cascading branches of a willow tree before Aunt Josephine finds her and asks if she can join her.

“Anne, dear… You seemed distracted today, at times borderline upset,” she tentatively pries. “Has it anything to do with your stay? I know a ladies’ day here can be quite stressful. And the company in question could have been… tiring.”

“Oh, no!” Anne quickly corrects. “It’s not that at all. I thought I was acting… normal.”

She glances at her with friendly condemnation. “Is something amiss?” she asks again.

“Well… everything, really?”

Jo nods.

“Best be out with it, then,” she says simply. “Only way to make sense of it is to get it off your chest.”

She entertains Anne’s ramblings; on her course of chosen study at Queens, the blockage of the storybuilding creativity in her mind, the development of Jerry moving into Green Gables (at which Jo remarks she is glad Diana will be off at Queens herself- she seems to know everyone’s secrets!), and finally, how lonely she feels looking on at couples in love when she has lost her own.

“You have found love? Enough to have let alone lost it?” she questions. Anne’s face burns.

“Well, I mean… I think- that is, I thought. I don’t know.” She sighs. “How can I be sure enough- that it was love? He is the only one I’ve ever felt this way towards, but how can I know for certain? In books, characters just know.”

“It is a prodigious conundrum…” Aunt Josephine ponders. “Though… I’ve never bought into that ‘you just know’ notion.”

“...You haven’t?”

“No.” She shakes her head with finality. “Love is a tricky thing, dear Anne. Sometimes it seems like an undeniable force that comes into your life with pomp and blare like a fairytale knight in shining armour-hits you right between the eyes and refuses to let up. And sometimes... it doesn’t. Rather, it creeps to your side in quiet ways, unfolding naturally, like... like a rose slipping from its sheath.”

“That sounds entirely confounding,” Anne grumbles. “You’ve just listed two completely opposite explanations of love.” Jo laughs.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid it’s the truth. It doesn’t really make it much easier to figure out, does it?” she agrees as she wraps an arm around her shoulders comfortingly. Anne softens.

“I suppose these are really trivial problems, in the grand scheme of things,” she says.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Jo replies curtly. “Love, and all of its facets, can be a very important part of what you do with your life. But it should not be the only thing.”

Anne smiles a small smile.

“So the way I see it- you have plenty of time to figure it out. Hmm? When you’re away in a new locale, learning things you never thought you’d know?”

“What if… I’m having second thoughts?”

Jo tuts and rubs her shoulder again.

“Now why on Earth would you be having second thoughts about going to school? That doesn’t sound like the Anne I know!”

“I don’t even know the Anne you know!”

“Oh, my dear, of course you do! You mustn’t give up on everything for which you’ve worked so hard! Give yourself some time. The unknown is inherently frightening, but it is also very exciting.”

“Everyone keeps saying that. That I should be excited.”

“Are you not?”

“I am,” she confirms. “But at the same time…”

She drifts off in her thought. After a few silent moments in the warm light from the sunset, Aunt Josephine prompts her to help her to her feet. They make their way from the acreage back to the house.

Dinner is just as lavish as expected, based on the fare they had the night before. It’s an earlier night than yesterday, since everyone is tired from the day of shopping and they have to be up for travel in the morning. Anne kisses Marilla goodnight on the cheek and she, along with the rest of the older ladies, retires.

The high peaks and lowest valleys of the past days cloud her mind as she gets ready for bed.

She lays across from Diana and they whisper about their purchases and their plans for their shared room at Queens. Or rather- Diana brainstorms and Anne agrees. She wants to decorate their boarding room with seasonal flowers and study together on Friday nights. Anne doesn’t tell Diana about all of the different goings-on; her parents being excited to get rid of her, her heartache over knowing she has squandered her one chance at love... and most importantly of all, her inability to put it all into words and get it out in artistic fashion with pen to paper (which is the worst one, in her opinion). Diana mentions a time when she had wine for the first time and- wasn’t it so funny? We were just kids back then...- and drifts off shortly thereafter.

Anne tosses and turns next to her on the soft feather mattress in Jo’s guest room. Unlike last night, she is unable to sleep. She wonders if it will be just as difficult for her to get rest in another foreign place such as this, when she goes off to school. If she goes.

-

She accidentally falls asleep on the train back home the next day, and awakens more disoriented than before, groggy and grumpy and altogether turned around. They trek home to Green Gables, shopping bags and suitcases in tow, and she collapses on her bed alongside them when they finally arrive.

It’s as if a grey cloud had settled onto the ground around her since they left the manse. The clothing she had purchased looked more vibrant in the store. Her room is hazy, dimmer than she remembered it being. She holds a pillow to her chest as Marilla unpacks her new belongings around her and attempts to rouse her spirits with excited musings about who she’ll meet at school, and where she’ll get off to in her free time, and all the things she’ll learn. A new life. Won’t that be exiting!

Anne cries, her emotions spilling out of her eyes about not wanting to go. About wanting to be a family around the fire and stay at Green Gables. Marilla holds her and rocks her like a babe, ‘oh, oh, oh’ing and tutting and stroking her hair to calm her. She says it’s just nerves and it will pass. She tells her to lie down for a spell, and she’ll feel better in no time.

She lies down for a spell, but she doesn’t feel better in no time. The sun sets and she doesn’t move. She doesn’t go down for dinner. Marilla brings a tray of bread and butter, but she doesn’t even pick at it. She isn’t hungry.

After a fitful sleep, the birds chirp their awful morning chorus. Anne attempts to eat some of the bread. It’s stale, but she doesn’t care. She glances around the room. The sunshine does nothing to brighten the space.

Diana comes by. Marilla sends her up and she spends a while at the foot of Anne’s bed, doing her best to comfort her- but only as successfully as a fellow conflicted young woman can. She lies on the blanket next to her and tells her the story of she and Jerry’s parting conversation, but hearing his name pains her as it reminds her of Matthew’s coldness, so she says she doesn’t want to hear about it (which she will find rather rude in hindsight, but she is heartsick, so she doesn’t notice in the moment). Anne finally tells Diana about the writer’s block, and Gilbert stopping by and gifting her the charm, making her feel like a fraud, and how she wants to abandon school entirely to stay here forever so no one can forget her. Diana tries to convince Anne to come for a walk along the lake, but she refuses. She’s tired. Diana kisses her temple maternally, reminds her it was she who inspired the rest of the girls to pursue their higher education and it would be an awful shame if she changed her mind and didn’t come along after all of that… and then takes her leave.

Anne takes a nap. Late in the day, Marilla delivers up some mail she has received. Miss Stacy sent along a note with her address on it- when they parted last, they agreed to letter writing and academic updates throughout this next season of her life. Having a mentor continuing into college does nothing to soothe the lonesome ache in her chest.

The other piece of mail is a package from Aunt Josephine- one she had mentioned was already in transit to Green Gables over dinner at her house the other day. Anne, sitting up for the first time in hours, slowly unties the string and unwraps the paper. It’s a new book, a divisive one from a notoriously bold female author, that Anne hasn’t read yet.

Written in Jo’s scrawled handwriting, beneath the title page and author’s name, was an inscription:

To Anne

Best of luck on your next journey. May it be filled with love and prosperity – but also endless adventure!

Never forget who you are – no matter where life may take you, you must not give up on Anne.

She reads the novel until it is too dark to do so anymore, and then stares at the ceiling and contemplates a future of love and prosperity and endless adventure.

It seems improbable. It brings her enough peace to get to sleep, anyhow.

She wishes she were a little girl again- a little optimistic girl who traversed the Great White Way, past the Lake of Shining Waters- falling asleep in her bed at Green Gables for the first time… back when she didn’t know how to fold her clothes right and the branches of the blossoming cherry tree were a beautiful Snow Queen wishing her goodnight.

But she isn’t a little girl anymore, and soon a new day dawns. The rest of her unromantic, non-magical life awaits.

It isn’t so bad. She still finds it hard to get out of bed, but she plasters on her bravest smile and resolves herself to find a silver lining. She’s rather good at that, usually.

Marilla helps her dress in her new corset, layering the petticoat and the blouse and jacket and all the accessories she never had before. When she is prim and proper like a doll, Matthew appears at the doorway.

She doesn’t know what to say, but it seems she doesn’t have to- he uncharacteristically speaks right away.

“I can’t believe you’re going,” he utters.

“It’s high time, is it not?” she replies coolly against her better judgment. Matthew shifts and shakes his head.

“I was wrong,” he says. “To bring up Jerry the way I did.”

“It was the practical decision,” she comforts automatically. He holds up a hand to stop her.

“No. I’m s...sorry.” He takes a shaky breath. “I was… sad. And afraid. Afraid that if you knew how sad I was to see to you leave, that you... wouldn’t go. And you must. You cannot stay here forever, like Marilla and I.”

“Oh, Matthew.”

“The house will be so lonely without you,” he says. “But you can return anytime. Jerry will be at the end of the hall… not taking this room. It will remain as it is now, however you leave it. You will always have a home here at Green Gables, Anne. For as long as you would like.”

She lets the relief fall freely from her eyes as she hurls herself into his fatherly embrace. All of her inner turmoil from the last few days has dissipated with confirmation that she will be missed. Is it really that simple?

He mutters something about working in the field and coming back for the trunk later after she has had time to pack, and her eyes go wide. He grins and taps his nose with a wink as he exits.

She hasn’t packed, not even a little bit, and she has to have all of her things and herself on a train before the day’s end.

“I’d better get started,” she admits embarrassedly out loud to herself and the Beautiful Snow Queen.

“Diana!” Gilbert exclaims as he unexpectedly passes the girl and her father. “Mr. Barry.” He shakes the man’s hand in polite greeting. “Are you off to Queens today?”

“We sure are!” Mr. Barry replies enigmatically. They make small talk about promising apple crops and difficult harvest seasons and future farming investments… but Gilbert gets the feeling he is really talking about something else. He tries not to think too hard about it, and shakes it off with a smile. Mr. Barry parts to converse with someone else he knows, and Gilbert smiles at Diana in his stead.

“Diana- Hi.”

“Hello,” she smiles sweetly.

“Are you excited for school?” he asks.

“So very excited! The broad horizons of higher education call to me!” She calls to the sky and chuckles. To him, it’s reminiscent of (you guessed it) Anne. She settles back down and asks, “are you equally as excited about Toronto?”

“Oh, you… Anne told you?”

“Anne has told me a lot of things.”

They size each other up, and she raises one dainty eyebrow at him. What does she know? Was he right, that Anne has talked her friend’s ear off about him? He resists the urge to ask about their corset-shopping trip.

Before they can say anything else, her father returns from his other conversation. The train whistles, in perfect timing, and he reaches over to shake Gilbert’s hand and say farewell.

“Come, dear, we must away,” Mr. Barry sighs dramatically with a caress of his daughter’s face. He pinches the apple of her cheek. “I shall take them the rest of your things.” Diana picks up her bag and hands it after him as he pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket quickly and makes his way towards the train.

“You must forgive my father,” she whispers with a roll of her eyes. “He’s been nearly inconsolable ever since I decided to go to Queens. He keeps tearing up and calling me his little girl.”

“Sounds like a hard time in anyone’s life,” he replies with a small grin.

“I suppose so,” she says with a small shrug, and then, “Either way, I’m thrilled I’ll be attending Queens after all. I’ll be rooming with Anne, you know. The Cuthberts are just as beside themselves with her going away. It’s been quite a time at their household this week. Surely she has told you about it?”

“I… well, no,” he replies feebly. She talks at the speed of light. Wonder where she picked that up? He can barely follow.

“Strange. I’ve heard you two are close again, since she finally admitted to the truth, which is that the two of you would still make a fine pair if you could ever feel for her again the way you did before, as she does now. I’ve only been telling her for ages. In any case- So much has gone on with her these past few days.”

He nearly swallows his tongue, which all of a sudden is too big for his mouth.

“I beg your pardon?” he chokes out. He must have misheard that middle bit. She ignores him.

“Have you spoken? With Anne?” she asks directly, bypassing his question. Her facial expression is even, and she gives away no clues. So he imagined it. (He’s thinking of her too much, is all. It will pass.)

“As of late, no,” he answers carefully.

“That’s a shame. She hasn’t been feeling well. I do hope she makes it to the start of school.”

“She’s sick?”

“Or some variation of,” Diana confirms.

“Do you think it’s… cause for worry?” he manages, even though the ocean is rising in his eardrums and there’s a neverending pit at the bottom of his stomach.

“I couldn’t say for sure,” she replies thoughtfully, her brow furrowed in concern. “She definitely isn’t feeling herself. I personally am quite worried. But I suppose only a doctor would be able to assess the situation properly,” she states matter-of-factly.

“Yes, I…” he mumbles distractedly, “I suppose so. Perhaps...”

“Perhaps you might stop by and see her?”

“Perhaps I might.”

“I think that’s a marvelous idea. Really, you’d be a fool not to.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Please tell her I said hello!” Diana cheerily diverts his confusion.

“I will. Um... Good day.”

“Good day, Gilbert!”

The whirlwind of their interaction is over. And he doesn’t see it, but Diana smirks as she turns to leave.

-

This time, when Gilbert knocks on the front door of Anne’s Green Gables, it’s answered by her mother.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” she says as she opens it wider for him to enter.

“Miss Cuthbert, it’s lovely to see you again.” He removes his hat as he steps inside.

“Likewise, Gilbert, but if you don’t call me Marilla I am afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Her smirk is almost reminiscent of her daughter’s, even though they are unrelated by blood, and it is all he can see. Maybe she taught it to Anne. But more than likely, Anne has subconsciously taught it to her.

“Marilla,” he corrects himself. “How are things around here? Do you need anything?” The polite thing to say. The manly, cordial thing for him to say. He is here for respectable, chivalrous reasons.

“Don’t you worry about that,” she scolds. She pats him on the arm affectionately, with a pointed look. “You have done more than enough.” 

He tucks his chin low in humble shame at the clear reference to the stipend he secretly left for her and Matthew when he moved out. “Thank you,” he says. “For everything.” He looks up to her gazing upon him fondly.

“Your father would be very proud of you,” she says calmly.

His words catch in his throat, so he just nods his gratitude. 

“Where are you off to now?” Marilla asks, turning back over her shoulder to reenter his favorite kitchen and resume whatever task has turned her apron into a floury Monet. “Studying at an esteemed institution of medicine? Or taking to the seas again on some big adventure?” 

She is lightheartedly teasing, but her words are bittersweet to him. None of those futures appeal to him anymore. The only adventure he is interested in is… 

He ignores the traitorous thoughts in his head and the fluttering of his heart from the word that belongs to Anne. “Toronto,” he says in response, “U of T.”

“That’s wonderful news!” she coos, kneading her dough. “They are lucky to have you.” The small talk, while genuine, is burning a hole in his heart the longer he waits to ask about what he came here to ask about.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” he obliges. “Forgive me, I, um… I have to ask. How is Anne? I heard she was… feeling unwell?”

Marilla rolls her eyes with her whole body and mixes more flour into the dough.

“That girl is a master at working herself up into a tizzy. She certainly has a flair for the dramatic!” she says with gusto.

“She isn’t...sick?” The veil of panic begins to lift from his soul. “Diana said she was sick.”

“She’s no more sick than she is vexed about having to fit all of her belongings in one trunk. The stress of going off to school finally took a toll on her, I believe. It has been a bit overwhelming, for everyone, but Anne the most has surely felt every which way about it.Rest assured, however, she is feeling fine now.”

“That’s... good to hear,” he mumbles with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He fiddles with the parcel in the left one. They stand in silence for a few moments. Marilla smirks that telltale smirk yet again, then goes back to the dough.

“She’s upstairs,” she says offhandedly. 

“Oh, that’s not… Marilla, I-” Gilbert stammers. “I didn’t… I mean, that’s not the only… I just wanted to see if she was alr-”

“Gilbert,” she stops him gently. “Anne is upstairs, packing for college. If you have something to say to her, now would certainly be the time.”

He is speechless at her candor. She almost… laughs at him? 

“I…” he pauses. She tilts her chin downward, brow raised in expectation. “I do have something to say to her,” he agrees.

“I figured as much.” 

“Marilla. Miss Cuthbert.” Gilbert takes a large gulp of air and purses his lips. “Do you… Do you think I am a good man?”

She takes a breath and stands up straight from her work.

“I believe I’ve already made it very clear what type of man I think you are, Gilbert,” she replies, wiping her hands on her apron. “And that would be a mighty fine one. But if you’re asking me if I think you are good for Anne, I would tell you anyone who challenges her to be a better person than the day before is… well, is alright in my book. I would also tell you that I haven’t seen that girl smile, not with her typical reckless abandon, in several weeks. I sure do miss the sight.”

She looks him in the eye and her words land very heavily on his chest. He hasn’t smiled with reckless abandon in several weeks, either.

“I would also tell you to speak with Matthew, though I’m not sure how much speaking will actually occur.” She smiles to herself at that little joke, but Gilbert’s palms are immediately sweaty. Well, moreso than they were before.

As if on cue, Matthew enters the back door gruffly. He’s greeted quickly by Marilla with a cup of coffee and a chide about taking his boots off outside. Matthew eyes the two of them, clearly aware he’s interrupted an important conversation. Marilla shrugs in Gilbert’s direction as if to say ‘ Well, now’s as good a time as any !’ and ushers her brother into the room. 

“I believe Gilbert means to have a conversation with you, Matthew,” she says plainly. “Do try to use words with him, instead of your usual grunting.”

Matthew grunts in return, then smiles.

“What brings you by?”

Gilbert clears his throat and wrings his hat in his hands.

“I, uh…” He squares his shoulders and straightens his neck. “I’m here to see Anne, sir,” he decidedly decides.

“Oh?” Matthew replies. The entire room waits for him to continue.

“Yes,” Gilbert manages. “I’m here to see her, well, because I thought she was… I have something important to ask her. That is, to say, if you find me… worthy to. To ask. It.” 

“Well!” He replies, bemused. “Well.” He looks at Marilla, who nods. He seems to process and understand the meaning of the conversation all of a sudden. “Well,” he states again.

Gilbert nods humbly.

“You’re a smart young man,” Matthew says plainly. “Good head on your shoulders.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You would be downright foolish to cross her in any way.”

“That is for sure and certain, yes.”

“You’ll be attending school, hmm? And Anne as well. The whole…” he gestures with his hands in a circle, “...time. The full course. Neither of you will end your study early.” It is not so much a question as it is an instruction.

“Absolutely.”

“Yes, well…” He adjusts his belt as he stands. “The way I see it, it doesn’t really matter what anyone else thinks, besides Anne.”

“Sir?” Gilbert manages. Matthew quirks an eyebrow and gestures with his chin to the upstairs level of Green Gables.

“Let us know what she says, won’t you?” the man winks at Gilbert as he says it.He clasps his palm in a firm handshake, pats him on the shoulder, then exits to the parlor. Marilla nods once more.

It’s their version of a blessing. He takes what he can get.

The stairs creak familiarly under Gilbert’s feet as he climbs them, the sounds of the house mixing with his ragged breathing. He’s at the entry to her open door faster than he planned, out of breath and frozen in fear.

Whatever words he had preconceived… the lot of them are scattered to the wind when he lays eyes on her.

She’s the opposite of sick. She is not resting or weak, as he feared. She is full of life, flitting about and packing for school, which he almost fears more. She puts things in her case one by one, folded neatly- but not so neatly that he can’t tell she’s the one who’s packed them. She turns over her shoulder and bolts upright at the sight of him.

“Gilbert!” She rushes towards him like she’s going to hug him, and his heart leaps out of his chest towards her, but his arms ignore the cue. She stops herself just before she touches him, then backs up in mild shock. She extends her hand to shake. He grasps it tightly without hesitation, then lets her go when she rescinds it. Why did he do that? He should have acted on her initial attempt and pulled her into his embrace by her wrist.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asks with a twinkle. She spins on her heel and returns to her task, grabbing an open notepad off her bed and flipping it shut to store it away with its pen, among the other school supplies in her trunk.

The sight of her packing a bag to leave has knocked the wind out of him. Instead of gray and bedridden and staying put forever, she’s lively and well and going to disappear. He has now faced the thought of losing her in two different ways in one singular day, and he…

He stammers his best attempt at response to her quip.

“I have something to ask you.”

She packs another item- a ribbon he has seen her wear in her hair on formal occasions.

“What is it?” she asks kindly.

“I, uh…” he starts.

But his attention is on the inside of her suitcase, for the ribbon she packed is nestled next to a small red dictionary gifted to her by none other than the old class rival standing before her now, pathetically in love with her and entirely tongue-tied at the knowledge she is planning on taking a piece of him with her on her next adventure. If only she would take every piece.

“Gilbert?” she presses, breaking him from the spell.

“Are you excited for school?” he blurts, losing all of his resolve at the beautiful sound of his name on her lips.She takes a deep breath.

“As excited as one can be when leaving their entire world and everything they’ve ever known behind,” she sighs and sits on the bed next to her bag. She looks up at him with those stormy ocean eyes of hers and he is lost in their waters immediately.

“Have you ever been so sure of something,” she continues, “so desperately needed something, for your soul, with every fiber of your being... and yet at the same time you fear it more than death? So much so that you feel unlike yourself in every way?”

You have no idea , his heart screams.

“But,” she exhales, slapping her thighs intentionally and getting up from the bed. “Onward we go! The world is filled with many opportunities and I intend to seize them all!” She crosses to her closet door and dips inside. “Surely, you know what that’s like and are doing the same with your practice? I do hope Toronto is an adventure. I can’t wait for one of my own. You know as well as I that a little adventure does the heart some good.”

Her back is turned to him as she talks, her voice muffled from inside in the closet as she reaches for something on the top shelf- but the word “adventure” shakes him out of his fog, reminds him of his motive, rings out so clearly to him that he is compelled to speak immediately and direct his ramblings at the twists of fire on the back of her head before he loses the nerve.

“I know you’re inclined to remain the Bride of Adventure, but if you could find it in you…” Gilbert hesitates under the sudden weight of his words, “...if you’d ever consider being the Bride of Blythe instead, the mere rumination would be an honor.” 

“The Bride of Blythe is almost a tongue-twister, is it not?” Anne responds enigmatically, removing her face from the closet, oblivious to the implication of what he’s said. Crossing to place a folded overcoat in her case, she spins the words musically with a grin as she chants, “The Bride of Blythe bakes bread begetting of bliss, but bustling, blunders the bundling.” 

She exhales laughter through her nose at her own wit, then freezes in place and stares up at Gilbert with a horrified expression in her eyes, her smile fading as the realization dawns on her. 

“What did you just say?” she asks him slowly. He panics, his heart now taunting him by racing faster and louder than his thoughts. He swallows his pride.

“Would you ever even consider marrying someone like me?” he asks more plainly, gathering every ounce of docility and softness he can muster so he doesn’t make her uneasy.

“Someone like you?”

The question is simple, his favorite kind, with an even simpler answer, but the simple answer to her simple question sticks in his throat.

“Is this some kind of trick?” Anne presses. “Tell me plainly. Someone like you, or you yourself, Gilbert?”

He forces the word out.

“Me.”

Her silence is deafening, as the two stare at each other in the dim natural light from her curtained window.

“Specifically me,” he clarifies again, and she glances off into the near distance.

She pinches her own arm and yelps, which startles him. She turns her gaze back to him.

“I like being a Cuthbert.”

“You could hyphenate. That doesn’t bother me. If… if that’s what you wanted.”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert-Blythe? That’s quite the earful.”

“Fitting, then, for you.”

She doesn’t say anything, again, and it gives his brain the time to finally catch up to his heart. He digs in his jacket and brings out a drawstring bag. The one he’s been playing with in his pocket all week, the anticipation of his confession bubbling under the surface as he walked around Avonlea and pondered and walked and pondered some more. He crosses the room, abruptly stopping at her side, and she jumps when he lowers to one knee beside her.

He takes out his mother’s ring. It’s simple, but beautiful (to him, and he hopes it is to her as well).

“Gilbert.” She is nearly breathless as he gently takes her fingers in his hand. That’s a good sign, right?

“Anne,” he whispers back.

“Gilbert.” This time, it’s more of a gentle warning.

“Anne,” he repeats, mustering his most serious, sincere look, “with an E. Will you… marry me?” He winces, shakes his head at himself, cringing at his unintentional rhyme. He opens one eye to peer up at her, and she laughs at him. She brushes a finger from her free hand under her eyes.

“I… I want to go to school.” she says, almost as if she’s realizing it for the first time.

“As do I,” he replies.

“We’re going to different schools.”

“So… you don’t want to marry me?”

“I didn’t say- I’m just… you should know. I’m going to go to Queens.”

“Who says you can’t do both?”

She scoffs in return, and the wheels seem to turn inside her mind. He rushes to slow them with his hopeful proposition (lest they continue to turn and turn and take her away from him).

“Anne, I thought I could be satisfied with your friendship alone, but… I was merely deceiving myself. I want your love. Your affection. You alone have my affection, Anne. All of it.You could study in fifty schools for fifty years, as long as you would do it with me in your heart. You can be a teacher, an author, a journalist, a baker, a seamstress… anything. All of it. And you could also be engaged. To me, specifically.”

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert-Blythe,” she contemplates.

“Is that a…?” He stands eagerly, still gripping her hand in his, his ring hovering near her finger. A strange look crosses her face.

“Will we still have adventure?”

“All of it.” 

“And I can still pursue a career?”

“Anne, for goodness’ sake, are you tormenting me on purpose now?”

She giggles, and it sounds like church bells.

“Oh, Gilbert. Yes. ”

She’s barely gotten the words out before his body takes over and envelops her in his arms so enthusiastically, the ring goes flying. In a mess of laughter, flailing limbs, and heavy exhales, Anne tries to go after it as it rolls along on the floor with a metallic trill. Gilbert grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her back up to him, into a kiss so fierce it’s as if the other is fighting for the upper hand. They part for air, both having forgotten entirely about the ring.

“Wait, yes you’ll marry me or yes you’re tormenting me on purpose?”

“Who says I can’t do both?” she answers with an almost maniacal giggle.

Gilbert kisses her again, as hard as his lips will allow. He tangles his fingers in her hair and they press their palms to each others faces when they separate again.

“So who is the winner?” Anne asks breathlessly.

“Of…?”

“Of our rivalry?”

“Oh, that…” Gilbert replies. “I stopped keeping score a long time ago.”

It’s true, he realizes immediately as the words escape him. But when he locates the ring, retrieves it, places it on her delicate pale finger that is inexplicably covered in dried ink, and surrenders to her giddy affections once more…

He very much feels like he’s won.