#christy huddleston/neil macneill

[darsynia]

To bring you back to us:

Christy and Neil - pick one (i couldn't choose)?

10 ...desperately

12 ...in grief.

26 ...as an apology

Please and thank you!

Sneaky sneaky, I like it! I touched on all three, but the grief is wrapped up before the kiss. I'd been struggling feeling like my icky holidays had nuked my ability to write on my longfic of these two, and this did help me feel better about that!

TERMS OF SURRENDER

Pairing: Christy Huddleston/Neil MacNeil Length: 2,358 Rating: General audiences Summary: (set during 'Green Apples,' in a universe that mixes the book and the series)

Neil thinks about the loss of his wife and child as he listens to the harmonica's gently hopeful tune of healing. He decides it's finally time to let go of the past and fight for the kind of future his feelings for Christy promise.

Terms of Surrender

The sound of a harmonica was one of the things Neil had missed in Scotland. It hadn’t occurred to him to bring one, but even if he’d had the funds, there wasn’t anywhere to play it that didn’t feel awkward and out of place. Truthfully, he had felt awkward and out of place, but his time spent quietly observing and learning at home had been quite useful abroad. Neil had integrated well, so well that he’d come home more Scots than Cove.

That thought made him think of Christy. As an outsider, her approach had been wildly different from his; where he’d stepped back and sought a niche, she’d charged ahead to forge her own. He couldn’t help but admire her spirit. Neil had come home changed, but Christy had changed his home. Without permission and without vitriol she’d gently but firmly established herself in Cutter Gap as someone with a heart twice as big as her stature, cheerfully taking the good with the bad. If he’d known then what he knew now, he’d have held himself back, been more… guarded around her.

As with so many of the important things in his life, Neil had realized this too late.

That realization was made all the more complicated on a day such as this, as they fought back a disease that threatened to take the lives of children he’d helped bring into the world. There was only so far a man could push away thoughts of the lives he couldn’t save, to say nothing of the apologies he’d held back until he was out of time.

That old familiar guilt struck a discordant chord with the mournful harmonica, enough to force a rueful chuckle from his lips. After all, he owed an apology to Christy, and this time he didn’t have the luxury of locking himself away until his reflection looked different enough to forget the needful.

Neil stood slowly, loath to disturb the delicate tableau of hopeful survival going on in the quarantine room. He remembered seeing Christy step out of the building looking distressed, but given his contribution to that expression, he’d focused intently on his notes in hopes that she’d avoid disturbing him.

Margaret would have called him a coward. “Apologize or don’t, Mac, but don’t pretend you’re taking the high road!”

His late wife’s admonition spurred Neil to walk around the schoolhouse, his steps curving him away from some hard truths and toward others. She’d hated the darkness of the mountains and loathed the quiet that seeped into a person’s bones to linger there. In a sense, loving him had dimmed Margaret’s fiercely fragile light until she’d run out of energy to fight off the disease that killed her. There was no making peace with that. 

He shut his eyes and tipped his head into the light breeze to clear his mind. When he opened them again, Neil saw the dim outline of a figure ahead of him, along the treeline where they’d been collecting firewood. It was Christy. The lanterns leading to the outhouse were just bright enough to see that her fists were clenched at her sides, and her head was tipped back, just as he’d just done.

“There’s solitary, and then there’s lonely. You can be lonely without being alone.”

Those words had haunted him since his wife had said them less than a month before her death. They’d sliced like a scalpel those first months, festered like a wound that refused to heal by a year’s time, before finally burrowing down to ache like a mended bone before a storm. Tonight was the first time he’d seen them as anything but hurtful; his wife had been many things (selfish, sensual, miserable, mesmerizing), but she had always been insightful. How had it taken him this long to realize what she’d really meant? That they could have been solitary together. That Margaret hadn’t needed to be lonely, if he’d been able to teach her how to share his solitude.

Neil stood in the silent shadow of the schoolhouse, his thoughts whipping around like a willow in a windstorm. There was a very clear reason why he was thinking of Margaret right now, and the truth of that scared him. It was the last clammy fear before the fever broke, the surge of adrenaline before closing a wound. He was letting her go, making space.

The thought was as presumptuous as it was intimidating.

“The apology, Mac. Don’t be an ass.”

Neil walked toward Christy slowly, shoring up his mental fortifications for the coming conflict.

“Battling it out with your god, are you?”

Christy shot him a look that he couldn’t discern in the half-light. “No need to poke fun, but yes. I don’t need to part the Red Sea, just pray hard enough for God to pass over this building without taking anyone.”

“Now who’s poking fun?” Neil said. He moved to stand beside her, both facing the fathomless expanse of forest. “I’ve always thought that story was particularly unfair; punishing the children for the sins of the fathers.”

“That’s not too different from feuding, don’t you think?” There was a tightness in her voice that was entirely his fault, top to bottom.

“Maybe I should walk away and start over,” he said, shoving at a small branch with his foot. “I’d come over here to apologize.”

Her silence lasted long enough for him to look over. Christy’s body language was armed for war, but her words were more shield than sword.

“You couldn’t have known about my sister. I’m a stranger, and it looked like I put your patients in danger.”

“You’re hardly a stranger, Christy. Despite my temper, I know you’ve only ever done your best to keep them safe, educated, and happy,” he countered. “I was wrong to shout at you.”

“You--” she broke off, arms dropping to her sides. 

“What? Did I just deprive you of a fight? I’m sure we can find something else,” Neil teased lightly. He opened his mouth to elaborate, but Christy jumped in to interrupt.

“Don’t! Let me savor the moment.”

The amusement in her voice cut straight through to the depths of his heart, as though his years of defenses and baggage were insubstantial in the face of her warmth. 

Christy turned to walk back toward the schoolhouse, and it was in the shock of those feelings that Neil caught her as she pitched sideways toward him, hissing in surprised pain. Immediately he set her hand on his shoulder and knelt down, finding her boot tangled in the ends of the branch he’d nudged earlier. That realization had him swearing under his breath.

“Is it bad? My ankle doesn’t feel--” Christy cut herself off, her voice pinched with fear.

“I was reacting to the culprit, not your injury. I’d tried to kick that branch out of the way. You’ll be fine after a few minutes, it’s just a wrong step.”

“So you swept me off my feet?” she whispered, finishing the sentence just as he straightened back up. The action slid her hand from his shoulder down to his chest-- and they stood with her words hovering between them like a heated breath in the deepest winter.

The lamplight lit her stress-mussed hair in soft gold, edging her features as if she were in an illuminated manuscript. Christy’s eyes were wide as she stared at her hand on his chest, perhaps as shocked as he was that she hadn’t pulled back. Just at that moment, a curl slipped free, and before he realized what he was doing, Neil tucked the soft lock behind her ear in an unmistakable caress.

The sound of her sucked-in breath shot adrenaline straight to his heart.

“I should--” she started, eyes still fixed on their point of contact. With the barest stroke of her thumb, she finally lifted her hand. “I should go. Will you promise to get some rest? I’ll take the first watch.”

The blood rushing in his ears spoke of the many things unresolved between them, and Neil reached out to stop her with a clumsy hand. “Wait--”

Christy pressed her eyes shut, her lip caught in her teeth. He longed to see the nuances of her expression-- was she annoyed but hiding it well? Blushing? Fearful?

“Hold still for a spell, let your ankle rest?” he offered. He didn’t move his hand, and she didn’t move away to dislodge it. For once, he didn’t hear the derisive tones of his conscience mocking those choices. Christy was hesitating, so he added, “I haven’t properly apologized.”

This prompted her to open her eyes and look at him. Whatever she saw there made her sway just slightly in his direction.

Maybe it was the stillness of the night, the hope of healing, the exhaustion from fighting so many things with so much of his strength, or perhaps it was the lightness of his finally untethered heart, but whatever the true reason was, Neil succumbed.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to see you for who you truly are, Christy. Your heart is bright enough to light the whole Cove, and I’m grateful to be touched by it.” He released her arm and turned his hand to brush the backs of his fingers against her cheek, then moved to walk away before he ruined both of their reputations.

Christy stopped him, not with words, but with an action that meant so much more: with surprising strength, she caught his hand, pressing his palm to her cheek. Then she did speak, and he was lost.

“You’re the coal that keeps us burning, Neil.”

The distant sound of the harmonica faded in the space between her action and his stuttering heart. Would John Spencer tuck the instrument into his pocket and make his way to the outhouse? Had he been interrupted by one of the children crying out for their help?

Stepping close, Neil set his other hand on her cheek and said, “I owe you more than an apology, Christy, even more so for this.” Dipping his head, he kissed her, meaning for it to be brief, a promise, not an end unto itself. He was foolish, forgetting her determination to never yield when she could persuade instead. Her hand moved up into his hair, burning a surer path than any bullet meant to stop his brain from functioning.

Despite every passing second marking the time between now and disaster if he didn’t pull back, Neil deepened the kiss, his arm banding around her waist to lift her up, ever so slightly. Then, with the reluctance of a victor forced to leave the spoils of war behind, he stepped away. His whole body buzzed with anxiety and pleasure, but he knew he’d overstepped badly.

“Forgive me, I-- I’ve held that back for quite some time,” he admitted. “When you brought me dinner, I must confess--”

“Oh! Please believe me, I had no idea, or I would never have presumed to take advantage like that.” Christy interrupted, her voice thick with regret. “Fairlight suggested the way to persuade you was through good cooked food. I suppose I failed there, as well!”

Neil took her hand and clasped it with both of his. “Your campaign for Dan Scott had me at your feet. When I realized that was all you’d come for, I was ready to send him to the devil, and the Mission too. The truth is, I’ve fallen for you, Christy. Hopelessly so.”

She lifted their joined hands to her lips. “I’d barely let myself think of such things, but when I dream… you’re always there, smiling at me, quarreling with me, teaching me--”

“Reality is hardly ever that idyllic,” he cautioned. Neil dislodged his hand from hers out of propriety, but inwardly his defenses were being dismantled, one uncertainty at a time.

“Only you would consider arguing with me idyllic!”

“Any time spent with you is a dream, I’ll freely admit that.” He grinned, adding, “If ye wish to prove it’s real, we can go on until I win an argument. Shouldn’t take too long.”

“You are insufferable,” Christy grumbled.

“Would it make it worse if I told you how lovely you look when you’re cross with me? It was all I could do not to--

“If you say something about sweeping me off my feet, Neil MacNeil, I’ll--” She stopped short, clearly realizing that he’d prompted exactly the kind of cross reaction he enjoyed.

“Do I need to?” Neil started, but a bobbing lantern light near the schoolhouse caught his attention. Thinking quickly, he moved to pick up some of the cut wood and branches near where they’d been standing, nodding to Christy to do the same. By the time Fairlight made it around the corner, the two of them were almost to the outhouse.

“Doc find you screamin’ at the sky, then?”

“Bargaining, more like,” Neil said. “I think it ended on a truce?” He turned toward her, selfishly needing to see her indignation.

Once again, she bested him.

“Victory,” Christy asserted. “I had a talk with God, and he sent me a sign of healing.”

Neil angled his arms so that a small log fell off, allowing him to hide his expression as he picked it back up. Thankfully, the two women had resumed their walk back to the front of the schoolhouse by the time he stood up. Healing! Her innocent audacity took his breath away, as always. There was a lot of rebuilding to be done, all of it in the harsh light of day, but he was intensely grateful for that temporary bubble of solitude they’d been able to find in each other.

The thought had occurred before the significance dawned on him, and Neil stopped short, stunned.

Healing. It was something he’d fought to achieve for others his entire life yet somehow was gifted without warning or design, in the middle of the night during quarantine, no less! This new beginning was fitting, he supposed, and like all beginnings, there would be a lot of adjusting to be done for both of them. 

They’d be able to do it together.

[fandomsbyladymelodrama]

No pressure on this, but I wanted to ask if you'd like to tell me about one of/some of your favorite Christy scenes, and the things you like most about it/them? I can't singlehandedly revive the fandom on here, but it's such a joy to talk over this show with other fans!

I didn't realize until recently how thoroughly the Neil/Christy relationship informed my romantic preferences in all the media and writing I've done since watching it in my teens. Older, scholarly man/younger, determined woman, some kind of angst in the man's past, a need to change things for the better as an intrinsic part of the woman's character, a taboo element that stands in the way of the relationship... Even in the slash pairings I love so much, there's still so many elements of it!

Hey filmmakers, don't think we don't notice that you frame these two with Christy on a step/incline half the time to de-emphasize the height difference...

Oh my, oh my. Okay, first, let's be real. I've been waiting for an ask like this since 1994 (baby Tumblr wasn't even born yet 😂) so get ready for some major Neil/Christy feels that I've been suppressing but also diligently-tending-in-the-background for 30+/- years. THEY. ARE. PERFECT. Top-shelf OTP bottle, for sure. You understand, right? Of course, you do. We've discussed. But yeah, I feel the same way about this show/book/pairing influencing and informing both my writing style and romantic preferences in fiction over the years. Happy to admit it. Yes *raises hand* 1000 times yes. Hello, my name is ladymelodrama, and the fact that CBS so cruelly stole resolution for Neil/Christy from us forever (I'm not counting the PAX movies, I'm just not) is a crime against good television everywhere and will haunt my Christy-loving bones until I'm dead and buried in the ground deep enough so's the critter's can't find me, as Little Burl or Creed Allen would say. Anyway, you asked about Neil and Christy and favorite moments and since I can't just pick one...

I have a proposition to make :) Let's trade fave moments until we run out of them, maybe? No pressure, of course, but this is me mostly unwilling to commit to my Top 5 Scenes until I finish my rewatch, and even then I'll probably change my mind a couple times 😂 But here's one that I'll discuss in detail today and which I like to call the "Will This Do?" scene aka "and then they both smiled their little smiles at each other and lived happily ever after. The end." <3

(Credit to @heatherfield for this gif, and bless you, friend, for continuously shipping the same pairings as me - makes my gif-hunting so much easier haha <3)

So why do I love this scene so much? Oh, you know. Margret's dress. Objectively, it's gorgeous (the woman had style, even if she had no heart). And hey, it only coded Neil/Christy as endgame from the first episode, no big deal. Plus it was one of the softest moments in the whole show and THE WAY THEY SMILED AT EACH OTHER. Ugh. Soffffffft. I'm mean, you're seeing this too, right? ;) Meanwhile, I'm sure David is over here in the corner...doing what David does best XD Lurking. Always lurking.

(and, based on the pic I chose, maybe taking notes on how to have better chemistry with Christy? - "Dear Diary, Neil MacNeill is kinda the worst, have I mentioned?" 😂) But in all seriousness, what I love about that scene (and the exchange of smiles, in particular) is how there's an honest-to-goodness, my-spirit-just-spoke-to-your-spirit bit of humanity happening there. I die for those moments, little and quiet as they may be. It's just so...SOFT. They don't know each other yet. Not really. There's no romance at play (other than what I assume might be mutual physical attraction, even if Christy would never let herself go there. Not on her first days in the Cove) so it's more a budding friendship that we're seeing and friends-to-lovers is one of my favorite things? (Jorleesi, Jisbon, Siegfried/Audrey, Obidala, Red Cricket, Dickon/Mary much?). I also really enjoy when she comes down the stairs looking all pretty-in-lavender with her hair down (still lolling at your comment on that detail btw because...c'est vrai 😂) and "Oh no, David, it's so late...how will we ever get to Lufty Branch in time?" "Not we, Christy." (exactly, David, you're getting it). Too bad she has to spend all afternoon in this rustic cabin with a plaid-shirted, barrel-chested, brogue-speaking, moody mountain man with inside pain for dayssssss. Oh the everlasting horror XD

So yeah, so much to love about this scene (and the entire convo in the cabin afterwards and him plucking her from Theo prior to the whole dress thing - guy helps girl down from horse = I'm in love 😍). To witness the very beginning of their arc (okay, Part II of the beginning, but the doctor was busy with brain surgery during Part I, so you know what I mean) and to have the actors play it so, so beautifully and in an Appalachian setting that's just misty and magical and to die for all by itself... Mmmm *chef's kiss* Your turn, @darsynia <3

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.6 - Eye of the Storm

[emeraldspiral]

Did I mention this show had a love triangle between Christy and the preacher and the atheist doctor?

Spoiler alert: the show got cancelled before it could be resolved and the last episode was actually a cliffhanger ending on Christy trying to decide between them.

According to my mom, in the novel she ends up with the doctor. But I could swear she read the book to us and the last thing I remember was Christy got really sick and then woke up from her fever and the doctor saying her name was the last line. But according to Google they did explicitly end up married, so maybe there was an epilogue my mom forgot to read.

[walkawaytall]

So, I thought I knew what a selkie was but it was based entirely on this episode of Christy where Dr. Neil MacNeill soothes a small child’s fear of storms with some legend of the silkie (this is a legitimate alternate spelling), and now that I’m reading about selkie legends, I feel like the writers on this show just made this up entirely.

(I thought I could use timestamp links, but apparently not? Skip to 5:46 for the silkie legend that I’ve realized was a lie.)

Friend and I are debating whether something is common knowledge or not.

[darsynia]

Sorry I'm posting so much fic. It will happen again.

[kopykunoichi]

Summary: A stifling summer day gets a little warmer for Christy when she has a mishap with a pile of piping hot laundry. It feels like it gets even hotter when Doctor MacNeill tends to her scalded hands. What is it about him that distracts and confounds her every time they're close to each other?

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.3 - Both Your Houses

[darsynia]

Oh my GOD all my favorite moments I'm slain. SLAIN.

Especially this one, folks how did they leave this in, it was SO EARLY ON but LOOK at them. I contend this whole series, every single minute of it, was fanfic to ensure we all knew they're destined to be together. Miss Alice speaking of true love with Zady (after chastising Christy for her seeming interest in Neil, no less!) and looking over to where Christy is standing? Christy saying 'about babies' and Neil saying 'what about them?' in a deep-ass voice while David jealously observes from 70 feet away??

WE WERE ROBBED.

gif set from the 1994 TV show based on Catherine Marshall’s novel “Christy”

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.2 - Lost and Found

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.1 - Pilot

[kopykunoichi]

This is the perfect song for them. Kudos to elainebelyeu for this one!

[darsynia]

Christy (TV series), 1.01 “Pilot”

Neil: You are young, Miss Huddleston—and naïve, and you’ve made some sweeping judgments, haven’t you?

Christy: Well, some things are obvious….

Neil: [laughs] Forgive me. It was your nose wrinkling when you remembered those smells…. Don’t forget, Miss Huddleston, that I was one of those children.

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.5 Judgment Day

[kopykunoichi]

MacChristy

Christy 1.4 - A Closer Walk

[kopykunoichi]

Christy, by Catherine Marshall. Chapter 35 Excerpt (part 2)

Over the doctor’s shoulder I saw that Jeb Spencer had set the fiddle against his chest and was tuning up. Wraight Holt had joined him with a banjo. With twangy chords sliding into a fast jog and Jeb’s bow singing across the strings the music started. As in the past Uncle Bogg was in the middle of things ready to call the figures. I marveled that from all appearances the old man had recovered so quickly from his son’s murder. Or, I wondered, was this just another example of Uncle Bogg’s callousness? “Scrooch them settin’ chairs against the walls, boys. Gonna need a heap of room.” The old squire was clapping his hands. “Gyarner ’em in, folks. In—a—cir-cle. The Tenn’see Wag-on Wheel. Here—we—go!” The tune was the familiar “Skip to My Lou.” The music snaked across the floor, swirled around my ankles, set my toes to tapping. Dr. MacNeill saw. “Come on, Christy. Into the circle we go."

“Cir-cle left!” . . . Cir-cle right! . . . Swing your partner . . . Now . . .” The doctor was surprisingly nimble. I had never done much square dancing, so did not know all the intricate figures. But by whispered instruction and skillful leading, he was steering me with scarcely a step missed by either of us. The rhythm beat and surged around us. The man must have learned this dance in his cradle! “La-dies back . . . Gents to the cen-ter . . .” Close up, some of these men were a little pungent. Out behind the cabin or somewhere the jugs were being tilted. “With a Right Hand Wheel . . . And back the other way . . . With a Left Hand Wheel! . . . Pick up your partner!” The doctor’s strong arms lifted me off the floor as easily as if I had been a child. Whirl and twirl . . . bend and swing . . . round and round. The music was so delicious. It ached behind my eyes and pulled and titillated. “Swing your part-ner!”

I was spun through the air, blood racing with the music, aware of the doctor’s face close to mine, sometimes half-smiling, sometimes laughing, drawing me to him. “Right—left, Right—left . . . Right—left, Right—” “And now, once a-gain, swing your part-ner—Prom-e-nade!” We were making an arch with our raised arms and the couples were coming through. “Bend low! Through the tunnel. Follow the leader . . . Now for the Bas-ket . . . All to the center! . . . Ladies stay in and the gents come back!” This one was really ingenious. Soon I saw how “the basket” was made. Women in the inner circle joined hands raised; men in the outer circle ducking under. We were joining arms at waist level to circle the basket. As complicated and delightful as an old quilt pattern, I was thinking. The American frontier had its dangers and its hard work but it also had a rare talent for making its own fun. “Off the floor . . .” And the Tennessee Wagon Wheel ended.

I half collapsed against the wall. “You aren’t—breathless—a bit—” I chided Dr. MacNeill. “Used to it. Anyway that was only a middlin’ fast tune.” More music . . . Jeb had itchy fingers for his fiddle bow today. But no one was dancing this one, so I took it to be an in-between tune. In a rich baritone the doctor started singing the words:

Cheeks as red as a bloomin’ rose,

Eyes of the deepest brown,

You are the darlin’ of my heart,

Stay till the sun goes down.

All around us, voices picked up the song. Such an enigmatic look on the doctor’s face! What did that look mean?

Shady Grove, my little love,

Shady Grove, my dear,

Shady Grove, my little love,

I’m goin’ to leave you here.

Only a song, but why did he keep his eyes on my face? “I’m thirsty,” I said abruptly—and turned toward the one sawhorse table left pushed against the wall. There were pitchers of spring water and what looked like several kinds of fruit juice. I poured a little of one and gingerly tasted it. Raspberry juice, I thought. It was refreshing. So I poured a full glass.